I typically avoid late night blog posts or poignant memos (A-hem: Jerry Maguire). Can’t help myself tonight. Today’s conversation at re:create (which actually began two days ago and continued right on through tonight) left me with thoughts which require spilling. I’ll start with a confession:
I’m achingly disappointed in church.
Have been for quite a while. It seems plastic to me. Manufactured. And completely inadequate to lead my broken self to a place of wholeness only found in connection with God. More times than not, I go because it’s on my to-do list, and (i hate this part) I’m afraid of what would people would think if I didn’t show.
Horrible, horrible reasons to go to church.
I love church. Love the people who are part of the church. But I miss the sacred. The holy. The quiet intensity of my spirit longs to lose itself in the reality of God, while surrounded by others who likewise stand (kneel, sit) wrapped in His presence. I ache for something deeper, something that meets my need for beauty and connection and love and relationship in a tangible way. This has been lost somewhere in the midst of all the programming, light shows, fog machines and video productions.
Ironic that the Christian church’s attempt to escape rote liturgy has resulted in manufactured productions driving true seekers back toward sacred tradition for satisfaction.
Yesterday, Ian Morgan Cron led our group in a celebration of the Eucharist. It was sacred. Holy. Precious. Intense. Beautiful. And the richness of the moment moved me to reverent tears for the first time in too long. I saw myself for who I was and was overwhelmed by a God who said, “Come anyway.”
And so “disappointed” has been replaced by “hopeful.” Church will never be ideal. But this week it’s been real. And my heart is full.