Skip to main content

But there was dinner at an Italian restaurant afterward, and tiramisu


Church of God  

     Not this one, either.

               I don’t even want to go into the reasons—it was a perfectly lovely church, with nothing specifically wrong with anything in the service. I disagreed with one thing in the sermon—one little sentence in an otherwise well-done message—but that wouldn’t be a deal-breaker. I don’t expect a perfect church. The church I’d gone to for over 40 years wasn’t perfect, but I loved it.
               I’m quite frustrated and sad, and I’m thinking that it’s my own spiritual brokenness that’s keeping me from feeling comfortable in any of the churches we’ve visited. My current spiritual languages are doubt and rebellion, and Sunday morning church services aren’t conducted in those tongues, so that I feel as if I’m attending services in a country where the language is only somewhat familiar to me.
               Next week, we’ll be vacationing with friends, and the following week, we’re trying a church that will be way outside our comfort zone. Not to mention outside our actual physical zone—it’s 45 minutes away. Inasmuch as I have hope for anything in this ever-more-tedious process, I have hope for this next one.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Stuff that doesn't go anywhere else, and some hyperbole.

Now that I’m caught up with Sunday visits, I think I’ll try to post some midweek thoughts about churches in general, The Church, my own ridiculousness, and anything else that seems relevant. Some of it might be serious, but mostly not.  It’s good to write again, even for an audience of ten. You know how places like classrooms and meeting rooms and churches have unwritten but rigid seating charts? That’s another anxiety of mine— am I sitting in someone’s seat? One Sunday, I was quite sure we were doing just that. They stopped, they stared, they looked around, puzzled. What is happening to my WORLD? they seemed to think. They stumbled blindly to another seat, disoriented, and sang all the songs half a beat late. Sorry, people who usually sit there. A friend wrote this comment on a satirical link I posted about introverts in church : Have you seen the new blog by the Berrien County Ministerial Alliance? Yeah, every week a different minister/preacher/pastor posts about ...

Baptist Roots (but not deep ones)

Little Baptist me Ben and I married in 1975, when he was 23 and I was just a few days past my 20 th birthday. We’d both been raised Baptist—not the super-conservative independent Baptists, nor even the very conservative Southern Baptists, but American Baptist, the most mainline protestant Baptist (but still pretty conservative, for all that). Only two generations before us, Baptists weren’t allowed to play with cards or dice, to go to movies, to dance, to drink alcohol. That was gradually loosening up by the time we married, but both of us would still have considered ourselves conservative, evangelical Christians at that time.             I’ll say right off, though, that even as a very young woman, I had a bit of a rebellious streak, and I wasn’t as Baptist as my upbringing. In college, I became involved with a church that was part of the hippie-ish charismatic movement that was blooming in the 70s. The church was different...

That peculiar smell some old churches have

* Since last week's posting with my wish list for a new church, I've heard from someone who occasionally cleans in her own church building. She reports that recently she found a pile of fingernail clippings in the sanctuary. I never thought I'd have to say this, but I'm adding this to the list: it's important that my future church be fingernail clipping-free. June 17 Presbyterian (USA)             We chose this church because the denomination is on my list, and because Ben was somewhat familiar with the church, as it’s the meeting place for his weekly counseling session for men with domestic abuse issues (he’s a counselor, not a counselee).             When we entered the stone-and-brick building, I noticed that peculiar smell some old churches have. I think it’s composed of velour pew cushions, mildewed plaster, and old peoples’ sloughed-off skin cells. And old peop...