Is Your Church a Safe Place? Mine’s Not

Is your church a safe place? Mine’s not. 

Our doors are open wide. On any given Sunday, you might find yourself sitting next to an adulterer, a drug addict or a murderer.

At my church, people gossip, they get angry and hurt each other, and sometimes they harbor unforgiveness.

At my church, we have people with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, depression, and anxiety disorder.

There are people who self-harm, cheat on taxes, swear, smoke and watch ‘R’ rated movies.

During a sermon, our pastor might talk about circumcision, lust or pornography. He might address human trafficking or show a video depicting the horrors of religious persecution in Syria.

We’ve had church members and guests stand before the congregation and share their stories about abortion, life threatening paralysis, homosexuality, conversion from Islam, prostitution, alcoholism and domestic violence.

So if a “safe” church is a place where one can escape the harsh realities of life, avoid the sharp edges or the shades of gray and lie his tired mind down in the deep grass, then my church probably doesn’t qualify.

Sometimes, though, that’s what we want from church: our very own wood between the worlds.

You see, God is not only real, He is reality. If we try to escape reality then, in actuality, we’re running from God, even if the church is our escape.

The wood between the worlds, a lovely little place in C.S. Lewis’s book The Magician’s Nephew, is exactly what it sounds like: a wood between worlds. There, trees loom tall and lush, filtering warm light through their green leaves. Between the trees, rest dozens of small, glassy pools through which the main characters, Digory and Polly, travel to and from worlds, albeit without getting wet.

The wood between worlds is unusually quiet – no animals, no insects, no wind – just stillness. Digory describes it as a “rich place: as rich as plum cake.” And just as kids and adults alike find themselves dozing off after a rich, filling meal, so Digory and Polly find themselves growing sleepy in the wood between worlds. Their memories become fuzzy. They have trouble remembering how they got there, why they came or that there’s even a world (or worlds) outside. The wood intoxicates them.

Part of me longs for that warm, fuzzy relaxation that softens rough edges, eases pain and fear and stress and sin. I find myself thinking, Would it be so bad to forget about the world outside? I’ll even bring my family. And we can be safe. Right?

Being rather wise young people, Polly and Digory realize that, as lovely as the wood is, they can’t stay lest they fall asleep and never wake up. Besides, as Digory points out, nothing really happens in the wood between the worlds.

Yet we grown-ups continually try to fashion church into our own little wood between worlds: a drowsy hideaway somewhere in between earth and heaven. Only nothing of lasting value happens in the in-between places.

…I don’t want to fall asleep. I don’t want to forget the need that brought me or the One who keeps me…And I don’t want to forget that there’s a lost, hurting world outside.

For while such a church may look more pious than Disney World or a Sandals resort, the goal is the same: to escape reality. Stay there too long and you’ll forget how you got there, why you came or that there’s even a world outside. And before you know it, you’ll be spiritually sleepwalking through life.

You see, God is not only real, He is reality. If we try to escape reality then, in actuality, we’re running from God, even if the church is our escape.

“But shouldn’t church be a refuge from the storm?” you may ask.

Let me put this gently: no.

God alone is our refuge.

Church may be a place where we experience God who is our refuge, as He works through the community of believers, but church and its people alone cannot be our refuge. God alone is our refuge.

In The Magician’s Nephew, evil eventually finds it’s way into the wood between the worlds. Evil will slink into our churches, too. Actually, it’s already there. Because, just as the townspeople of M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village discovered: evil lurks within us. That’s reality. And if we want to be spiritually awake, we have to face reality.

So while my church may not be wood-between-the-worlds kind of safe, I wonder if it could be a different kind of safe. One that faces reality, thus freeing us to be real, while at the same time recognizing and accepting human frailty; one where we rely not on one another’s good behavior but on the One who is goodness Himself. The kind of safe that exists in the balance of truth and grace found only in Christ.

As C.S. Lewis indicates through his portrayal of Aslan in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, God is not so much safe as He is good. Once we are convinced of God’s goodness, we need not fret about being safe. Because He is good, we are safe.

With that in mind, let’s stop worrying for a moment about being safe. Ugh…we Americans, and especially those of us who are parents, are a bit obsessed with safety, aren’t we? Instead, let’s consider how we can better walk in the balance of grace and truth.

Because we can do better. If we want people to know, love and grow in Christ, we must do better.

I believe that most of us want to see our churches as places, to the extent that it is up to us, where everyone feels welcome, where transparency and vulnerability are valued, and no one feels condemned, alienated or rejected. We mean well. But we fail. Human frailty is the plight of us all.

Even small, well-intentioned steps in the direction of morality-based spirituality will take us off the path of grace and truth. In our desire to follow Christ, we can slip into performance righteousness, trying to be good instead of relying solely on the righteousness and goodness of Christ. We attempt to shield ourselves or our children from the heartache wrought by sin, but what was meant to provide protection becomes a wall of isolation. And isolation almost always leads to misunderstanding and a lack of compassion.

Then, no matter what we say, our tainted message bleeds through the white-washed words:

Come as you are! (But please make sure you dress modestly.)
Everyone is welcome! (Unless you make us uncomfortable.)
We’re all sinners. You have nothing to be ashamed of here. (Except that. We don’t talk about that here.)

This kind of insincerity happens – it is happening right now – even in churches like mine.

We can do better. We must do better.

So let’s pause. And breathe. And ask God to build His kingdom through us. Let’s throw ourselves daily at the foot of the cross, allowing him to infuse us with his grace and truth. Let’s commit to creating church communities together, where we can be real, where we can tell our stories and share the hard things, and no one needs to build a fortress because we’re surrounded by grace instead.

God alone is our refuge.

I’m willing to walk the sharp edges and fumble through the gray areas with you. Sometimes I’ll wound you. Sometimes you’ll wound me. But we won’t run. OK? We’ll stand and face reality, together. We’ll lean into the harsh winds and driving rains and cry out to Jesus. Together, we will let Him be our refuge in the storm.

Will you join me? Because I don’t want to fall asleep. I don’t want to forget the need that brought me or the One who keeps me. I don’t want to forget that I need you…and you need me.

And I don’t want to forget that there’s a lost, hurting world outside. I want to open wide the doors and help them find the narrow Way that leads to life everlasting.  Then I want to watch as He opens wide the gates of their hearts and fills them with grace and truth and light and life. And I want to walk that Way with them.

And when they’re asked, as they likely will be, “Is your church a safe place?” they can answer truthfully, “No. But it’s real. And it’s full of the grace of a God who is good.”

© Nichole Liza Q.

Friends and Readers: I realize this message may stir up some emotions in you – good, bad or in-between. I would love to talk with you about it and learn from you. Feel free to chat with me in the comments, send me an email or give me a call so we can talk about it together. ❤