“I Don’t Care About Being Right Anymore” (by Marshall Pickard)


Alright, confession time.

As I recently boarded a plane to Italy, I began reading Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code…

I know, I know. As a pre-teen evangelical, I promised myself I would never commit the cardinal sin of reading such a blasphemous book. But I mistakenly thought it was set in Rome (not Paris), so I gave it a shot.

Here’s a quote I found quite interesting from the book’s nerdy but awesome (Tom Hanks, ya’ll) protagonist, Robert Langdon:

“[E]very faith in the world is based on fabrication. That is the definition of faith—acceptance of that which we imagine to be true, that which we cannot prove.”

Wow. That’s some deep stuff—some philosophy that hits hard against my need to always be right.

My experience with church has been this: I was raised as a PK, so I had to be “on” all the time. Even running in the halls as a kid would result in an intervention from the deacons, and with my every move being so scrutinized, I felt more like a Kardashian than the son of a clergyman.

I’ve always loved the Lord, but I was more than happy to head off to my liberal arts university (albeit, Christian) for some time away from the dry religious season of a rough last semester in high school. Hurt too many times, I needed some distance from the family of God.

But at school, after some space to heal, I got plugged in again at a local church and eventually found myself participating in an accountability group and leading a weekly small group in my dorm. I learned that church was more about “doing life with people” and less about performing the letter of the Law flawlessly.

And yet, there still remained the question of doctrine. At my university, I was challenged to look outside my box and ask big questions about my faith. Often this left me more frustrated than I felt I could stand. With so many interpretative differences inside the church, how could I know what to choose to believe? Eventually, I basically adopted a stance Socrates would have been proud of: admitting I ultimately know nothing.

One thing I do know is this: knowing Jesus is so much more about humility than knowing all the answers.

But still answers are important because in the south, I live in a society soaked in the Christian subculture, and I occasionally find myself at odds with it. I am still frustrated at gender bias in the global church. I think Pentecostals focus too much on prosperity, but I think Calvinists focus too much on suffering. I hate how the Church responded the recent World Vision debacle, and I cringe every time I hear someone equate Phil Robertson’s crude comments from last December with “the Gospel.” I think we all talk about “feeding the poor” too much because none of us actually do it. I hate interdenominational spats and heated theological Twitter battles over unresolvable issues.

And I honestly don’t care whether you went to see God’s Not Dead or Noah at the movies or what you thought about it.

But I’m not actually angry at the Church. I just often find myself out of place—too progressive for the Church and too conservative for the world.

Visiting the Roman Colosseum this week, I thought long and hard about the suffering of Christians slaughtered in this ancient arena.

For them, the Church was their lives. It was definitely not a place where you had to have the right answers or pretend you believed everything you are supposed to believe.

For these early believers, church was a place to meet Jesus—the ultimate truth—often through the community of others who also risked their lives to tell of the goodness of God.

No offense to Rome, but after seeing the grandeur of the Vatican, I began thinking about what Jesus—the man who scolded the religious so often—would think about the production we’ve made church.

I think he would turn the temple tables of our insistence to be right, our theological debates that never get anywhere, our hurtful intolerance for one another, and the false idols we have fabricated and propagated.

Then he would turn the table back over, break out some bread and wine, and invite those who don’t have it all figured out to have a seat. In place of religious dogma, he would teach us the message of Ephesians 4:3—finding peace from all life’s questions by choosing to live in unity with our brothers.

There in his sweet company, the disillusioned Church wouldn’t care so much about being right anymore.

Marshall is currently backpacking all across Europe (the lucky guy), having spent the semester  abroad on the same trip I went on last year. Read more from him on his blog, The Train of His Robe.

“Why I Stayed” (by Hannah Schuerman)

churchsign-1I don’t know when church-going became a part of who I am, but I guess faithfully attending every Wednesday and Sunday for 22 years has a way of turning into a habit. Over the short amount of years that I have been alive, I have had plenty of reasons to leave church, most of which deal heavily with the reality that people suck.

It’s true! I have been around different leadership styles, different personality types, different worship styles, even different theological viewpoints- all within the same church!

To give you a little background about my temperament: I am pretty easy going with most things, it takes a lot to get me riled up and even more for me to speak out against something. I am a natural-born leader, and when a leader is needed (whether in academia or in the church world) I tend to rise to the occasion. Because of these seemingly contrasting parts of my personality, I often am critical of leadership but rarely do I do anything about it.

