The space always felt warm to me, like a good hug, a safe place. It was somewhere that I was able to retreat from the world that was so harsh, so demanding, so overwhelming, sometimes. During weeks when my friends had deemed me unworthy to play with at recess, or when I was feeling like I hadn't lived up to my own expectations, there was a place where those marred areas of life faded. Welcomed always. Judge little. This was my sanctuary. It was the small little Methodist church in the small little sleepy town where I grew up.
I always felt accepted in that building. I'm sure it was the community who made that acceptance real, but even as I sat alone in the sanctuary, I was wrapped in unconditional love. When I left for college, I tried very hard to find or even recreate that space again...to no avail. There were still too many holes in the space I was trying to will into the sacred sanctuary. These holes let the craziness of the "real" world into the space. There was not the safety I had felt as a young child, an awkward middle-schooler and a pre-college overachiever. It was then that I was made very aware that my sanctuary was rare.
It was rare because it was actually a sanctuary in a church building. For so many, the church sanctuaries are cold, lonely places that are dangerous and judgmental. There is no love emitted from those spaces. They symbolize places filled with hypocrisy where love is touted but one feels the undercurrent of hate toward them. I know this is how some feel in church. I have sat in the back of churches and watched as a new person who isn't as wealthy or clean or the same color as everyone else wanders in and tries to find a place of rest among the unspoken assigned seats. I have watched as members lean over and size up this new arrival to each other. And I have wondered, what if I was that brave person who wandered into a church by myself, just hoping to find love, acceptance, and rest and was met with awkward stares, under-the-breath exchanges, and a seat that "belongs" to someone else?
The answer is I have never been that person. I have always had a church to call home. But God's been placing a really strong message on my heart, and it is this: "You have walked into a church and felt my love with no one else around, when you walk into a church and it is filled with my children, this should be a glimpse of my kingdom!" A little Heaven on Earth, if you will. It may sound cliche, but church wasn't meant to be about me, it was suppose to be a place where we learned and confessed and questioned what this kingdom that was the opposite of worldly standards was and is about. Are we doing it church? Are we just showing up in our Sunday best while the world waits to see whether we can keep up the act?
I think about this a lot as I help plan programs and am in church leadership. It surrounds my own life because my husband leads a church. It's his job. And we talk about it constantly. The church, for me, has been true to the verse, "Come to me, all who are heavy burdened, and I will give you rest." But I cannot be happy that I get the warm fuzzy feeling in the church building. I cannot take rest in the fact that church is a sacred space for me while there are so many others who need the church to be that for them and it isn't.
I'm talking about the divorced wife who is reeling from the shot to the heart of losing a marriage, and has not only felt abandon by her husband but also shamed by her church friends because she somehow didn't uphold scripture and keep the marriage alive. I'm talking about all the gay teenagers who are living the tightrope of just trying to survive in a high school setting and also have to wonder if they will be accepted by their parents (Oh Lord! I can't even imagine their struggle and their bravery to be who they are). I think about these babies, these Children of God, because high school is hard, even when you have friends who accept you and parents who would die for you. I think about my black friends who are searching for a church and need to hear from us (I'm speaking about the White Church here) that this world still isn't right, we still have a lot of reconciling to do. And then I think about the church. Is our church a sanctuary for all who are heavy burdened?
I believe the answer is no. I want the answer to be yes. I want someone to walk into a church a feel God's kingdom on this very Earth. So how does this happen? Well first, it doesn't take another committee meeting. It takes people who are willing to show that they are a little messy too. It takes people who study God's word for themselves instead of just taking someone else's word on the matter. It takes a willingness to go to places that don't feel happy or secure or holy to us long-time church-goers (i.e. leaving the church walls). It takes someone being brave enough to extend an invitation. It takes someone taking the time to have a conversation with a person who has never appeared in our pews before. But ultimately all those things are for naught if there isn't a partnership between us and God. We have to be actively seeking God's heart and His urging are what's prompting those things to happen.
As I have shared more on this blog than I usually do in person, I've been so surprised by the outpouring of love I have received back. I think it's because when I've thrown out my raw places, the places I struggle, it gives someone else permission to see that they are not alone in a similar situation. When I am real and honest, someone else resonates with that.
So, I sit here tapping words on a keyboard, struggling to figure out how I create a church where everyone who walks in the tastes and feels the love of Christ emanating from every corner. Then I realize if I would stop being so quick to try make someone else feel exactly how I feel and truly live out a life that Christ is a deep part of, I may already have my answer. What I can be is welcoming, honest, and incredibly generous. I can always err on the side of love and ask forgiveness when I do something that doesn't do the above. But maybe most importantly, I think Home Depot has it right, "stop thinking about it (or writing about it) and start doing it!"
If you're in Chattanooga this Sunday and think you may need to hear a good word, come by the little church next to the veterinarian's office on Ashland Terrace. I cannot guarantee that it will feel like your sacred space, but I can guarantee you there are some wonderful, welcoming people who have hearts in the right places and have lived out Christ's love for more years than I have been on this planet. We are imperfect and we are working on our understanding of Christ and his teachings, but we are trying and you are welcome!
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