I’d promised to put up some personal posts this year, and I’ve
had this one in the holster for awhile. In the past I’ve posted personal things
and they’ve garnered no discussion, and I just felt foolish and more alone than
I had before I posted. But the truth is, I built this blog based on the need
for connection, and friendship comes from trust, and you just can’t trust
someone who doesn’t put out the sad, hard stuff, too. Unfortunately, I’m the
kind of person who keeps those things pushed way down until the pressure builds
and there’s nothing to do but let it all out in a spew of words that must
either relieve or frighten those closest to me.
But the truth is, although I can change, I can’t be anyone
else. So here’s a glimpse into my heart these days.
I rang in this year under the suffocating blanket of depression.
It started last fall and worked its intermittent way up to the full-blown bewilderment
of emotional crash. I couldn’t tell you what I thought or why I thought it. The
thing about depression is it takes control of you; it thinks and speaks for you.
And you’re left to act. But the sadness impairs your desire and strength, and
action is nearly impossible. One night I finally broke down and called a
Christian Science practitioner (one who heals using prayer), and we turned to
God for healing.
The weight was blown away one morning in church. I walked in
suffering. I walked out completely healed.
All of that prelude to this statement: My church is what
heals me, but it’s also, these days, what breaks me. Our church, which is very
small, is in the throes of what those in my faith call animal magnetism, the inability
to see past the human to the spiritual. I won’t go into the ugly details or
state my case, because frankly, I’m too worn down by the whole situation to
choose words for it. I will, however, tell you that people are hating, people
are choosing teams and taking sides, people are telling lies and holding them
against others, people are letting go of Christ. And there exists the sad truth
that every individual at our boardroom table (of which I’m chair) has seriously
considered leaving the church. Some still are considering. Some want to close
the church to end the pain. The ache of inharmony and hurt feelings is too much
for most of us to bear. It makes me so sad. And lately, it’s making me angry. And honestly, I can’t tell you
the last time I’ve felt anger.
One of the dictums I live by is “stay clear of haters and joy
suckers.” But the question arises, what if those haters and joy suckers are
found in your church, and your church needs you in order to move forward? And you need
your church in order to move forward? What then?
The truth is, right now when I walk into my church for
services, and to lead the board, and to be the Sunday School superintendent,
and to be a good wife to my husband who also serves the church, when I walk in
on Sunday morning, I don’t feel holy, I feel sad, scared, despised, shamed, exhausted,
too tender. I have trouble holding my eyes up during the service. I feel that I’m
walking around without any skin on, and any barb or blade will hurt that much
more. I feel like my efforts to forgive those who hate me are spoons full of
water on a raging fire. Not enough. Never enough.
I know these things are going on in so many churches. It’s
why people are leaving in droves. It’s why attendance is down and why some people
profess hatred and distrust for organized religion. It’s why I hesitate posting
this at all. Will it become fodder for someone who needs church to deny
church? A friend recently asked me, “How can you serve in a place that’s so
painful to be in?” I said to her what I truly believe (though have trouble
holding to): “I believe that God doesn’t put me anywhere where I can’t shine
light.”
So, that’s my “currently”. That’s what’s consuming all of my
emotional energy. I'm spending as much of my time as possible trying to keep my thought right, my motives pure, and my prayer
hoard dry.
And someday, I’ll write a post from the other side.
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