The Betrayal of visiting another church

Why going to another church felt like a betrayal but a much-needed rescue?

It has always been a regular routine for my family to attend church every other Sunday.

Every other Sunday, as my parents were not ones to wake up so early, especially when my sister and I were young and tended to wake up before the sun reared its head beyond the horizon.

But as life is so unpredictable, I soon lost my mum at a young age and I started to push my faith aside.

My father, sister and I still attended church after, but it was never quite the same. It almost felt like a betrayal, a lie, a place where I previously associated with safety and love into a place of hurt. A place of mistrust.

We moved out of the area for a fresh start and we began visiting another church. A fresh beginning I suppose. But the feelings stayed the same.

A part of myself had been locked away.

My faith had been pushed, into a cage and the key was thrown away.

I didn’t want to look upon it anymore. I had grown to put on a face, where others thought my faith was strong. They didn’t need to know me and how strong my faith really was. All they needed to know was that I showed up at church, prayed, smiled and left after tea.

However, life gave me another jolt.

Now I have kids.

And when you have kids, you see the world in a completely different way. You see the world through your eyes, you see how the world will see your child, you may see the world through your child’s eyes. Even if you don’t, you will still feel everything that they go through.

I took them to church.

I wanted them to build their own faith, without my own judgement. It was important that they had to build their own relationship with God, with Jesus.

I suddenly found myself volunteering as a Sunday school teacher and a safeguarding officer. But every week, everything seemed to be the same.

As other churches kept up with what was happening, ours seemed to be stuck. Now, this isn’t a bad thing. Everyone has their own way in which to be closer to God. They all have set ways in which they have always followed, ways in which they feel comfortable and the atmosphere which they feel they are closer to God.

But my feelings were changing.

I began to see the same old ceilings, the same old chairs, listen to the same sermon. It started to begin feeling like a chore. Something to do on the weekend. Something that would just pass the time and allow the children to be out instead of being at home all day.

I started to question it.

I kept going. But it was mostly for my son's sake. It started to feel that this was not my way of being close to God (not that I felt I wanted to be).

Afraid to get hurt again, afraid to allow the connection with God to resurface, I started to look deeper as to why I felt this way. I started to connect this to the sudden departure of my mum. I felt I was the one to blame for her leaving as she did when I felt I could have done something. But as I think back, it all began when I was 12, did I know any better?

I didn’t want my faith to ruin my children’s relationship with God. I wanted them to be able to have their own relationship, to understand the importance of Jesus in their lives and why it is so important for them to enjoy their faith.

So I persisted.

I tried to do as much as I could in my church. But to no avail. My kids were losing interest.

They needed to see their church, their religion through a completely different set of eyes. Children learn about life completely different to us as adults. It was not fair to them.

I came across a Pastor in my children’s school and we had a chat about the church he attends. I was very sceptical. If he had said one more thing about his church, I was sure to just walk away (politely of course). But he made me think.

Full of life

He was so energetic. He was full of life. He was giving up his time to be able to tell me about his work. It felt like he was passing his energy to me, although I was nowhere near him.

But this wasn’t the first encounter I had with this particular church. I always used to drive past it and quietly say to myself, “I will visit you, someday” and that day never came.

The day I met the pastor was the day I knew I had to show up to this church. It almost felt like a calling. I mean, how likely was it that the church I wanted to visit, had a pastor who’s child attended the same school as my sons, 5 miles away? Yes, I thought it didn’t happen much.

First Visit

As we parked in the car park, everything was different, especially the church, it basically looked like an office block. This was not how we were supposed to pray, surely? I went into the building with my faith locked away, protected in its little cage.

It almost felt like a betrayal. Am I even allowed to attend another church? What will my congregation think? Did I need to seek permission?

As I went in, I kept at a distance. I continually told myself I wouldn’t find anything interesting, my kids would not like it, what a waste of time this would be.

As I got the kids signed up to Sunday school, I followed one of the helpers through to the main hall. Coffee was served before the service and as I looked around, all I could see was the projectors flashing a bright screen and a live band about to perform on the small stage.

Oh goodness, it was one of T H O S E churches.

I settled in a seat, with my coffee and soaked in the atmosphere. As the band started to play, I felt out of place. Everyone was singing…except me. Oh dear, if I were to be a part of this, I better start doing something to make others think, I was one of them.

So I started to sing.

Now the last time I did that, was in primary school. I can’t sing to save my life, but neither could the people around me. But we weren’t there to show off our singing skills. We were there, together, as a family, as a community, as a church, because we all came together to celebrate The Holy One.

Tear came

Halfway through the song, I felt tears welling inside. I couldn’t understand whether this was the aftermath of having children, or it was something else. But I know for sure that I never welled up at my church.

What was happening?

No matter how hard I tried to suck it back up again, these were tears that needed to flow.

My son came to join me halfway through the sermon, he was getting a bit lonely. Thank goodness, he came at a time when I was able to wipe it all away.

As we left the (office) church, I became aware that I was not the same person who walked in before. The sun seemed to shine a little brighter, people around me were more loving and life just seemed more peaceful.

Maybe my faith needed a bit of a push.

It needed to be able to see that there were more than one ways in which to enrich your faith. But by staying in a place where you feel your faith is not growing, may have been the worse choice to make.

I think it was important to make this step. It was important for me to open up to see the many ways in which, we, as Christians seek and grow our faith with our God.

Excited

It may be early days yet, but my children are excited to go to church. They are excited to take part in Sunday school and the extra activities during the holidays.

But it feels like I have betrayed my church.

It may ease with time, but I believe that my faith would have probably suffered and been pushed down more if I had kept going to the same church.

Sometimes for you to restore, you need to sacrifice.

And although I didn’t sacrifice my faith, I had to sacrifice the environment where I felt my relationship with God was failing. This choice had to not just be for myself, but for my kids.

Thank you for reading.

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This story is published in Koinonia — stories to encourage, entertain, and empower you in your faith, food, fitness, family and fun.