Like many others who are passionate about something important, I was once so impassioned about my faith in Jesus Christ that I was called a zealot by of all people, my pastor. That should have been a wake up call, but it wasn't. I got caught up in the "rightness" or "wrongness" of nearly everything. I spent hours and hours in isolation and Bible study. I agonized over every decision I made in my life; was it what God wanted me to do, say or think? It was paralyzing and I'm sure I scared people away from my presence.
Ten years ago I was heavily involved in the church where I really learned what it means to be a Christian; my first church home. I served on committees, the school board, taught Sunday school, led Bible studies, and was an integral part of beginning a prayer ministry. When there was a change in pastors everything else changed and I became part of what can be so wrong about the church. I was one of those people who thought she knew better than others and that the my theology was the one and only truth. I kept most of this to myself and to a small group of people who believed the same way I did. Hiding behind the sanctity of Scripture is a very safe place to reside. Following a contentious meeting with several church leaders, a rumor circulated that I was leaving the church. Rather than denying the rumor, I used it as an excuse to get out of this uncomfortable situation.
We found a church home for a couple of years, then drifted into the pattern of not attending church at all. I love God, believe in Jesus but did not want to deal with the hurt that comes with the whole church thing. My business opened, my marriage flourished, we have three beautiful granddaughters and a daughter, all of whom are healthy and happy. I pray; and not just when I am in trouble. I read my Bible - not regularly. And I continued to believe that I could never walk back through the doors of my church home because "everybody" knew what had happened ten years ago and I couldn't face the rejection. Although I was sensitive to the pull of the Holy Spirit to come home, my anxiety and self will were firmly in control.
What I learned during these years is that God's love goes where we go.
He never abandons us no matter how far we stray. I believe Scripture is
God's Holy Word written by men inspired by the Holy Spirit, but I am no
longer afraid of those who have a different theology than mine. I have
learned that God is so big that our finite human brains cannot even
begin to comprehend Him and I no longer use Scripture as something to hide behind or a tool to judge
others. I told myself that nothing can take away God's love or my
salvation. Once intellectual knowledge these truths are now part of my experiential walk with Christ. I believe I am now
emotionally and spiritually equipped to return to the fold.
God sent messengers to me. He sent messengers to my husband. He planted seeds. He watered seeds. And there I stood with my feet in cement. One more messenger came in the form of our very good friends and weekly dinner companions. They dangled the carrot of our first pastor coming back for Mother's Day Sunday. The gauntlet was down. My husband really wanted to attend church and for the first time in all these years my self will came in second to God's will.
Yesterday morning I put on my big girl panties and went in to church with my head held high. What happened during the next hour is something that I will never forget. The music was uplifting and brought me to a place of worship. The first thought I had was "This is for me; coming to church isn't as much about the people as it is the opportunity to come into the presence of God and receive the bounty of His love." I realized how much I missed this time with my Holy Father. The sermon convicted me, encouraged me and helped me understand that I am truly a prodigal daughter of Faith United Methodist Church. And just like the son who came home to the unconditional love of his father, we returned to acceptance and love. The healing of these wounds is now complete.
God is good and I am blessed.
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