Getting the Message (Again)

It's been a few weeks since I've been to church... And while I never set out intentionally not to go, I haven't been going all the same. And I've found that when I don't go, when I don't commit myself to Sunday morning, it really does manage to throw me out of whack. Certainly an odd ball experience for a woman who for the past ten years has managed to avoid all forms of organized religion.

If I were being honest - something that I find extremely easy to be until I have to analyze my own behavior - I'd say that I've been falling into the not so thrilled with God category again. And I realized just this morning, that the problem isn't with God at all but with me, because I keep expecting something more from faith than what faith is really all about.

I guess I've been waiting for some sort of sign. Something along the lines of, "Hey Stacey... It's been good to have you back at church, and now that you've finally come round to the right side of the road, it's time to start granting you some goodwill wishes... "

But God is neither a vending machine nor a magic genie. And God can't make things right for us when things go wrong unless we're prepared to assist in our own recovery. We have to want it, and work for it, side by side with faith. Without faith, it's easy to blame God rather than accept the blame as our own.

And so I cried - yet again - in church today. (A telling sign that I was exactly where I needed to be.) Trying my hardest to keep myself together, to hide my tears. Feeling stupid and ashamed that my emotions were getting the best of me in public. Trying to train my eyes (my eyes that give everything away) from looking at anyone else, concentrating mostly on the floor while holding onto the pew in front of me to keep myself from running out the door because I couldn't (couldn't being the key word) make myself sing the song.

I’m forgiven because You were forsaken.
I’m accepted. You were condemned.
I’m alive and well,
Your Spirit is within me
Because You died and rose again.

I forced myself to plant my feet and listen to that entire song. And I knew that my meltdown wasn't going unnoticed. I know I didn't imagine the lay minister looking right at me when he asked us to bow our heads in silent prayer and pray for those of us who came to church today with sorrow in our hearts. And I don't imagine he asked us all once again to sing the last verse of the song I couldn't sing to reach out and say, "Yes... You are forgiven. This is something you need to know..."

I can never hide my heart in the House of God, not like I can wherever else I go. My personal motto has always been, "But you will not know." And I think there are a lot of people like me, people who have been let down so many times by the people they care about and the world in general, that they just reach the point where they simply can't allow it anymore. And instead of hanging on, and trying to work whatever it is out, it's easier to dull yourself down to a place where the pain can't be felt.

Going to church makes me recognize that I'm choosing to walk around with rocks in my pockets. Rocks of things I will not forgive myself for, rocks for people I will not forgive. And these rocks I insist on carrying have become for me a weighted albatross hung round my neck, a burden for my heart and my heart alone to carry. There can be no doubt that one of the lessons I'm meant to learn is the rightness of learning how to let some things go... After all, I don't believe I'm going out on a limb when I say that God didn't expect us to be pack mules for pain.

Lessons however are much easier in theory than practice and I am a frequent stumbler between getting things right and getting things wrong. Sometimes even though I know I've set out with the best of intentions, I still manage to make major blunders and botch things up without barely blinking an eye. Between sheer stubbornness and outright pride - two vices I'm well aware don't make my lesson learning any easier - it's hard for me to find my way to the high road when I suffer from an insatiable need to be right. Always right. Always in control.

The truth is there isn't always a right way and a wrong way... Sometimes there has to be a middle ground. And sometimes we have to be willing to meet the people that mean the most to us in it. Maybe we said some things that shouldn't have been said, maybe we did something we shouldn't have done, maybe we both made mountains out of molehills, and maybe neither one of us wants to admit to our mistakes.

I have to ask myself if it's worth it. Is the price to be right too high a price to pay when what you sacrifice is a significant part of yourself?

This is the message. Part of the lesson I've learned at church. That Jesus didn't turn his back or cast judgment on anyone. He opened his arms and forgave... He did it with love, and he did it with faith.