Is There a Place for a Person Who's Really Hurting at Church on Sunday Morning?

Is there a place for a person who's really hurting at church on Sunday morning? 

For the last 24 hours or so, I have been hurting really badly. My back has been killing me. My ears have been throbbing. The one floater I still have in my left eye after surgery to remove them, which usually isn't apparent, has been, well, apparent. On top of all that, when I got home from a few wonderful days of a mini-vacation, I got a letter that some of my doctors are no longer covered by my insurance. 

So, I'm having physical issues, and on top of it I need to find new doctors. I'm still working on getting three different specialty meds I'm supposed to be taking!

I'm tired. I'm hurting - and I'm at church where everything is upbeat and happy. 

This brings up a question that I've wondered about before, but never had this kind of in-my-face direct example of living it. 

I'm crying. bawling actually. I feel horrible - and I can't share that with anyone here. In theory, I could. I know that the people here care but they all have their things to do. They're getting ready to lead worship or work the technology or preach or greet newcomers or check in children... or they're catching up with their friends after not seeing them for a week.

I'm hiding in the nursing mother's room. This is the place that's become my refuge when I just have to get away. Thankfully, nobody needs it right now. 

Maybe I'm really wrong - probably I'm really wrong - but I can't see them taking time for me. What good would it do anyway? I'm still going to be in pain. Let's say they did surround me with prayer, with hugs, with love, they'll have to leave in time to be on stage or in their seats, because "the show must go on." (We livestream, so our start time is timed practically to the second.)

I just realized why this is affecting me to this extreme right now. A couple of weeks ago I was meeting with a group of women who are trying to learn more about God, hear Him and see Him in everything. In fact, I'm one of the leaders of the group.

It was really strange. That was one of my "good days" physically, emotionally and mentally, but I started crying because of a sweet thing God showed me about a specific verse of scripture. Somehow, for some reason, and even though it was happy crying, it turned into a panic attack.

I ran out and stood on the porch, trying to calm down. I kept wondering if somebody would follow me... would care... would help...

Finally, the one who was facilitating the meeting came out. I thought she was coming out to help.  Instead, she just told me I needed to get in my car until I calmed down.

This woman is amazing. She's one of my best friends. I know that she cares about me. I know that she loves me. I know she'd do just about anything for me. 

She had her reasons.

I needed to sit down in case I fainted. She didn't want the neighbors to see me hyperventilating on her porch. The noise I was making trying to breathe might bother the women who were still inside.

In other words, my struggle was interrupting their time with God.

That hurt me to my core. I haven't confronted her about it yet because I don't want to hurt her but to be in such a vulnerable position and to be basically told, "You go fix it and then you can come back," is one of the main reasons I have this blog. Even people who care don't understand how their action, or sometimes their inaction, can hurt someone who deals with invisible illnesses.

I was taught growing up that you're not supposed to show strong negative emotions. You can't be incredibly sad unless there's a "real reason" (like the death of a family member or finding out someone you love has cancer or something similar).

There has to be a reason. It can't be just emotions. It can't be due to mental health issues or clinical depression. It can't involve invisible illnesses like back issues or chronic ear infections. It can't be caused by exhaustion, hunger, or worry. 

We're supposed to be "more than conquerors." We're supposed to trust God in all these things. We're supposed to be healed. 

But what the hell if you're not? What if you're not? What if you're trying so hard to do the right thing... reading the Bible again after years of shying away from it... trying to pray after years of secretly wondering if it was worth the time... and becoming part of - and heavily involved in - a church and joining the leadership team in a Christian women's group? 

What if you're doing all this and it doesn't change a damn thing? 

How do you reconcile it? 

I don't know if anybody who reads this has ever felt this way. My guess is you have - that you've gone to church or a close friend or a family member with your pain and your struggles - and been told that you need to just get over it, that you need to get in the car until you can calm down. 

I personally feel we're supposed to do is help each other. What we're supposed to do is support each other, not send people to be alone when they need others the most. 

Church is starting. I have to decide if I'm going to go in and try my best to not be the basket case I currently am. However, I'm not a good actress and I'm almost positive that will be a big fail.

My thoughts are all over the place. Part of me wants to continue to hide. Then there's another part of me that wants to show people how I feel... that someone can be real... that it's okay to come into church not okay.

Still another part of me is scared that no one will care - or that people will care too much. I don't even know which one I want to happen. I just want to not feel this way. 

I'm also concerned that others feel this way - that church is the place they are most lonely..

