I apologize in advance for the lengthiness of this first post, but before I go off on too many tangents, I want to share the story of how I came to Epic and, more importantly, where I came from.Epic is a place for those folks that want to connect with God, but don’t want the rigid legalism that comes with going to a church that believes your spiritual walk is all about reading your Bible every day, dressing modestly, praying before each meal, and shunning psychology and secular art as (probably) the roots of all evil. Welcome to my childhood.
When I was in the fourth grade, my Sunday School teacher began teaching us Greek. Note: When I shared this with Erin, he thought it was the coolest thing ever… nerd. :) Seriously, what nine-year-old dreams of spending their week studying to get a 100% on their Greek alphabet test? And honestly, what was the point? It wasn't like we were about to preach the word to the unsuspecting third graders (or even remember what we learned one week to the next). But I grew up the intellectual church, one that frowned on those other “fluffy” churches that didn’t use words like epistemology and justification and elitism.
In all fairness, the people at my church really did love each other. We were a small church of about 200-250, and our families grew up together. The countless home-school clubs, evening potlucks, volleyball games and camping trips were a testament to the fact that we genuinely liked being together. However, while I had the “second family” a church community becomes to some, I did not associate it with my definition of Church because our worship services were unflinchingly academic. Thus, I grew to believe that the most important factor in choosing a church was not its community or its outreach, but its theological soundness (which, for us, existed in a narrow space defined by Calvinism) and ability to answer tough questions about God and the Bible correctly. Now, these things are important, but they can create a very one-sided approach to one’s relationship with God – one that doesn’t allow much space for mistakes and, especially, doubt.
I think the “church-haters” to whom Epic folks refer are those that, like me, grew up in the church and then woke up one day to realize they didn’t actually know why they went and, in fact, they didn’t really want to. My time came when I started attending Biola, and the list of proper Christian habits grew a bit suffocating. My childhood church had come to a pretty traumatic end (which is a story for another time) soon before I finished high school. So when I moved to Southern California, I wasn’t connected to any Christian community and thus began a church-hopping trend that lasted through the end of college. I really hated it; my spiritual self-concept swung between feeling like church should have shown me deeper truth and feeling guilty for having the pretension to think church should have been about me at all.
One issue was that I had moved into a culture of Christian discontent, foreign from the church I grew up in where people just did and believed as they were told. Most of the people around me had something to complain about regarding church, Biola’s chapel services, our Bible classes or whatever their particular religious annoyance was: “The worship was weird,” “The speaker wouldn’t get to his point,” “I’ve heard this all before,” or “I don’t get how this applies to me.” My main complaint was about all of the complainers. I felt like every church I visited had its own set of complaints that I didn’t care to hear about over and over. Why couldn’t people just deal? Why did things have to be so emotional? Why couldn’t people see that it wasn’t all about them? Actually, I was being quite the hypocrite, accusing these people of being judgmental and moody when I myself refused to show them acceptance and a sympathetic ear.
But this was simply a symptom of a deeper problem: I was unhappy in church and didn’t really believe it could be a good thing in my life. I hadn’t felt connected to God in a church since I was in high school, if truly ever. I wanted so badly to have the sense of Christian family I’d felt as a kid, but it never occurred to me that maybe church wasn’t going to provide the kind of community I sought: one where I could grow into who I was emotionally and spiritually without having to hide all the messiness that arises along the self-discovery route. So, I finally just stopped going. While everything in my upbringing told me this was “jumping off the deep end,” releasing my death grip on church attendance helped me to shed the guilt, irritation and subsequent apathy I had felt in my faith. I knew that if God was truly who he said he was – Goodness and Beauty and Love – then having a relationship with him had to be about more than all of the graceless expectations.
