I haven’t listened to a sermon in months.
My younger self – from even just a few years ago – would be flabbergasted by this. I was in church for years. I loved church; I threw my whole self into it. The music, the scriptures, the sermons: all of it brought me so much comfort, joy, hope, peace.
Now, any time I think of listening to a sermon, I feel myself flinch. I brace for the worst.
My previous church shut down earlier this year. I had fully intended for that to be my forever church. I felt safe there. I felt loved. I never even went in person (due to distance, the pandemic, not driving for health reasons, etc.) but it felt like home.
I don’t know if, or when, I’ll go to church again. After so many past churches leaving me feeling wounded and traumatized, then the safest & most loving church I’d ever been in shutting down, it’s left me feeling awful.
I know that any church I become involved in needs to: be LGBTQ+ affirming; be anti-racist; actively care for the poor; welcome immigrants and refugees; be accessible; and in as many ways as possible with the resources it has, actively & tangibly care for marginalized & oppressed & vulnerable people as much as it can.
I’ve had a church in mind for awhile that I think would fit the bill. But I have yet to listen to a sermon from there.
Listening to any sermon – even from my previous church – hurts so deeply right now, on a level I can’t explain.
It almost feels like having gone through several break-ups with less-than-great relationships, then finally finding a perfect fit for me and watching it/them die. (I’ve been single my whole life so maybe this is a bad analogy but it’s the best one I can think of.)
How do you recover from that? How do you heal from that? Do the grief and trauma ever go away?
I don’t know the answers to these. (And they’re mostly rhetorical questions, so don’t feel like you need to provide answers to them either.)
In all of this, whether or not I ever set foot in a church again: I believe with all my heart that God is good and loving. I believe God is safe. I believe God cares for our trauma and pain and grief. I don’t believe God would want me in a church that would damage me further. And I believe God meets me where I am.
So, will I ever be back in a church again?
I can honestly say I hope so, and I think I will be eventually, but it’s clear to me that it will still take some time. Now is not the right time for me. And that’s okay.
And it’s also okay if I’m never ready, if I never am part of a church again.
I’m grateful that 3 years ago, in November/December of 2019, I found Collective Church in Roanoke, TX and started listening to their sermons online. A lot of healing happened. A lot of life was given. Every sermon ended with “Grace and peace be with you” (from the pastor) “and also with you” (from the congregation). And that was a balm for my soul – grace and peace. It was simple, calm, comforting. It was what I needed at the time.
And while the pastor stepping down and later on, the church shutting down, has been absolutely devastating to me, I don’t regret the sermons I listened to and the relationships I gained. As was often said in this church, “you can’t have a resurrection until you have a death.”
For me, I don’t know what resurrection will look like. I have hope that eventually, my metaphorical Sunday will come.
But for now, I’m in the middle of Friday/Saturday. With grief, trauma, pain, loss all affecting me deeply.
I still have joy. I still have hope. My life certainly isn’t all bad or horrible – and I don’t want it to seem that way.
But I also don’t see Sunday coming any time soon.
And so I grieve, and God grieves with me. I ache, and God aches with me. I yearn for the love, connection, hope, joy, life, peace, grace, comfort, etc. that Collective Church brought to me – and God is in the yearning with me.
I believe God suffers and struggles with us. God isn’t impatient with our tears or our fears, but lovingly sits with us, holding us, not saying “it’s okay” to stop our emotions but gently reminding us that the Divine is with us no matter what. That all our emotions are allowed and welcomed and acknowledged.
KJ Ramsey has written, “Sadness is the soul’s way of saying ‘this mattered’.”
This church mattered. The sermons and the songs and the scriptures and the relationships which were so healing and life-giving to me – they all mattered.
So as I sit here with tears in my eyes on a Saturday night, knowing I won’t be listening to a sermon tomorrow – just like I haven’t listened to any sermons in months – I remember that my sadness shows that all of this mattered.
And not only that, but that I matter.
God is with me where I am at, and so I continue going forward each day, each hour, each moment – and I remind myself that finding a good, safe, loving church home isn’t a guarantee. But that God being with me is a guarantee. God is with those who mourn, those who weep, those who are longing, those who are alone, those who are hurting, those who are betrayed, those who are lost, those who are scared – God is on the margins with the vulnerable. And so in this time when I am vulnerable, I am reminded God is here.
Especially as we approach Christmas and remember that Joseph, Mary, and Jesus were vulnerable – I am reminded that Jesus’ earthly parents were vulnerable. I am reminded that even the Son of God was vulnerable.
So maybe, just maybe, it’s okay if I’m vulnerable too.
Through Her Eyes 