And I don't know how to fix it. 

Heck, I don't even know how to ask for help for just myself! 

I can hear the worship set starting. It's so amazing. I feel like everybody in there is ready to worship. Well, maybe not everybody... chances are good there is someone like me... others who don't want to dive into worship, who have nothing in them to give to anyone else, even to God.

I finally land on the decision that I need to be okay before I go in there - and I'm not.

Shouldn't church be a place where you could not be okay, where you could go ineven more because you're not okay? 

That makes no sense. Let me try again.

Should it be a place where somebody could go in crying and not be looked down upon? You can cry at the end of the service during the emotional prayer time but not during the worship set.

If I go in there, I'm going to make people uncomfortable. If I go in there like this, that is. I don't want to bring them down. But I want to go in. It took everything in me to get up this morning and get ready to come. Now I'm here and I can't make myself participate! I'm in a dark, tiny room all alone. Nothing against my husband, but he's on the stage with them. He knows how I'm feeling but he's not here with me. I think, if I asked him to, I think he would stay with me.

But I would feel the whole time like he's worrying about getting to the stage. And I'm guilty of the same thing. That's why I said I don't know how to fix it. I hate it, but I know I would also care more about making sure I got to the stage on time than help somebody in need. 

But... 

that's...

just...

wrong. 

It's wrong of me to do. It's wrong of others to do. Caring more about facilitating a meeting or a worship 

Okay, it's about halfway through the worship set. I need to go now or completely give up.

So... I'm going to just go in there and hide, or at least try to hide - but at least I can be there. 

One more thing real quick. All those who are either on stage or part of the tech team are invited to go to a prayer time before the service. I don't know why I go when I'm not on the team that week, but I usually do. Anyway, I was able to get myself together enough to go.

The person who opened the prayer time read a scripture about turning your sorrow into joy and making beauty from ashes. 

I wanted to know, but I couldn't talk to him. It was all I could do not to cry even then. Instead, I asked my husband to ask him when he picked that verse. I didn't know if he saw me crying and he picked it from that. But he had already chosen it earlier.

I needed that. But then there's added pressure from hearing that verse. 

I guess my question is when will He do those things - turn my sorrow into joy and make beauty from ashes? 

And is it okay for me to be who I am right now until that time? 

*****************************************************************

Fast forward a couple of hours. After I got home, I realized I needed to add an addendum. 

I did go in the service. I just sat during the rest of the worship set. I just listened - and tried not to be too cynical about some of the words - about being victorious, about having victory, about being an overcomer, and about being healed. 

Because right now I'm none of those things. 

I tried to just... be. I tried to continue to fight the tears because I did not want to lose it. I mean, tears were streaming down my face, but I wasn't at least bawling... or heading towards a panic attack. 

Then "Connect Time" came - the time when everybody is supposed to greet everybody else.

And I'm like, I already know there is no way I can shake somebody's hand, smile, and say good morning. None. What if a stranger came up to me and asked me how I was doing or the traditional southern "How are you?" where they don't want to know how you're doing - they are just saying hi.

But at that point, would I lie and say, "Oh, I'm good," and try to smile? What would I tell them? If I started telling them the real answer, it would be really awkward. 

So I ran out of the auditorium and hid. It was then that I realized a lot of others come out during Connect Time. I never noticed that. They go to the bathroom, get coffee, whatever. So I turned to the wall and just stood by the picnic table in the lobby. 

I kept thinking somebody might see me and think, "Why is this person just facing the wall?" But nobody did. 

That is, until the service was just about to start, or I think it may have just started back. 

The lobby was pretty much cleared out at this time. Everyone else had gone back in. 

Then one person came over and asked me (and I could tell she was sincere) - "Are you okay?"

I told her no, I'm not. 

And she didn't ask why. 

Until that moment, I hadn't realized that's exactly what I needed. I didn't want to talk about all that was going wrong. I didn't want to try to put a spin on it on how I knew God would take care of me (though I was pretty sure it was true). 

She simply asked, "Can I pray for you?" and I said yes. Then she said - which I love - she asked, "Do you want me to pray for you now, or do you want me to just go inside and pray for you?

I replied, "I don't know." I couldn't make a decision right then about just about anything except trying not to hyperventilate. 

Then she asked, "Well, can I give you a hug?" And I was like, "YES!" (inside anyway - I told her yes in a normal tone of voice). While she was hugging me, she went ahead and prayed for me. 

She cared. She saw me. 

