Traveling across Spain on foot gave lots of time for taking in the amazing cathedrals. They were awe inspiring with their grandeur, and I found myself curious about the unbelievable time, talent, and treasure that had been invested in these works of art.

I found myself wondering why? Were they concerned that God would not be pleased with anything less? Did they want to show the power of religion? Were they wanting to make sure that this cathedral measured up to the one down the road? Or why am I judging? Maybe they just wanted church to be fantastically beautiful to invite in the hurting, giving them hope that something that grand had to have power to heal. I know seeing a church as we crested a hill at the end of a long walking day, kinda gave me that feeling on my Camino.

Whatever the reasons, am grateful for the time, talent, and treasure invested. Walking through the vast time capsules that were these cathedrals was nothing less than a gift to me and others, these centuries later. They are stunning.

I imagine that modern church leaders discuss the nature of church buildings in similar ways. They may need them to have a big stage with fog machines, or they may focus on the practical with chairs that connect easily. I expect they want to be more inviting than austere, feeling warmer with their coffee shop vibes.

I like inviting. I was part of a church that I loved dearly where the pastor said that he wanted the atmosphere to be comfortable until you were in your seat. Then he felt the church leaders were responsible to work with God to bring transformation, which is not often comfortable. I appreciated this sentiment at the time. I felt I needed transformation, and assumed everyone else did too.

Another past pastor of mine used to say that he wanted people to be glad, at their funeral, that he was their pastor. He also clearly felt responsible to guide others on the correct path. I also feel this responsibility too, if I am honest. I think growing up a preacher’s kid gave me this sense of needing to help people toward the blessed life.

I wonder what it feels like to attend one of these cathedrals. Is it comfortable? It is a place of transformation? Is it the responsibility of the pastors and priests to invite us into comfort or conviction?

I used to believe so, but after some curious thinking I am less sure.

It must be a tremendous burden to feel responsible for all of those people. For the corrupt person, it could also support a tremendous feeling of power. Is this what being “called” looks like? Teaching people how to live? I wonder if there are things that are missing or even wrong in this structure called “church.” There seem to be lots of things spoken that are not demonstrated, things like “the greatest of these is love,” or “how can he say to his brother, ‘let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the while he has a plank in his own eye.” It can be hard to reconcile, and I understand all too clearly the challenge.

My family has gone through stuff. We have traveled the lonely path of being very involved in a church, then subsequently embracing a life of loving and fully supporting our lesbian daughter. Our daily life probably looks similar to any other privileged, white family. I try to love others well and live an intentional life, caring for myself and those around me; yet this has been a season of grief and loss of nearly all of our early church community.

I remember the echo chambers of the large, albeit beautiful cathedrals. I remember being in my modern echo chamber of a sanctuary and nodding my head, feeling so accomplished in my Christian successes. My husband was a Sunday School teacher, and taught challenging and thoughtful lessons. I remember our last Sunday there, before we moved away. I remember individuals in our class recounting all our valuable traits that they were going to miss. They mentioned the example of our lives, and how much they appreciated our friendship. We poured so much into that community, and loved them all so much.

I have always wanted to write a letter to them. I wonder why we have not heard much from most of them, since our daughter came out. We had a journey, that was not easy, of tears, searching, confusion, etc. as we navigated how to respond to our precious child. It would have been really nice to have some of those old friends reach out in support. When we did hear from them it was in urging us to change our position. That added shame to an already difficult time.

I know time also can affect relationships. We have all traveled a hard road through a pandemic and the divisions that came because of a vaccine. And amidst the sickness came some powerful moments of pain, as we saw again and again, Black people dying unnecessarily by the force of racism. And all of it is made political, including how to handle the LGBTQ community. https://respectfullycurious.com/did-covid-steal-your-relationships/

It has been 4 years since we were honest about our position on embracing the LGBTQ community. Time has been kind for those we have kept in close proximity with– our family and a few dear friends have been able to find a way to love us. But for many of our early church community, time has not been kind. It has allowed assumptions about who we now are and how we now live to fester. When we have revisited those friendships, we have felt the toxic void of proximity.

Next I will share my hardest post yet. My body fears it. It is not a theological treatise, but my heart’s response after yet another recent, deep wound from those who used to be our closest friends.

Dear Church,

Please consider the damage. Perhaps it is time to move from our austere places of worship, inviting or not, to life on life, with respectful curiosity and humility.