You see, I am definitely smarter than my pastor. This is a thought that I have actually had on many occasions in my short adult life and I guarantee it’s something you’ve thought of as well, if you’re a regular church-goer. Where does this feeling of superiority come from? It’s easy for me to see problems within the church and think of a magical cure-all to the situation. As the logic goes: if I can do it, how come my pastor can’t? The answer then, obviously, must be that I’m smarter than he is.

Sometimes, I get really undone with what I see around me in the modern day church and church culture. I think about all of the sad injustices I have seen in churches, both with my own eyes and through news outlets. The lying, the distorting of scripture, the abuse of the pulpit, the misconduct of pastors, deacons, and clergymen, the exploitation of children, the gossip, the politics. That list, though it is not conclusive, is enough to make me sick. If I think too long about what happens in most churches nowadays, it is reason enough for me to leave on fair grounds. There are so many great things about The Church too: a strong community, a place to encounter Christ, meeting people, the chance to use your gifts and talents- the list is a long one.  But I have had to take a step back sometimes and ask myself: why do I stay in church?

The major theme that links these problems- and is a common theme among Christians today- is the inability to practice what is preached. So often, we hear wonderful sermons and devotionals about loving our neighbors (Mark 12:30-31), “judging not” (Matthew 7:1-2), and forgiving those around us (Matthew 6:14-15)  but are unable to keep these scriptures in mind when dishing out hatred, judgement, and unforgiveness. Please don’t get me wrong, I am one of these people! In fact, I’m probably the worst one of us all. I am guilty of almost every sin in the Book.

God has reminded me of something recently and it looks a little something like this: Be the change you wish to see in the world. Now, most of us internet folks will know that that is a quote from Mohandas Ghandi, but the words are a truth that resonates deeply within me. The first portion of that truth is that I have to get over myself- I must submit to authority and realize that it’s not always about me.

The question why do I stay has no concrete answer.

I stay in church first and foremost because I need a community of believers who I can connect with. I stay in church because I want church culture to be different. I stay because I want to see change, but I cannot wait for someone else to come along and change the culture of the church. I must to be the change that I want to see. I stay because I’m not perfect, I need as much grace as I can get, and I need to learn how to extend that grace to others. I stay because I have forged lasting relationships with people and because I have gotten involved with the worship and youth departments- allowing passions of mine to develop more fully.

The only way of learning how to walk out Scripture is to practice it. I must show kindness, learn to control my tongue, give of my time and energy. Remembering that what I do “unto the least of these” is what I do to Jesus. Because, sometimes, if you aren’t helping, you’re hurting. Imagine what the church would look like if everyone would stop talking and put their hands to good use. Instead of complaining that this or that isn’t right, why don’t we all take a moment to reflect if our complaining is actually helping the problem at hand. I had a mentor of mine explain to me that when I find myself being frustrated with the happenings in a church, I must ask myself if something is a preference or a problem. If it is the latter, then it needs to be prayed about and addressed according to scripture. If it’s the former, then I need to get over myself or leave. So if you’re disillusioned with church right now, I encourage that you stay for a little while longer and change your perspective (and your attitude) and see what happens.

Read more from Hannah on her brand new blog!

“Learning the Importance of Community” (by Christy Armstrong)

churchsignMany young people at some point find themselves feeling the need to break away from the familiar, to branch out and try new things or at least try going without something.

People who were “raised in the church” are definitely not exempt from that.

Some of my earliest childhood memories include things like snacking on animal crackers in Sunday school as I learned about the story of Noah and how he built a big boat and boarded it with his family and a bunch of animals.

Many of my relatives have been faithful churchgoers, and church has long been part of my family’s collective narrative. However, my portion of that story has included me questioning why on earth church was necessary.

That happened when I moved out of my parents’ Tennessee home to attend college full-time. I chose to go to a Christian university close to home that just so happened to be close enough to attend my longtime church if I so chose.

Somewhere along the way, church started feeling like work.

My university required students to attend regular chapel services about twice a week. I took required Bible courses, which I also attended multiple times a week. While I did enjoy it, a small group Bible study in my dorm was another item I had to add to my schedule. By the time I got to Sunday, I sometimes felt “churched out.”

I was strangely OK with missing church services because I had long believed that the most important aspect of my faith was my relationship with God – not the worship songs and other things found inside the confines of a Sunday service. It’s a relationship, not a religion, I caught myself thinking.

