Chapter 4

The Church and Me

            My statements about the church are not mere intellectualizations about an institution of which I know little.  Since I was nine years old, I have grown up in the church and even though it may not sound like it from what I have said, ironically I have the church to thank for much of what I am today.  This influence and impact would begin, of course, with my salvation.  But even in addition to the incredible gift of salvation, I have had solid teaching and leadership training from people from whom I am forever indebted.  I believe I will always be a part of a church and a member of a local body of believers.

            It is from this vantage point that I wish to be part of a process whereby we talk openly about where we might be failing.  My attitude is that I do not see this failure as an end point.  I don't even see failure in general as failure; I see it as an opportunity for all of us to improve the most important institution on earth: the church. 

            We need not be afraid to look at ourselves in the mirror and criticize that which needs improvement.  We tend to handle the church as if it were too fragile or too sacred of an institution to be self-examined.  I think God can handle any mistakes we make along the way and the Holy Spirit can guide us in our self-examination.  In contrast, by not critiquing ourselves as to how we are doing or not doing, we don’t give God enough credit.  I think we can trust Him more than we do.

            Even with the indebtedness to the church, not all of my experiences have been positive ones.  Some of these experiences have been very damaging and, in some sense, abusive.  It's hard to think that one would receive abuse in God's house, but I think we must remind each other that God has, for now, with the direction of the Comforter, left us in charge of the church.  But since none of us is perfect, but instead tainted completely with the disease of Sin, it is logical to think that the church would be another institution in which sinful humans would hurt each other.

            It might surprise some, and to be honest it did surprise me, that truly anything which happens in the world does, in fact, happen in the church.  Anything from gossip and overeating, to political power plays and sexual abuse is present in the church.  Sometimes these acts are done in God's name.  I suppose this might be the ultimate form of using God's name in vain.

            Through the privacy of the counseling room I hear things that usually fall through the cracks of other social circles.  One of the dangers of the job is that through these disclosures I can become jaded and cynical.  It is a constant challenge I have to face.  I am sure, even now, I am failing. Still, I would rather know the truth than be blissfully ignorant.  I suppose this book, to some extent, is a response to the painful insight into the sickness of the church which has come as a result of my doing counseling. 

            The things that come to my attention as a Christian counselor range from the mundane to the tragic.  Just when I think I have heard it all, I will get involved in another case which will remind me that “truth is always stranger than fiction.” I hear about pastors who are sexually addicted, who secretly are looking at porn at their computer in the pastor’s study, and the pastor who is struggling with his homosexual second life.   I see pastor’s children suffering from anorexia or the P.K. who is abandoned while his father is ministering to the church family instead.  I talk to women and men whose spouses have neglected them so they can “minister" obsessively at church.  These people are married to the church instead of their spouses.  I talk to too many men who are abandoned by “super-spiritual" wives.  I talk to college students who appear to come from the “fine Christian homes" only to hear stories of sexual, physical and mental abuse.   

            The church, in my opinion, doesn't know how to handle such circumstances very well.  Certainly, pastors are professionals and, in addition to this are expected by us to know how to handle these situations.  They are usually the first person a family or individual will turn to.  The problem is that their education is so heavily weighted in theology that when they confront these problems they are not prepared.  Our seminaries would serve us better by requiring future pastors to take more practical counseling courses as a part of their training.

            Another problem is the theology which is taught by most churches with regard to suffering and how one should confront his problems.  The church in which I was raised, which could be termed a fundamentalist, independent Bible church, taught me what I call “Spiritual Repression.”  In this teaching I was told to give my pain and suffering to God, to lay them at the feet of the cross, and, in this way, give my problems to God.  The only problem was that when I did this, nothing usually happened.  What I expected was to have my pain relieved.  When it did not go away, I was confused.  When I asked my Christian leaders about this, they told me to have faith and to believe in God’s timing.  I was to continually give my problems to Jesus and wait on Him (whatever that meant, for I was never sure).  I was quoted scripture about “waiting on the Lord” and “being like eagles.”  I was being told that no matter what happened to me, I was to wait and have faith.

            The problem with this theology is that it suffers from circular reasoning.  It goes like this:  If I hurt, give it to God; if it still hurts, look at your lack of faith (it can’t be God’s fault!), then give it back to God; if it still hurts, look at your lack of faith, etc., etc., etc., ......

