A Beginning

Here is an article I wrote intended for a Christian Magazine. Whether or not it gets published, my hope is that God teaches me some things about church over the coming weeks and months, specifically my place within the church.

Church Observer

Every few months I ditch my regular church and drop in to visit this other slighter cooler church here in Orlando. It’s hard to describe what exactly draws me back, since I feel a bit like a Martian when I go. The thing is, the crowd at this church is very hip, with lots of young, Indie-rock type people populating the seats, though I did spot clusters of older folks here and there. (‘Older’ being anyone over forty, in this case.) And while I would like to describe myself as “hip,” I really can’t in good conscience. Still, being around people who are hip isn’t bad. It’s just that I watch them from a distance, even when they sit down right next to me.

The head pastor there is virtually impossible not to like. He’s a young, gifted speaker and he has a relaxed, conversational sense of humor. More importantly, he’s relevant and poignant. I always look forward to his sermons.

But as I sat there enjoying his poignant, relevant sermon, I was interrupted by this terribly unnerving thought; church doesn’t actually matter to me. Indie-rock church, and the church I “regularly” attend, and even the Church at large; they don’t matter to me, at least not really. It’s not that I dislike church, or even church people. I like them fine. But they’re not a significant part of my life. It’s clear to me as I write this that church has become just something I do two or three times a month, like working out, or watching American Idol.

To shed some light on myself; I love Jesus, and while I fail frequently in my pursuit of God, I genuinely care about my relationship with my Lord and Savior. So while I don’t mean to be melodramatic, as a Christian to suddenly discover this, it’s like stepping out of the shower and looking in the mirror and noticing that I have a giant, fist-sized hole in my chest. “Crap. How long has that been there?” The two are equally absurd. Because how could I not know? How could I be oblivious to my alienation from the Church, the assembly of God’s people, the gathering Body of Christ? I mean, I’m part of that body. Don’t get me wrong, most of my closest friends are Christians, people I live with, laugh and cry with, sing and pray with, and share many of life’s most important moments with. But even though I receive strength and encouragement from these people, there is still an enormous void in my life which I believe comes from my disconnection with the larger church.

It’s embarrassing to admit (and perhaps even mildly creepy), but if I’m being honest, I would say that probably 50% of my motivation for going this morning stemmed from my knowledge that Indie-rock church is attended by an alarming number of attractive women. But church isn’t some kind of virtuous pseudo-single’s bar, is it? (Rhetorical.) It’s where Christians go for fellowship, yes, but also spiritual leadership, moral guidance and conviction, and also where they can plug in to the larger Christian community around the world. And it’s missing from my life.

So what now? Because if you realize that you have a hole in your chest, you have to do something, right? So maybe I’ll go back to my old church and actually make an effort to get involved. Or maybe I’ll make a fresh start somewhere else like Indie-rock church.

I honestly don’t know. When I think about it, I’m not sure I’ve ever truly been “plugged in” at a church, but that has to change. It feels like the beginning of a journey, and I’m scared. Scared of committing. Scared of having to give of myself, and scared that I might not have much to give. I pray that God helps me figure some of this out, but in order for that to happen, I’ve got to do more than “drop by” on Sundays. It’s time to get involved.