So. You did it. It's official.
No more church.
Now that that's out of the way, you'll have some time to figure out how this all plays out in your life, without at least some of the confusing messages from everywhere around you. You've got some time to think, if you do that sort of thing. (You're reading this, so it's probably safe to say that you're already doing that.) You can think about all the reasons you left church, and where to go from here.
Maybe it became too political; the involved members with the most money to give thinking they could buy the decision-making power, their purse-strings being a direct link to the will of God; but only if the will of God matched their personal desires, thoughts and agenda.
Maybe it's because after that glorious moment that the heavens opened up and accepted you in as one of their own, most often called "salvation", you realized that, in church, you spent more time questioning your salvation instead of moving beyond it, into sanctification. That salvation was presented as this amazing doorway that was opened up before you, promising mountaintop highs, and a companion that could grant you any wish along this journey called life. Salvation came, emotions waned away, and the faith spoken of so frequently in reference to the ancients became a dirty word, only because of the guilt and "christian service" attached to it. I'm sure you've wondered at some point in time, what happens after salvation?
Now that you think about it, you can almost point out what the church expected to see in you once salvation came; quietly slipping in their subtle cultural expectations of you, sometimes making indirect jabs during sermons at the person you are, whether it's how you look, or dress, or how you talk; as if these are the determining factors of whether or not you're "saved". The thought of the church's preoccupation with appearing normal and/or acceptable haven't left your mind, they've just been suppressed.
Come to think about it, you're not even sure if the church knows, or cares, who you are, where you came from, why you do what you do or did what you did, or even what kind of life you live outside of Sunday morning. Instead, your tithe has come across as more important than your person. George Thorogood comes to mind as you realize the similarities... "she said that don't confront me, long as I get my money next Friday". Never mind the demons you fight to suppress, never mind the struggles you're going through, never mind the doubts, the questions, (pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!)... as long as you give your ten percent next Sunday.
A bourbon, a scotch and/or a beer might even sound good right about now in your thought process, once you realize and accept that there's no one from the church there with you to tell you it's a sin.
Jesus Christ. (-clink- pop!)
You didn't think you'd end up here, but nevertheless, here you are.
The sin management means of control you're so familiar with isn't jiving with the paramount notion of grace the church seldom mentions, but you can't help but feel like that is something they should be talking about, and a lot more, judging by how little you know of it.
You might even be getting kinda pissed, like you, and others, are and have been getting fleeced in this whole deal. If grace is so great, why doesn't anyone talk about it? Wouldn't grace imply some sort of freedom? And what does that freedom look like, since you don't think you've heard anyone ever mention it in church?
So, for the first time in...well, ever, you pull out your Bible. Not out of obligation or duty or expectation, but to actually learn something. To find answers, just like all the commercials and billboards claim. Out of all those pages, there has to be something in there that talks about life on a level deeper than a baptismal font.
Your eyes gaze over words, hungering for truth. It might not happen right then, that first time, but something begins to stir. You read from books never talked about from the pulpit, and for some reason, it's beginning to make sense.
You come to learn that life isn't about this radical and instantaneous transformation you've learned the church wants, but it's about a life-long process. No relationship on earth begins at the same level as one that's endured a lifetime; hell, you even realized that the nation of Israel, the people God chose, weren't being transformed right away either, or even if ever!
You can now see that these conversion factories aren't interested in anything other than the conversion, so they pay little attention to the process that gets you there, and even less to the process that begins after you've reached the end-zone they've established. And if you stick around long enough afterwards, they'll put you to work.
It's funny how the church took on the characteristics of the people in it, looking to get something from the church. Or is it the other way around...?
As time passes following your departure from the institution, life throws curve ball after curve ball at you. None of the platitudes or chants you were taught to regurgitate apply; in fact, you find yourself sickened by your own hypocrisy for even muttering the words. You've become hyper-aware of the possible thoughts and questioning looks on the faces of others who might hear you.
You find yourself praying out of desperation, rather than obligation, often in disgust, or anger, or frustration. And to your surprise, you're finding that those are the prayers that seem to elicit a response from a God who doesn't seem quite so far away now. Instead of perfected and wordy prayers, you've come to rather enjoy the breath-of-fresh-air unscheduled conversations with the One who made you. For the first time in your life, you don't feel the pressure to change, because God hasn't told you that you need to, after all.
You realize that as the church went from being the 'expression of God in the world' to the self-titled 'sole authority of God's word', it removed the possibility of a relationship with God from the masses, and enslaved its members to its own law once again.
But now, now that you've removed yourself from that, you experience freedom. You hear the words "there's no condemnation in Christ," but sort of chuckle when you think 'there sure is in the church, though.'
In your conversations with the Big Guy, you discuss things that plague you, most of which end up boiling down to matters of your fear, your selfishness, or your pride. Or all three.
Yeah, all three.
The immensity of the stranglehold those have on your life bear down on you, and suddenly, the cross doesn't look so bad. An exasperated, half-joking, "God you'll have to do this for me" lights off a million light bulbs in your brain, one of which illuminates a distant memory that the church never said anything about this.
Welcome to Faith.
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