The Road Ahead
When I became a Lutheran, it wasn't because someone argued me into it. I wasn't seduced by the ritual, the ambiance, the reverence, or the vestments. It wasn't the hymns or the friendly people who greeted me in the church. It wasn't the architecture, or the charisma of the pastor, the classes offered, or the events they put on.
It was the Word. Full stop.
No one tracked me down and dragged me in (though there were plenty who helped explain things as I went along.) I simply was convinced that the Bible was God's Word, and thus in a world that had been shaken upside-down, I knew it was the ultimate source of truth...so I studied it. And I found that, when interpreted using the same basic rules you'd use for understanding any other literary text (and understanding that God will not contradict Himself), the doctrines you end up with happen to line up with Confessional Lutheranism.
I praise God that I was brought into the Lutheran Church this way. Because if my beliefs were based on anything or anyone else...I'm not sure where I'd be at this point.
The truth is true, no matter who says it. It's true no matter what I feel. It's true, no matter how many people say otherwise.
God's Word is worth more than heaven and earth. His promises are more sure than the air that I'm breathing, than the keys under my fingers, than my fingers themselves.
Whatever hurt I've caused others, whatever hurt I've endured, whatever stress and tension and anguish and anxiety and pain and depression and disillusionment and anger and bitterness...these things, as awful as they are, do not undo the Truth.
Elsewhere in the world, there are Christians that must risk their very lives to gather at church. They suffer persecution and hatred, and make great sacrifices in order to come together, risking livelihoods and reputations to hear the Word and receive the Sacraments. What I must endure, in comparison, is small potatoes.
We so easily take our churches for granted. It's perhaps a chore to go. It doesn't cater to my needs like I want it to, so I'll pick a different one of the 40 options within driving distance (define that by the way, hmmm?) Being able to gather with others who share our confession of faith is such a profound blessing, and finding within the church walls relationships based around that confession is one of life's truest joys. To go to where Christ meets with us, joining in one voice as we sing hymns and chant Psalms, and together hearing the Word and receiving the Sacraments, to do so side by side in true unity...this is ultimately worth any amount of suffering and difficulty, discomfort or distance.
But...to have the joy of that camaraderie stripped away, to have mutual trust dashed, to cease to be greeted with joy...ah, this is hard. I would, cheerfully, walk through fire for the former. Perhaps, though, one's motivation for going must be refined by all of this. Do you really attend because you long for Christ's gift of forgiveness? Or is it the trappings that you're after?
I guess I'm answering that question now.
If you truly had to walk through emotional hell, in order to stand next to those you're in conflict with, to receive Christ's Word and His Blood from a man you weren't sure you trusted...and had to drive well over an hour each way to do so, not only without your husband, but without his (or anyone else in your family's) approval...would you still do it?
If there were no other option? And no end in sight?
Ah, truly, the rubber meets the road here.
And that answer is, and must be, "Yes."
It may be a long, wild ride, one that threatens to rapidly wear me down, even further than I already have been. I am not strong enough; but that doesn't matter. I must be, so I shall.
Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.
Keep me steadfast in the faith. Somehow. For my children's sake, if nothing else.
And please, PLEASE, fix this. I can't. I've tried my very, very hardest. I've got nothing left. But if this is what I must do, then I will do it. I had a part in making this bed, after all.
Jesus, be merciful to me. Remember me, your dear child, the one you poured out your very life for, the one you baptized and called your own. Do not let my trust in you fail. Give me the strength to endure, if endure I must. And please, grant reconciliation, if at all possible. My heart is so full of bitterness.
And, most of all, remember what You Yourself endured in order to bring me to yourself. Please, continue to bring me to where I can receive You. You not only literally walked through Hell (though in victory, not suffering), You drank the cup of the Father's wrath to the dregs, for me. You always receive me with open arms, with great joy. You bid me, "Come", when others shut me out. Where others put up walls and refuse to even talk in order to work things out, You took my sin and paid for it in full in Your own body on the Cross, so that there would be no walls between us. When I falter and shrink away from the pain, when I sinfully despise Your Word in favor of my own comfort and self-preservation...turn your eyes and look instead at the perfect obedience of Your Son, the Righteous One...my Righteousness.
He went joyfully to His Father's house.