And not to brag on myself, because dang. I'm not anything - but I was thinking how I need to start doing what she gave to me for others. Then, during the service, I saw a woman across the aisle who started crying about what was being said. 

I doubt it was like my situation where I was crying purely due to selfish stuff (though I guess crying due to being in pain isn't really selfish). No matter what, it's how I felt, how I was at the time. Anyway....

I decided I wanted to talk to her as soon as the service was over and ask if I could pray for her.

Then I realized, what the heck is keeping me from praying right now? Why am I not praying right now? I started praying for her during the service. 

I also knew I needed to tell her. I know how important it was that that woman saw me... standing alone, facing the wall... and came up to me. She could have been praying for me without me ever knowing. But it meant so much more that she stopped and checked on me. 

So after got up from her seat, I stopped her and told her, "I've been praying for you." She asked me why did you do that? I said, "Well, I saw you crying, and I came in this morning crying. I don't know what's going on but I wanted to pray for you - that God would make himself known in whatever is going on." 

She was so thankful. Again, I'm not bragging on myself, but we need more of that in church. Last week our other pastor had a visual example that I'll probably never forget - a time when he and his wife were going through a rough time, he said they had people who supported them. Then he had the people stand up who he knew would support him at any moment. 

He said it wasn't just true for him as a pastor. He said that it would be true for anybody in this church. 

I agree. And I kind of believe that. If earlier I had grabbed one of the worship team to pray for me... I don't know. I don't know. I didn't want to find out. 

But most likely, if I grabbed one of them right before they were supposed to go on stage and said, "I need you to pray for me. Can you pray for me?" they wouldn't have worried about going on stage. They would have stopped and prayed for me. At least I think they would - because I also know that the show must go on. 

All these people are there. There are people watching on YouTube. So I understand that aspect of it. I don't know how to reconcile these two things. But even a person who isn't going to be on stage... They may really want to get into the service when it starts. Our worship set is not that long and if I was the one who was being asked to pray for someone else, I would have wanted to be in there for that time.

We need to be looking for people who need help. "I" need to be looking. We ALL need to be looking. The problem with that it takes time to show someone you care. It takes time to see if somebody's okay. It takes time to see if somebody needs prayer. 

We're all so busy. I'm one of the biggest ones guilty of that. We all have our stuff to do. The church should be the place where you can go in crying and somebody sees it. 

I can't help but think of the Brandon Heath song, "Give me your eyes." It's what the whole song talks about - seeing people that are in need or that are hurting or are homeless that we often just overlook - by accident or on purpose. Then sometimes we do see, but then we look away. 

But, "Give me Your eyes, Jesus. Give me Your eyes so that I can see the person sitting at the well like Jesus did." Think of all the times Jesus stopped what He was doing to help somebody. He probably had places to go, people to see, things to do - like we do. But he would stop. Because that person was more important than those things. 

All this is just something I'm going to try my best to start doing more - really looking for people who need prayer or a hug or just a hi, hello - while praying that God will open my eyes even more.

I said earlier that I don't know the solution for this. 

But this is the solution. 

I meant to say earlier, the problem with what our pastor said last week is that if somebody asked for help, someone would be there for them. But what if they won't ask? What if it feels too uncomfortable to ask because of shame, embarrassment, low self-worth, social anxiety disorder, anything like that? 

What if the place that they're in actually means they can't ask. 

If somebody doesn't see it, then they're going without help. They're going without support. They may know to go to God, but sometimes we need the tangible. I know I needed that hug today - from somebody, from a stranger. Someone who noticed me. 

That made all the difference. 

*************************************************************

Note... I didn't have my laptop with me when all this happened, so I recorded both my original thoughts and what I was thinking when I got home. If you want to hear the recordings with all my raw emotion included, go to 

https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/3wfwngb8049yghluor5oc/Reflections-on-a-Church-Service_-Navigating-Cynicism-Seeking-Victory.mp3?rlkey=ihytl2e7zzpl62wre0d79pqlw&st=uol4mas1&dl=0 

and 

https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/ds41f6gktmwggbod9zedi/Seeking-Solace_-A-Poetic-Plea-for-Healing-Amid-Physical-Afflictions.mp3?rlkey=9ydur7cqc77mempo416wmwxgf&st=57xmjnu2&dl=0

What Can Churches Do about the Chasm between the "Haves" and "Have-Nots"?

This morning I was reminded about a women's retreat that happened last fall. I meant to post about it then, but just realized I never did. This retreat raised a question I've thought about for years.

