Church

I'm getting ready to head out to church this morning for the first time in, I think, about two months.  I have listened to the sermons online or on the radio each week, but I haven't been able to go.  In part, my reluctance has been because I hate sitting there alone, and in part it's because I have had some crises of faith over the last six months.

The being alone part...well...when I was growing up, even if my dad had been out playing with the band the night before and reeked of cigarette smoke and booze, even if his eyes were blood shot and he hadn't had more than three hours of sleep, my mom hauled his ass out of bed and made him go to church with us. It was a family affair.  And the two churches we went to in Salina--First Christian and Belmont--were both the churches my grandparents went to, Grandma Olive (dad's mom) to the former, Nanny and Grandad (mom's folks) to the latter.  So, I associate church with family.

Or, when we moved and went to Falun Lutheran, it was for family but also for me.  I loved the husband and wife pastors there, her sermons were always relevant and made me think God was listening to and watching me.  I knew when I was there in that small country church that I wasn't alone.

But, in this big building, I feel alone a lot of the time.  I don't know many of my fellow congregants, and I joined by myself a few months after my divorce became final last year because I knew I needed a place to feel safe and I knew I needed to be in a space each week where God and I could find each other more readily than we do in the car, in the shower, in my classroom, at the grocery store (all places I pray).

My crises of faith over the last few months left me breathless.  I kept wondering how I could feel God so strongly and then events that I thought He had set in motion could fall so wildly apart.  Now I see that all the falling apart was steps along the road to His plan and I have to trust Him completely if I am to navigate the world in any meaningful way.

So, today, to church I go.  I'm announcing our fall play, The Laramie Project, and asking the congregation to support this message of hope in a difficult time.  It occurs to me that while I'm doing so, I'm also asking God to give me back my hope, to see me through the rest of my life, to help me practice love in the face of moments and obstacles that threaten to break me.

As long as I have faith, as long as I believe, I know I will be okay.

There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because He first loved us. (1 John 4:18-19)