I went to church last weekend.
If you've been following my journey at all, you know this is a pretty big deal. I've tried to go to church back here in California a couple times since being back, and since my really bad church break up, a break up where I was madly in love and the other party seemed so apathetic and indifferent to my pain and departure that it wrung my heart out...
And my previous attempts at attendance didn't go well. I felt kind of nervous driving to the churches, but I thought, eh, it'd probably be fine. I've been to hundreds of church services before, so even if I wasn't feeling it, I could just phone it in, right? Turns out, not so much. I'd get within about 100 feet of the doors and I'd start to panic. Heart racing, knots in my stomach, PAIN. When I tried this past December I involuntarily started muttering "I hate churches, I hate Christians, I hate churches, I hate Christians, I HATE CHURCHES..." under my breath as I walked up the stairs into the builidng. Charming, I know. I'm not proud of it, but that's what happened. I felt like I was going to throw up and was shaking. It was actually like some sort of PTSD. I'd manage to sit through a portion of a service, generally with tears streaming down my face, and then I'd get as far as I could as fast as possible so I could breathe, and then cry some more. So yeah-- project Get Jazz Back In A Church wasn't exactly inspiringly successful at first!
But I went to church last weekend.
I miss communal worship. I miss growing and learning in that setting. I have many critiques of the mainstream notion of churches as buildings and pastors and brands, but I also have experienced firsthand the growth and goodness that can come out of them. When you're burned down to embers, the best thing you can do is be around others who can warm you with their own fires and fan your flames, and while I still talk to God, I miss community and I miss the walls of my heart being soft to Christians. So I tried again. I went by myself this time, didn't meet anyone I know. I actually went to another campus of the church I had the break up with. I didn't know anyone there. It's about a 10th of the size of the church I attended before, and I was intentionally late to avoid meeting and greeting. I stood in the back, cautiously, listening, waiting for worship. The pastor sounded laid-back and genuine... I was doing okay. Pacing a little bit, but overall decently at peace. Okay, progress. When the lights dimmed, I made my way to a folding chair in an empty row near the front. A girl I know who clearly has an anointing to lead worship approached the mic with her guitar and I bowed my head, and soaked it in. There is something sacred about this space, about taking time to intentionally come and meet with the Divine in a room of others who are doing the same, and my heart drank it in, thirsty for it.
After a song or two the pastor came back up and said we were going to use a technique used in pre-marital counseling in our relationship with God: he encouraged us to practice actively listening, to hear what's being spoken to us and repeat back what we think we're hearing for clarity. Okay. I was down. I wondered what God might say before I quieted my thoughts...
"You know you haven't been loving Me the way that you should."
"Where have you been?"
"'Bout time."
but as I let go of my conscious thoughts and waited for that familiar voice that I hadn't heard in too long, the clear and simple message I received surprised me:
"I loved you already."
What?
"I loved you before you came in here. I loved you last Sunday and yesterday and when you were muttering about people sucking. I'm happy you're listening, but I want you to know that I already loved you fully, and that won't change. "
I finally sat in a church without panicking, and God wanted me to know that was nice and all, but far more importantly: God loved me already.
And I knew this, I suppose, at an intellectual level. That agrees with my theology. But I walked into that church carrying not only pain, but also guilt, and also shame. I walked in with a part of my heart believing that maybe God wasn't as crazy in love with me right now, because I wasn't feeling the Spirit stirring my soul on a daily basis, wasn't prophisying or interceding or seeing the world aglow with God's love like I have before, wasn't really doing much at all to nurture my relationship with Jesus. So maybe if you would have asked I would have said that yes, God loves me, and yes, I am the Beloved... but I walked in with shame. And I don't think God is a big proponent of shame. God loved me so deeply and wildly and wholly already and wanted to flood my heart with the reality of it. Like a wayward daughter I approached my Parent with arms folded across my chest in protection and head hung down... and waiting for a verbal slap before I was allowed back home because "I mean you'll always be my child even when I'm disappointed in you or whatever" or something, God lifted my chin and looked me straight in the face with everything good flowing out of those eyes, and told me He/She loved me already. Jesus and the Holy Spirit stood behind God, smiling and nodding in agreement.
Going to church was good for me for many reasons, and an important step in continuing to grow and heal... but those words were hands-down the most important part. And I guess if you're wandering or angry or hurt or confused and you're wandering in the proverbial woods like I was/still am, whether or not you're interested in finding you're way out yet, you are loved already. I am loved already.
We are
Passionately,
Wholly,
Wildly,
Tenderly,
Perfectly
Loved...
already and still.