Not going to church was ironically one of the best things I could have done for my spiritual health, as during this hiatus, I began to explore God’s love and its unimaginable variety of forms. “Following my heart,” if you will, I dove into the arts, movement, conversation and solitude. I spent a lot of time just wandering off and writing for hours, letting God move in my spirit and work through the millions of questions I had about who I was, what I understood about spirituality and how I connected with God. It was really tough; I had to let go of many of the definitions and guidelines I had followed my whole life. I unearthed a lot of disappointment and anger towards my childhood church, the pastor of that church, the leadership at my Christian high school and Biola, and especially myself. But slowly I felt God stir in my heart in ways that were sometimes overwhelming, yet so natural.
See, I realized that God is not some shapeless form that exists across a giant chasm, out of touch with our everyday experiences. He reveals himself in simple, personal ways. God showed himself to me in the wind at home on the San Francisco Bay, lovely little films I discovered by accident, conversations over tea with a good friend, and the way my little cousins laughed and gave me spontaneous hugs. He continues to show himself to me in the graciousness of my co-workers, the ethnic diversity of Southern California and all of the culinary perks that come with it, the gorgeous wildflowers of the Santa Ana mountains, and quiet moments at home just listening to good music. And he has shown himself to me through Epic.
By the time I graduated from Biola, I had been consistently away from church for about a year and had developed a rather cynical view towards the whole thing. But rather than reaching graduation day shouting, “Finally! Freedom from all Christian structure!” I decided I wanted to try again, with the hope that I might just find something good. Not perfect, not the product of a PhD in Theology, but honest and good. About a month after moving to Fullerton and looking around, I found Epic. I’ve still got a lot of healing to do in the whole church area, but I feel like Epic has been appropriately described as a watering hole for those wandering through their faith. But rather than describing it as the happy ending to my battle with church, I think it's just been an opportunity to get a picture of authentic Christian community, in preparation for whatever role I take in the future to nurture it.
So while I’m here, I would love to share some of the ways that God is moving in my life, hopefully creating a space to honestly share the ways that God connects with all of us, whether through art, athletics, literature, music, nature, conversations, work… whatever. I want to learn about the many dimensions of love, and I think that starts with following the things that tug on our heartstrings all the way down to their roots, finding God in both our complex passions and the simple things we think are beautiful. Church can be pretty damaging (I and my family are living proof), but when God is allowed to permeate who we are individually, we can collaborate as a community in service and creativity and just pure joy. At the end of the day, I personally think it’s worth taking the chance.
When I was in the fourth grade, my Sunday School teacher began teaching us Greek. Note: When I shared this with Erin, he thought it was the coolest thing ever… nerd. :) Seriously, what nine-year-old dreams of spending their week studying to get a 100% on their Greek alphabet test? And honestly, what was the point? It wasn't like we were about to preach the word to the unsuspecting third graders (or even remember what we learned one week to the next). But I grew up the intellectual church, one that frowned on those other “fluffy” churches that didn’t use words like epistemology and justification and elitism.
In all fairness, the people at my church really did love each other. We were a small church of about 200-250, and our families grew up together. The countless home-school clubs, evening potlucks, volleyball games and camping trips were a testament to the fact that we genuinely liked being together. However, while I had the “second family” a church community becomes to some, I did not associate it with my definition of Church because our worship services were unflinchingly academic. Thus, I grew to believe that the most important factor in choosing a church was not its community or its outreach, but its theological soundness (which, for us, existed in a narrow space defined by Calvinism) and ability to answer tough questions about God and the Bible correctly. Now, these things are important, but they can create a very one-sided approach to one’s relationship with God – one that doesn’t allow much space for mistakes and, especially, doubt.
I think the “church-haters” to whom Epic folks refer are those that, like me, grew up in the church and then woke up one day to realize they didn’t actually know why they went and, in fact, they didn’t really want to. My time came when I started attending Biola, and the list of proper Christian habits grew a bit suffocating. My childhood church had come to a pretty traumatic end (which is a story for another time) soon before I finished high school. So when I moved to Southern California, I wasn’t connected to any Christian community and thus began a church-hopping trend that lasted through the end of college. I really hated it; my spiritual self-concept swung between feeling like church should have shown me deeper truth and feeling guilty for having the pretension to think church should have been about me at all.
