Lies I Learned in Church (an introduction)

from Helena Sorenson Aman:

I was listening to Mumford and Sons’ “Broken Crown” on the way to the grocery store yesterday when a lyric stopped me cold. (I really ought to send those guys a monthly check. They’re always helping me identify and work through my emotions.) The line was this: “Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie.”

Over the years I have heard many different versions of the same response to institutional corruption. When news stories break or hideous truths are exposed, Christians tend to shrug their shoulders. They shake their heads with pained resignation and say, “Well, the church is broken, but it’s all we have.”

That response is no longer good enough for me. The church is not all we have—not in this form, not in these buildings with these leaders and these services and these by-laws and this bullshit. When I think of the women and children abused in these places, when I think of the time and money poured out on the altar of these institutions and their buildings and their agendas, when I think of the very great barrier these churches present to people seeing who God actually is, (I said what I said), I think: “Better not to breathe than to breathe a lie.”

I know I’m not alone in needing to name some things. I’ve spent years working through all this, and I still find myself choking on old lies I didn’t know I’d inhaled and assimilated. I had thought, at first, to make a quick list and be done with it, but I think that to do so would bely the seriousness of these falsehoods and their impact. I want to do myself (and maybe you) the kindness of processing them a little more fully.

Note: The purpose of this series is to help people who have been in church (especially Protestant, Evangelical churches) for decades, who are trying to disentangle goodness and truth from, well, the rest of it. I’m not sure what my relationship with the local church will be, long term. I find that a bit of emotional and physical distance allows me to see more clearly, so I can choose how to move forward in the future from a place of wholeness, of understanding. If involvement in the local church in the way we’ve always known it is foundational for you, that’s fine. Maybe these posts will help you clarify what you want to change. And maybe these reflections aren’t for you at all. That’s fine, too. You can join me again in a couple of weeks for thoughts on books and writing and motherhood and faith and existence.

Also note: Instagram is like an open-air market where you stroll through the stalls, smell the fresh flowers, and choose which loaf of homemade bread you want to buy. Facebook is more like the Roman forum or the town square. People come here to argue and debate.

I want to be the same person wherever I go. I want to be honest and generous, no matter the platform. But for the sake of my sanity, I won’t be able to moderate discussions on these posts. If they’re not helpful or relevant for you, please feel free to ignore them.