I’ve had a lot of thoughts and the more I tried to condense it, the more I felt like I was not expressing my full self.
This all started with a concert I went to the other weekend, expecting nostalgia.
Instead, I left thinking about faith, belonging, and how much I’ve changed.
I was obsessed with this band in high school, and I was excited to hear songs from an album that meant so much to me back then.
I knew before going that the supporting artists were Christian bands…I had looked them up the day before lol. So by the time I walked into the concert, I knew what kind of show I was going to.
I just don’t think I fully expected the experience to feel the way it did.
I expected a concert.
At times, it felt more like a worship service.
And apparently, I have thoughts about that.
So, don’t mind me while I throw them all out here.
Maybe I’m the One Who Changed
There is absolutely nothing wrong with Christian music.
There is nothing wrong with worship.
There is nothing wrong with finding comfort in a room full of people who understand what you’re going through.
But if I’m being transparent, I felt out of place.
At one point, I remember looking around and thinking:
Why does it feel like I’m surrounded by a bunch of cry babies?
I KNOW.
That sounds terrible.
Hear me out.
We all struggle.
We all experience pain, fear, grief, and moments that completely change us. And we all cope with those experiences differently.
Some people need a night like that.
They need to cry.
They need to worship.
They need to hear someone tell them they aren’t alone and that there is hope on the other side of whatever they’re facing.
There was a time in my life when I loved those moments too.
But that night made me realize something has changed.
Maybe it’s because I’m older.
Maybe it’s because of everything I’ve been through.
Or maybe my relationship with faith has simply become more personal.
I Still Believe
I don’t talk about my faith very often.
Not because I don’t have faith, but because my faith is personal to me.
I believe God was with me in the hospital and that He is with me today.
I believe I’m going to face obstacles throughout my life that remind me I can’t control everything.
That I need to trust.
That I need to remember who He is.
My faith didn’t disappear.
But the way I connect with it has changed.
And I think that’s part of what made that night so uncomfortable.
There were moments when the concert felt like a “woe is me, but I was saved” atmosphere.
Maybe that sounds harsh.
Maybe it is.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about how differently I experience faith now compared to when I was younger.
When Did Belonging Become About Agreeing?
I used to have a small group, fellowship.
I had friends who shared my faith, and there are parts of that community that I genuinely miss.
Would I be happy to see those people today?
Absolutely.
Would I want to sit down, catch up, and hear about their lives and families?
Of course.
But would we still fit into each other’s lives?
I honestly don’t know.
And it isn’t because I don’t want fellowship or community.
It’s because of what I see happening around us.
The division.
The cliques.
The feeling that if you don’t think exactly like someone else, believe exactly what they believe, or agree with every opinion they have, suddenly you’re on the outside.
When did that happen?
Did we forget that we can disagree and still care about each other?
Did we forget that people can have different perspectives and still sit at the same table?
Did we forget how to simply welcome people?
Because sometimes, I feel like we did.
Maybe What Bothers Me Is That It Doesn’t Feel Real Anymore
It’s been over a week since that concert, and I still haven’t posted this.
Maybe there was a reason for that.
Because the more I’ve thought about why that night made me uncomfortable, the more I’ve realized it wasn’t really about the concert.
The concert just opened a door to feelings I’ve had for a long time about the church and why I’ve become so distant from it.
Sometimes, it just feels fake.
It feels like people are putting on a show.
Like we’re beating around the bush and saying all the right things without actually talking about the messy reality of being human.
We preach grace, forgiveness, fellowship, and welcoming the broken.
But do we actually practice those things when someone sitting beside us is the one who is broken?
Because I’ve watched people be judged when their lives became messy.
I’ve seen people pushed away because they didn’t fit into the right clique.
Because they viewed something differently.
Because their life suddenly didn’t look the way everyone thought it should.
And that’s where I struggle.
You cannot preach grace while selectively deciding who deserves to receive it.
You cannot preach community while creating cliques.
You cannot preach love while pushing people away because they think differently than you.
And you cannot pretend everything is perfect.
Because it isn’t.
I’ve watched people speak highly about how others should live while ignoring the reality happening within their own homes and families.
Kids struggling with drugs.
Underage drinking and partying.
Inappropriate messages.
Families dealing with all of the same messy, complicated things that happen everywhere else.
And you know what?
That doesn’t make those families bad.
It makes them human.
That is exactly my point.
Why are we pretending?
Why can’t we talk about the real stuff?
Why can’t someone stand up and say:
My family is struggling.