It's a universal question, not only about the church, but I feel those of faith should do a better job with it than those outside of it.

Spoiler alert - I don't have the answer. No one I've ever talked to about it has the answer. I do know this at least... it's something that's decided on a case-by-case basis.

Unfortunately the decision is often in favor of the "haves" (and I'm a have-not 😔).

Let me tell you more about the retreat. Our church had been planning it for months, so when the following occurred, it wasn't a surprise. However, I thought I had a shoot that weekend so when they would talk about it during the Sunday morning service, I tuned out. I couldn't go so the details didn't matter.

(To be honest, in some ways I was glad I didn't have to make the decision on going or not because my social anxiety still runs rampant in my life and there was a part of me that was nervous about taking the plunge.)

Anyway, about a week before the ladies were leaving for the retreat, I realized that the shoot had been rescheduled and I had forgotten to take it off my calendar. Because I was brave at the moment, I decided to try to go. The deadline had passed for registration but I assumed (correctly) that there was still space.

Keep in mind that at this time I was still relatively new to this church. I had gotten to know a few people, but none very well. I would be going to the retreat with a bunch of strangers, but I was desperate for friends. I knew that if I made the leap to go, I might make a friend or two - and even if I didn't, I would at least hopefully feel more a part of the church.

So, I reached out to the one who was in charge about possibly going. I was right - she said there were spots available. She was excited about me going and at this point, I was excited too.

Then I told her that I couldn't afford it. As my husband and I both freelance, our income is tied to our work. We weren't even making the bills with the business, much less had enough extra to spend "only" $300 for something that wasn't necessary.

Our church isn't rich but most members have more than enough. I really thought that there would be scholarships available. When the women's leader mentioned that someone had pulled out but didn't ask for a refund for her registration, she excitedly told me that it would "only" be $200. 

I was devastated. $200 was as far out of reach as $5000. I argued with the retreat leader about the topic of this post (for which I'm ashamed about now), but it again brought up something I've wondered about since I was young...

When I was a teen, I had a friend who only came to church one or two times a month because she only had two dresses and didn't want everyone to know. That made a huge impression on me and I never forgot it. In fact, I decided to boycott dresses for church as soon as I was old enough to go to a church on my own because of that situation.

Back to present day - to get over the hurt about not being able to afford to go, I told myself that it would have been hard anyway due to the social anxiety issue. Honestly, though, the hurt lingered for a long time even with my efforts to push it away.

This brings me back to my title question... what can we do about this issue? If you are a "have," you might not have even realized that we "have-nots" have had issues with times like the following (all of which I've experienced multiple times while going to many different churches):

- not having "church clothes" and so we feel like we can't go as often or participate as fully as others (one church I went to didn't allow jeans on stage - and since that's all I had at the time, I couldn't even think about becoming part of the worship team),

- not being able to go out to eat with others after church (an important time to really get to know people in many churches) because restaurants just aren't in the budget, 

- not having enough extra to participate in activities like retreats or church outings that cost money (and this happens a lot),

- not being able to afford buying a book or other needed supplies for a church group's book study,

- not having something like an iPad, which I needed to be on the worship team on my current church (I'm old-school and just print out my music but when something changes and I see those with iPads, fix it easily, it still hurts),

- not participating in get-togethers like small groups (often in the evening) or women's groups (often during the day) because of needing to work, 

- not having enough for your child to participate in activities like basketball, 

- not even not having the gas money to go to anything beyond the main church service (or sometimes even the Sunday morning service).

I understand both sides. The majority of the "haves" often worked really hard for what they have. I can see them justifying not helping those who don't.

But, on the other hand, the "have-nots" also often work hard. Circumstances or poor choices can land someone in major financial difficuties - situations that can take years to get out of, if they ever can. 

I try not to expect that scholarships are available for activities like a retreat, but I always hope they are - and am very grateful when it's an option. There are so many great experiences I've gotten to do because of the generousity of others.

However, should I expect that generousity? Isn't that one of the early ways that the early church showed that they were the church? At the end of Acts 2, the Bible talks about how they shared everything. Those who had more than enough - the "haves" - sold their excess and gave it to those who didn't - the "have nots." 

I know this wasn't the only factor that led to the last verse in the chapter, but I can't help but think it had a part - that more and more were being saved and added to the church daily. 

So... is it really hard like I started saying at the beginning of this post? Or is it really simple? If you have more than enough, give to those who don't. Period. 

