“Faith enough”

What do you complain about the most?

When I moved to Cape Town for university, my first priority was to join a Bible-preaching church.

When my soon-to-be husband moved to Germany, I urged him, “Please find a Bible-preaching church.”

When we moved to England, our first quest was to find a Bible-preaching church.

I’ve found churches that fit this label. I’ve sought church as a home when I had none, a family when mine was on the other side of the world, a place to accommodate differences, welcome, teach, love. A place where Jesus is found. I’ve sought surrogate grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins for my children as I’ve sought the fulfilment of Christ’s promises.

I’ve put so much hope in the church.

And then…

Another sermon preached only to men.

Another pastor found guilty of abuse.

Another shaming of hard-working people because they’re not in vocational ministry.

Another woman isolating homeschooling mums.

Another elder who can’t look a woman in the eye.

The disillusionment is almost tangible.

Perhaps I’m guilty of being a “consumer” in church. Perhaps I just need ministering to.

I don’t deny the hypocrisy, the intense disappointment that what even I thought was possible in a fallen world, still falls short. We are a collection of weak vessels, jars of clay, a hulking mass with slack ropes. We are a very poor reflection of our Redeemer.

But in the end, hope was never to be found in the church. Faith is born in places that are impossible. It’s born in barren places, despite what is visibly dead. It’s hope against hope.

It’s born of Someone who raises the dead. Who calls into being things that don’t exist.

I was made aware of this song last night, from a person ministering in one of the darkest places in the world. It’s another drop of pure crystal water in a dry land to keep us going.

And I’m reminded that I’ve often found myself here: so very very sad that we’re not any better at being what Christ called us to be, hardly daring to believe the reality of what I see. And someone says the thing I need to hear and my heart is soft enough to hear it. And I believe that the church is still alive.

One step at a time.