The Lead Up to 10th Church

One of the lessons of my faith deconstruction was the extent to which evangelical Christianity taught me not to trust myself.

The heart is deceitful above all things. Do not lean on your own understanding. There is a way that appears to be right, but in the end it leads to death.

My intuition knew that we should have never gone to 10^th Church. She knew. But I didn’t listen. I had been silencing Her for years, and this was a full-on gag order.

10^th Church was in the desert. Being a born-and-raised Midwestern girl, the desert seemed like a foreign land. Isn’t it scorching hot there? Aren’t there poisonous snakes and spiders and lizards there? (Yes to all three. Also huge wild pigs and coyotes and BOBCATS that come around the neighborhood). It seemed entirely “other” to me, although my bristling at the place was largely a cover for my unease with the church.

Four months before we visited 10^th Church we visited another Almost Church in Sequim, WA. It had been seven months since the terrible turn of events with the Milwaukee church, and we had always dreamed of living in the Pacific Northwest. So off we went. Sequim is on the Olympic Penninslya so it’s (1) utterly gorgeous, and (2) difficult to access. After flying to Seattle, we rented a car and drove the two hours to this tiny town amongst the greenest trees with a view of Canada across the serene waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca. It was magical. But the church there was not so magical.

I checked the mental box in my mind labeled “HELL NO” when a staff member commented to me that the church leaves a box of non-perishable goods outside the church for the homeless so that they don’t actually have to talk to the poor people in their community. She said it so casually during breakfast as she filled her orange juice glass. I wish I could report that I called her out on the spot for her appalling attitude toward “the least of these” whom Jesus calls us to love. But instead I sat there dumbfounded. The conversation continued, the breakfast went on. The room full of privileged people enjoyed their muffins and waffles.

There were other things too, like the comment from a church member that living more distantly from the rest of the world allowed her to shelter her children. We want to share the world with our children, we thought. Also, the pastor. Ugh, the pastor. He was so fake. I’m an enneagram 4, y’all — I have very little tolerance for inauthenticity. This guy nauseated me within the first hour that I met him.

But the church loved Simon. They were going to offer him the open youth pastor job, I’m sure of it. And I said no way. I said NO WAY. It didn’t take a lot of convincing, really. I knew Simon shared my concerns about the senior pastor and the church culture. We watched a few sermons together after our on-site visit, and the pastor’s phoniness was undeniable. Simon withdrew his name from consideration. But he’d been allured by the possibility of a job, an end to our drought, an employer who affirmed his value. Who could blame him?

All that to say, when we accepted an invitation to visit the desert in June, I felt like I had already played my veto card. It wasn’t that I thought I didn’t have any choice in the matter. It was that I couldn’t tolerate what this search process was doing to Simon any longer. I wanted him to get hired, I wanted him to be happy! I didn’t want to stand in the way of a realized dream, even if it meant I would be unhappy. I just didn’t have the heart to say no again.

Furthermore, my intuition had been dulled by the trope of “no church is perfect.” Now that phrase makes me angry – it is too often used to downplay abuse. But I didn’t understand that at the time, and when you hear those 4 words over and over again, you start to view yourself as an entitled brat – “Gosh, I’m really being hard on the Church.” “Who am I to say how a church should run?” “I guess I just want too much from the Church.”

I hadn’t stepped far enough back from evangelical culture at that time to realize that “no church is perfect” is deflection:

It can also be gaslighting:

To summarize our story to this point, it had been three years since Simon lost his job at 6^th church, two years since he lost his job at 7^th church, one year since the debacle with Almost Church, and three years of no full-time employment, the constant country-wide chase for said employment, the drying out period of 8th and 9th churches, and increasing queries of God about His presence in our spiral of pain. And after all that, I was beyond ready for stability. And I had internalized the message that the long wait and multiple traumas and repeated disappointments was basically our fault – we had selfish, unrealistic expectations.

Because “no church is perfect.”

The answer to that messaging is straightforward – settle.

And so we boarded a Southwest plane to the Southwest. We brought carry-ons with our belongings, but we carried far more baggage internally.

The visit to 10^th church wasn’t great. It wasn’t awful either. The senior pastor in the Sonoran Desert was less plastic than the senior pastor in the Olympic Forest – he made a lot of Dad jokes, and I could sense that his pastor “hat” was firmly affixed, but I wasn’t nauseated. I told myself that by comparison he was fine.

This was June of 2016 so there were political signs everywhere. I asked an elder a question about the voter registration process in his state, imaging that I may well be casting my vote for President there. He said with a wink, “Oh I can’t tell you that until I know who you’re voting for.” I’d already learned that he was an eager Trump voter – along with the vast majority of the church. I flashed my pastor’s wife smile and reminded myself that Trump would never actually win the election. (In a few months, they would be all sulking and I would be a relieved, undercover President Hillary fan. I mean, obviously.)

We had cookies and lemonade with the search committee after service on Sunday. There was some comment about how “those other youth groups” use strobe lights at their lock-ins and basically water down the gospel. I noted the sense of superiority and judgment while I ate my cookie.

The senior pastor told Simon (and me) over coffee that this job position was for someone who was going to shake things up. “Make me a list of ten things about our church that you would change right away!” We were a little taken aback, but also energized by this homework assignment. Churches are notorious for being stuck in their ways and resistant to change – this church seemed different.  We were really invested in that being true.

The senior pastor’s wife took me out for Starbucks and window shopping. She told me about their family’s ministry background and the 10^th church vibe. “We’ve been treated badly at other churches, but this place is family.” She was very reassuring that 10^th Church would embrace us and love us well. One part I remember as clear as day: “All you have to do is smile.” That was her advice to me from one pastor’s wife to another. At the time it felt like relief (I can do that!), but over time it became clear it was an expectation: all you may do is smile. Be a good mascot, cosign everything, and don’t rock the boat.

It wasn’t perfect. “No church is.” And that meant we said yes. We stopped wandering in the desert and moved to the desert.

Photo credits in order:

• Photo by Andreas Selter on Unsplash
• Photo by Jachan DeVol on Unsplash
• Photo by David Sola on Unsplash
• Photo by George Pagan III on Unsplash
• Photo by Christoph von Gellhorn on Unsplash
• Photo by Karl Ibri on Unsplash
• Photo by Gary Lopater on Unsplash