On the occasions that I have attended a church service lately, I find myself asking more questions about why we do what we do than actually participating. I think it's just part of the transition I'm in. But anyway, I digress.
Shortly after arriving at the church (the first of my group, btw, gotta love awkward settings), I quickly picked out the guy who was more or less "leading" it (not the lead singer, more of the MC). I instinctually didn't like him very much. It's ok, I don't like most people.
Anyway, it took me a while, but I finally figured out why I didn't care for him. He was me. Or at least, the me I used to be. Seven-years-ago me. Every single word this guy said, I could so easily picture myself saying. It was flat out eerie.
Maybe some of you are only familiar with my current bitter/cynical personality. Believe it or not, back in late high school and college, I was "on fire". I was one of those youths that pastors and church leaders love to hang their hat on. "You see," they'd say, "this is a young man who loves Jesus. He's passionate about God."
And I would do it all. I was a leader of my college's Christian club, leading bible studies and prayer times. I even began a prayer meeting at my local church (which I attended faithfully). If there was a worship night somewhere in a 20 mile radius where they advertised being "desperate for Jesus" I'd be there!
Each time, I thought, "This time it will be different. This time I'll truly encounter God's presence. This time I'll be changed for good. And after this wonderful experience, my inside will finally match the beautiful exterior I've projected to everyone. I finally won't feel like a fraud."
I worked the system. I would sing, shout, jump, dance, kneel, and fall on my face in front of the altar weeping. I'd share God's word, teach lessons, pray for others, pray for the campus, pray for the city, and call down God's glory. I did it all.
And then a few years later I was in my apartment in Liverpool, on a mattress on the floor, curled up in a ball and begging God to take me home. Please, just let me leave this life. I'm so fucking tired. I had given everything, and I had nothing left. I was empty, a broken confused shell. None of it had worked.
God never showed up.
In the midst of this worship service tonight, as I sat in a padded pew listening to songs that were different from what we sang but so very much the same, God took me back to that time. An anger I didn't realize I had found release, and I vented my frustrations to God. At God.
And I cried a little. God restored me a little. I let some of that crap go. And you know what the funny thing is? Know what I finally realized? Amidst all my desperation for an encounter with God back then? In the middle of all my longing and yearning and reaching and grasping? As I cried out to see his face and touch him and know him?
He was already there.
As I stretched my arms out to heaven begging him to come, he was sitting right there next to me. The last place I ever thought to look. There was no magic formula. I couldn't manipulate God into showing up. He was already there, and I don't think it was because I impressed him with my passion or commitment. He was there because he actually wanted to be with me. I'm his kid. He likes me.
Huh.
Probably my biggest regret from that time is my impact on other people. Hopefully most saw through the charade. For those that didn't, for those who were convinced that they must be more passionate like I was, I'd like to apologize.
I meant well.
I mean, c'mon, is there a more damning indictment? I meant well. I had good intentions. My heart was in the right place. But that doesn't change the fact that I tried to convince people that just need to try harder, worship longer, pray louder, and consecrate better. And for their efforts I promised them an encounter with God.
The thing is, I really did mean well. I really thought that was what you needed to do. And in all that mess, I completely missed God sitting right there next to me. Right next to all of us.
Now I'm older. A bit more cynical. But I realized something else tonight. I don't want to stay where I am. I don't want to view this as something that's behind or beneath me. I'm truly looking forward to the day that I can go to a worship service and actually stand there and just love on the God that loves me. Not to twist his arm into showing up exactly how I want him to, just because I'm starting to understand the way he loves me.
I'm looking forward to that.
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