Did you grow up going to church? Do you belong to a church community now? In the past, I would have avoided those questions. I would have made any excuse not to talk about church or religion. The truth is, I did grow up going to church, I do belong to a church community now, and I’m no longer ashamed to say it.
Religion can feel like a taboo topic, especially right now with everything happening in our country from abortion laws to gun violence to alt-right extremism. As a former academic living in what has been deemed the least-religious state, I have felt shame around my beliefs and religious upbringing for most of my adult life. I would say that since going away to college, I have felt quite alone when it comes to my religion and spirituality.
I didn’t start going to church again as an adult until about 5 years ago, and I was always ashamed to talk about it with mostly anyone besides family. Recently, someone I considered a good friend made fun of me to my face about the fact that I go to church, and for that and many other reasons (one of which you can read more about in last week’s post), our friendship has ended. Upon reflection, I wish that I had been more open with her about my church life and how important it is to me. In the end, it might not have made a difference, it might not have prevented the friendship from ending, but it would have mattered to me.
From this and other experiences, I have come to believe that one of the best things we can do about the taboo topic of religion (and really everything in general) is to talk about it more openly and honestly, to share our stories and our experiences with others, to risk being vulnerable.
My history with church
Growing up as a family, my mom, dad, brother, and I went to church almost every Sunday. It was a large, beautiful United Church of Christ (UCC) church about 1 mile from our house, with what I know now is a relatively small congregation. What I loved most about church growing up was that I always felt like I could be myself there. I know this is not always the case with people who grew up going to church, so I feel lucky in this regard. I loved to learn about new things, and I got to do that in Sunday School every week. I loved theater, and I got to participate in church pageants. I loved to sing, and I got to sing songs in church every week.
When I was in college, church understandably didn’t really fit in with my schedule and my way of life at the time. And then, in graduate school and during my post doc, I often had to tend to my lab rats (those needy buggers) 7 days a week, including on Sunday mornings. When I did find myself with nothing to do on a Sunday morning, I tried a few UCC churches that I liked but that never quite felt like I belonged. When I finally got my first “real” job as an assistant professor back at the place I went to graduate school (the “dream job” I often write about), I started to wonder if and how church would fit into my adult life. I really didn’t know, but it was often in the back of my mind.
How I found my current church
Fast forward to a few years ago; it was 2017. I had just moved in with my now-husband Mr. Dink, and less than 2 months later, we had a house fire. Although we lost almost everything, the house fire is what led me to the church I still attend today. While we were displaced from our home during the rebuild, we found a rental home in a neighboring town. Mr. Dink’s mom, who grew up in the area, told us that we simply had to go to the Chicken Pie Supper at the church in the town where our rental was (for those who don’t know, Chicken Pie Suppers are kind of a big deal for churches in small Vermont towns, and according to Mr. Dink’s mom, this particular one was the best in the area).
I remember driving up on the night of the event and admiring the beauty of the church (Mr. Dink and I would eventually have our COVID wedding there). It reminded me of the church I went to as a kid. We were greeted inside by the nicest woman with the warmest smile. We met, sat with, and ate with strangers who became neighbors. I learned that one of the only other people our ages there was the pastor. And, of course, the chicken pie was one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.
On the way home, I sheepishly but casually asked Mr. Dink, who at the time was just my boyfriend, how he would feel if I went to church there some Sunday. We had somehow never really talked about religion, but I think he must have known that I went to church growing up. He looked at me sideways as he drove and simply asked, “Do I have to come with you?” I said of course not, not if you don’t want to. This was something I wanted to do for me.
Some Sunday morning not too long after that, I went back, to more warm, kind, and welcoming faces. As I sat in a pew and worship began, I knew this was the place I wanted to be. It felt like home. I felt like I belonged. And I have been going back ever since.
Church is part of my community
This church has become part of my community, and the other congregants like family. One of the things I love most about this church is that while many couples come, the majority of folks come without their partner. This helps so much more than I give it credit for in helping me feel like I belong. But even though Mr. Dink and many of the other spouses don’t come to church on Sundays, they are still active and considered a big part of our church community. Everyone especially loves Mr. Dink for his carpentry skills, and at this point, he’s taken on many of the church members as clients. Community helping community!
Community was always something I knew I wanted to build in my adult life. It was a huge reason I wanted to move from Burlington, the largest city in Vermont, to a smaller town where, I felt, it would be easier to cultivate community. Church has ended up being a huge part of that for me.
Slow FI and church
For many people, a goal of financial independence (FI) and early retirement is being able to spend more time helping out in and supporting their community. Part of my wanting to take a slower path to FI is because I already have such a strong sense of community, and I want to be able to take part in it as much as I can now. Slow FI gives me more time freedom to be able to spend my time doing things that make me happy and have real impact now, instead of someday when I retire. And one of those things that makes me happy in my life right now is my involvement in my church.
