As an ecclesial dreamer I have a place somewhere deep in my being that longs to love the faithful family of the people of God. I have loved many churches in my life. The church I attended from the sixth grade through high school graduation was tied to the private school I went to. I have few memories connections with the extended biological family on either my mother or my father’s side and in many ways this church was my family during the formative moments of my life. There were adults in that place who did not know my parents personally, but they knew me by name and invested themselves in me in ways that they still are not fully aware of.

When I left that church my senior year I began a convoluted journey from one community to another. Looking back at the crooked path it is difficult to tell which direction the journey is going. Involvement in Sunday School classes, two church plants, several worship bands and small groups later, there is still one place that has shaped me more than any other place. That was the last “real” church that I was associated with in any official, tangible way. The last two years of my participation in that community were without exception the most rewarding two years of my entire ecclesiological life. Our family relocated to the community and reordered our vocations to participate in this community. We like to think we gave a lot of ourselves to that place but the reality is that we received 100 times, more than we gave. I love that place with a depth that I will never fully be able to articulate.

When I became displaced from that community, a large and very real part of me was lost. Not too terribly long ago, some old friends invited me back to that place to occasionally sit in with the band. I knew that it was not the same place I had left but I welcomed the opportunity to see a handful of old friends and play my bass every now and then. Over the past several months this has become increasing difficult. In many ways I feel like a third wheel on a date with an ex-lover who has since given herself to another. It is awkward for everyone. Every word and action of the new happy couple emphasizes that this ex is not the same person. Over the years, both of us have changed in completely opposite directions. When the realization hits that even the memories of this past relationship are gone because the remembered no longer exists, it is like feeling the sense of loss all over again.

This past Sunday, I attended that church that I once loved — and that once loved me — for the last time. The direction, vision and practices of the new leadership in that place are headed along a completely different trajectory than the one we once shared together. And while I will never comprehend how there is no one left there who still affirms the things I thought we held in common, this past Sunday I realized fully that if there are any people left who are not following the party line, they are not finding a way to voice their convictions.

There is a part of me that feels an urge to speak for them and another part of me that realizes I am no longer a part of that community. My voice in no longer wanted in that place. And while I am just arrogant enough to think that it is needed, whether wanted or not, I am not arrogant enough to actually do anything about it. I want to convince myself that someone more qualified than myself will speak into the situation. But as an observer whose vantage point is growing more distant there is a sense that I feel the more estranged we become from one another the more we all lose.

In any case, it looks like the road ahead will continue to be just as convoluted as the one that brought me hear.

This entry was posted on Thursday, October 29th, 2009 at 12:14 am and is filed under Everything Else.... You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.