During my senior year of college, I was accepted into a cooperative study program that allowed me to study journalism and take on a newspaper internship in Washington, D.C.

While I did visit a few D.C. churches during that time, I spent many Sundays in my apartment. While my four roommates were genuinely nice people, I often chose not to attend services with them because I wanted the alone time.

That semester was an instance when a great deal of opportunity was thrown my way at a very difficult time in my life. To make a long story short, I had experienced a lot of unfortunate things the previous semester, including a car accident that left me with injuries to multiple parts of my body.

While I knew it wouldn’t solve my problems, I knew I needed a change of scenery to motivate me to stick with my studies and graduate in a reasonable amount of time. I applied and was accepted. It seemed meant to be.

Still, I was in constant physical pain due to my injuries, and I also faced new difficulties like getting used to courses that were more academically challenging. I approached my class load, big city journalism internship and part-time student worker job with one main goal: survival.

Some days, even survival seemed like a lofty goal.

Sunday mornings with a cup of coffee, a Bible and a notepad became a weekly respite from all the stress. Like I did most days, I desperately prayed that God would give me peace.  Those mornings spent sitting at my dining table and watching through my window as the sun rose higher and higher above the Capitol Hill skyline felt like answered prayers for peace.

Church was only an occasional part of the equation. At that time, visiting new churches almost seemed counterproductive. While I could have spent more time looking, I never did find a church that felt like home.

Separated from my usual group of friends and church members, I began to feel incredibly lonely – depressed even. It was then that I realized the importance of community.

The Bible has this to say about that:

“Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up!” – Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

I was woeful because it felt like I had no other person to catch me when I was at risk of falling. I believe God does not want us to be lonely or depressed. On the contrary, he loves us. While he is certainly capable of speaking into people’s lives one-on-one, he can also prompt his children to encourage each other.

That pretty much sums up my feelings on the importance of being involved with a Christian community, the kind that you most often find in a church setting.

While I have often prided myself in being a strong, independent woman, I have recently felt the need to get away from a “Me and Christ vs. life’s challenges” view on life and get to a place where it’s more like “Me and Christ and my brothers and sisters in Christ vs. life’s challenges.”

Don’t get me wrong; God is still the only one who can satisfy my every need. Still, I believe there is a reason for attending church that goes beyond listening to a sermon or singing worship songs or praying (all things that can be done at home alone).

No community of believers is perfect. We’re all sinners who can’t measure up to the awe-inspiring grace that God offers. But being part of a Christian community is actually worthwhile – imperfect though it may be.

Christy is a newspaper reporter and columnist in Tennessee. Read more from her on Twitter @ChristyArmst

“The U-Turn: Why I turn the car around most Sundays” (by Tim Moore)


It’s a cool morning, and there’s a sweet taste in the air. I drive downtown and watch the sun peek over the hill ahead. I pass people walking on the sidewalks, dressed in ties and hosiery. I come to a creaky stop at the intersection. The light turns green and I’m supposed to go straight, but I get a hardening in my chest. I head back to my house instead.

This setting is one that has been too often repeated in my life. So… where was I heading in that scenario? Church. I was going to church.

Let’s rewind a few years.

I was born into a denomination that represents one of the more rare churches in Cleveland. To get an idea of this church, at some point in my infancy, I gazed at wood cathedral ceilings as my smiling family gathered around a robed man dripping water onto my forehead. This was also one of the few typical family-in-church moments in my life.

During grade school, my family left our home church and tried another church in the area. It wasn’t long after that my mother, who grew up in a churchless family, became tired of the hypocrisy of the church. The tiredness led to apathy from going, while my father continued to go as a good pastor’s son would.

For a while, I found myself more on the apathetic side. How many kids would want to continue going to church if they could stay home? Not many, and I definitely wasn’t one of them.

However, when I was in middle school I decided to get involved in a youth group, and that meant going alone. I was interested in joining the church I grew up in, as they had an almost-cool youth group. Until I was able to drive myself, I hitched rides every Wednesday and Sunday for years. I went alone every time, but I managed to get reconnected with old friends and their families which seemed to justify it. While at times it was a struggle to be surrounded by church-raised families and see the connectedness they gained through it, I learned that I could create my own church-going experience.

Senior year of high school came quick, and I noticed a change of heart. No longer were the activities, retreats or Sunday lunches enough.

