A Tale of Two Churches

October 14, 2018

I am a Christian. This is important for me to say because my Christian upbringing and beliefs are the core of who I am.

But . . . I have had a complicated relationship with the church. So much so, that a few years ago, my mother asked me if I had lost faith in God. My initial response to her was that I hadn’t lost faith in God, but that I had recently become disillusioned and confused by people who claim to be Christian, yet their actions seem to embrace hate and judgment. In retrospect, I’m not sure this started “recently.” As I look back, it may have started much, much earlier.

My family has always gone to church. When I was in elementary school, my family attended one of the two Protestant churches in our small community. My earliest memories of that church are of sitting in the pews on Sunday mornings listening to the minister “loudly” denounce the evils of sin while proclaiming that the “Rapture” was near, and those that weren’t “saved” would be doomed to an eternity in Hell. When I say “loudly,” I’m talking about an octave just below screaming. If we were singing the last verse of the invitation hymn and no one had come forward to make a profession of faith or rededicate their life, the minister would implore us to keep “every head bowed, every eye closed,” while we sang “just one more verse of the hymn, Just As I Live.” But, it was never just one more verse; it was five or six or seven verses.

Every Sunday, I became more and more fearful that the Rapture was imminent, and that my sister and I would be left behind with no parents, no grandparents, no family. One Sunday when I was 10 years-old, I got out of my seat and walked to the alter to be saved and baptized. My younger sister made a profession of faith and was baptized not long after that.

Other than singing the song, Jesus Loves the Little Children in Sunday School, I don’t recall any sermons about love during that period of my life. What I do recall are the sermons about the sinfulness of women wearing make-up, shorts, and reading magazines. I heard sermons about how women should be subservient to their husbands. My young, attractive mother wore make-up and shorts and read magazines, and she wasn’t that subservient to my father! So, there was a disconnect to what I was hearing at church and what I was witnessing at home. I didn’t like church then, but at least, I relaxed somewhat after I was “saved.”

When I was in the 7th grade, the minister and several deacons in the church publicly complained about my dad who coached the high school boys basketball team. School rules at that time only allowed for the girls and boys basketball team members to travel on the team bus to the away basketball games. One of the players on my dad’s team was dating a young woman who was not on the girls team, and he wanted his girlfriend to ride the team bus. This young man was also a member of the church we attended, as was his girlfriend. The minister and deacons made very public derogatory comments about my dad because he wouldn’t change the rules for this player. This went on for several months. Finally, my parents decided that they could no longer attend a church where they did not feel welcome. For several months following that time, our family attended many different Protestant churches. We ultimately ended up joining the only other church in our community – a Cumberland Presbyterian church, that I attended until I got married.

My memories of my time at our Cumberland Presbyterian Church are vastly different from those at the other church. Dr. Charles McCaskey, who was the minister when we joined the church, talked about God’s love in his sermons. He didn’t chastise women for wearing make-up or shorts or reading magazines. His young, attractive wife also wore make-up and shorts. While I can’t definitively say that I ever saw her reading a magazine, I’m relatively confident that the McCaskey’s didn’t consider that sinful. Sunday School was fun. Church was enjoyable. The “call to invitation” actually ended when the hymn ended. In high school, my friends and I started a youth group and were allowed to occasionally conduct Sunday morning services. I have many warm and special memories of that time. However, those are the memories of a heterosexual who fit squarely in the Christian mold. I’m not sure my gay and lesbian friends could say the same. I’d like to think we would have been accepting of those who felt differently, but we weren’t talking about those things. It was the 1970s.

My youth and limited exposure to life outside of my hometown didn’t give me cause to question much in those days. Yet, when I did, my Sunday School teachers discouraged me from doing so, saying that I needed to have faith and not be a “doubting Thomas,” a reference to one of Jesus’ disciples who asked to see proof of Jesus’ wounds from hanging on the cross when learning about the resurrection. We learned a lot of Bible verses; some of them I can still quote. Many of these verses still give me comfort, but we rarely had in-depth discussions. We were just expected to believe without question.

