Kind People in Red Shirts

We recently started going back to church, after many many logical, sensible, well-thought-out reasons excuses kept us away for many months. I really love this church. And I've realized that it's not because of the great music or the pretty campus or even the inspiring messages. It's not because I leave feeling all warm and fuzzy every Sunday. All that is nice and everything, but it's really of little importance how it makes me feel. The reason I love it is that it's full of people who, by and large, are committed to going out and BEING the church... people who are kind and giving and have servant hearts. Not just on Sundays, not just because they feel like they have to, but because they want to.

This past Saturday, we joined a group of other members from our neighborhood for a service project. Our assignment was to clean out a large planter at the local elementary school, to get it ready for a future sustainable work of art. The kids were very excited to be able to do their part to help, and all six of us were warmly welcomed by the group (none of whom we'd met before) when we got started.

Ironically, shortly into our morning of service, we were the ones getting served. We'd only been there for around half and hour when Spencer misjudged a step, lost his footing and fell from the side of the planter, scraping his legs in the process. At first he answered with a quick affirmative to all the concerned "Are you okay?"s, but eventually accepted an offer to at least sit and get some cool water on his scrapes. As the adrenaline - and the 100+ degree heat - started catching up with him, he grew paler and paler.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked, which garnered the attention of another kind samaritan from the group. He took one look at Spencer's face, which was still losing color, and said we needed to get him inside under some air conditioning. He helped us inside the school, holding cold bottled water against his neck. (He explained as we went that holding it on the carotid artery would cool the body. Later on, Spencer told me that he enjoyed that bit of information, as he is very familiar with the term from watching all his medical shows)

He stood and chatted with us inside the school's office, while Spencer sipped cold water and tried to cool off. He was starting to look a little green, and finally admitted he was feeling nauseous and light-headed. Our rescuer disappeared then, and returned about 30 seconds later with a big dripping wet something that he draped around Spencer's head and neck (which helped almost instantly.) The man had literally taken the shirt off his back and soaked it in cold water to come to the aid of an overheated kid he'd just met. And all I could do was say thank you.

Thank you kind man for making sure my son did not pass out. Thank you half a dozen people who asked, more than once, if he was feeling better.

Thank you for the friendly conversation, and for treating our kids like the interesting, unique people that they are.

Thank you stranger who let my 3 and 7 year old help paint the Arizona map, and made them feel special and important, and didn't once complain about drips or unevenness.

Thank you red shirted people, for welcoming us into your fold, helping us serve the community, and helping each other serve US. Thank you for your unexpected ability, in the short span of two hours, to completely restore my faith in humanity.



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Thou Shalt Not Do Yoga

I have a long, complicated history with church. I think the last time I blogged about church, I was at something of a crossroad. We were not going to church regularly, I had concerns about judgment and hypocrisy, and I felt my spiritual life was healthier outside of a church atmosphere.

Now, seven months later, I'm at something of a crossroad.  We are not going to church regularly, I have concerns about judgment and hypocrisy, and I feel my spiritual life is healthier outside of a church atmosphere. 

However.

I don't want to ever say "never."  I want to stay open, and listen, and go in whatever direction it is that we're called to go.... whatever that may mean.

The yoga teacher training I'm going to take is through a Christian yoga program.  I have gone back and forth on this so many times that I've lost count.  I want to do it, I don't want to do it, I want to go through a secular school, I don't want to go through a secular school, I want to do it, I don't want to do it.  It's exhausting.   What I've realized though is that no matter how many times I talk myself out of it, for whatever reason, it keeps. coming. back.  I cannot make it go away.  It has been placed on my heart so strongly that I just can't ignore it, and I don't want to ignore it.  It's clearly something I've been called to do.  I share that both to demonstrate what my faith means to me, and to give some background as to one of the reasons I'd have such a bias against the ad we recently received for a local church here.

The ad says:

Strobe Lights..... NO
Disco Balls..... NO
Fog Machines.... NO
Choreographed Praise Dancers..... NO
Canned Sermons..... NO
Yoga Classes..... NO
Plastic People..... NO


SPIRIT.... YES
TRUTH.... YES

I understand what the ad was trying to convey.  I do.  They're proud of the fact that they strip away all the other "stuff", and concentrate on the simplicity and on the truth.  In theory, I agree with that.  I personally feel closest to God in the middle of the desert, or a mountain, or the woods.... with no walls or pews or Bibles or ministers (or any people, for that matter) in sight.  So I can relate to the sentiment.  

