Monday, August 23, 2010
I'm a rebel at heart. I've always been that way. Don't believe me? Well my family could tell you some stories. And admittedly, more often than not, my way was far from the best way to accomplish anything. Being somewhat hard headed about many things, I had to learn the hard way. And guess what, I’m still a little hard headed, but learning that in all things----there is a lesson to be learned.
These days I feel the rebel rising up in my chest, burning and inching its way forward again after all these years. It dances inside my head, humming a tune and giving the world the well known finger. However, this time I’m not alone. My husband and I are now the rebel rousers, bucking the authority so to speak. As a family we’ve decided that we will no longer attend Church. It’s not a decision that we came to quickly or lightly. Truth is we got hurt, again. Imagine that, getting hurt by godly people. Reminds me of Beth Moore’s book, When godly people do ungodly things. But like I said before there’s always lessons to be learned.
Yet, even then I was different.......I was the rebel. It was me who asked questions like, “why do we have to wear dresses and pantyhose to church, Jesus doesn’t care how we come.” Dare I buck the authority and put on a pair of jeans. We’ll not in my mama’s house, and I tried. I'd watch the pastors as they sweated, hollered, about the goodness of God, about the dangers of hell, and how Jesus was the way. People would stand up and shout out of excitement, they'd wave white handkerchiefs, and nod their heads while saying amen amen, preach preacher. It was all alien to me. I'd just let my mind wonder....wonder why when someone sung a song it was more of a concert...it was their platform and they were Whitney Houston. I wondered why everyone "acted" up in church like they were holy, and had no compassion, empathy, or love for anyone else. For all the latest gossip all you had to do was go to church. But it wasn’t gossip as long as they put, “Bless her heart, she needs Jesus” at the end of everything. I wondered why some of the churches I went too were like walking down the runway and I was the model on display so they could converse back and forth about what I was wearing. I've seen those who came to church dressed in their best taken in back rooms and given "more appropriate" clothing to wear. And they never returned.
Once I was 18, I left the church. I had grown tiered, weary of it all. If I could have, or rather had enough nerve I would have risen up out of that pew and shouted screamed to the tops of my lung. “You have created traditions of men that are killing us, and driving us away from the very arms that you want us to run to.”