I was trying to count how many different churches I
attended as an evangelical kid growing up in the Bible Belt but lost count.
There were new churches popping up around me like dandelions all the time.
Meanwhile, I was like a spiritual foster child moving from one house of worship
to the next.
I know Church hopping isn’t just a Southern pastime, but
it can be like sweet tea on a summer Sunday afternoon to the incurably
righteous who bounce from one church home to another saying “Bless their
hearts” as they split the doors of the latest church on their way out because
those guys are getting it all wrong. Pastors hair too long? Call him out on the
heresy and strut away. You don’t like the guy leading worship? Hop over to
Second street and join them for a while. The gossip isn’t as hot as it used to
be? Then slide on down to the New Life Vine on the Rock or one of its
franchisees that have three services on Sunday with the tatted-up pastor. Lots
to talk about there, if that’s where the spirit leads of course but you better
get in while you can because it might whither and blow away soon.
Until I grew tired of looking for a home church there was
always some hotel conference room being rented out by some part time preacher
looking to hand out communion and build God’s kingdom.
I’d had my fill of grape juice and King’s Hawaiian Sweet
rolls and wanted a real meal which finally led me home to the Catholic Church.
It’s been five years now since I was welcomed into the one holy, catholic and
apostolic church and I’m still pretty new at all this. I believe if you google
the word neophyte you might find a
picture of me wearing a rosary around my neck. I still haven’t memorized the
Hail Holy Queen or the Nicene creed and don’t get me started on fasting. I
finish the burger on Friday even after I remember it’s Friday. Sometimes when
I’m in the confessional I swear I can hear the Priest’s eyes rolling in his
head. Not too long ago, the Father gave me a blessing as I knelt down and then
true to form I began with “bless me father” at which point he jumped in and
said “I just did”. That stung
a bit for sure. I’m sure I’ll settle in eventually I just don’t want to be
hemmed in by the two sides I’ve seen online and in print going after each
other.
We’ve got the nostalgic police who are certain the Pope’s hair is too long and come off sounding angry and stiff-necked. We’ve got post-Vatican II hippies who seem to always be fussing with the nostalgic police and who are certain that everything is a pro-life issue. They come off sounding angry and stiff necked too. They each see all the good on their side and none on the other as their righteous anger slips into blind rage. Maybe they feel as if their stinging tongues are whipping the money changers in the temple but really they’re just whipping the guy with the dove offering and scattering his family and breaking people into groups and hardening the lines that separate them.
It’s a melee of salvation with each side working out
their own salvation on the other guy by instilling fear and trembling. After
all the table tossing is over and with maybe a beating or two still happening
in the background, they all begin yelling repent at each other. Maybe one day
they’ll recognize each other in the reconciliation line looking for Grace and
find they can share it with each other too. God knows we all need it especially
me.
I have to either keep my head on a swivel or on our Lord
when all the merciless words start flying back and forth. There’s no other
church for me to hop over to now. There’s our heavenly home, of course, but I’m
not certain I’m ready to make that jump yet. I have found a few of the faithful
on social media who are certain others are ready for it though. The little gods
with stiff necks break easily when they don’t bow. The little gods with weak
knees fall easily when they refuse to stand. We’re all broken and fallen enough
without being reminded of it constantly by each other.
Look, I get it. They’re all trying to bring light to everyone’s eyes, and I thank the sides for giving it a go. The repulsive problem is when they beat up on each other over this stuff in public with ugly words or look down their noses through their hazy glasses with cutting eyes. Their smug moral superiority trips me up with a sour self-consciousness. Do I take the host in the hand? Forget it. Is anyone watching when I forget to genuflect before squeezing into the pew, already filled because I came in late? Do I get paper or plastic bags at the grocery store? Is someone ready to pounce if I question anthropogenic climate change? How much time in purgatory do I get for getting these wrong?
I probably got all that wrong too but I’m going to keep on swinging and trying to do right so share a little Grace with me, smile, nod and say “bless your heart” when you see me. I’ll know what you really mean, and I’ll smile back. You’ll probably get a hug too because, let’s face facts, we’re family that’s meant to pull together. Just as God is one and a family unto Himself I pray that we remain as one so we can be a blessing to each other, a light to this world and glorify His name.
✠
Photo by Jametlene Reskp on Unsplash
