(Synchroblog) Letting Go of a Church-centered Me

A profound spiritual encounter with God at the tender age of 18 derailed the train of self-destruction I was on. Jesus helped me disembark and with the wisdom and power of the Holy Ghost I have managed to stay out of that train yard for good.

Instead, I hung out in churchyards. From the get-go, I loved this thing called church. Each Sunday was like a party. People from all walks of life gathering together to sing songs, hear a sermon, pray and cry and laugh together. Sometimes there were potlucks. Along the way, though, somewhere in adulthood when I realized church is not a party but is  an expression of a higher kingdom, a different way of doing life together, and thus, people are needed to serve and use their gifts to keep the kingdom of church going, this is when I shifted into living a church-centered life.

I evolved into a super-volunteer. I was at everything. At one time I was teaching Sunday school, leading a missions program for kids, on the prayer team and I attended a Bible class on Sunday mornings as well as typically attended three services a week. I kept this kind of pace up for years, thinking it was how it's supposed to be. I felt pangs of tension along the way, though. When I slowed down long enough for the dust of my chaotic church schedule to settle I'd hear the faint voice of my real self buried under the rubble of over-extending-myself saying, "This ain't right. You've created an insulated church life for yourself. Break out."   But the voice was so little that it was unable to get my attention.

But then, one fine Portland morning when the rain was falling as pretty as the grey clouds cried from the sky, I had one some would call an epiphany.  I had sat down to pray, and Lord knows I was a workhorse of a prayer warrior on top of everything else, when I felt the overwhelming presence of the Creator Lifeforce whom I know as God hush me right down with a startling single sentence : unplug from every ministry you are in.

I began to cry like the rain clouds outside my window as the voice of Love exposed my wretched overworked soul. Oh how hard I was trying to achieve worth through spiritual service and gain people's favor through churhc volunteerism. I was desperate to belong, but without a sense of self-acceptance I could not trust that anyone, God or the family of God, could accept me for Me. I had to work my way into that acceptance, and ohmyfuckinggod, I was wearing myself and neglecting my children along the way.

I trusted that small but big voice that visited me that day. I began to unravel my ministry obligations. And then, I sat. I just sat, like a second-string right fielder sitting the game out in the dugout. I sat. And as I sat with my unscarred calendar hanging in the kitchen and my voicemail box empty and lonely, life unfurled within my perishing soul. I was in the wilderness, and wild as she may be, there is a beauty there that can't be found unless you leave the hustle of the crowded city and head deep into it.

That was more than five years ago. I have discovered new canyons and mesas of wilderness wisdom on this spiritual trek. I learned that I actually do have an anchoredness in the love of God. We are good. But what is lacking is trust and security with the people of God. I still have a bent inside of me to prove myself lovable and likeable. I want to show you how cool I am so you'll be my friend. This surfaced again in my life not too long ago. My family and I are now part of an irreverent, irreligious faith community of fierce no-bullshit-allowed sisters and brothers, and even in this freeing space of life, I managed to once again move in a spirit of codependent neediness for love and approval. Once again the spirit of epiphany rescued me and once again, I am relegated back to the dugout which is just fine with me. I am blackdog determined to let the people of God prove that I am a woman loved even if I never do a damn thing to pitch in and help with whatever church chores that are begging for volunteers. I am capable, oh-so-capable, but my capability will ruin me like that first drink a recovering alcoholic takes. I have to say no and recover from my churchalholicism.

It's liberating and unsettling. I suppose there might always be a bit of a limp in me to veer into unhealthy service mode. But I've thrown the crutches of churchcentered living down into a gulley somewhere in the wild. I'll stay on my wilderness sojourn knowing that I'm in fine company with other sun-kissed women and men who will enjoy my company without needing me to do anything for them.  This is life unfurled on the inside and out.

**My friend Craig Spinks of Recycle Your Faith has posted a clip of me riffing about this very thing. You can view it HERE

***This blog post is a part of the Synchroblog,

Synchroblog is a home-grown group of bloggers who like to write on topics of post-modern faith & life and have the chance to interact and intersect with other bloggers considering the same topics.   This group is open to anyone who is interested in being part.  We value respectful conversation and dialogue and honor our differences.We share links & try to learn from each other.

This month's topic at Synchroblog is Life Unfurling. To find other posts in this month's syncroblog or to jump in yourself, just go HERE and you'll find both including a submission from my friend Kathy Escobar who writes about Letting God Off the Hook.