I wanted substance. I wanted to have the big discussions. I wanted to ask the tough questions. I wanted to have a real church family and to be supported.

I talked with my pastor, associate pastor and youth pastor about it. At the time, I believe they listened and heard me out.

But that wasn’t enough. I grew increasingly frustrated as that anticipated change didn’t happen. I started to feel as if a person at my age didn’t have a place or role in the church. I felt myself becoming disconnected and I started to feel the loneliness of the years weigh down on me. I just felt like a lost soul in an old building.

Sometime that year, I stopped going. I’ve only been back a few times since then.

I have tried going with friends to other churches, but I noticed a bitterness and discomfort followed me every time. I became tired of going into a sanctuary without the slightest bit of a welcoming, and it quickly became a dreadful affair. I had endured too many years of trying to find a church family even when my own family wasn’t by my side, and it made me bitter towards the church because I never felt like I got that church family I sought after.

Let me say one thing: I know my story is not all that special or a story that asks for sympathy. It’s just my story. I have had an extremely blessed life and this experience has shaped me in good ways. Everyone has their own difficult church experiences, and for example, I am well aware that growing up as a minister’s kid has its own set of difficult challenges.

So where am I now? I know that Christ died on the cross for me, and I can’t begin to describe my gratefulness for that. But as far as this church experience goes, I don’t know where to begin. What comes first and what follows: getting my spiritual life together or trying to get plugged into a community? I’m seeking community and substance, but it’s as if I’m not applying the right formula to it.

I’m interested to see what other stories get brought to the table this week. Thank you, Kelsy, for being such an inspiration with your transparency and giving me the opportunity to write on this topic.

Read more from Tim on Twitter, where you can harass him about starting his own blog. 

“Stones & Bricks” (by Evan Olson)


“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles…

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood…”

-Theodore Roosevelt

There are times when I hear people talking negatively about the Church. I hear things like:

“The service is too long.”

“They want my money.”

“They want my time.”

“It doesn’t meet my needs.”

It would be very easy to add my voice to this choir.

I’m not blind, folks. I agree that there are things that are wrong with the Church.

The Western Church, to be specific, is definitely too comfortable at times. The Western Church can sometimes seem to be too focused on building projects and not as focused on more pressing issues like poverty or the orphaned.

I could add to the list of the things the Church has done wrong.

It would be a long, well-written list of things that many people would agree with. I would maybe even get some retweets and larger traffic on my blog. I have things to add, things that aren’t exaggerated or misleading. They are real problems that need to be dealt with.

I could add my voice to that choir, but I won’t.

I can’t complain about the Church, because I am the Church.

Unlike myself, I understand that there are those of us who have been deeply hurt by their church or denomination. I have compassion for them and also desire to see them overcome the obstacles that pain has erected.

But there comes a time when we have to forgive.

There comes a time when we have to lay down the stones, especially the stones we find ourselves wanting to cast at the Church.

When we feel like casting disapproval upon the Church, we have to remember that the Church is the fullness of Him (Ephesians 1:22-23). To continually berate the Church is to, in essence, continually berate Christ.

More often than not, people aren’t even saying derogatory things about the Church. Instead, people use sarcasm as a means to complain without becoming too invested.

Sarcasm is not a gift of the Spirit. If anything, sarcasm eats away at the roots that hold us together. I’m not saying sarcasm is evil or immoral – I’m saying that when it’s used to berate the Bride, it’s dangerous and undermines the finished work of Christ.

We can’t complain about a problem when we are members of the very institution we complain about. To complain is irresponsible. We’re better than that. We’re the Church and we’re not built upon sand. We’re built upon a firmer foundation than sarcasm, judgement, or offense.

Furthermore, your church isn’t the Church. To write off the Church because of your experiences with a church is wrong. In fact, it’s not biblical (Ephesians 4:32).

It’s not wrong to have issues with the Church, but I’ve read stories of people being hurt and deciding to completely stop attending because of an offense. By definition, that type of action is contrary to the Bible.

It’s time to stop jumping on the bandwagon that is constantly speaking ill of the Church. Jesus called the Church His Bride. Furthermore, He commanded us to come into community with one another.

While this may not look like its current manifestation – Sunday mornings with Starbucks before service and Chinese buffets afterwards – at least we’re trying. At least we have some semblance of balance when it comes to a weekly gathering.

