Exposing the ugly to find the cure

These are some of the most common complaints I've heard from people who gave up on church: it's too preachy. The pastors and congregants are arrogant. The sermons reek of stereotypes about men and women and are completely out of touch with reality. The pastors encourage people to put on happy faces even when they don't feel like it, because God forbid a Christian is seen as anything less than joyful.

I haven't been to enough churches long enough to say whether most are actually like this or not. But I feel so extremely blessed that the first home church I've found has completely shattered every single one of the above stereotypes.

Growing up non-Christian, my view of what Christian faith looks like in a modern world was skewed. I thought the Holy Spirit was some kind of magic antidote for life's tough issues, that you accept Christ as your savior and suddenly your job is easier to handle, you're happy all the time, and your acne clears up (okay, not really). But based on many conversations I've had with non-Christian friends who grew up Christian, the church has been bashed as a place where you have to put on a front and be fake, because sin is shame and shame makes outcasts of people who may be in desperate need of fellowship.

Last night's LT meeting was -- I hope -- the turning point in my quest for healing this summer. When the speaker said he was turning over the microphone to the crowd for anyone to come up and boldly confess their most personal, shameful sins, the first thought that popped into my head was "Hell no!" The point of this wasn't to perpetuate gossip and expose all our dirty little secrets; the point was to completely shatter the walls of pride that keep us from admitting that we are flawed, broken people in desperate need of grace. Pride is that pesky emotion that prevents needy people from seeking help, which results in way more destruction than simply willing your issues away. That never happens, ever. Our own strength is just not enough.

I saw and heard things I will never forget last night. There were women I assumed had it all together -- the personality, the smarts, the seemingly perfect boyfriend, the good looks -- confess to struggling with eating disorders, shame for past sexual experiences, and self-hatred. There were men who confessed to struggling with lust, porn addiction, and feelings for other men in their Bible studies. I saw grown men break down and heave in desperate, gut-wrenching sobs. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I've seen grown men cry and let me tell you, when that happens, that is serious business. You never make fun of a man who cries.

Lust was probably the biggest issue confessed for both men and women, which blew me away because the issue of women struggling with it is so rarely mentioned in the church. There are Christian books on dating and setting boundaries I've read that I've wanted to throw across the room because they fail to address the absolute fact that women can struggle with lust and pornography just as much as men do. The transparency and courage of these people was one of the most amazing things I've ever witnessed.

It wasn't long before I felt myself being pushed toward the stage to confess my own sin. I think part of that was because I'm tired of being that awkward, moody girl who always has something going on, but never talks about it, so therefore no one can help her. I wanted to get everything off my chest because this group of people, this church, is my family.

I may not know half the names of the people in it, but I am them, and they are me. We are all in this bitter struggle together, and I finally felt the conviction to come clean about some of the things that have been weighing down my heart this summer: having impatience for customers at work. Being jealous of other people's successes. Harboring hatred for someone who hurt me in ways that no one should ever know.

It all just came out, and afterward I cried so hard my whole body shook, and I sat in a "prayer huddle" for more than three hours afterward, with a dozen other broken but beautiful women who loved me and showed me grace. It hurt like hell, but it was honestly one of the most beautiful moments of my life that I will always remember, because this is exactly how God works: breaking us down to build us up.

This is a quote from one of my favorite biographies on Joan of Arc that sums up the meaning of last night extremely well:

An experience of God's nearness does not mean an avoidance of pain -- it provides a path through which suffering may be endured. Is it more comforting to assert the ultimate meaninglessness of life? Does denial of meaning, even though we cannot know it, bring peace and diminish agony?

No matter how deep our suffering, God is deeper still.

God did not say, "You will never be tempted, you will not suffer," but He does say "You shall not be overcome." ~Donald Spoto, Joan