I found myself in the back of a church

I buried my head in a songbook, but that wasn't a big enough shield

I have gone round and round about my fundamentalist scars and how walking into a church (unless it’s a funeral or wedding) has for decades been my kryptonite.

Please bear with me for yet another tour of Susan’s Scars. This has a happy ending, sort of.

For these last few years, I’ve been walking by a local Lutheran church, marveling at their Friday food ministry, the looks on the faces of the volunteers, and the open-door vibe of the place. Earlier this month, we walked over to the church’s live nativity and I felt…something.

So on Christmas Eve (Christmas being a minefield for a fundamentalist because JESUS WAS NOT BORN ON DEC. 25 AND CHRISTENDOM IS IN SCRIPTURAL ERROR), I got dressed, and then sat in my car out in front of the church in the growing darkness, trying to talk myself into going inside. I’m lonely, is what, for a community of like-minded believers. Being a floater means being solo. I miss the church.

But what a drama queen, I told myself as I sat in the car. It’s just a service, and dancing around that open door is a waste of time. So I walked in, found the back pew (SINNERS ALL!) and opened a songbook to pretend to be too busy to be welcomed.

I don’t feel particularly Lutheran-y, and it is branded into my DNA that the Brand of Christianity Matters A Great Deal. I like Garrison Keiller’s Lutheranism but I am not sure about the group as a whole.

As a fundamentalist, you can think yourself into a corner and never come out. I looked up only to see people coming in, greeting one another, and finding a place to sit.

So here’s where grace comes in. A woman walked up to ask if I was Susan. She was of the people who’d reached out after I recently wrote about the church’s lovely nativity walked up. Her name is Tina and she, too, was raised in the church of Christ, in Georgia. She laughed and told me she is this church’s director of music (THESE SINNERS USE INSTRUMENTS!) and she warned me that she would be doing a chant (PRETTY SURE JESUS NEVER CHANTED!) and I laughed and promised not to stand up and channel the voices in my head. I didn’t say it quite like that but I thought it REALLY LOUD.

And then the music started, Tina lifted her beautiful voice, and I was transported back to a time before theology wrecked things, back to a world inhabited by people of good faith whose theology began and ended with love. Religion was never meant to be used as a battering ram, and from my study, I believe that transformation of a law of love began to be twisted even before the followers started to call themselves Christians. Religion is perfectly fine if we follow it, but we lard it up with dogma that creates schisms that slam the door not just in the face of others, but on their hands and toes, as well. Who’s right in this? Who cares? What theology can we share? Love your neighbor. All the rest is dogma.

Though I did not grow up singing Christmas carols in my church, I knew the words to each song’s first and third verses (I don’t know why), and I added my quavering alto to the mix. And when we all sang “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” I thought, “Yep. That’s me.” Battle-torn and war-weary, yeah. I still believe.