Faith Journey

One year ago, I wrote a blog post about Christianity losing its passion. I expressed own desire for a faith community that was seeking to follow Jesus, regardless of how uncomfortable that walk might become. I longed for a living church, active in seeking justice and peace not only in their own lives, but in their neighborhoods, streets and city. While I desperately missed an old life in the rice paddies of Cambodia, I needed to become connected in this new place, Philadelphia.

One year later, without realizing it, I found what I was looking for, a faith community that is actively seeking God’s grace despite their own biases and shortcomings. I found an open body welcoming me to join in seemingly simple activities - volleyball, trips to the library, dinners, plays, or a simple stroll down the sidewalk. I found a vibrant replica of Christ’s love and compassion and a people alive with the Holy Spirit. I found a Mennonite church that was so unlike the comfortable, wealthy, cliquish, plain, do gooders I knew in college. I found a church I wanted to be a part of.

I grew up in the Orange Church of the Nazarene. Any time the church doors were open, and even sometimes when they were not, I was there. My mom was heavily involved as a board member, treasurer and Sunday school teacher while my dad only attended services. I always knew God loved me and Jesus died for my sins. I never had a conversion experience. I wanted one, so sometimes I would make up an acceptable story about asking Jesus into my heart.

When I was 12 I went to a typical Wednesday night service with my mom. We didn’t have a pastor at the time, so we just knelt at the altar and prayed. I was sitting quietly wishing I had stayed home, when suddenly I heard a distinct voice say “I want you to be my missionary.” My immediate reaction was “You don’t want me God. You really wanted that person over there; I just got in the way.” This dialogue continued for about a year; God gently pursuing me, and my adamant refusal. As a child, I didn’t travel. I hated being away from my parents. I liked being safe, and what God was calling me to, did not seem safe. Around the same time my brother was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. My family struggled in so many ways that year. I eventually told God I’d go anywhere if he helped my family.

The Nazarene church was incredibly supportive through all this. By the time I was a teenager, I had these great ideas of what we could do as a youth group: hanging out at the homeless shelter, volunteering at the food pantry, going to youth conventions. However, my youth group wasn’t interested, so my ideas were pushed aside and we would just watch movies. Eventually I voiced my disillusionment with the complacency I saw, several families left, and I was blamed for splitting up the church. I knew then, as I know now, I was not responsible for the families that left, but the pain I felt was still very real.

I left the following year for EMU. I was skeptical of Mennonite faith for most of my time at EMU, despite attending a Mennonite church for 3 of those 4 years. I struggled most with pacifism; my dad is a veteran and I grew up honoring veterans in church. I now claim to be a pacifist, but I still struggle on how to value our veterans while not supporting war. Likewise, there is something so enticing about an interpretation of Christianity that seeks reconciliation and harmony with those around them. I have deeply appreciated how interconnected the Mennonite world is, despite my initial impressions of an exclusive society.

Before I left for my MCC term, I asked the Nazarene church to be my sending congregation. About a year into my term, the Nazarene church stopped communicating with me. I would send emails and just stopped getting responses. I felt abandoned. While I loved the Cambodian church I attended, it wasn’t challenging my faith. I returned to the States in July 2009 without a church community and in a very dry place spiritually. As I attended churches in North America, I became increasingly cynical with the state of the established church. I remember I was sitting in a Sunday School class discussing what we would die for. I didn’t want a faith to die for; I needed a faith to live for. The harsh reality of corruption, poverty and malnutrition was too deep in my heart to accept a comfortable, bland, narcissistic version of Christianity. I needed a bold, radical challenge to seek healing in a world that is inherently broken with systemic injustice. And, I knew I couldn’t survive alone; I needed a tangible community.

I believe God brought me to West Philly. This past year has provided space for healing. In July I visited the Nazarene church, one last time, to forgive them for the pain I’ve carried around so long. For me, coming to the Mennonite world has been a process of releasing resentment caused by failed expectations and misunderstandings. It’s been a process of moving towards openness, tolerance and unity.

Back in high school, my youth leader told me I would ruin my life if I went to EMU. Perhaps he was right; God ruined my comfortable life and it’s been the most amazing adventure. If this is Christianity, then I eagerly look forward to the next time God ruins my life.

(Shared this morning as I joined West Philly Mennonite Fellowship)