Displacement

I grew up in the church.

Like, first-outing, bible-class-teaching, VBS-going, felt-board-puppet-showing grew up in the church.

When I was my son’s age, we would raid the communion prep room after services and eat the leftover Matzo bread and grape juice as a pre-lunch snack.

My sister and I had a gum-guy (I feel like every Bible-Belt kiddo had a “gum guy” growing up). You know, the old man that all the kids would bolt to after worship service to grab their weekly peppermint fix? The one that wore suspenders and short sleeves button downs, and played Santa Clause in the winter? We had one of those. My kids even have one at our church in College Station, and they adore their Mr. Skip like I adored my own in elementary school.

I always felt at home in church.

I led small groups and taught bible classes. I welcomed new-comers and attended summer camps. When I walked into the building, I felt like I belonged. The smell of communion bread was comforting, and the tang of Great-Value grape juice tasted as sweet as any home-cooked meal. If the doors were unlocked, I was there-serving, singing, learning, and hungry for more.

Now, a year and a half post-COVID, I sit in the auditorium, broken and confused. For the first time in my life, I feel displaced in my congregation. For the first time in my life, the concept of church is is optional. I walk down the halls during bible class, peeking into classrooms, but never entering them. I don’t quite know where I fit in the church narrative anymore. The trauma of COVID has completely obliterated the respite I had in the church. I’ve spent 18 months relearning how to pursue God outside of the community I have had my entire life, and now that I’m back again, something feels—off.

The purpose of this piece isn’t to make anyone feel bad. I know I’ll be OK. I wanted to make sure that anyone who felt the same way as I knew they were not alone in this weird, almost post-COVID time. The social worker in me knows that trauma is an instigator for change, and I’m OK with it. I’ve unlearned and relearned so many things in the past year or so, and I’m thankful for it. Normally, I end my blog posts with a call to action, or an encouraging word or two. But this time, I don’t have a solution just yet. If you’re like me and are having to rewind the church that was unravelled a year ago, I stand with you. Let’s restart, together.