the church: yesterday, today, tomorrow

I had this great plan to lay out in three posts my history in the church, how I have grown, what I believe and to make it all sound great. I thought that I "got it". Got the church and knew my place in it. Today I feel like I am five years old and have to learn everything all over again. The senior pastor at my church announced his resignation this morning. He has been there for eighteen years. Since before my family and I began attending. It turns the church upside down and we have to look at ourselves again, see who we are, together, individually.

The fall of my freshman year of college, my parents seperated. I don't remember that time very well. I remember sitting in the lunch room at school, pulling the peel off my orange, and I remember my art history class, but I don't remember what was going on with church, or even very much at home. I do remember that after the separation, neither of my parents felt comfortable in our church, understandably, and both eventually left. As far as I know they were the first couple in our church to divorce. My brother and sister had begun to attend a large Evangelical Free church for the larger youth group, and homeschooled friends. I think I went to church with my friend Joella during this time. We tried a lot of different places, but were pretty snobby and nothing was ever good enough. But I didn't think that I could go back to Elizabethtown BIC, my home church, because I was the kid of the divorced people. And I didn't fit in. And I was an art major of all things.

Choosing to study art was really hard to explain to people in churches. I felt like I got raised eyebrows and it immediately stopped conversation. An art major. Nothing more to say. I think it was just before the church got saturated with the movement to embrace art. Now they are trying, and in some forward leaning congregations, artists are wonderful and are super-encouraged to produce relevant work that will both glorify God and wow the secular culture. But I think that is just as awkward for artists and much more pressure. They are just people who work hard hard hard to communicate something that they see. If you are going to do it right, it really isn't very different from any other job. You work. You get dirty and practice a lot. You just don't get paid.

So I floundered for three whole years. Three. No church home. A community of art students. A couple of christian friends here and there. A family that was broken, but very committed to faith, and my Mom and Dad both saw me though a lot. I was so thirsty for a community that cared about me. But looking back, though I would never recommend the church hopping thing to anyone, I am thankful for what I learned about the church at large. I visited a lot of places. Big, non-denominational churches, lutheran churches, mennonite churches. My favorite was an Assemblies of God church in Lancaster City. It was gospely and noisy and the people raised their hands and said "Amen". The worship leader had the hugest smile on her face.

By the end of my junior year I kind of hit my low point. It had been a tough year academically and relationally. I'd had my first romantic relationship with a classmate and it ended terribly. My mom was close to being engaged and my best friend Joella was getting married and was moving to New York City. The main thing that helped sustain my faith that year were some talks at the local Borders bookstore. I had been introduced to them the previous summer by Doug, a non-christian co-worker. A pure artist. He still sends me email updates about building a raft out of who knows what, and sailing from Manhattan to New Jersey, about hanging from some art installation on the ceiling of a museum in Sweden, about producing a radio show in Paris. He wanted to go to this talk at Borders one night because they were discussing the movie, The Elephant Man. He said it was being led my some pastor. I was highly suspicious, but thought I should go in case this pastor said something that I would later have to defend and explain. Not the case. It was like a drink of fresh water. I was introduced to Presbyterians. They were ahead of the curve, embracing art, the real world. They were savvy and cool and as solid as a rock. I was amazed and went every month that year. At the end of my junior year, I went to one meeting of the Reformed University Fellowship group at Millersville University, led by the Borders talk pastor.

And, I can't remember why, but one sunday I stepped back into Elizabethtown BIC, somehow dragged myself into the young adult sunday school class, received an immediate hug from an old youth group friend, and decided to stay.

At the end of my senior year I attended a conference in Florida with RUF, and attended a seminar about the church. Presbyterians are pretty tough about church. They say, in no few words, that you should be in one, and that you need it, that it is God's only plan for his people. I almost became Reformed myself that year, still dance on the edge sometimes, but at that conference, both because of learning, with a good deal of surprise, about the five points of Calvinism, and because they pushed so hard to commit to your local church, I ended up still Bretheren in Christ.

Tonight I was planning on going to a Derek Webb concert. Derek is the other influence for church of my college days. His sound is acoustic and folky and he is one of the most courageous, plain speaking christian musicians that we have right now. He has sometimes been called a prophet for our time and place, and he both calls the church to obedience, and also depicts God's huge love for the church in lines like these...

So when you hear the sound of the water you will know you're not alone...
When you taste my flesh and my blood you will know you're not alone.
I haven't come for only you, but for My people to pursue. You cannot care for Me, with no regard for Her.
If you love Me you will love the Church.

So when I got up this morning and got my shower, got dressed and drove to church I planned on hearing Derek tonight. But I walked in the doors and heard the end of the first service and knew something wasn't normal. There was a woman speaking, reading a letter about how much we appreciate the service of Pastor Hall in the last eighteen years. I stood out in the hallway, leaned against the cinder block walls under the loudspeaker and listened. He is leaving. And there would be a meeting in the evening to learn more. I so wanted to go to the concert. To be encouraged. To get away and think. But I knew way down in my gut. This is my church. I need to love it. I need to go and hear. Derek would tell me to anyway.

And the meeting was good. It will be a long journey. There will be an interim pastor and we will take our time relearning who we are. But as Pastor hall said tonight, our church dosen't belong to him, or to us, it belongs to Jesus. And He is the same yesterday, today, and He will still be the same tomorrow.