One issue was that I had moved into a culture of Christian discontent, foreign from the church I grew up in where people just did and believed as they were told. Most of the people around me had something to complain about regarding church, Biola’s chapel services, our Bible classes or whatever their particular religious annoyance was: “The worship was weird,” “The speaker wouldn’t get to his point,” “I’ve heard this all before,” or “I don’t get how this applies to me.” My main complaint was about all of the complainers. I felt like every church I visited had its own set of complaints that I didn’t care to hear about over and over. Why couldn’t people just deal? Why did things have to be so emotional? Why couldn’t people see that it wasn’t all about them? Actually, I was being quite the hypocrite, accusing these people of being judgmental and moody when I myself refused to show them acceptance and a sympathetic ear.
But this was simply a symptom of a deeper problem: I was unhappy in church and didn’t really believe it could be a good thing in my life. I hadn’t felt connected to God in a church since I was in high school, if truly ever. I wanted so badly to have the sense of Christian family I’d felt as a kid, but it never occurred to me that maybe church wasn’t going to provide the kind of community I sought: one where I could grow into who I was emotionally and spiritually without having to hide all the messiness that arises along the self-discovery route. So, I finally just stopped going. While everything in my upbringing told me this was “jumping off the deep end,” releasing my death grip on church attendance helped me to shed the guilt, irritation and subsequent apathy I had felt in my faith. I knew that if God was truly who he said he was – Goodness and Beauty and Love – then having a relationship with him had to be about more than all of the graceless expectations.
Not going to church was ironically one of the best things I could have done for my spiritual health, as during this hiatus, I began to explore God’s love and its unimaginable variety of forms. “Following my heart,” if you will, I dove into the arts, movement, conversation and solitude. I spent a lot of time just wandering off and writing for hours, letting God move in my spirit and work through the millions of questions I had about who I was, what I understood about spirituality and how I connected with God. It was really tough; I had to let go of many of the definitions and guidelines I had followed my whole life. I unearthed a lot of disappointment and anger towards my childhood church, the pastor of that church, the leadership at my Christian high school and Biola, and especially myself. But slowly I felt God stir in my heart in ways that were sometimes overwhelming, yet so natural.
See, I realized that God is not some shapeless form that exists across a giant chasm, out of touch with our everyday experiences. He reveals himself in simple, personal ways. God showed himself to me in the wind at home on the San Francisco Bay, lovely little films I discovered by accident, conversations over tea with a good friend, and the way my little cousins laughed and gave me spontaneous hugs. He continues to show himself to me in the graciousness of my co-workers, the ethnic diversity of Southern California and all of the culinary perks that come with it, the gorgeous wildflowers of the Santa Ana mountains, and quiet moments at home just listening to good music. And he has shown himself to me through Epic.
By the time I graduated from Biola, I had been consistently away from church for about a year and had developed a rather cynical view towards the whole thing. But rather than reaching graduation day shouting, “Finally! Freedom from all Christian structure!” I decided I wanted to try again, with the hope that I might just find something good. Not perfect, not the product of a PhD in Theology, but honest and good. About a month after moving to Fullerton and looking around, I found Epic. I’ve still got a lot of healing to do in the whole church area, but I feel like Epic has been appropriately described as a watering hole for those wandering through their faith. But rather than describing it as the happy ending to my battle with church, I think it's just been an opportunity to get a picture of authentic Christian community, in preparation for whatever role I take in the future to nurture it.
So while I’m here, I would love to share some of the ways that God is moving in my life, hopefully creating a space to honestly share the ways that God connects with all of us, whether through art, athletics, literature, music, nature, conversations, work… whatever. I want to learn about the many dimensions of love, and I think that starts with following the things that tug on our heartstrings all the way down to their roots, finding God in both our complex passions and the simple things we think are beautiful. Church can be pretty damaging (I and my family are living proof), but when God is allowed to permeate who we are individually, we can collaborate as a community in service and creativity and just pure joy. At the end of the day, I personally think it’s worth taking the chance.
