I haven’t been really fed or happy at my church for a while now. It’s not bad, it’s not dramatic. There’s impressively little drama; No one did anything; there aren’t changes I need to be happy. It’s just… well, like those relationships that don’t get worked on and paid attention to – they have to change because there comes a point where they just don’t fit anymore.
I live in the South, where we sell fast Christianity like other parts of the country sell fast food. Here Jesus comes in an array of flavors, too. There’s conservatively-minded, socially-aware Jesus, complete with Scripture sprouts and Holy Ghost blessed sprinkles; or next door, super-hip Jesus with precisely mussed hair and hyper-fashionable skinny jeans strumming His guitar and contemplating His fair trade latte. There are as many flavors of Jesus available here as one could ever wish to have, and far, far more than Christopher Hitchens would care to admit exist.
Jesus met me when I was young, and He’s been around long enough that I don’t know what life looks like without Him. We fight (a lot, honestly, and on a pretty regular basis). We really disagree on a few things, but He makes me feel un-broken. And although He lets me hide in Him when I need to, He really pushes me to be in community, too – whether I want to be or not.
What’s a Southern Christian chick to do when she loves her church that doesn’t fit, but she worships a God that promises to keep her safe while she’s horribly uncomfortable?
The first thing I did when I was faced with this question was the same thing I did the last time I was faced with this question: I tried to figure out what the exact opposite of my current church would be like. Taking out any thought of my self or what I would do if I were there, I started asking questions: What would it look like? What would the people be like? Where would it be? Would I have the courage to keep going, even if it wasn’t anything like what I thought it should be?
I knew what I needed, so I went church-shopping. The first church I tried was tragically hip, and devoutly... almost-what-I-needed. The building curved and slithered next to a major highway interchange in town, far from sleepy bedroom towns and their lackadaisical town-views... and cost $95 million to build. I just was not hip enough to go there very often.
Next, I looked for something closer to home. There was a church down the road (or interstate, honestly) that offered New Southern Baptist Jesus. He had coffee, yeah, man, but He was cool - because He had commandments, too! There were lights and U2-inspired worship songs. It was... kinda awesome, but in the way that going to a vampire circus is: it's fun while it lasts, but get out before the house lights come back, because you may not make it out alive... or in one piece.
I was just tired. And drained. I’d rummaged for a few years, thinking there had to be more, not sure what it was or if I really needed it. Then, I found something that over-rushed me, and I knew there was more and I had to find it – except that I’d been over-rushed in Cincinnati, decidedly above the Mason-Dixon. If not for that Sunday with its free coffee and beautiful presence in a former couch warehouse, I’d’ve walked away and just stopped trying.
Coming back home, a friend suggested a church she had read about in the paper. When she mentioned that it was mentioned in both the liberal free paper and the traditional, conservative morning paper, I was in (if only because those two periodicals agree even less than Congress does with the President).
It was like I walked into God’s smile. The people were kind, the church building graceful in its aged stone. Everything was new and challenging, and it was as if God said, this. This is why you were looking. Here.
That first service, I asked about how to join. I wanted to be a part of the people there, to be where I could put down roots and build something solid. I needed friends, but I found family.
I can’t want say what flavor of Jesus this church serves. It’s new and the neighborhood surrounding it will definitely influence it… but whatever it is, it feeds my soul and I really dig the chance to share that.
I live in the South, where we sell fast Christianity like other parts of the country sell fast food. Here Jesus comes in an array of flavors, too. There’s conservatively-minded, socially-aware Jesus, complete with Scripture sprouts and Holy Ghost blessed sprinkles; or next door, super-hip Jesus with precisely mussed hair and hyper-fashionable skinny jeans strumming His guitar and contemplating His fair trade latte. There are as many flavors of Jesus available here as one could ever wish to have, and far, far more than Christopher Hitchens would care to admit exist.
Jesus met me when I was young, and He’s been around long enough that I don’t know what life looks like without Him. We fight (a lot, honestly, and on a pretty regular basis). We really disagree on a few things, but He makes me feel un-broken. And although He lets me hide in Him when I need to, He really pushes me to be in community, too – whether I want to be or not.
What’s a Southern Christian chick to do when she loves her church that doesn’t fit, but she worships a God that promises to keep her safe while she’s horribly uncomfortable?
The first thing I did when I was faced with this question was the same thing I did the last time I was faced with this question: I tried to figure out what the exact opposite of my current church would be like. Taking out any thought of my self or what I would do if I were there, I started asking questions: What would it look like? What would the people be like? Where would it be? Would I have the courage to keep going, even if it wasn’t anything like what I thought it should be?
I knew what I needed, so I went church-shopping. The first church I tried was tragically hip, and devoutly... almost-what-I-needed. The building curved and slithered next to a major highway interchange in town, far from sleepy bedroom towns and their lackadaisical town-views... and cost $95 million to build. I just was not hip enough to go there very often.
Next, I looked for something closer to home. There was a church down the road (or interstate, honestly) that offered New Southern Baptist Jesus. He had coffee, yeah, man, but He was cool - because He had commandments, too! There were lights and U2-inspired worship songs. It was... kinda awesome, but in the way that going to a vampire circus is: it's fun while it lasts, but get out before the house lights come back, because you may not make it out alive... or in one piece.
I was just tired. And drained. I’d rummaged for a few years, thinking there had to be more, not sure what it was or if I really needed it. Then, I found something that over-rushed me, and I knew there was more and I had to find it – except that I’d been over-rushed in Cincinnati, decidedly above the Mason-Dixon. If not for that Sunday with its free coffee and beautiful presence in a former couch warehouse, I’d’ve walked away and just stopped trying.
Coming back home, a friend suggested a church she had read about in the paper. When she mentioned that it was mentioned in both the liberal free paper and the traditional, conservative morning paper, I was in (if only because those two periodicals agree even less than Congress does with the President).
It was like I walked into God’s smile. The people were kind, the church building graceful in its aged stone. Everything was new and challenging, and it was as if God said, this. This is why you were looking. Here.
That first service, I asked about how to join. I wanted to be a part of the people there, to be where I could put down roots and build something solid. I needed friends, but I found family.
I can’t want say what flavor of Jesus this church serves. It’s new and the neighborhood surrounding it will definitely influence it… but whatever it is, it feeds my soul and I really dig the chance to share that.