If you've been following my journey at all, you know this is a pretty big deal. I've tried to go to church back here in California a couple times since being back, and since my really bad church break up, a break up where I was madly in love and the other party seemed so apathetic and indifferent to my pain and departure that it wrung my heart out...
And my previous attempts at attendance didn't go well. I felt kind of nervous driving to the churches, but I thought, eh, it'd probably be fine. I've been to hundreds of church services before, so even if I wasn't feeling it, I could just phone it in, right? Turns out, not so much. I'd get within about 100 feet of the doors and I'd start to panic. Heart racing, knots in my stomach, PAIN. When I tried this past December I involuntarily started muttering "I hate churches, I hate Christians, I hate churches, I hate Christians, I HATE CHURCHES..." under my breath as I walked up the stairs into the builidng. Charming, I know. I'm not proud of it, but that's what happened. I felt like I was going to throw up and was shaking. It was actually like some sort of PTSD. I'd manage to sit through a portion of a service, generally with tears streaming down my face, and then I'd get as far as I could as fast as possible so I could breathe, and then cry some more. So yeah-- project Get Jazz Back In A Church wasn't exactly inspiringly successful at first!
But I went to church last weekend.
I miss communal worship. I miss growing and learning in that setting. I have many critiques of the mainstream notion of churches as buildings and pastors and brands, but I also have experienced firsthand the growth and goodness that can come out of them. When you're burned down to embers, the best thing you can do is be around others who can warm you with their own fires and fan your flames, and while I still talk to God, I miss community and I miss the walls of my heart being soft to Christians. So I tried again. I went by myself this time, didn't meet anyone I know. I actually went to another campus of the church I had the break up with. I didn't know anyone there. It's about a 10th of the size of the church I attended before, and I was intentionally late to avoid meeting and greeting. I stood in the back, cautiously, listening, waiting for worship. The pastor sounded laid-back and genuine... I was doing okay. Pacing a little bit, but overall decently at peace. Okay, progress. When the lights dimmed, I made my way to a folding chair in an empty row near the front. A girl I know who clearly has an anointing to lead worship approached the mic with her guitar and I bowed my head, and soaked it in. There is something sacred about this space, about taking time to intentionally come and meet with the Divine in a room of others who are doing the same, and my heart drank it in, thirsty for it.
After a song or two the pastor came back up and said we were going to use a technique used in pre-marital counseling in our relationship with God: he encouraged us to practice actively listening, to hear what's being spoken to us and repeat back what we think we're hearing for clarity. Okay. I was down. I wondered what God might say before I quieted my thoughts...
"You know you haven't been loving Me the way that you should."
"Where have you been?"
"'Bout time."
but as I let go of my conscious thoughts and waited for that familiar voice that I hadn't heard in too long, the clear and simple message I received surprised me:
"I loved you already."
What?
"I loved you before you came in here. I loved you last Sunday and yesterday and when you were muttering about people sucking. I'm happy you're listening, but I want you to know that I already loved you fully, and that won't change. "
I finally sat in a church without panicking, and God wanted me to know that was nice and all, but far more importantly: God loved me already.
And I knew this, I suppose, at an intellectual level. That agrees with my theology. But I walked into that church carrying not only pain, but also guilt, and also shame. I walked in with a part of my heart believing that maybe God wasn't as crazy in love with me right now, because I wasn't feeling the Spirit stirring my soul on a daily basis, wasn't prophisying or interceding or seeing the world aglow with God's love like I have before, wasn't really doing much at all to nurture my relationship with Jesus. So maybe if you would have asked I would have said that yes, God loves me, and yes, I am the Beloved... but I walked in with shame. And I don't think God is a big proponent of shame. God loved me so deeply and wildly and wholly already and wanted to flood my heart with the reality of it. Like a wayward daughter I approached my Parent with arms folded across my chest in protection and head hung down... and waiting for a verbal slap before I was allowed back home because "I mean you'll always be my child even when I'm disappointed in you or whatever" or something, God lifted my chin and looked me straight in the face with everything good flowing out of those eyes, and told me He/She loved me already. Jesus and the Holy Spirit stood behind God, smiling and nodding in agreement.
Going to church was good for me for many reasons, and an important step in continuing to grow and heal... but those words were hands-down the most important part. And I guess if you're wandering or angry or hurt or confused and you're wandering in the proverbial woods like I was/still am, whether or not you're interested in finding you're way out yet, you are loved already. I am loved already.
We are
Passionately,
Wholly,
Wildly,
Tenderly,
Perfectly
Loved...
already and still.
Wish you could just blog all this on Facebook so you could see how many adore your writing!!! Blogger makes commenting ridiculously difficult
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