Additionally, many of my friends attended churches that believed Christians have a responsibility to lead others to Jesus Christ, so they spent a significant amount of time “witnessing” to people they deemed to be non-believers. And, they thought I should do it, too. They accused me of being ashamed of Jesus if I didn’t try to “save the souls” of people who weren’t Christians. I wasn’t ashamed of Jesus; but I was (and still am to a certain extent) an introvert. Selling anything, including Jesus, does not come naturally to me. I wasn’t ashamed of Jesus, but I did feel shamed by my friends because I wasn’t aggressively trying to lead others to Christ.

During this time, I was aware that my paternal grandparents didn’t attend church. I knew that my grandfather had been a deacon in the church, but walked out one Sunday never to return. I’m sure that I heard the reason why at some point, but I don’t recall now. I’ve asked my sister, cousin and uncle, but their memories are as vague as mine. The one thing that we are clear on was that my grandfather became disillusioned with some aspect of the church. I wish I had talked to my grandfather about this, but I didn’t. Perhaps, that discussion could have provided insight when I had my own questions.

Nevertheless, I was emboldened by my faith and felt confident and self-assured when I entered college. I enrolled in a Religion class my first semester thinking it would be just like my Bible study back home, only better because I would get college credit for it! It turned out to be a class on the religions of the world. At that time, I didn’t have the religious humility, maturity or intellectual curiosity to stick it out, so I dropped the course – a decision I regret to this day.

During that same semester, I attended a church that was popular with my friends. The minister at that church was charismatic and a favorite of students. One Sunday, his sermon was about how he had gone to the college bars the previous Saturday night and “caught” some of the student members of the church in these bars “drinking.” He talked about how “sinful” and “hypocritical” they were because they “pretended” to be Christians, but engaged in sinful behavior when they weren’t in church. I didn’t go back to that church.

Although the public shaming and judgment handed down from the pulpit at that church my freshman year disgusted me, my faith remained the cornerstone of who I was. Throughout my adult years, marriage, motherhood, and a few moves, my family has attended church regularly. My belief in God has remained intact, but there were times during some of those years that it felt like I was just going through the motions. It was during those times that the derogatory remarks I heard Christians make about homosexuality really started to bother me. By then, I had friends who were “openly” gay and lesbian. I also had friends of different faiths, as well as a few non-believers. They are all good people doing amazing work.

In 1998, when my father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given only a few months to live, I was brought to my knees and thrust back into the life of my hometown church. The members of that church wrapped their collective arms around my family and didn’t let go until my mother, sister and I were strong enough to stand again. It wasn’t just the church members who took care of us, but a cadre of my parent’s friends who rallied around us. During the four months of my father’s illness, we were never alone. Every weekend, my sister and I arrived at our parent’s house to find someone sitting with my mom and dad. They brought food – including fruits and vegetables because my sister and I became vegetarians after my dad’s diagnosis. I don’t recall anyone ever asking what we needed – they just showed up and helped my mom. I’ve often said that time was the “worst of times and best of times.” I hated watching my father suffer and die, but I don’t know that I have ever felt more comforted, cared for, or loved.

However, as my view of the world and interaction with others who were different than me expanded, I continued to become more and more offended by insulting comments made by Christians. During this time, I also had people question my Christianity. At the same time, I was having thoughtful conversations with my Jewish, Buddhist, Muslim and Islamic friends, while watching them serve the disenfranchised – the very people Jesus said we should be serving.

Not long after I moved to Dallas, one of my colleagues suggested that I read The Shack, William Paul Young’s USA Today’s bestselling book. I loved it! I understand that it was a fictitious novel, but I thought the depiction of the Holy Trinity was comforting. Yet, many of my conservative evangelical friends complained that it was unbiblical (I repeat, it is fiction), and tried to shame me for reading it. Other reviews that I read from Christian writers went so far as to say it was heretical. This was just one more wedge between me and the fundamentalist Christians of my past.

