The Wanderer for Wonderwhat (3)

(Parts 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17)

The shutdown
“What about the kids? If we quit going to church, I guess they’ll just be raised outside of any kind of spiritual peer group?”
The Wanderer looked at his wife, but then looked away. He had no real answer. He didn’t like the sound of what she was saying, but it was the inevitable conclusion if he were to stick to his decision. He was trapped again. Painted into the corner where religion and exhaustion meet.
“I don’t know. I mean, that’s not what I really want, I just…” his voice trailed off.
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His mind drifted back to a conversation he had with a soft spoken man at one church he had visited. He had dubbed it the “Jewish Wannabe” church, because of the music style and use of the name “Yeshua” in place of “Jesus”. He had tried several times to open up with people, looking for someone who could relate to his plight, anxious to find a kindred soul who could understand.
“I love Jesus, I really do, but I just can’t seem to get a handle on church. I’ve been in church all my life; my father was a minister. I believe there should be a church, but for some reason I just can’t seem to come to grips with our current expression of it.” The Wanderer had confided.
The soft-spoken man looked at him for a long time. He had glasses, and dark rings around his eyes. His hair was balding and gray, and he wore a bushy, gray mustache. Finally, with a sigh, he said, “Maybe you’ve set your standards too high. Maybe you need to accept that there is no perfect church. I don’t like everything I see in church, but that doesn’t matter. I’m here to support what’s going on. I’m part of this church, and I want to make sure that it’s meetings run smoothly and God is glorified. It gives me a purpose, to be part of what God is doing through this church. Maybe you should just grit your teeth, and dive in, like you would into a cold swimming pool. It will be hard at first, but soon, you’ll become acclimated to the temperature, and you’ll be just fine.”
He looked at the Wanderer hopefully.
With each word that the soft-spoken man had said, the Wanderer could feel energy being drained from himself, like Superman facing a rock of Kryptonite. The soft-spoken man didn’t understand the Wanderer’s plight, and it was clear that he really had no intention of questioning anything. The soft-spoken man admitted freely that he was there to support….what? Not people, no, to support a meeting.
“If I stay here” the Wanderer said with every shred of earnestness he could muster, “I’ll die.”
“You’re over-reacting.”
“No, no really. And I don’t mean here, as in this church. I mean here in church. Church as we know it. I’m groping around looking for something real, and all I come up with are slogans and sentimental arguments about a perfect church, and those things are nowhere near what I’m talking about.”
He paused and looked at the soft-spoken man. No response. So the Wanderer plunged ahead.
“I’m trying to find the connecting point between real life and church. I believe God is real, and I believe the church is really supposed to be here…but for what? What is the church? Is it designed to accomplish anything? Is it working? Where does my Sunday morning intersect with my Monday afternoon? How much of my life becomes a part of the church? How much is my own?” The Wanderer realized his voice had risen in pitch.
“Maybe you’re thinking too much about it.” Said the soft-spoken man, bringing the conversation to a close.
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“I’m just saying I can’t go for now. It’s not a forever thing, I just have to figure out where I am on this.”
“Well, I’m going. I’m going to make sure our kids have some peer interaction with a Christian influence, and that just can’t happen by ourselves at home. I’ll go just for Wednesday services at the last place we went. You don’t have to come.” The Wanderer ached at this. This was real pain. He didn’t want to leave his wife to fend for their children’s spiritual well being, but he was weak. He had no strength to go on. There had to be answers, but they were so hard to find. “If I were smarter.” He thought. “If I just knew how to phrase my questions. But I’m not, and I can’t. So I’ll wait.”