As many people are aware, the church denomination I belong to (Methodist) is in the middle of a split that, frankly, has been coming for years. As the United Methodist Church moves (slowly, oh so slowly) towards full inclusion of LGBT+ people, a number of churches have decided to leave. Some are forming a new denomination, the Global Methodist Church, while some are joining other existing denominations, or striking out on their own. It’s been a long, arduous, and often ugly process.
For this reason, and several others, I am occasionally asked: why go? Why would someone who believes in working to forward the causes of peace and justice, who wants to do something to help those on the margins, who hopes to treat people with compassion and care – why on earth would such a person affiliate himself with a church, of all things?
The question is a fair one. More often than not, the image presented by Christians to the world is diametrically opposed to that of Jesus of Nazareth. We are seen as hidebound, dogmatic, and judgmental, performing all manner of aggression as we squeeze people in an ever-tightening fist of orthodoxy.
It has gotten so that, to some people, I sometimes hesitate to identify myself as a Christian, knowing that the person in front of me has been hurt, even abused, by others who also made that claim. It seems that almost every week, we hear about new abuses, new atrocities, done by a person or people who identified themselves as “one of the good guys.” I sometimes tell people that it’s like being a Jedi, if there were a lot more Sith, and they also called themselves Jedi. (Apologies to those of you who aren’t nerds like me.)
So why do I still go to church? Occasionally I ask myself the same question. The shortest answer is that I’m married to a minister, and it’d look kind of funny if I didn’t. But that’s not the main reason, or even one of the main reasons – those of you who know me best know that “looking kind of funny” is barely enough to raise my pulse.
Let me say before I begin that I think churches are like families – some are wonderful and supportive, some are heartbreakingly toxic, some are a combination, none are perfect, and all can be made better. If the personal cost of sticking with a particular church is simply too much – if it is a barrier to your faith rather than a support system for it, in other words – please, don’t feel you have to stay. The only thing I would suggest is that you consider finding another one that works for you, rather than giving it up completely. The bathwater can get incredibly filthy, but I think the baby is still a pretty good-looking kid!
My reasons for going, like my reasons for believing in God and choosing to follow the teachings of Jesus, are my own. They may not work for you, and they don’t have to. I’m not trying to make you go anywhere or believe anything. I don’t think there’s anything in particular you can get inside a church building that you can’t also get somewhere else. At most, if you’re a church person who’s tired, I hope that perhaps some of my reasons will remind you of some of yours. Here goes:
- It keeps me learning and asking questions.
It’s possible for me to study faith matters on my own, but to really think about things in a new way, I often need the perspective of someone else. When I’m at a church that works, my faith is engaged, expanded, and yes, challenged to grow. I don’t have a lot of use for self-congratulation or cheerleading, but I love a hard question. When church is working, I get at least one new hard question a week. I don’t think having the answers is necessary or even important – what matters is that we keep asking good questions.
- It’s a good place to find others like me.
One of the things that I think makes us weary is the feeling that we are alone, trying to do the right thing in a world that doesn’t seem to care. What I’ve found is that the church is still full of people who do care, and who are ready to try to change what we can. My job is to find those people, share support and hope, and when necessary, conspire with them.
- They might vote on something.
From time to time, the church makes decisions that require the input of its members. If I’m there, I can give voice to points of view that might otherwise be stifled. I might be able to stir others to think about things in a new way. I might only be able to let some others know that they are not alone. At the very least, I can make sure that the vote isn’t always unanimous.
- The church is worth saving.
Understand, I’m not suggesting that I think of myself as some benevolent saint or prophet, sent here to purify the church and cleanse mere mortals of their transgressions. (If I ever had such a lofty view of myself, a quick look in the mirror would cure me.) All I’m saying is that the church, at its best, can do (and has done) wonderful things. I don’t mean building cathedrals or commissioning beautiful music – those things are nice, but they’re advertising – I wouldn’t consider them altruistic. The wonderful things I mean are those missions, those social services that help people on the margins. I mean those things that help people not because of what we want them to believe, but because by helping, we are living out what we believe. At its best, the church can be an incredible force for good, and I want to help if I can.
- I can be that one person.
Sometimes, people are at church who aren’t “all in,” for whatever reason. It may be a young person who has been dragged there by well-meaning family members. It may be someone who is giving church “one last chance.” It may be someone who is facing struggles I’ll never know, who is disillusioned, frustrated, or even in despair about what the church sometimes does and is. I can look for those people, and welcome them. I may not be enough on my own, but one is so much better than none.
- It’s a good place to use my privilege.
I’m a straight, white, educated, male Christian who speaks English and lives in America. I’m the world’s jerk, in other words. Although I don’t feel like I personally have a whole lot of it, the world’s wealth and power is overwhelmingly concentrated in the hands of people who look like me. It’s not fair, and it’s discouraging to think about how unfair it is. The only way I can feel better about it is this: because of who and what I am, I get a seat at a whole lot of tables. Certain people will listen to me when they might not listen to someone else. I can give voice to ideas, and in some contexts, my privilege gives them weight. Again, it’s not right, but this is the only way I can think of to try to make it right. If I am unfairly inside the house, and others are unfairly out in the cold, then the only moral thing for me to do is to exploit my position to open the door – and keep it open.
- God still shows up.
This is something that happens all the time! In spite of the failings of people, the work of the gracious and loving God in which I believe still occurs. When it does, it’s a pretty awesome thing, and it keeps me encouraged. I like being there to see it when it happens. It’s also important for me to remember that the people who disagree with me aren’t simply “them” – and by knowing them and seeing them as faithful people (and inviting them to see me in the same way, of course), the way remains open for real dialogue. If it’s ever going to happen, it will be in a place where we’re not shouting.
You will notice that none of my reasons for going are based on fear of what God will do to me if I don’t show up. The God I believe in is one of relationship and transformation – not of perfect attendance. Personally, I don’t believe in a God who loves me, but will punish me with relentless torture for all eternity if I don’t spend my life adhering to a narrow set of parameters – that’s what a psychopath does. I also don’t believe that I have to go manipulate lots of people into saying the magic words so that there can be more people in the building next Sunday – that’s a pyramid scheme.
What I do believe is that if you’re a person who believes in compassion and care, and that those things are stronger than exclusion and prejudice – if you have chosen the life and ministry of Jesus as an example of those ideas put into words and practice – then the church (any church) desperately needs you. The church is dented, it’s bent, and in a lot of places, it’s broken, but I keep going because I want to try to help fix it.
Robert Dittrich, Author & Educator. 