I honestly don’t know what I would have done without my church community during the pandemic. I had just become a Deacon, someone who in the simplest terms helps the pastor run worship, in February 2020. I was just learning how to be a Deacon when all of a sudden, church as we knew it was no more. We were in unchartered waters, doing “Zoom church.” As the youngest member in my church, by probably at least 30 years, a lot of the “technological responsibility” fell on my shoulders. At the same time, I wouldn’t have wanted to be doing anything else. Helping our church stay connected through technology gave me purpose, gave me a reason to get excited about the weekends when there was nothing else to do. Helping create meaningful worship experiences online became my creative outlet, something fulfilling to do during some really dark days. It brought me so much joy to help make sure that everyone still had “a place to go”, even when we couldn’t actually go to church. (And let me just say, Zoom church with a bunch of elderly folks? Sure makes for some great stories and comedy moments… “you’re on mute” anyone?).
In a time of great isolation, seeing my immediate family more infrequently than probably I ever had in my life, I never felt alone – because of my church community.
Just like in any community, there are ups and downs
I now know that I was lucky to grow up in a UCC church, which is considered one of the more liberal Christian denominations. I have always been part of or attended “open and affirming” churches, which means that the church is welcoming of persons from all sexual orientations, gender identities, and gender expressions. We talk a lot about climate change at my church, which is controversial and has caused some of our members to leave, but is an important reason I chose this church. My church also put up a BLM banner at a controversial time where Vermont neighbors were fighting outwardly over political beliefs and who had what sign in their yard. We even have a queer pastor, which shocks many of the boomer, non-church goers in my life.
And yet, despite all of this what I consider “goodness” in my church, there are still so many hardships and things that sometimes make me wonder if I want to stay. As close as we are as a community, we still have our misgivings. One of my big frustrations is that no one wants to talk about hard things or deal with conflict (shocker, most of America doesn’t either). As I wrote above, I am by far the youngest member of the church (with the exception of our new pastor), and the age discrimination, the clinging to “old ways” of doing things, sometimes feels impossible to deal with. I have to come to terms with the fact that I am part of an institution, part of what I know to be a big problem with our society, and yet I believe that we are still doing good. I believe that in small ways, I can instill change. There are a lot of old fashioned principles ingrained in me from my upbringing that I have had to unlearn. And I have a lot of beliefs, many new ideas about the way things can or should be done, that aren’t shared. But I have to keep trying, and I believe that the place I can have the most impact is in the relatively small community I keep on a daily and weekly basis. The community I share with these fellow church members, and the good work we do and causes we give to, is what keeps me going.
Church and giving
And so, I give.
My church is really good about encouraging to “give what you can.” But I know this isn’t the case with every church. Not a single person at my church has ever made me feel like I don’t give enough, whether it be money or time, and for that I am grateful. But I know this isn’t the norm.
There’s definitely a “traditional” way of giving that still permeates. I remember when I first joined the church, and I was telling my mom how there was one woman there who seemed to act cold towards me, and I didn’t understand why. She asked me what I was contributing monetarily per month, and when I told her, she responded with “That’s all you give? No wonder she’s cold towards you.” Although I was hurt at the time, I don’t blame my mother, as I know she’s simply stuck in the old, traditional ways of the church. But this is an old way we need to get rid of if we want churches to survive, if we want to be inclusive of all. Not everyone can afford to give whatever portion of their paycheck is considered “worthy” these days.
Instead of listening to my mom, I started listening more to the woman who I thought was cold to me. I would seek her out after church at coffee hour, let go of my own insecurities, and ask her how she’s doing and try to establish a relationship. Over time, she shared that she suffers from severe depression and social anxiety. I’m glad I didn’t shy away from developing a relationship with her because I thought she didn’t like me because I didn’t give enough money.
Letting go of the shame
When I first started going to church in my adult life, it was well before the pandemic. I was also in the middle of a big life transition.
Before I met Mr. Dink, I was working like crazy, playing volleyball 4x per week, and going out to bars afterward. My friend base consisted mostly of people from volleyball, work, and those still around after graduate school. Then, what seemed like all of a sudden, I lived a very different life. I gave up working constantly and what I thought had been the dream job and moved to a rural town to start my future with Mr. Dink. And yet, I felt like I had more community and more to live for than I ever had before.
Once I started going to church, I never brought it up, ever, with my friends who knew the me from before this transition. But Mr. Dink, who loved me and was so happy for me that I found such a warm and loving community, and who didn’t know my friends from “before” very well, would casually bring it up with these friends in conversation. When this would happen, I would be so embarrassed. I wouldn’t want to talk about it, and I’d try to change the topic of conversation immediately. I would feel so much shame about the fact that I went to church.
I would feel shame because my friends didn’t go to church (or at least not that I knew of, because no one ever talked about it). I would feel shame because most people don’t go to church.
Now, almost 4 years after making the decision to go to church that day, I don’t feel ashamed. I feel content. Maybe it’s because I feel more comfortable in my skin. Maybe it’s because I’ve gotten more comfortable choosing me. Or maybe it’s because I’ve gotten more clear on my values and my goals in life and with money. Whatever the reason, I no longer feel shame, and I’m happy to talk about it any time.
Where are you on your journey with faith these days? Even if you don’t identify as religious, did anything about this post resonate with you? I’d love to hear from you!