Personally, I was once annoyed with my own church. We lacked community; we were too concerned with revival and seemed to have little interest in our congregants and their daily lives. In a pursuit of large theological concepts, I felt like we were forgetting about people.

But instead of complaining, boycotting, or leaving: I decided to do something about it. Where I saw a lack, I added myself and began investing time in what I wanted to see happening.

So whatever problems you see, you can help solve. Cliche as it is – be the answer to your own prayer. It is far too easy to cast stones from afar at a denomination, church, or pastoral staff. It’s easier still to blog, tweet, and upload statues about it.

What is truly difficult (but also brave) is to set foot in the arena, to go to where the problems lie, and give your aide.

It’s too easy to throw stones at the Church.

But what I’ve learned is that those same stones we so desire to throw at the Church, can also be used as bricks.

Bricks to build with, bricks to create with.

The things we see that need improvement, we can help improve!

Don’t let offenses blind you. Don’t let the sun set on your anger. We’re still sinking in that ocean of grace.

We’re His Bride, His representation. We’re literally re-presenting Him to all mankind.

It’s time for us to come together, with stones in hand, and begin to build.

After three years of knowing one another & much convincing, I’ve finally agreed
with Evan that the place he lives, Iowa, actually is cool. He has guest authored for AE before and also authors his own blog

“Carpets, Community, and Church” (by Jill Pearson)


I haven’t ever left the church, but I haven’t always loved it.

I considered beginning with some anecdote or at least a portion of my long-term relationship with church, until I realized that the most honest thing to write is sometimes the most direct one. Now, as my family would say, I have some ‘splaining to do.

Let me begin by explaining that the line “I grew up in the church and in a Christian home” is somewhat unusual on my native Oregon coast; the sketches about cults and wacky spirituality you’ve seen on Portlandia are funny because they’re true. That’s the reality outside of the church. Inside the church, I suppose it’s much like your home congregation, assuming your church is mildly Pentecostal/Wesleyan, fond of potlucks, and carpeted in an odd discount color (ours was burnt orange).

Not all of them had orange carpet; my family moved enough to land us in different churches and denominations, some bigger and with a wider range of potluck dishes. And, when I went off to college (a Christian university in the Bible Belt, no less), I found a church much like the ones I’d grown up in (albeit rose pink).

My story so far doesn’t really explain anything, unless you consider that I may have stayed in church for potlucks (possibly true in my “starving college student days”) and that I have an unhealthy attachment to ugly carpet (also plausible). The primary reason, for many years at least, is that I am devotedly stubborn. I don’t pretend that stubbornness is a positive motivation, but it is a necessary one when the church is your home and vaguely spiritual and fiercely individual Oregon is your backyard. For what it’s worth, I also enjoyed church. I like reading the Bible; I like playing the piano; I like using baptism as an excuse to jump into the Pacific; I like feeling wanted and included.

Yet, for all my stubbornness and enjoyment of church, I didn’t always love it. On a scale of ‘totally disinterested’ to ‘I’d die for that,’ my love for the church is often somewhere around a ‘tolerant.’ Church, because it is people, is quirky and obnoxious. And that’s exactly why I need–and incidentally, why Christ loves–it.

I wish I could pinpoint the significant event that turned my tolerance for church into a love. As it is, I have no such event- some Pentecostal I am, eh? There are days, especially here at the seminary community, that I am still merely tolerant. I tolerate the “shh-badabada-shh” of praying in tongues at group prayer in the early morning; I tolerate the disorganization and lethargy of council meetings.

But I tolerate these quirks now because I love these people, the church. These are the days when my tolerance is supernaturally deepened into something more. It was on one of those days that I decided to go to this super-small seminary in the heart of Buenos Aires. When I accidentally visited it two years ago, I saw in the students the love of Christ for the church: a love that is just as present in preaching and studying as in hanging up someone else’s laundry or sharing the chocolate you’d bought for yourself. It is a love that asks forgiveness, one that washes your dusty feet, and one that hugs you when you’d rather retreat inside yourself. Church, it turns out, is an awful lot like community.

I need this community, just as it needs me. With or without burnt orange carpet, I love the church.

A woman of many adventures, Jill is currently residing in Argentina and attending seminary. Keep up with her on her blog, Jilliteracy

Habitual Christian (by Jessilyn Justice)

churchsign-1To tell you my church story is to tell you my life story, the pulse of my existence.