When I moved to Dallas, I just didn’t make the effort to find and attend church, which is probably why my mother asked me if I had lost faith in God. I know my mother was worried about me. That year for Christmas, she gave my sister and me and our husbands The One-Year Bible, which includes four passages (one each from the Old and New Testaments, Psalms, and Proverbs) to be read every day. Now, I’ve memorized many verses from the Bible, and even read chapters from several of the books in the Bible. But, never had I read the entire Bible from start to finish.

Imagine my surprise when the saccharine Biblical stories of my youth took on new meaning when I read the Old Testament stories of vengeance, violence, genocide, rape, slavery, and men having multiple wives and concubines, which God condoned. Even the story of Noah’s Ark took on new meaning as I read about an angry vengeful God who destroyed the Earth in anger.

If my mother thought reading the Bible cover to cover would bring me closer to God, she was sadly mistaken. I understood then why we have wars over religion. If I wondered how Christians could excuse rape and sexual assault, I only had to look to the Bible for an explanation. The Bible of my youth, which had served as a playbook on how to display love and acceptance, had become a justification for the violence and hate plaguing humanity.

Couple this with the fact that I’ve watched evangelical leaders praise a man who has admittedly had extra-marital affairs on each of his three wives, bragged about sexual assault, and been embroiled in numerous illegal business activities because of a recurring theme in the Bible that God uses “flawed leaders.” Robert Jeffress, senior pastor at First Baptist Dallas and one of Trump’s evangelical advisers who preached the morning of his inauguration, has cited Romans 13, which he believes gives the government authority to “do whatever, whether it’s assassination, capital punishment or evil punishment to quell the actions of evildoers. He said that Romans 12, which says “do not repay evil for evil” is referring to Christians, not government. When a Christian writer asked Jeffress if wanted “the president to embody the Sermon on the Mount,” Jeffress said “absolutely not.”

In spite of this, and maybe because of the turmoil facing our nation, I found myself longing for the spiritual comfort of my youth. I wanted to believe in a safe, reassuring, and loving God; a supreme deity who loves me and all people regardless of our beliefs, gender preferences, races, ethnicity, etc. I was hurting, and I wanted to feel the comfort I felt when my father was dying, but I didn’t know whom to trust anymore. So I started searching – searching for answers to my questions, searching for explanations, and searching for a church.

What I found were other Christians with the same questions and resolve to keep plugging along to ensure a just world for all people. I found Jen Hatmaker, a Christian author, pastor, and blogger who has experienced the wrath of evangelical Christians when she said in an interview that she supported LGBT relationships. Jen and her husband, Brandon, left a comfortable lifestyle as pastors at a suburban megachurch to establish Austin New Church in south Austin. Austin New Church is focused on serving the under-resourced. In 2016 after the interview about LGBTQ, LifeWay, a large Christian retailer, pulled her books from their stores. She received death threats. Her children were harassed. Yes, you read that correctly – “Christians” were harassing her children and sending her family death threats because she chose to be loving and accepting of people who were different than her. She has said, “Being on the wrong side of the evangelical machine is terrifying and punitive.”

In Hatmaker’s book, For the Love, she talks about a post she had made on Facebook about the power of God’s love. In the post, she talked about the home they had built for a homeless person, and had raised more than $50,000 for children in Ethiopia. One of her followers had commented on her post, saying:

“So where’s the gospel, Jen? I’ve followed your blog and FB page for several months, and there is NO GOSPEL. I guess I’ve just “missed it.” You have a big following and should take that very seriously. You have a higher accountability and will answer for your influence.”

Huh????? Honestly, I probably know this person or someone like that. Hatmaker’s response in her book was, “This makes me want to pack my family and move to Sweden. Honestly, I love Jesus but sometimes his followers give me a migraine.” DITTO, Jen!

I found Rachel Held Evans, a Christian columnist, blogger and author, who wrote Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again. Evans notes that we can “bend Scriptures to say just about anything you want it to say.” She says:

“If you are looking for Bible verses to support slavery, you will find them. If you are looking for verses with which to abolish slavery, you will find them. If you are looking for verses with which to suppress women, you will find them. If you are looking for verses with which to honor and celebrate women, you will find them. If you are looking for reasons to wage war, there are plenty. If you are looking for reasons to promote peace, there are plenty more.