(May I one day again be able to do the same.)
-M
[Edit 11/13/25:
(skip this and come back to it after you've read the rest of the blog, if you're a newbie.)
(Also, warning: this is less vague, more direct, and less edited than my other posts.)
It's been a full 10 months since I wrote this post. And how are things? Oh...not good. Not good.
Have I been worn down? Most definitely yes. I've been a hair's breadth away from giving up and leaving more times than I can count now. Every few weeks I re-assess, contemplate other churches, try to find an acceptable way out.
Resolution seems impossible. While reconciliation can likely never happen, I long for peace - desperately - and have tried the best I've known how (which has just been a floundering mess, really.) But the emotional toll it's taken on me has required an acceptance and shutting down. I'm in survival mode; and while avoidance is apparently a problematic coping mechanism, it's the only thing that has allowed me to continue to function.
I'm not trying to punish; I'm trying to survive. But I'm aware my actions may be causing others pain. I wish they didn't, but I don't know what else to do at this point. Some Sundays - especially when I'm not doing well physically and/or emotionally - I hide after the service (while my children talk with their friends); I figure I'm less likely to cause pain if I'm simply absent, vs being present but refusing to interact. Other times - on good days - I resolve to stop letting this control me, and I put myself in the awkward places, where I can interact with others, though I risk being around those I'm in conflict with, and suffering more pain.
I'm scared - scared of being hurt even more than I already am. This was the case again and again and again, while I was still trying to be friendly. This festering wound is insanely sensitive, and even a small jab - an averted gaze, a missing email, a cold shoulder - has been excruciating, and caused a negative spiral that takes all of the subsequent week to pull out of. Avoidance...well, it may be "maladaptive," but it seems like even with the unpleasant side-affects, it's better than the alternative (even as I'm aware that I'm now guilty of the very thing from which I'm running.)
All of this has been very traumatic. There was a meeting last year, that I thought was friendly and was going to help resolve things, but it turned out to be the opposite, and was more of an ambush, and a pulling-out-of-the-rug from beneath me. What I experienced was surreal. The best way I can describe it is that the flood of emotions was so intense, that I disconnected from my face in order to stem the tide; it was like I'd taken a physical step back. And then as things went on, it was like I was behind a plexiglass wall, like I was separate from what was happening, as though it was a dream, or I was unreachable and numb.
I want to get past all of this. I want it all to be over, to be fixed. But I've tried so very hard to fix it and failed. I've had to give up - multiple times. It's their turn to try, now, if they even are willing.
I'm trapped between their perceptions, and my husband's perceptions, and my own, and the truth that has seemed to emerge - that fits the data points best (as I've had so much time now to analyze) - is so very ugly.
I see myself alternately as being the worst perpetrator (I still place a huge chunk of the fault for all of this on my own shoulders), and the victim; as being the abuser and the abused, as being a vile narcissist and the victim of one.
All this to say, though, that while I hate it all but don't know what else to do...while I can't permit myself to care about how this affects others...yet, I still can't help but be bothered by it. My coping, my surviving, isn't fixing anything; in many ways it's making it worse, and I'm pretty sure wearing them down as well.
Sometimes leaving really is the best option, for everyone involved.
We're not there yet, though; it would be devastating to my faith and the faith of my sons, and that's a VERY big deal...worth an incredible amount of pain and difficulty.
So while I still teeter on the edge, and while it would almost certainly be best for my own well-being (both mentally and in some significant ways spiritually) to leave, yet for now I will continue to stay. But I don't want to drag down others in my attempt to cope, such that it damages the church.
(Am I like some demonic presence? A faceless shadow that haunts the sanctuary? Is that their perception of me and my struggles, and my episode of traumatic disassociation; is that their explanation? Having had a conversation with them in the past about the topic, and a few comments here and there...I wonder. Maybe they think I'm demon-possessed. It would be an easy way to dismiss everything, I suppose.)
I won't leave...but I found a way to have a change of scenery - and a way to again be welcomed at church - by joining the choir. I also joined a larger community choir that meets on Sunday afternoons for a few months (preparing for a Christmas concert), all of this re-engaging my deep love of making music that has lain dormant for so long. I'm not a strong singer, but I enjoy it, and even adding a weak voice to our poor, sparse choir is helpful, I think. So that has been a good thing, though making the change was surprisingly hard and painful.
