I had so hoped this day would never come.
Thirty-five years ago, I bucked my family’s belief system and fell into Jesus’ arms. I found Him through a born-again Christian woman who spent years praying for me. It took her even longer to get me into a church; I just couldn’t imagine rubbing shoulders with all those “holy” people. At that point, we didn’t have a lot in common. But little by little, I learned their ways. I liked their music. I adored their Jesus. And they showed me a love I had never seen before: what it meant to be a part of the body of Christ.
So for most of my adult life I have been a born-again Christian, attending Evangelical Churches. Within their walls I found a family and community I could never have imagined beforehand. Within their belief system I learned how to study the Bible, so I could really get to know my Savior. Within their arms I found comfort and support through the ups and downs of life. Through their prayers I found the courage to have faith. Through our friendships I found the connection to humanity I always wanted.
I felt that, short of Heaven, I had found Home.
Yesterday, I said goodbye.
My heart was truly shattered when my daughter Catherine died suddenly, but this pain isn’t like that. This is more of a prolonged agony. In some ways, leaving is a relief. When Trump was elected I was just plain flabbergasted. As time went on, I absolutely believed that Evangelical Christians, my own people, would see who he is and that his agenda runs contrary to the teachings of Jesus. I was woefully ignorant of the political juggernaut known as the Religious Right. Last September, I started reading up on the movement. What I found sickened me. They are not about Jesus. They are about power. And boy, did they get it in Trump.
Since this is a postmortem rather than an exposé, I’ll spare you the details. All that really matters about dealing with a great loss is recognizing its enormity, grappling with its implications, and accepting that life will never be the same. I really did go through all of Elizabeth Kübler-Ross’s stages of grief during these last few months:
Denial: You’ve got to be kidding me. They can’t see through this guy?
Anger: Who’s responsible for leading these people astray?
Bargaining: If I just point out the flaws in their logic, they will get it.
Depression: Oh, my God. We’re going lose our family. Our community. What’s going to happen to us? We’ll be all alone. They really believe this. They support Trump. This is not going to change.
Acceptance:
“Dear Leadership Team: Seeing the events taking place in the church over the last several years makes us so sad and disheartened that just entering a church brings us to the point of tears. After months of prayer, and with great sorrow and regret, we ask that you remove our names from your membership roll and cease communications. Thank you for the time we were able to spend with you, and we wish you all the best.”
And so yesterday, it was finally over. No one who knows us will be surprised, but there will still be some who are sorry to see us go.
I know there are other kinds of churches that aren’t part of the Religious Right political movement, some who even consider themselves Evangelical. I’m praying about where God would have us go next. The heavy weight of grief is still parked on my chest. But barely within earshot is a whisper of hope that there will be another family out there, somewhere.
Goodbye to this version of the Evangelical Church. May God open your eyes before it is too late.
©Rachel Ophoff, Coconut Mountain Communications LLC, 2020. All Rights Reserved.
*This article was reprinted online at Red Letter Christians. org
been furloughed. Each state’s Department of Labor has been hit by a tidal wave of claims, hundreds of thousands beyond their normal workload. Consequently, many of us cannot access unemployment benefits because we simply cannot get through to them. Long lines of cars queue up for food. We do not know how long we can afford to live without work. On this, I think we can all agree.
This year marked my first real observation and participation in the season of Lent. Having been born again at the age of thirty into the Evangelical Christian Church, I never quite understood the tradition. It seemed to begin with dirt on one’s forehead, a giant party in New Orleans, and giving up sugar or booze for six weeks. The Evangelicals I met never seemed to put much stock in it, so neither did I.
all Galileans and none of them possessed a tomb in Jerusalem (according to Jewish law, even a criminal’s body might not be left hanging all night, but had to be buried that day). So the wealthy Joseph of Arimathea stepped in. He went to Pilate and asked that the body of Jesus should be given to him; and he cared for it, and put it in a rock tomb where no one had ever been laid…It is certainly true that in the end Joseph displayed the greatest courage. He came out on the side of a crucified criminal; he braved the possible resentment of Pilate; and he faced the certain hatred of the Jewish authorities.”
On the night before he was crucified, Jesus offered this mixed blessing to his disciples, as well as those of us who follow in their footsteps: “In this world you will have trouble…” This side of Heaven, we will always have evil to contend with. But then comes the promise we can cling to without reservation:
COVID-19 is shaking the planet. For the first time in our lives, we are weathering a global crisis. Here in the United States, many are experiencing what our own poor and Third World neighbors live with all the time: terror, upheaval, and financial insecurity. It stinks, doesn’t it? Most of us have no idea of what it must feel like to walk in their shoes. We don’t even want to walk down their street. We believe that’s where Real Fear resides.
One of the concepts that just fried my bacon at the time, and honestly still does, is what people call “the new normal.” I didn’t want a new normal. I wanted Catherine back. I wanted to have to cook special foods to compensate for her allergies. Instead, I stood mutely in the supermarket, absolutely incapable of making a menu for the just the three of us without substituting buffalo for beef and rice for potatoes. I wanted to drive her to band practice and argue about her messy room and laugh with her over dumb jokes.
around us. I am flabbergasted. This feels a lot like my dream.
The day after tomorrow, Christmas will herald joy to the world, hosted by Jesus followers from every corner of the Earth.
people. The refugee, the criminal, the poor, the persecuted. These were the people He loved, and this story shines like a breaking sunrise on the Good News we’re supposed to live out.