With Scripture, we’ve been entrusted with some of the most powerful stories ever told. How we harness that power, whether for good or evil, oppression or liberation, changes everything.”

And, I found a church where I feel more welcome than I’ve felt in many, many years. If there were a customer service award for churches, this one, filled with beautiful caring souls, would win hands down. I found this church somewhat by luck and somewhat by technology. On a Saturday morning in June of 2016 while I was walking on the Katy Trail, I passed a church that had caught my attention on previous walks. I liked the “looks” of this church; the exterior was quaint and traditional. It seemed peaceful nestled between several old trees. When I returned home, I immediately logged onto their website. Unfortunately, the first thing I saw on the website was that they didn’t agree with the Supreme Court’s decision acknowledging the constitutionality of same sex marriage. My first reaction was, “Crap, I can’t attend this church.”

I sat disillusioned for a few minutes, then I did what most people do in the 21st Century – I “Googled” churches near me. Ironically, the church that is closest to me is one that I actually saw when I arrived in Dallas to look for an apartment prior to my move in 2008. It is the church across the street from the old stately hotel where I stayed on that house-hunting trip. For various reasons, I had never attended the church, but on that Saturday morning in June when I clicked on the church’s website, the first thing I saw was “We welcome people of all ages, races, backgrounds, abilities, economic circumstances, sexual orientations, and gender identities into the life and leadership of our church. We commit to advocating for justice and full inclusion of all people in our congregation and in the community we serve." Now that spoke to me!

The next morning, I woke up at 7 a.m. I pulled a pillow over my head to block out the streaming sunlight and tried to go back to sleep. I stayed in bed for 10-15 minutes, but couldn’t go back to sleep. Finally, I sat up in bed, looked at the ceiling and said out loud, “God, are you trying to tell me something?”

I got up, got ready and went to church that morning. I have attended many churches in my life, but with the exception of the Cumberland Presbyterian Church in Ada where my family knew all the members when we joined, I have never felt more at home and among like-minded Christians than I did that first Sunday and ever since. These people seem to genuinely care about the parishioners as well as the people in the neighborhood. The first Sunday that I attended, I received not just your typical rote welcome, but people asked me questions about myself, and “news flash,” they actually listened to me.

Because of my travel schedule, I don’t get to attend church as often as I would like, but today I did. As the Benediction was read, I was reminded of how grateful I am to have found a church that I can believe in again.

May God bless you with discomfort

At easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships

So that you may live deep within your heart.

May God bless you with anger

At injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people,

So that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.

May God bless you with tears

To shed for those who suffer pain, rejection, hunger and war,

So that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and

To turn their pain into joy.

And may God bless you with enough foolishness

To believe that you can make a difference in the world,

So that you can do what others claim cannot be done

To bring justice and kindness to all our children and the poor.

Amen.

I don’t know why my grandfather left the church many years ago. But, I believe that church lost the talents of an honorable man whose day-to-day actions epitomized the teachings of Jesus every day that he walked this Earth. I remain grateful to my parents that when a church and it’s leaders let them down, they didn’t give up on faith and searched until they found a church that welcomed us.

My favorite Bible verse from my youth was Matthew 6:33 – But, seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be given to you. Forty plus years after I memorized that verse, the kingdom of God may look a little different to me. My views have changed somewhat and are now more inclusive rather than exclusive. But, I still believe in a benevolent God. I believe because I felt love when my father was ill and dying. I have felt love from many friends of different beliefs during difficult and trying times. I have witnessed other Christians brave the wrath of the “evangelical machine” and speak out against injustice. I still believe because I found a church that welcomes the poor, the underserved, the LBGTQ, the transgender, the homeless, and me. And when my schedule allows, you’ll find me at a church on the corner of Oak Lawn and Cedar Springs.