Where Else Am I Gonna Go?

A friend who read an advance copy of Downsizing: Letting Go of Evangelicalism’s Nonessentials said, “I'm amazed that you didn't give up on the church long ago with all you went through.”¹

Frankly, I’m a little amazed, too. Why do I still see myself as a member of the body of Christ after experiencing a cavalcade of awful, manipulative, and sometimes criminal behavior from too many leaders in too many churches? Am I some kind of masochistic religious addict? Have I been brainwashed? Have I fed the vain hope I can somehow redeem the sunk cost I’ve invested in poor church choices I’ve made? Do I have a spiritual version of Stockholm Syndrome, where a victim (me) forms a toxic emotional bond with their captor (the church)?

I have contemplated these questions at length with a professional counselor, and continue to examine them with a spiritual director, in ongoing conversation with a few trusted friends, and in prayer. Two things explain why I am still here, albeit weary, humbled, and wiser as a result of the journey. This first comes in the form of a paragraph from the book:

I’d witnessed a lot of terrible behavior from church leaders, but I’d also seen self-giving love at work in the church communities of which we’d been a part: believers showing up to clean the toilets of someone who’d had surgery, caring for the children of impoverished single mothers who worked the night shift, offering financial help in the face of sudden job loss, weeping with those who wept and rejoicing with those who rejoiced. I had witnessed enough scenes of the church being the church, and when she was, she was breathtakingly beautiful. I still believed the church was out there. She would never fit neatly into the institutional containers human beings created for her, but neither was she entirely absent from many of those containers.

Once upon a time, a lifetime ago, I gave too much of my trusting heart to faith-based institutions, whether they came in the form of small startup nondenominational churches renting conference rooms motels in order to hold Sunday services or whether they were huge, established denominations. But institutions–even tiny church plants–are all about form and structure. They may be generous and generative in their mission, but institutions by definition are not organic, living things, which is the only way Jesus talked about his kingdom community. Even the most gracious institutions are governed and grown by roles, rules, responsibilities, and transactional relationships.

I no longer give my heart to institutions. Though still I attend a local congregation, almost all of my meaningful fellowship happens in the context of relationships not defined or contained within the four walls and org charts of an institutional church. Fellowship is by definition organic and non-hierarchical.. When I meet another follower of Jesus, it is church because we are the church.

Relationships built on solid Rock have held me when it turns out that so many of the institutional churches of which I’ve been a part have been built on sandbars at low tide. When institutions built on lousy foundations are exposed to the pressures of storm and change, the weight of them inevitably leads to their collapse. We are seeing this in real time with every exposure of a toxic church leader, and with the wedding of Evangelicalism with authoritarian politics. This necessary downsizing may not feel much like grace as we watch this unfold in excruciatingly slow motion, but it is. What endures is on the ground fellowship–the kind of thing that only really happens at sea level.

The second prong of my response to those questions about why I’m still here come from Jesus’s volatile friend, Simon Peter. At the peak of his earthly popularity, Jesus spoke challenging words to the crowds who’d been flocking to see him. As a result, the herd thinned quickly and dramatically. It is one thing to ride a wave of popularity. But you find out who your true friends are when just about everyone decides to move on to the next big thing.

In a vulnerable and deeply human moment, Jesus asked his core group of disciples if they wanted to follow the crowds and leave him, too. Simon Peter gave a response that echoes across time: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God.” (John 6:68-69)

So I say with Peter in my best Chicago accent, “Where else am I gonna go?” Much has been downsized in my own faith journey, but I’m still here because by the grace of God, I echo Peter’s stubborn, countercultural words.

What’s Your Story?

Whether you are a long-time member of an Evangelical church, have attended one or more Evangelical congregations in the past, have had Evangelical friends or relatives, or are not connected in any way with Evangelicalism, I'd welcome your input on this quick 7 question survey. It should take no more than a few moments of your valuable time. Click the button below to start.

If you wish to be entered into a drawing for your choice of either a copy of Downsizing when it releases on August 19th or a $20 Amazon gift card, you can include your name and email address at the bottom of the survey. I will be holding the drawing after midnight Eastern time on Thursday, July 10th, The survey will remain open after that, because I want to hear what you have to say!

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Photo by Buddha Elemental 3D on Unsplash

A prayer for each one of us disoriented by these downsizing days:

Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day,
for darkness is as light to you. (Ps. 139:7-12)

1. Note: The book explores a number of influential streams within Evangelicalism during the last fifty years. While it is not a memoir, I have woven some of my own story throughout the book.