Life as a spiritual refugee

I admit it. I have a love/hate relationship with the church. Several years ago, my friend Chad and I served as college interns at the church we both attended in Springfield. Both of us were injured church-goers, licking our wounds and hiding from loud denominational noises. We had each seen the mildewing underbelly of churches whose leaders spewed out Christianeze, but thought only of notches in their salvation belts. And slowly, we watched the beauty of our faith turned into something militant and predictable. The mystery was gone.

And so we became spiritual refugees, hiding in the third floor of this new (to each of us) church, trying to remember why we felt Christian community was so important to begin with. Many weeks, Post Traumatic Church Disorder would spring up in unexpected places, and the two of us would flee the building for the safety of mexican food and movies.

Along the way we met other spiritual refugees who would join us for a weekly faith and film class. The hodgepodge of spiritual misfits coming together to watch movies and discuss the meeting place of faith and culture helped heal wounds, perhaps in all of us.

The gathering of broken individuals stumbling around in search of grace was beautiful and reminded me of why I loved church; why I kept coming back, despite my duck-and-run impulses. And the sanctuary of community (and the cinema!) helped quiet the need to flee.

Last semester, I created a personal Code of Ministry Ethics for a class I was in. While I'm not a licensed or ordained as a pastor and have never served on a church staff (unless you count the college intern role), I often find myself playing the part to various people in my life. My copy of the Code is signed by seminary colleagues, and reminds me not only of the promises I've made concerning ministry conduct, but of the powerful repercussions that breaking such codes can cause.

This week, I've heard story after story of folks — of friends — who have been deeply hurt by the hands of the church. Whether or not the church causes the first abuse, churches often cause re-victimization and further harm. Instead of being the hands and feet of Christ, we cover up the "unsightly" by removing personhood and shifting blame. And those wounds we inflict can be deadly — if not physically, then mentally, spiritually and relationally.

We are all broken. And we desperately need someone to listen, to affirm, to help us as we scramble around searching for grace.