Why I'm not at church right now...

[After a long conversation with Jen, and after reading her wonderful new post--click on the "Klaipeda" link on the left--I'm motivated to write...]


My parents just left for church.

I was not with them.

I want to go to church. I want to worship communally with God's children. I believe that there is a tenor of prayer and worship that can only be sounded en masse. I believe that communal prayer and worship is more than the sum of its parts. I believe that we are stronger in every way when we commune than when we live solitary lives.

Even so, I'm at home.

My life is hard. Your life is hard. This is true. If you don't agree with me, then you aren't paying attention. (Clearly, self-confidence is my strong suit.) If you have never been overwhelmed by the pain of the people on your street, or even in your home, then you haven't opened your eyes. If you can comprehend the pain of those around you, if it doesn't seem that bad, then look further. Find a local immigrant community. Talk to Persians about fleeing Iran. Talk to the Sudanese about the Janjaweed. Talk to Cambodians about Pol Pot. Talk to the Lebanese about cluster bombs. Talk to Israelis about suicide bombers. Talk to Palestinians about living caged.

You get the picture.

And so, when I go to church, and everyone is so very sappy happy, I feel like an alien. I sit in the center of a megachurch and look at the thousands of people packed in around me, smiling, and I realize I forgot to get my dose of happy juice at the door. I look at all these people and wonder if I'm the only one confused about why God is sitting on His hands. Am I the only one wondering why he doesn't rescue us from ourselves? Am I the only one angry that He doesn't put an end to the madness? How many, O Lord, how many must die, how many will murder and be murdered before you bring peace? How many more broken hearts before you call out, "Enough!" How many more dead babies? How many more barren couples? How many more life-long mental diseases? How many more fatherless children?

God is big enough for my questions. The Bible is deep enough for my frustration. In fact, the Bible is one of the few places I can find people honestly proclaiming the feelings and thoughts that roil through me.

I didn't go to church tonight because I'm not happy. I'm joyful. I'm content. I'm at peace. I'm even in a fairly good mood. I might even sing at the top of my lungs and listen my voice reverberate through the empty house.

But I'm not happy, and if one more person looks at me and says, "Hey girlie, smile! This is the day the Lord has made!" ... well, I don't know what I'll do, but it'll make my mom really mad.

I'm looking for a community that lives honestly. I have fabulous friends who live honestly. I've had Bible studies and small groups of people who don't flinch at speaking the truth. But I haven't found that here. I don't know how to walk up to people and say, "If we get to know each other, are you going to be REAL with me? Real with both the sufferings and the joys that weave through life? 'Cause if not, I really don't have time right now. I've got lesson plans to wrangle."

The Dread Pirate Roberts said it best: "Life is pain, Princess. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something."

Now, before you start dropping prozac into my tictacs, I know that life contains great joy. I know that there are people out there who are ecstatic to be alive. I wouldn't want to rob them of that joy for anything. But, true joy and true suffering are not opposites. They don't cancel each other out. Joy that can be diluted or destroyed by bad news isn't real joy.

I think I just decided that I'm anti-happiness. Pro-joy, but anti-happiness. Maybe just anti-pursuit-of-happiness... If I'm against the pursuit of happiness, can I still be an American? I still hold with life and liberty. Hmmm.


Anyway, I'm not looking for an answer. The answer is that I need to have compassion and patience and generosity with those around me who don't live up to my oh-so-high standards. Maybe next weekend...


p.s. Please understand my definition of "happiness," which involves a fear of pain, a certain self-delusion, and an unwillingness to look into the deep recesses of the heart.