(One unintended side-effect: I'm in the balcony while my pastor is shaking hands; easier on both of us in many ways I suppose, but now even that small friendly interaction is gone, which I think probably helped stem the tide of bitterness, on both sides...when it went well, at least.)
And I'm still holding out hope that, in time, things will improve and fade.
This isn't something I can just "get over." Honestly what has happened...I can't think of a way that I could have been more deeply wounded - emotionally and spiritually - than I have been. And yet I'm willing to move past it, to have peace, willing to try to work it out, though the aforementioned little attacks most Sundays threaten to break me more than the memory of what transpired in the past.
I'm afraid that, if I go back to being friendly, it'll 1) imply that there's no discussion or resolution needed, and 2) just lead me right back into the same danger as before, and risk my relationship with my husband.
So, what's the right answer?
How am I supposed to act? I'm still at a complete and utter loss. Refusing to interact hurts them and makes the conflict worse. Being friendly seems to sweep it under the rug, stuff it down to fester even more, open me up to more emotional pain and agony, and potentially welcome the ire of my husband.
Hiding sure seems like the best solution, for everyone involved. Me not being there. Me being removed from the situation, removed - as much as possible - from their lives.
...have I mentioned, yet, that I hate all of this??
Oh Lord, Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.
And why am I being such an idiot and writing in this blog? I swore that I wouldn't. What are my motivations? (how deep do you really want to go with that, hmm?)
It's helpful and therapeutic, mostly, and it feels safe to do so now. This is my blog, and I hate having to try to hide it, or move it, feeling like I have to abandon what I've created because it's been hijacked. I have other outlets now, that I don't have to worry about being seen. But...there's something unique about this format that is truly helpful. And these are things that I guess, on some level, I wish were known. It's the unresolved conflict continuing to torment me. Writing here doesn't solve it, but it feels like doing something, however minuscule. I mean...it's NOT, and hasn't actually helped fix things in reality, like I'd hoped it would somehow, thinking, "If only they could understand, like I wish I could understand them...then they'd be willing to work through this with me." (I think this line of thought has proven false; perhaps it's not that they don't understand, but that they do, and it doesn't change anything?)
But in actuality it does nothing but plague me. And what was that definition of insanity, again?
And what is this whole blog, if not one gigantic cry for help? Please see, please understand, please talk to me, please can we fix this?
But, these words, tucked away at the end of an old post - like the hidden track at the tail end of a cassette - may never be heard; indeed in many ways I hope they stay unseen, and can truly be for my own benefit.
(Though, is there really any benefit in writing this? Usually when I write, I try to re-direct my focus to Christ. I haven't done that here; why not? Is it rather telling? A commentary on the toll all of this has taken on me spiritually?)
Jesus doesn't hide from me. He tells me where to find Him - in His Word and Sacraments - and He faithfully keeps His Word.
And I don't have to hide from Him. He is the Judge, yes...but because of His death and resurrection, He comes to me in love and mercy, having declared me innocent; forgiven. He doesn't lash out at me or try to punish me (though He does lovingly chastise when needed), and I do not have to hide in fear of Him. He has broken down the wall of hostility, so that I can run to Him knowing that, with Him, I am perfectly safe.
It is an odd thing, to be running to reach the place of safety, that's found in the middle of turmoil and pain. It's like a glorious Eden with the Tree of Life, but that requires crawling through sharp, lacerating briars to get to.
I guess what so often rips me to shreds, though, is the knowledge that it shouldn't be this way, and the fear that it's still somehow in my power to remove those briars. And in theory maybe I could - I did for a while, somewhat; tamped them down at least. But it remains that, to truly remove the thorns requires dialogue - actual resolution - which they are unwilling to give. Me ignoring the conflict and pretending it's not there might make things somewhat more pleasant at church, but only at the expense of my relationship with my husband (and my own sanity, having to deny my own senses and experience.)
So...at this point the only thing to do is accept that this is just how things are, and continue to find ways to adapt. And, may God provide me a pastor I can trust, whether through reconciliation with the man who holds that office in our church (and time for him to prove his trustworthiness), or through some other means.
And yes, dear wretched soul, it's still worth it. Keep remembering that.
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