But...

By bringing attention to the very things they want to avoid, they're making them more important than they need to be, which seems to be the opposite of their intention.  Using those things as a reason to go to their church as opposed to a church that does have yoga classes or praise dancers or strobe lights feels like a negative campaign to me (and is one of the huge reasons that I have little tolerance for political ads)  It's implying that there's something inherently wrong with all those things, and I just don't think there is.  Who's to say what's right or wrong when it comes to someone else's spiritual path?  What if someone DOES happen to like strobe lights or disco balls, yoga classes or bongo drums?  What if those things help bring them closer to God, or help them reflect, or help them worship?  And wouldn't a church that is specifically advertising as not having certain things only serve to alienate people... people who might otherwise be looking for a church and want to attend?  

There is so much division among religions of the world.  SO MUCH division.  And we're not making it any better.  We're even creating division among Christian churches, churches which all claim to be worshiping the same God.   I've been to churches that had major conflicts (ie:  people getting so offended that they were leaving the congregation) over things like replacing the pews with chairs,  getting rid of song books and putting the words on an overhead projector, having pot luck dinners in rooms other than the designated "fellowship hall."   These things don't matter. Preferences over lights and praise dancers and yoga classes don't matter.  

A few weeks ago, this photo of Christians holding hands and forming a protective ring around praying Muslims in Egypt was going around Facebook.  That's what life should be about.  It should be about coming together, not finding more reasons to get further apart.  It should be about helping one another and loving one another and accepting one another, regardless of where or how or whom one chooses to worship.  It should be about finding the common thread, instead of looking for the different one.

It should not be about splitting hairs over inconsequential things that at the end of the day just. don't. matter.  

I don't know what the future holds as far as my family and church.  I really don't.  What I do know is that if I'm ever taking a yoga class with plastic people and choreographed praised dancers, while listening to a canned sermon, under the glow of strobe lights, the brightness of disco balls, and the haze of fog machines... that the God that I know and love will be there with me.

Condemnation

Every religion on the planet, and there are so many more than you are even aware of, has the potential of absolute thriving. But when you think that you must prove that you have the only one that is right—and you use your condemnation to push against the others—your condemnation separates you from your own connection that, before your condemnation, you were finding in your own religion.

Several years ago, sometime during that mired haze between having one child and having four, we stopped attending church. Though there was plenty of turmoil in the church we went to at the time, we didn't leave because of the drama, hadn't engaged in any fight. We didn't leave in a huff, and we didn't leave to prove a point to anyone. We left quietly... simply stopped going, as much to move toward a better relationship with God, as to move away from a unhealthy environment. No one asked us why we left (they seemed to prefer to come to their own conclusions) and we never really offered up an explanation.

Though there were a few reasons, this quote reminds me of perhaps the strongest one.

Mike and I both grew up in churches that were very... set in their ways, to put it kindly. Intolerant, to be a little more blunt. This was a church that believed its way was the only way, that any deviation large or small would not only be incorrect, but be sinful. I'm not proud to admit it, but I was one of the worst ones! I remember when one family left to attend a different church. It was the family of a good friend of mine, and while I of course missed my friend, I was also terribly curious as to where they landed once they left. When they were inevitably gossiped about - in that hushed, whispered, let's pray for their souls kind of way - I found out. They were attending a Methodist church. ! Oh the scandal! As ludicrous as seems now, I was flabbergasted. How could they do that, when they knew the truth? What were they thinking? Didn't I know them at all?

Yes, all that judgment over another Christian denomination. Though most of the church treated them as though they'd “fallen away,” they hadn't changed religions, didn't start worshiping some other God, hadn't given up their faith. Back then, it didn't matter. Methodist, Buddhist, Muslim, Jewish, Atheist... I knew nothing about any of them, and I wasn't allowed to ask questions. They were all lumped together. They were all WRONG.

It wasn't until I left the church as an adult that I could look back on my teenage self and truly see how egregiously wrong I'd been. It made me feel sad that I'd joined my congregation in being so judgmental, and angry that I'd been taught to look at others through such a narrow, narrow view. It made me feel small.

