"You do know there's such thing as spiritual abuse?" my therapist asked. Of course, at twenty-five, I was well aware of verbal, physical, sexual, and even emotional abuse. Yet, spiritual abuse sounded like an oxymoron, as if it was never meant to exist. And that's because it wasn't. The church was meant as a place of rejuvenation, encouragement, and community. The stained glass windows were meant to invite both you and the Son to shine, not only on Sunday but every other day of the week too. But it's hard to shine for Jesus when you blanket yourself in shame and fear. When you don't feel welcome by those in suits and ties who say "Amen" to everything, yet live up to none of God's promises to love their neighbor.
For nearly four years, I sat under the leadership of a church that loved legalism and neglected to mention grace. Of course, grace was scattered through Scripture quoted in the sermons, but we weren't to give grace until others earned grace. As a perfectionist who was unreasonably hard on herself, I assumed I wasn't worthy of God's goodness and grace either.
Fast-forward one decade later and I'm a newly-wed. My husband and I have moved to a new town to start our first home, and it's time to find a church. I'm hesitant, near anxiety-stricken. For a few weeks, I push off the notion of trying churches. Surely God might understand why I didn't show up since we have a house to fix up, family to visit, etc. But even if He doesn't excuse my absence, I'd rather confess the sin later than face the uneasy feeling of sitting in a church pew for the next several hours.
Can you relate? If so, I have three simple, not-so churchy prayers you can try as you gear up for the thought of braving the church's big double doors:
1. "God, I don't wanna do this."
If we pretend we don't have an issue with church, how are we ever going to come to God and resolve the issue? It's an unrighteous elephant plopped in the middle of your heart's living room, and until you call it what it is, you can't face what it is. Is your skepticism of church due to past hurts, like mine? Do you have a shameful past you fear others would find out about? Have you seen churches fall apart and wonder why it's worth showing up?
Trust me, I can relate. But I couldn't relate to such pain until I admitted my skepticism to myself and God. When you remind yourself over and over just how much you don't want to go to church, it's easy to find an excuse to bail. Yet, when you admit it to God, you have made room for the Holy Spirit to offer you grace to prod you to give church another go.
Can I let you in on a big, big secret? I love my church now. But the first time I walked through the huge doors, surrounded by people I was afraid were smiling just to live up to their WWJD bracelets, I didn't want to be there. An internal grimace graced my wariness. But thanks to the Holy Spirit offering a few brave steps for me to get through the doors and find a seat, I found God's goodness in song, in Spirit. I noticed people with kind eyes who wanted to shake your hand and know your name because they cared.
I found God. But only because I was brutally honest with God.
2. "I'm here, God. What now?"
Though I'm a big fan of my church today, there are others I've tried that made me feel squirmy. Oftentimes, they reminded me too much of the church I grew up in, so panic and angst set my heart into a frenzy. But, God's hindsight offering me grace, I wonder what would have happened if I had just prayed, "I'm here, God. What now?". I doubt God would have answered with a billowing cloud of smoke, demanding that I join a church that left me feeling iffy. Meanwhile, I ponder the chances I missed to let the words of old hymns flood my soul, regardless of the words of anyone else in the congregation.
Are there friendships I unknowingly dodged because I didn't want to say hi to a person who showed up to church looking like that? Did I have the chance to offer a simple yet life-saving smile to someone across the sanctuary who was feeling just as heavy, anxious, and bleak as me? What did I miss all because I had such a harsh hang-up with church that I forgot to whisper a few words like, "God, now what?".
3. "God, put me where You want me."
Full vulnerability, I often pray prayers like these through gritted teeth. I whisper them, near tip-toeing around my own words, because I know the moment I give God the reigns, He takes over and puts me where He needs me. Regardless of my comfort zone. And with my past experiences, church isn't my comfort zone.
Showing up to the steeple to overanalyze and second guess the genuineness of others is what's engrained in a soul that has experienced spiritual abuse. But in the name of preservation and protection, we sell ourselves short. We learn to limit our love to the people and places that haven't hurt us, haven't offered bad memories. We limit love. Yet love in its purest form is limitless.
No, God doesn't ask us to tolerate abuse of any kind. But, His love does compel us to forgive, even the church, in order to not only be free but to give goodness another chance. Churches have some good, solid people in them. Churches have the ability to welcome fire from heaven. This is a place where miracles come alive. And though this church or that church hasn't done things right, goodness, God's goodness, always does right by you.
Challenge yourself to allow God to put you where He wants you. Don't second-guess or overthink the church He picks because of the denomination, the dress code, the playlists. Let who God is, His good, faithful character, lead you to unexpected places.
I know these aren't ground-shaking, earth-shifting prayers. But these simple, raw prayers allowed me to step away from all the "Church-ese" lingo and have honest, heart-to-heart conversations with God. As I reflect on my years of healing from spiritual abuse, years I've taken to slow down and separate God's goodness from man's sin, I've noticed that my spiritual walk always leaps in big bounds when I'm simply honest with God. When I tell Him I'm uncomfortable, I'm slightly unwilling, very wary, or deeply wounded. I give Him who I am in that moment as a means of saying, "You are the Healer. Fix me."
And while my words offer no eloquence, they offer room for God. And when you make room for God you learn to put down the checklists you've made for churches, people, and even yourself. And instead, you simply embrace Love. And Love leads you home.
Give these simple prayers a try, regardless of how you feel in the moment, and let Goodness find you, even in the pew, again.
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