My marriage is falling apart.
My kid is making choices I don’t know how to handle.
I’m depressed.
I’m angry with God.
I don’t know what I believe right now.
I need help.
That is the kind of fellowship I understand.
Real.
Raw.
Human.
Not perfection.
Let’s Talk About Leadership and Accountability
And while we’re talking about accountability, let’s actually talk about it.
Because I do believe there are times when someone should not be in leadership.
Actions have consequences.
There are situations where stepping down is appropriate.
There are people who need to take accountability for the harm they have caused before they should ever be responsible for leading anyone else.
My problem isn’t accountability.
My problem is when accountability is selective.
I’ve watched people be made to feel like they were no longer fit to lead because they were going through a divorce.
Because maybe they were a little too emotional—or dare I say, a little too emo—during a difficult season of their life.
Suddenly, their ability to lead was questioned because their life no longer looked neat enough from the outside.
But then… the real sin comes to light.
The real harm has been done.
And suddenly, the conversation around accountability sounds different.
There are explanations.
There are excuses.
There are private conversations behind closed doors.
There is concern about reputations.
There is talk about forgiveness and redemption.
And sometimes, there seems to be more urgency around protecting the man who did something wrong than protecting the person who was affected by it.
That is where I have a problem.
You cannot demand that one person step down because their life became messy and then quietly protect someone else because holding them accountable would make your life messy.
That isn’t accountability.
That’s choosing who gets held accountable.
And if leadership expects the people sitting in front of them to examine their lives, admit when they are wrong, and accept consequences for their choices, then leadership needs to be willing to do exactly the same thing.
Maybe even more so.
Because leadership is not protection from accountability.
Leadership should require more of it.
Grace and accountability can exist at the same time.
Forgiveness does not mean pretending something didn’t happen.
Redemption does not mean someone automatically gets to keep their position.
And protecting the reputation of a church should never matter more than protecting the people inside of it.
If we’re going to preach accountability, then nobody gets to be exempt from it.
Not the person sitting in the last row.
Not the person standing on the stage.
Not the person whose last name carries weight.
Not the person everyone loves.
Not leadership.
Nobody.
Who Are We Actually Protecting?
This is probably where I’m going to get a little bold.
Something has never sat right with me about who we decide deserves to be “saved” and who we quietly push out the door.
We will talk endlessly about reaching people who are completely disconnected from the church.
We will pour time, love, resources, and energy into helping people trapped in destructive lifestyles because we want them to know they are worthy of redemption.
And we should.
We should help people.
We should believe people can change.
We should meet people where they are.
But where is that same urgency when someone who is already sitting in the church starts drowning?
Where is the protection for the person going through a divorce?
Where is the fellowship for the person battling depression?
Where is the grace for the person whose life suddenly doesn’t look the way everyone thinks it should?
Where is everyone when someone who loved their church, invested their time, showed up, served, and genuinely wanted to belong suddenly becomes the person who needs everyone else to show up for them?
Sometimes, instead of being pulled closer, they are judged.
They are whispered about.
They lose their place.
They stop getting invited.
They become uncomfortable to deal with.
And eventually, they leave.
Then we wonder why people walk away from church.
Maybe That’s Why I Connect With Faith Differently Through Music
To tie back in the music…
I listen to a lot of metalcore, and some of the bands I enjoy happen to be Christian metalcore bands.
When I know what I’m listening to and understand the meaning behind the lyrics, I can connect with it.
Give me something heavy.
Give me something honest.
Give me lyrics about struggling, questioning, surviving, and finding hope.
And then give me a good:
BLEGH.
HECK YEAH.
That means something to me.
I don’t feel like I’m being preached to.
I feel understood.
I feel like we’re acknowledging that we are all human.
We struggle.
We question things.
We have different experiences, different views, and different perspectives.
And somehow, we can still come together.
We can listen to music.
We can scream lyrics.
We can headbang.
Well, I’ve talked enough.
Maybe you’ll read this and completely disagree with me.
That’s okay.
Maybe your experiences shaped your perspective differently than mine shaped mine.
This isn’t me saying every church is the same, or that my perspective is the right one.
It’s simply where I’ve landed.
If you wanted to challenge me on any of this, I’d welcome the conversation.
Not because I’m looking for an argument, but because I think we learn the most when we’re willing to hear perspectives different from our own.
Somewhere along the way, it feels like we’ve forgotten that two people can love God and still see things differently.
Maybe we don’t need to agree.
Maybe we just need to be willing to listen.
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