            While God does want us to continually go to Him in our time of need, He also expects us to use the power and resources He has given to us to solve the problems within our control.  The problem with spiritual repression is that it stripped me of my God-given ability to fight back.  This led to what I call “Spiritual Pacifism.”  Spiritual pacifism took away my right to my anger.  What I have learned since then is that without my anger, I am a prime target for abuse from many angles.  In other words, as I was giving my pain to God, others were giving me more pain.  In this endless circle, I was unable to fight back.  Of course, according to the theology of spiritual repression, I was not to fight back anyway, because if I did fight back, it was an example of my lack of faith.  This caused a great deal of guilt within me and just made me suffer more.  I found following God an impossible assignment; no matter what I did, I failed.  Without my anger, I was doomed to further abuse, by others and myself.

            It wasn't until I started studying psychology (in a seminary setting, I might add) that I learned that my anger wasn't all bad, and, therefore, to me, I wasn't all bad either.  This truth changed my life and put me on a road to understanding what God really expected from me. A tremendous burden had been lifted from me; it was as if I lost 100 pounds of rocks out of the imaginary backpack that I carry.

            The ominous truth about spiritual repression and spiritual pacifism was that I was living a theology of law, not grace.  I was, paradoxically, doing all the work even though I thought I was giving it all to God for Him to handle.  I tried harder and harder to be the Christian God wanted me to be.  The more I tried to be the Super-Christian, the more I failed and felt like a failure.  Still, I continued to believe that there was more to God than what I was being told and what I was living.  I was so miserable; I finally decided to search by myself to find the friendly God everyone was talking about.

            I found parachurch organizations, such as Young Life that let me know being a Christian could be fun.  I learned I didn't have to be unreal to follow Jesus.  The people in Young Life appeared normal and had more going for them than any Christian I had ever met.  The camps I went to renewed my belief that God was for everyone, including energetic and rebellious teenagers.  I met and saw people I could admire.  I could see they were following Jesus, not because they didn't belong anywhere else, but because they had experienced the touch of God.  They were real with me and with God.  Their prayers and devotionals were relevant to my life. I knew I was with people who had experienced real struggles, who were being honest with themselves, and had found the “peace of God that passes all understanding.”

            I remember a devotional by one man.  I don't even know his name, but he had a profound impact on my life.  He was sharing with us about God and he told us that in many previous talks or sermons he had been dishonest with the audience, trying to tell them what he thought they needed to hear.  He felt uncomfortable about his dishonesty, even though he was believed by most of his audience.  Because of the pain of his dishonesty and resultant guilt, he made a commitment to God and himself to never again speak publicly of anything that did not affect him deeply and personally. 

            The talk I heard was one such talk.  I knew when he finished that he had been honest with us.  He had let us inside.  Because of this I felt closer to him and the God who was directing him.  He was someone I could trust.  This was new to me in the Christian world. 

            After this sermon, I made a similar commitment to be real and honest.  This seemed, to me, to be the best way to communicate the realness of the Gospel.  My experience in speaking, teaching and counseling has led me to believe this to be true.  I find people much more responsive because, as much as possible, I don't put on a Christian facade.

            I tell students of my struggles as a Christian, as a husband, and as a parent.  I help them believe that to struggle is normal, necessary, and needed for true spiritual maturity to occur.  I give them hope of the potential which is in them and the God who has put it there.  Through this method I know I am having an impact and a real ministry - and a lasting ministry, I might add - to hurting students. 

            Students come up to me after class and tell me things they are afraid to tell anyone else. They feel they can be honest with me because I have been real with them. When they finish class, they believe, in spite of these necessary struggles and the pain involved in spiritual growth, that with God anything is possible, that God is real, and that He understands everything we go through.

            The students and clients I counsel have heard too many messages to do better, that what they are doing isn't good enough, and they are failing by not giving their all to God.  They are told through sermons, books, tapes, radio and television that they should be doing more for God.  We are told of remote areas of the world where most of us “refuse” to go to evangelize the lost.  We are told of the evil of affluence and how, materially, we have so much more than others. 

