Broken Belonging

I became a member of my church this week. The last time I held membership at a church, any church, I was grafted in by my family — it was 11th grade.

That was 16 years ago.

I’ve attended a host of churches coast to coast in the last decade and a half. Have even regularly attended a couple when I was living in southern California and in Charlotte.

But for whatever reason “membership” just felt . . . too far. Too much. Unnecessary?

Like I could always attend church — sure, fine, great, no problem.

But to become an actual, full-fledged church member? Me? Am I that adult yet?

My excuse for never pursuing church membership always centered around the effort required. Going through this course; taking time off the calendar; engaging in messy conversations about my story; signing off on something and promising to do this or that.

Can’t I just come every Sunday (or every-ish Sunday) without all the extra work?

Looking back on the last 16 years, I see that “takes too much effort” excuse as an easy out. Digging deeper, I see something else blocking my pursuit of church membership: my self-worth.

Surprise, surprise; it’s my single biggest struggle.

Am I worthy of church membership? What do I even have to offer the church?

Gosh, it can be so comfortable to remain in a “stuck” mindset rather than take any sort of action. Despite the massive strides I’ve taken since 2012, being open about sexuality and personal struggles, I’ve operated in the “I just don’t belong” belief for so long.

I don’t belong among men.

I don’t belong among the church.

It’s easy. It’s convenient. It’s comfortable. Why bother believing something otherwise with a number of isolating examples to point to?

My biggest fear in ever becoming a church member inevitably has fallen on expectation. If I become a member of a church, then I should experience unparalleled inclusion, belonging, and fulfillment. Total knownness.

And if I don’t. Well. Then the church sucks.

Basically.

But we’re kidding ourselves if we think any church will fully fulfill us. Just like it’s unwise to think a career or friendship or spouse will completely fulfill us.

Churches around the world are constantly leaving their members lacking and longing for something else, something more.

I’m finally realizing something obvious, but there is no perfect church. And I am not alone in my longings. This article from RELEVANT (written by a pastor) speaks to this familiar longing.

The church is a patchwork, a gluey stapled assortment of broken people. And I’m just another one of the dangling pieces.

This notion that Christ alone satisfies — that is a hard one to come back to, again and again. Because I think we all want something more “definitive.” Something tangible.

A church building. A regular gathering. Hugs and meals and sermons and songs.

But church after church after church from California to Carolina, and nothing else comes close to Christ. He invited all to come to him, especially the worn and weary. To find rest from hurt and pain; rest from all of our deep longings and expectations.

And yet. With the inevitability of our failing one another, we also paradoxically need one another, don’t we? Jesus assembled with fellow humans and I imagine we must do the same, despite the complainers, sleepers, and betrayers in His — and our — midst.

It’s not going to be perfect. It’s never going to be perfect. This “doing life together” thing.

It’s disheartening. I wish it weren’t this way. But it is.

But this fallen reality also stirs something in me. This notion of “bringing heaven to earth.” That perhaps I have a role, however small, to play in this effort — however I regard my self-worth.

We all have something to contribute to this effort.

It’s funny timing that two days after being presented at my church as a new member, I am leading a new group there. A group for fellow SSA (same-sex attracted) or gay-identifying believers who are also walking this road of a traditional sexual ethic.

I didn’t necessarily time things out this way. I’ve actually been preparing for this group, mentally and spiritually, for nearly a year.

But I’m glad the timing worked out this way. Going through the process of church membership and now diving into contributing something. Even if it starts out really small. Even as I still don’t feel at all worthy or capable.

But then, who does?

Despite the anxieties, I’m excited to take part. To step onto the field and not just shuffle up and down the sidelines, Sunday-ish after Sunday, filtering in and out of pews unseen, unworthy.

I’m broken, and I belong.

Both, together.

Just like everyone else.

I expected church membership to “feel” different than this. I still have these pesky hopes and expectations for how things will play out in the months, years to come.

But there is beauty in killing some level of expectation, this impossible perfection, and existing in this broken tension. Together now with my fellow church members.

May I never go back to my old excuses and mindsets. My old ways of existing.

May I kill them all day, every day, until the end of days. It literally requires that level of intentionality.

Daily killing. And daily rest.

Rest in the arms of the one who calls all to come to Him.

Simply come. Just as you are.

Broken. And belonging.