Something I'll continue to think about...

What if Churches Were More Like Support Groups?

For probably a decade, I was a "none" - a person who was still a Christian but had given up on church. I was tired of being hurt. I was tired of the hypocracy. I was especially tired of being "welcomed, but not accepted."

Though I felt in my heart that there were churches out there who were different, I couldn't find one and didn't have the drive to try. 

Then I discovered I am an addict. When I found a support group for my addiction and began attending, I noticed something very enlightening.

I was fully accepted - even though I had messed up royally in my life, even though I am an addict, even though I am very, very far from having it all together.

I had found my people.

The best thing about it is that the majority in my group are Christians, or at least seem to be. Their Higher Power is God, as is mine. Though we don't talk about the Bible, we often talk about principles that are faith-based. 

This group of messed up, broken addicts became my church.

I have learned so much about God through them. We quote the Serenity Prayer each week at the end of the meeting and add, "May Your will be done in our lives. Amen." The necessity and power of surrender is a recurring theme, as is making amends (asking for forgiveness.)

In other words, we talk about many of the main themes of the Bible, though not the salvation of Christ. Of course, Jesus and what He did is the most important aspect of Christianity, but my personal feeling is that church is more for the saved, so they can go out and share about Christ. 

To that end, group was that encouragement for me for years - helping the members apply the principles of Christianity so that we are in the right mindset to serve others, even non-Christians.

About six months ago, I actually found a church that is what I had hoped for - one that not only welcomes but accepts everyone. But group is still where I know I can be completely transparent, without fear of judgment or being looked down upon.

I still sometimes wish all churches were a little more like group. Here are some of the ways...

- In group, we don't have a dedicated leader. Anyone can participate in the readings, even if it's someone's first time. Anyone can share. There are what we call "old-timers" who have had sobriety the longest. They might help behind the scenes more than the newbies, but when it comes to group time, everyone is equal.

- We share honestly and authentically, often about things that literally no-one else knows about. Before I shared about losing my teaching license in group, I had only told maybe five of my closest and most trusted friends about it. Other than my parents and daugher, no one in my family even knew.

But because others had shared the horrible things that had happened because of what they had done, I knew I was safe to share it with them. They understood - and no one judged me.

- Everyone has a chance to share. Unless it's a special program or dedicated night, like the 5th week, there's never a speaker. Even when there is, it's almost always someone who is simply sharing his/her experience, strength and hope. It's not someone telling the rest what to do. There's a great deal of autonomy and working with others, usually one-on-one - called a sponsor/sponse relationship - who have been there.

- It's common for members to reach out to others during the week - for accountability, help, advice, and to help them keep from "acting out," as its called in our addiction. That kind of thing doesn't happen in church, at least in my experience. 

In church, you make friends who might help you follow the teachings of Christ or give advice on what to do when you mess up. But if your friends are busy, you are stuck. With group, we can just go to the next person in on the contact list because if your name is on the list, you are willing to take a call anytime.

- Everyone has heard of the "Twelve Steps." Those are the steps that many addicts take to get sober. But what's not often talked about is that the steps are much more than a way to sobriety. It's a way to God, if God is your Higher Power. It's a methodical approach to learn how to surrender, to forgive, and to serve.

I'll add the steps to the end of this post for those who have never seen them. One thing we make sure that new members of group know about the steps is that each one is as important as the rest - and that there's a reason they're in the order they are. Each is a foundation for the next one.

- Many support groups use a token system. They are to mark days, months, and years of sobriety. Unlike the above points, I don't advocate that churches give out tokens for years of being a Christian or for the months that someone has served. 

But I do like the emphasis on focusing on the work you do within yourself instead of external factors such as the number of members or the amount given to missions. A church with more resources is going to attract more people, increasing the membership. Churches in a higher socioeconomic area are always going to have more money for missions. 

This emphasis increases pressure on the little churches who might not have much that they should do more, instead of focusing on growing the Christ-followers who are there. Focusing on numbers instead of what's going on in hearts is toxic to the church as a whole, in my humble opinion.

To sum up, I love my current church but I would have never been open to coming here if it hadn't been for my support group. They showed me that unconditional acceptance is possible and that even a bunch of addicts can learn how to rely on a Higher Power - who in my case and many others, is God. 

Finally, as promised, here are the Twelve Steps. I'm including those from AA, as that's where they started and are the most well-known. Keep in mind that other addictions use these but adapt them to their specific needs.

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol — that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.

8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.

12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these Steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.