Calvin and I went to a baptism service at our church yesterday. I say, “went to,” because it was at the Associate Pastor’s house, in his pool, followed by a cookout. Normally, they hold them at the church building, in the baptismal. It was nothing new to me; my parents’ church didn’t have a baptismal, so we always had them at a member’s pool or in the river or some such.

At any rate, first, I have to mention, that the Senior Pastor baptized someone by pouring! I was thrilled. It was an older lady not in the best of health, but she managed to get into the pool, and he did pouring for her! I thought that was awesome. Not because I don’t believe in dunking, of course; that seems to be the example set forth in Scripture to me, but many people think it’s all heretical to pour or sprinkle. I just thought it was cool that our church (well, at least the pastor) is open to that in unique situations. But, that wasn’t the reason I wrote this post, but it was related so I thought I’d mention it, since I’ve never seen someone baptized by pouring before.

I digress. It was when things seemed to be going better that I signed up saying we would go to this cookout/baptism, and I have to admit, come yesterday morning, I looked rather darkly upon the whole event. Anything that is related to “fellowship” nowdays conjures images of the picture on the front of my album that I’m one day going to cut: a church auditorium filled with people smiling and talking to each other, while every single one of them holds a knife behind their back. I was quite proud of that one, and quite sure that my parents wouldn’t like it, which meant that it was sufficiently dark for my needs.

At any rate, again, I digress. I pondered not going, but decided that being present and supportive of, whether I like it or not, my family in Christ at baptisms was more important than my current emotional rollercoaster. So, I was sitting there, munching on my potato chips and hamburger, and watching people, as I am inclined to do often. And I was thinking about my other recent blog entry, and all the horrible things I said about Christians and my church, and testing myself to see if I really saw death and decay in everyone I looked at. And then, suddenly, another part of my entry struck me: where I had said that I had lost the body of Christ. And as I looked around, I realized, though the thought only came kicking and screaming, that I hadn’t lost the body of Christ at all. It was there, all around me, talking, laughing, swimming, eating…

Yes, take it or leave it, there it was. Is it what it is supposed to be? No. But what else is there? Even in Israel’s darkest day, they were still God’s people. In fact, it was precisely because that they were his people that he judged them so. No…I realized, that not acting like the body of Christ does not mean that it isn’t the body of Christ…at least, as far as it is not for me to judge. Whether I like it or not, those people make up the body of Christ, and I have to be a part of them, no matter how hard and how painful it is at times.

I’m not sure that this revelation is very comforting - in a way, it is worse - now that I’ve found it, the situation looks even bleaker. What hope is there of change? Now there’s not even the hope that maybe I’ll find the real body of Christ somewhere…no, I’ve found it…and it’s presence doesn’t comfort me much. Perhaps there is no hope of change in this lifetime. But, in the end…Christ is coming back…and he’ll make it okay.

Tuesday my husband and I are leaving for vacation to go visit my parents in Virginia. I’m looking foward to it personally, and I think Calvin is too, though I know he’s dreading the *cue scary music* Amusement Park Day. It will be nice, for a week, to get away from life, and just not think about anything but relaxing.

I say life, but reallyI mean the church. I feel so drained from fighting this whole situation. It has blown completely out of control. Hm. I guess God knew what he was talking about when he said that gossip was unacceptable for his people. It’s just one thing after another. I had a short respite for a few weeks when things seemed like they were going to blow over, and I guess I should be thankful for that, because I was able to heal a little. But now, things are heating back up again. I just can’t understand it. I’m so confused, hurt, and a little angry. This should be long over. This shouldn’t be an issue. And all the people that know about it (or think they do) shouldn’t. Just thinking about church is a drain on me. All I want to do is get in there and minister to teens. This is wasting valuable time and energy. I don’t know how I’m ever going to trust anyone in the Church again.

It’s funny, I was reading old ICQ conversations that I had with Calvin waaaay back the other day, and I ran across one that made me laugh and cry at the same time. Laugh because it sounded so ludicrist at this point in my life, and cry, because I wish it didn’t. Here’s are some excerpts from a conversation in 1999 (10th grade for me), right after my parents and I found a church to join after having moved:

“It is awesome Calvin! IT IS!!! I’m so happy to finally *belong* somewhere again!!!”

“I can’t wait to get started on the youth! I’ve been itching for so long to be able to serve in the church and I finally can and I just love it Calvin! I LOVE IT! “I was glad when they said unto me, let us go into the house of the Lord.” Ooohhh anyway…LOL…sorry…I’m just elated…”

“Awesome! AWESOME!! Ooohh I can’t wait for Sunday to roll around again!”

