Alone at church

Confession: I hate being the new person at a church.

Before I met my husband, I was attending a small church in Honolulu, Hawaii. Most of the people there were young families with the remainder being a mix of young professionals and empty nesters. I was one of the young professionals. On my first visit to the church I was surprised to find that I knew some of the families who attended there from other chapters of my life. It removed the feeling of being “the new kid at school.” I thought that this would make it easier for me to find community and “my people.” But I was wrong. You see, the families I knew were, well, families. They had children. I did not. I didn’t even have a husband or boyfriend. That meant that fellowship time at church ended up one of two ways:

1) I would begin chatting with someone I knew but they would quickly be pulled away by a child or another parent would come by and begin talking to them about something else. I would fade into the background. 

or

2) I would begin a conversation with someone I hadn’t met before and one of the first things they’d ask is, “do you have any kids?” Then I’d say, “no” and their smile would freeze in place as they thought of something else to say. Usually I had to fill the silence and I’d ask them how they started coming to the church. Before they could answer, another parent would usually come by and interrupt us for that person’s attention and I would fade into the background. 

After a couple of months I wondered if I would still attend that church or try a different one. I just felt like I would always be on the outside of community because I didn’t have kids yet. Well, that isn’t entirely true. There actually was one place in the church that I was highly valued and welcomed: providing childcare for ages 0-3. 

Fast forward a few years, Bryan and I are married and living in New Jersey. We attended an even smaller church than the one we went to in Honolulu and were one of the only young couples. Most people in the church were empty nesters or retirees. Finding a sense of community there wasn’t super hard because in a church that small, people were eager to greet you and get to know you. 

11 months later we moved to Virginia and had to find a new church. Then do it again two years later in Delaware. Then four years later in Mississippi. Then three years later in a different part of Virginia. During each of those transition seasons I noticed a cycle in our church shopping process. It was like the cycle of seasons but in reverse.

The cycle began with a season similar to spring: filled with new things and optimism and expectation. I always visited a church with the expectation that people would welcome me and my family. I believed that it was their job to notice I was new and to make the effort to greet me and not the other way around. 

The more churches we visited and the longer it took to find a good fit for our family, the more I resisted going to church at all. I found myself uptight and pessimistic and entering a church having already decided on the drive over that it would not be the right fit. God could prove me wrong, but He’d have to pull out all the stops. 

I began to take missed opportunities to welcome me, personally. That means that if people talking to other people in the foyer failed to say hello to me or did not help me get my kids registered for the kids program, I would tell myself that I was being ignored on purpose and that the Spirit of God was not alive in that church. Sometimes I went so far as to think people were racist and ignoring me because I am Asian.  

Instead of taking note of the things I thought the church did well, I entered their spaces with a critical heart and kept a running list of every imperfection I encountered. Usually after about three months in a new duty station, I would take a few weeks “off” of church, completely burned out and hopeless about finding friends and a healthy faith community. At this point in the cycle it was like a season of winter with themes of: cold, isolated, quiet, impenetrable.

Then I’d remember that God was the one who orchestrated our move to the new location and that He had plans for my family there. It was my choice whether or not I was going to be open to His plans for me. I could sit home and pout or I could venture outside and discover what He had in store for me. I would find myself back in church and realize two things: 

First, church isn’t just about me. Maybe God will plant me at a specific church for a specific season for a reason that is not just about me. Maybe it is also for one of my kids. Maybe it is for another family. Maybe it is to serve or inspire. It could be anything but it didn’t always have to be solely about me. 

Second, I could be the person to say “hello” to others and welcome them into community. Who cares if it feels awkward or they shut me down or say they have been at the church for decades and don’t need more friends? Good for them. Why take it personally? Why give up? Why not just look for someone who looks a little bit like I did when I entered the doors of the church—hoping and expecting someone to say “hello” and offer to help them get acclimated? I didn’t have to be on the welcome committee or first impressions team to do that. I could just do it. And honestly, even better if I’m not wearing the church tee shirt because that way, whoever I’m welcoming knows that they are being welcomed in a genuine way, when it isn’t my “job” to greet them. It tells others that in this church, this body of believers, we aren’t ignoring people as they come in simply because “that task belongs to someone else.”  This was like the fall season with themes of: dying to self and a time of gathering in community.

Finally, after a year or so of becoming deeply connected at a church, serving people in some way and hanging out with friends I trusted, I was in the final season of this church shopping cycle–the season of summer with themes of: radiating joy and explosive growth. Then I’d blink and just like that, would learn that my family was moving and we’d be gone in six months time. You’d think I’d be sad but there just wasn’t time to be sad. There was too much life happening: planning, celebrating, connecting, and researching. The cycle always ended with me in a season of hope knowing that God was going to be with us every step of the way. I would recall His faithfulness to me and trust that we would find another body of believers to call family. 

How I wish I could stay in that feeling of summer for just a little bit longer.

Maybe one day soon.