It was then that I decided to learn, for the first time in my life, about other religions. So I did.... by myself, and for myself. It wasn't so much that I wanted to change my religion (I never really liked the word “religion” anyway), as it was that I wanted to understand others. I wanted so badly to learn, appreciate, and yes, even EMBRACE different religions, and I knew I couldn't do that while I was continuing to be taught at the school of “This is right, everyone else is wrong.” My quest turned out to be one of the most rewarding and liberating things I'd ever done. Even now, years later, I still site that break we took from church as one of the most influential periods in both my own personal faith, and in my acceptance of others.

I'd been going nowhere in my own spiritual walk, so focused I was on getting it “right” and condemning others who'd gotten it “wrong”. I needed to break free of that limitation, and leaving that church was the catalyst that did it.

A couple of years ago, we started attending church again. It was a huge, non-denominational Christian church, with a beautiful campus, a rocking band, and a joy-filled atmosphere. It was a lovely church. I still think it's a lovely church, and a welcoming church, even though it's been awhile since we've been there. We'd been attending for just a short time when we had the opportunity to take some friends and family as our guests on a few different occasions. While a few seemed to enjoy themselves, others were compelled to critique it.

~It was too big.

~It was not reverent enough.

~It was not personal enough.

~It was more like a concert than a church service

~It was wrong that people were sitting back and enjoying themselves rather than worshiping (which was the most ridiculous to me, because 1) you can't open people up and see where their hearts are at, and what they're getting out of a particular experience, and 2) whatever else a spiritual experience may be, shouldn't it at least be enjoyable?)

The frustration I felt from these comments, and the attitude of judgment that came with them, was immense. “This judgment is why we stopped going to your church!,” I wanted to yell, but I didn't. I let them say what they needed to say. And in time, we stopped going to the new church too... partly because we had a toddler who couldn't sit through the service, and partly because the most recent of the negative comments had struck an (immensely irrational) fear in me. The ones with the strongest opinions were Christians. Is that what going to church does to you? If we got really immersed in a church again, would it happen to me too? Would I become judgmental and condemning as I once was?

What I realize now – finally – is that my negative feelings towards the church I grew up in (and my frustrations with some of the people who still go there) are no different than the judgments that I'd so carefully tried to avoid. Besides being entirely wasted and non-productive emotions, it is wrong. Their beliefs, their feelings, and their attitudes, are just that – THEIRS. And while I do fully believe that anyone who holds condemnation towards others is hindering his own journey, it does not have to hinder mine. In church or out of church, I can hold firm to my beliefs, which include loving and accepting people from ALL religions, or lack thereof, and recognizing and embracing the freedom that makes it all possible.

Church and Baseball

Paxton has been playing baseball for a month now, and I don't think I've ever seen him more excited about something. He loves everything about it - loves the game, loves the practices, loves getting into his gear. He's happy. They've had one game so far, and he played both second and third base. He was proud of his successes, undeterred by his mistakes, and can't wait for the next game. It was a big adjustment for the family for him to start the sport, since it meant saying goodbye to family dinners three nights a week, more juggling with Spencer and scouts, and an overall busier week. But I think we'd all have to admit it's been well worth it.

In other news...

We've been going to a new church for a month now. I realize that going to church for four Sundays in a row is not remarkable, but it's remarkable for *us*. I honestly can't remember the last time we were going to church regularly as a family. I know it wasn't in Everett's lifetime, possibly not in Paxton's either. Yeah, it's been a long time. It's always difficult to make a long story short - or at least readable - because it is a long story. We left the church we'd been attending because we were burnt out with intolerance, judgement, and hypocrisy. A lot of people view leaving a church as "falling away', and I'm sure at times it is. But we left church to FIND God, not walk away from Him. Our faith was strengthened over the last several years. It was a process, and like everything else in life, a journey. That journey eventually led us to Phoenix. While we tried various churches over the last few years, we never found the "one", and the timing was never right. So we waited. And then a month ago, we tried Christ's Church of the Valley.

Mike and I loved it from the first day we visited. But since this was to be a family decision, our feelings were just a small part of the equation. The kids had to love it too. And love it they did! They can't wait to go back every week. *I* can't wait to go back either, and despite having grown up going to church (or maybe because of it), I don't think I've felt that way about a church ever. I think people should be excited to go to church. I think they should go because they want to, not because it's what they think they're supposed to do. After our last negative experiences with church, I always said I'd only go back when 1) it was the right church and 2) it was for the right reasons. It only took 34 years.