“Praise God I finally have a church…and a youth group to call my own!”

“I love going to church.”

What happened to me? Do I still want to serve? Absolutly - there is no where I’d rather be than serving God. But the church? “I love going to church”? “I can’t wait for Sunday to roll around again”? No, wait, here’s the best, “I was glad when they said unto me let us go into the house of the Lord”?

I hate it. I hate going to church. I hate walking into that den of hypocrites. I hate talking to people who seem perfectly friendly but really could be thinking I’m scum all along. I don’t know who I can trust. I have to be on my guard constantly. What’s their real motivation for asking me that? Are they trying to pry out of me information they can use against me and gossip about? A place to belong. *snorts derisively* I don’t feel like I belong here. I thought I did. I really thought this church would be different. But I’ve found more hurt and pain here than I’ve ever found at any other church I’ve ever attended. I can’t belong to this group of people. I can’t belong to a group of people who would stab me in the back and gossip about me rather than open themselves up in humility and genuiness, acknowledging the imperfection in all of us, and working together as brothers and sisters in Christ toward holiness and obedience to him. I can’t belong to a group of people who would sooner play with their own political power rather than sit down and discuss what’s best for the kingdom of God. Granted, I don’t know everyone in this church, and it would be a difficult task to accomplish. But I at least expect the people who I work for the kingdom with day in and day out, and the leadership, to act like Christians. Heck, this whole thing isn’t even directed at me. I can’t even imagine how Calvin feels.

Darn it all, I’m not asking for perfection. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone screws up. Everyone has times when they sin and do or say something they shouldn’t. I do. We all do. All I’m asking for is a humble spirit that admits when they’ve done wrong and repents, seeking reconcilliation and the pursuit of Godly love above all else. All I’m asking for is for people to keep their mouths shut when they hear something that concerns them, and go to the root and find out the facts before jumping to wild conclusions.

I just can’t stand it. I loathe it. I hate just walking through the door. I can’t be myself. I can’t even discuss what I believe with people. I’m afraid I might say something controversial that will have someone judging me and calling me a heretic. I can’t be who I am, who I have become. And if I can’t be myself, I can’t belong.

Perhaps I am beginning to feel a little too much anger and hate here. Though I’m not hateful or angry towards any one person in particular, I realize that generally speaking, it’s not healthy, and I am fighting against feelings that could turn into something sinful. It’s a struggle for me. I’ve never had so many negative feelings toward something in my life. Not even Davis College. Which is saying something. It’s not against a person, just the institution. Yet, I have to realize, it’s still God’s people, Christ’s body, and I have to love.

It just seems like such a long time ago when I longed to go to church. When my whole being was delighted in just being able to go and fellowhsip with God’s people. God, what happened to me? How did I become so cynical and jaded? All I want is what everyone else wants - a place to belong. Yet I wonder if I will ever belong anywhere. I know that I need these people. I need their experiences, their knowledge, their wisdom. I need their encouragement and criticism. I need the body of Christ to help me in my journey. But I seem to have lost it, and I can’t find it. I don’t see it in the smiles on people’s faces Sunday morning, where I used to when I was a teenager. I don’t hear it in the voices raised to heaven during the worship gathering.

Like the tragic figure Raistlin, my eyesight is warped. I look around, and all I can see is hypocrisy and betrayal. Decay and death. I’m not saying that’s a good thing. I’m not saying that I shouldn’t be worried about this. Certainly, as I said before, I’m fighting against anything that may be sinful. I’m trying to hang on to hope. And perhapsI’m being a tiny bit melodramatic (but isn’t that what blogs are for). *twisted smile* If only there were someone in the Church I could trust enough to share this with. No, if I was who I really am, they’d probably kick us out. Now the wife has gone mad as much as the husband can’t lead. It’s at junctures like these that the ugly thoughts come out, so I will detain from rambling on further, and go pray instead.

All I can say is that if this is preparation for something God has in store for our ministry in the future - I don’t even want to know. I look at the title of my blog - Eliana, which, in the Hebrew means, my God has answered, and I smile sadly. It’s a bit like the Psalmists, I suppose. It’s that looking ahead. Has he? Perhaps he has, and I just can’t see it yet. Perhaps he has yet to answer. Either way, my trust and hope is in him to the extent that I can say it’s in the past. Yes, my God has answered.