Part I

My parents are big believers in Proverbs 22:6 and not just a repeat-this-verse-after-me way.

Every thought that crosses my mind is infused with church culture, both the practical and the spiritual, as I literally grew up in the church, as my parents are pastors.

I’ve had more pizza with the pastor than pizza on my couch. I know exactly how many church chairs (six) need to be lined up so I can sleep while the elders meet. Challenge me to a game of hide and go seek in our church’s old sanctuary, and I can guarantee my victory.

At the same time, I know precisely how to pray for each person who asks, and even those who don’t. I can speak in tongues at the drop of a hat. I can grieve and rejoice.

I went on my first international mission trip when I was 9. I remember seeing some woman with gauze over her eye standing in her doorway. I asked my dad who asked the missionary if we could pray for her. She let me, as I was this chubby 9-year-old American girl with curls that couldn’t be contained.

Turns out she was a drug lord, but the real Lord completely healed her eye, which she was supposed to have surgically removed.

I went to two over-night summer camps: Camp Wonder Book and Camp Straight Street. I can recite countless verses from memory, many of which I chanted to myself before I fell asleep.

The highlight of my summer for a dozen years was Vineyard pastors’ conferences. Finally, I was among people who got what it was like to grow up in the church.

I remember sitting in a youth group meeting where the pastor asked people to identify someone in the room they thought, for sure, was a Christian. Heads swiveled in my direction.

I went to public high school where I would sing worship songs under my breath as I traveled from class to class.

When I was 17, I went to Kenya with my father. While he spoke with the men about budgetary issues, I sat with pastors’ wives and talked. And talked. And talked.

I spoke openly, honestly; laughed loudly.

“You’re so free,” several said.

And then when I was 18, it all fell apart. (I don’t believe in karma, but I do believe in sowing and reaping, which is why I still can’t figure this out. Out of respect for the people involved — and maybe to show them I am the better person — I won’t use names.)

Part II

When I was 16, my longtime youth pastor announced he was starting a nonprofit, which is a fantastic service, and I couldn’t be more delighted with his//the organization’s success.

But then we hired someone else, someone who was loud, passionate and oh-so-spiritual. There was a cult of sorts surrounding this pastor – people who are so obsessed with being anti-religious that it’s basically a religion.

In short, I didn’t fit in to this group.

Adjusting to being a spiritual outcast after growing up in the church is quite difficult – especially when the reason wasn’t drugs, pornography, sexual deviance.

Nope. I read “Twilight.” And like that, my world fell apart.

That was actually the last straw. Before that, I’d broken a few “cardinal” sins.

  1.      When everyone else was laughing because they were high on Jesus (it’s a thing), I didn’t. I was just quiet. I was told the reason I wasn’t laughing was because I had demonic activity in my life I needed to deal with.
  2.      I had a dream that wasn’t entirely appropriate. I told the youth pastor at the time, and she rebuked me – as in told the “spirits” (aka demons) around me that they had to leave me alone.
  3.      I couldn’t actually picture Jesus when I prayed. The group I was involved with held an intervention of sorts after a Bible study one night, and I cried and cried and cried, trying my best to picture Jesus. I was told that the reason I could not see Jesus was because there was sin in my life stopping me.

And then I read “Twilight.” And I liked it. And I saw the movie. Around that same time, the following happened:

  1.      That same group invited me to a movie (“Up,” which I will not watch to this day because of this), then informed me that I was not allowed to sit with them.
  2.      They informed me I was no longer allowed to sit with them at church and physically moved my stuff to a different part of the sanctuary.
  3.      Two girls went to give me hugs and then stopped, turned away and basically ignored me for the next several months.

These are a few specific examples to say the following: I was rejected, and it hurt. I was manipulated by scriptures to do what this group thought was favorable to God, and when I went against the grain, I was shoved out. Kind of literally.

This rejection led to an emotional spiral to places you don’t want to think about.

I was enveloped in loneliness, bitterness, depression. I cried out to God and felt ignored. I was terrified of anything having to do with the Holy Spirit because of how hurt I was by this group.

As a former cutter, I began to snap rubber bands against my wrist as a different form of self-harm. Sometimes the rubber bands would snap so hard that my tattoo would swell – my tattoo that means “Set free from the dominion of sin, liberated, unchained and unleashed.”

