Monday | Brethren

My church has been one of God's great gifts to me in the past year. For years, in fact, almost ten years, I had been in many ways, “churchless.” The churches I attended were good churches but none of them fed the thirsty recesses of my soul. One church I simply attended because it was were my family went and when I finally beat my retreat, I was battered and beaten up, my faith in doubting chaos due to a theology that painted God as a dictator demanding our subservience. I found a safe place at my next church, a place to lick my wounds, heal and remember again who God REALLY is. I was safe but I still didn't feel fed. And then I went from there to not attending church at all, when I got a job that had me working every Sunday for basically a year and a half straight. My soul suffered and I prayed so often for a church where the Spirit felt alive, the worship was with abandon and people actually were convicted and moved by the Spirit in their daily lives. I didn't know of any. Anywhere. This is California, after all.

And then, out of the blue, like a gift of sweet peace, He gave me my church. I visited on a whim with a friend (strength in numbers) and I knew from that first Sunday that this was where I was meant to be. It was real. It wasn't bound by traditionalism neither was it wrapped up in being modern and “up to date,” while yet having a hip vibe all it's own that sang to the part of me burnt by the “traditional” church (we meet in an old theater, the one my mom first watched The Sound of Music 30 years ago, how cool is that??). The people worshiped. People cried as they were fed by truth, convicted in fallibility, in awe of His infallibility. The sermon wasn't just a theological monologue or even one of simple “practical application.” It was just Jesus, sweet Jesus, calling us to be radical, to be humble, to cry out, to forsaken all idols, cast aside weights and chains, to throw ourselves down on our faces before God in full surrender. A call to life outside the box and inside the fullness of Christ.

This was home for my soul. From that first Sunday, I put my foot down at work and fought for Sundays off and thanks be to God, it happened and I've been going there ever since. It's been eight months and each Sunday feels like waterfalls of life flooding my soul. I've cried, tears running down my face, mascara smearing as I've once again been in a group of people where Jesus is part of it all, people who worship. I've been broken down, scrubbed out and healed up.

I'm so thankful for my church, so thankful for the godly, brave and bold leadership of my pastors who I pray for almost every day. I'm so thankful to have a place to go where Jesus is worshiped with passion. A place where the Holy Spirit really moves, where you see people in rapt adoration of our Jesus.

This church has been one of the greatest answers to pray and sweetest gifts that God has given me. Thanks, Jesus. You know I love you.