            The list of shoulds and oughts includes everything from how much money we give (or don't give) to the church, to the countless numbers of lost souls that are everywhere around us.  While I believe these issues are important and are areas we need to be committed to, I also believe we are inundated with guilt and with little balance in the messages we hear.  I, for one, occasionally need to hear how well I am doing.  When we rarely hear this message, we feel unworthy in front of a God whom, we believe, is never pleased.  There is no time to relax, no time to enjoy life.  Most of us look very unhappy to non-Christians.  I once heard Mike Warnke, the ex-Satanist turned Christian comedian, say that, to him, the faces of most Christians look like they have just finished sucking on an onion.  This is a pretty poor testimony to what is supposed to be the “abundant life.”

            Consequently, we have become locked into a controlling and legalistic theological system of works.  Most Christians, and most people, for that matter, are vulnerable to this “shaming” message.  We end up as Christian workaholics.  Our faces show a facade of happiness while we work as if we are in a cult of unending demandedness.  Most non-Christians are offended by the solicitation to join such madness.  Those who do are set upon a treadmill of works and a life long quest of trying to be a good enough Christian.  One would wonder if they are not trying to live the Christian faith in the same, emotionally sick way they had entered it.

            I know that all churches are not this way.  Some churches have taken significant steps toward encouraging realness.  I have heard of and witnessed pastors admit their struggles in an appropriate way.  These churches and pastors have done a great work in helping people feel that their pain is normal.  Still, too many of our churches are professing to be places of healing, only to be a place of slick competition in the name of Christ.  If you examine closely the interactions of the individuals in these churches, you will find what I have described above. 

            Most of the Christians I have met are intolerant and judgmental of differences.  Most wear a highly concealed mask.  Most are scared to death of letting anyone come close.  Because of this, I find us to be in subtle competition with one another. 

            I think Jesus would feel uncomfortable in most of our places of worship.  If he were to come back without revealing His identity, I believe most Christians would not only have a hard time identifying Him, but, also be put off with His appearance and manner.  Ironically, He would feel out of place in the place He has founded.  I believe He would spend most of His time outside of the church relating, understanding, and getting acquainted with the unsaved.  Non-Christians would find Him as a breath of fresh air, especially compared to the church. 

            I doubt Jesus would spend much time inside the church.  I believe His message for today to the church would offend many of the people who call themselves believers and followers.  In this way, we are guilty of being modern day Pharisees.

            I have tried most of my life to make the Christians around me feel more comfortable with whom it is that I am.  I know this is a waste of time, but it is very difficult to not receive the acceptance of fellow Christians.  I live in a constant struggle between fitting in and being myself.  It's not that I am strange or have something unfit about me.  It's the desire in me to know the truth for truth's sake that often gets me in trouble.  In this way, and many others, I find myself living on some edge looking in or looking the other way. 

            I guess I don't like to accept something as true just because someone has told me to believe it.  I resist easy believe-ism; I prefer to learn things the hard way.  But, this style of life has its costs.  I find myself left with the decision of either accepting a partial truth with a lot of politics or speaking the truth and becoming rejected.  More than likely, I just keep my mouth shut in order to avoid the conflict I know will come or I avoid situations where the gulf between what is actually happening and what people are willing to talk about is too wide.

            Strangely, I think Jesus went through the same process, but succeeded in confronting the situation with much more bravery. Like Jesus, I'm not particularly fond of playing politics, even though, quite honestly, I can be good at it.  I recognize that if I don't play politics, to some extent, my social economic well-being will be put in jeopardy.  Since there is just more than myself I can effect, I have learned the “suspect" art of playing the game and doing it in a way that makes me come out a winner. It's definitely easier to be a prophet when you are not a family man.

            Perhaps this is the reason Jesus never got married and why the Apostle Paul recommends singleness (I Cor. 7).  The church (and the world to some extent) presents before me the difficult choice of surrendering my soul, my God-given uniqueness, in order to conform to its image.  I find the image of Christ and the image of the church to be at times similar, but too often, dissimilar.  My resulting struggle and challenge is to figure out how to be myself, or to put it another way, to be real, in the face of this un-Christlike pressure to conform.

            Somehow I know I am not alone in this struggle.  I meet Christians all the time who are fed up and dissatisfied with the church and it‘s unreal political realities.  I have to convince myself and them that the struggle is worth it and that this is exactly where God wants us to be.  He wants us to be part of the answer, and part of the process that helps the church change for the better.  It would be too easy to give up and blame our unhappiness on any institution or person.  This would also not be Christ-like.

 Click here to read Chapter 5