Though I felt like I was in a void, I still attended church. Couldn’t let the church members realize something might actually be wrong with the pastor’s daughter, could we?

Part III

My parents told me I could skip church the morning of March 14, 2009, so long as I attended the evening service with a prophetess I’d never met/heard of.

When I arrived at church, this lady was praying for someone else. I sat down and started snapping my rubber band. The lady finished her prayer and approached me.

“You’re Jessilyn.” It wasn’t a question. I nodded.

“You’re the apple of God’s eye.” There was more, but that’s all I remember.

That’s when the healing began.


Back to Proverbs 22:6, I was trained up and I’m not turning.

In college, I was able to coast on the fumes of my community’s Christianity. The school functioned as a church, so I didn’t necessarily feel the need to attend a church.

I traveled to Hong Kong, where I dealt with a lot of my aversion to things of the Holy Spirit by simply seeing the spiritual gifts in practice in a healthy way.

Like your physical body, the church can be healthy or it can be sick.

Just because you have a bruise on your arm doesn’t mean you can’t run.

In the same way, just because you have been hurt by the church does not mean you can do without a spiritual community and a place to serve. In time, (possibly a very, very, very long time) healing will come, and you will be able to use the once-wounded part again. Most of the people who hurt me have apologized, and we are rebuilding our friendships.

Until then, continue to seek, to ask questions, to struggle and serve. Comparison is the death of spirituality, so focus on your journey, not others.

Jessilyn Justice has guest written for the Accidental Extrovert before (this isn’t her first guest writing rodeo.) She resides both in Alabama and online on her blog

Sleeping in on Sundays: Why I left the church in college

churchIf I’m being really honest, I don’t understand churches. And sometimes, even worse, I don’t like them.

I grew up hearing the sermon statistic that 60% of Christian young adults will leave the church after they graduate college, but I never thought I’d be a part of that number until one day I woke up in college and was.

Growing up as a ministry person’s kid (no fun acronym or support group like for Missionary Kids or Pastor’s Kids sadly), my relationship with the church was often a rocky road during high school, peppered by painful experiences with people who were unkind and theology that was untrue.  It was a really dramatic, raw time in my life and unfortunately the church situation never got better.

I left for college with an internal suitcase packed with cynicism and anger towards the church, which admittedly was strange baggage to bring to a Christian, mandatory chapel-ed college. Not the Church aka the body of Christ, I would clarify to my friends in college, but the organization of church. Lowercase “c.” I didn’t figure I was leaving the church when technically, it left me first. In college, I made little to no effort to try to find church again.

Thankfully, as I’ve gotten older, grace continues to abound in my life.  I’m happy to say the anger has left my heart, thanks to many people &  churches that despite my best efforts, pulled me in closer. When I lived in Dallas for a summer, the Village Church was and continues to be the example of how the Church does church right. Also, Passion City Church in Atlanta has been a constant source of spiritual nourishment to me (I’d encourage you to check out both churches’ podcasts–great stuff.) Even in Nashville, I on & off again attended an incredible church before we moved away.

But really… I’m nervous to trust a church again.

I have many questions.

Why can’t my spiritual fellowship come from other places or people? Must they be organized to a certain time slot at a certain location? Does the Church have to be stuck at church? If the purpose of our lives is to bring honor & glory to God, for Him to increase & us to decrease, why are we so stuck on the American church model? Couldn’t church happen at any time and any place if the total presence of God is with us at all times? And why are there so many damn building projects (why are we so focused on temporary aesthetics when there’s real work to be done?)?

This is where I am, a Christian young adult part of the 60%. I’m searching for the answers to those questions and remaining hopeful that, like my peers who have found their home in a church, I will find my place too.

Don’t give up on me. My story is to be continued.

Finding My Space (by Rachel Lesler)


The following is a reflection-turned-blog post that I wrote so that I could clearly define some of my scatter-brained thoughts on church. I’ve spent the last few months actively trying to avoid going to church, because every time I went I left with a bitter taste in my mouth. Over the summer I became increasingly critical of the church I grew up in and still attend when I’m home. By August I almost hated who I had become in regards to church. Sure, there were things in my church that legitimately deserved a critical eye. But there were a lot of things that didn’t and I was having trouble seeing the difference anymore. My response was, when I moved back to college, to stop going to church because I didn’t know how to be in that space anymore. Finally I attended a new church and it was a breath of fresh air; but I didn’t know how to be in that space either. I’ve been a member of the same church for all twenty years of my life; I don’t know how to attend another church in my hometown faithfully without feeling guilt. It was also difficult logistically for me to often attend that second church, which led to my being even more uncomfortable in any space labeled “church.” I just wasn’t sure that with all my new ideas of feminism, liberalism, progressivism (ok, that’s probably not a word), that I ever could fit in that space again. A few weeks ago I realized that maybe the space wasn’t the only problem, but my lackadaisical attitude about it as well. So I decided to go to church. I went to two. One definitely was not my space, but the second could be. But then I went to a third church, and something wonderful happened:

Today, for what I’m sure is the first time ever, I heard a preacher say that Jesus was progressive toward women. That he protected them. That he radically broke customs to talk to women as a Rabbi.

And I was stunned.

Perhaps I should clarify something. The man wasn’t a “preacher” per se, that’s my evangelical non-denominational vocabulary coming through. He was a reverend, because today this southern evangelical girl went to an Episcopalian church. Today I kneeled in prayer, took actual wine for communion, and almost crossed myself (except I don’t exactly know the gesture well enough to do it without embarrassing myself so I refrained).

And I was refreshed.

Today I followed along to a service that was printed on a bulletin in my hand almost in its entirety. Every prayer, every response, every scripture was already printed for me. I didn’t have to scramble to take notes or rifle through the pages of my bible to keep up with the sermon or make sure I remembered every facet of the five-point sermon. But still I had to focus.

And I learned.

I learned, more than ever, that Jesus truly was a radical but he also respected and adhered to tradition. I learned the joy of reciting the Nicene Creed and knowing that believers all around the world were doing the same. I learned that Jesus most likely smiles on my feminism.

Because an ordained man stood behind a lectern in church and taught that Jesus honored and respected women and there were no “buts” or “ifs” or any other conditionals.

Because two women performed obvious leadership roles in the service, visible and welcome by the entire congregation.

Because I was offered holy communion wine by a woman, an experience that would never happen in my home church.

Most importantly, I learned that there is still space for me – a liberal young feminist who currently questions everything – in the Church. Maybe it’s not the church I grew up in, maybe it’s not the evangelical church, and maybe it’s not even the Episcopalian church, although I can’t wait to return to that parish for Holy Communion next Sunday. But in the Church that is ushering in the Kingdom of Heaven, there is space for me.

There is space for you.

And I am glad.

Rachel Lesler is currently studying English at Lee University. You can read more from her on Twitter @TheBookworm.  

Let’s talk about Sex.

Image(One thing should be clear from the get go: the reminder found in Romans 8:38-39, “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all of creation will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”)

I cannot tell you how many “True Love Waits” sermons I’ve heard throughout my twenty-two years attending Christian functions like church or (scary Pentecostal) youth camps. Or how many of those dang pledge cards I filled out, certifiably signing my sex life over to God.

I can tell you how many purity rings I’ve owned (two: I ironically lost one) and how often I emphatically was told by over-zealous married youth pastors that waiting was “so worth it” (multiple times by every youth pastor I ever had, so 6).

But what about people who already had sex? If “true love waits,” did they miss the boat for true love & are forced to settle for something substandard? So often, Christians wrongly take the approach of shaming those whom they declare “damaged goods,” when in reality, that phrase is the antithesis to Christ’s love and grace. Are we missing the very point of the Gospel when we draw the invisible line in the sand about who is or isn’t good enough? Who are we to determine who are the healthy and the sick (as Jesus talked about in Mark 2:17)?

NOTHING can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. Nothing= your past. Nothing= virginity. Nothing=promiscuity. 

We are quick to put virginity on a pedestal or equate it with our self-worth, but honestly, whether or not you’ve had sex before does not disqualify you from the abundant life God promises us in John 10:10. Don’t let shame steal your joy, kill your identity, or destroy your worth. God is a Restorer of lost time (Joel 2:25).

Worth and dignity is not contingent on anything we do or have done, and certainly not virginity. By declaring someone “damaged goods” because they are no longer a virgin, we are basically saying that the inherent worth of a person is if they keep their pants shut until their wedding day–not the quality of their character or the spiritual fruit they yield–simply physical behavior. Our value is not found in our sexuality. By idolizing virginity and treating those who have had sex as “the others,” we bring about a culture of judgement, superiority complexes, and worst of all, shame.

Let’s change that.