I Hated Church—All Churches
by Anthony V. Yuro II
W hen I first came to San Clemente Presbyterian Church, it was only because I got a job here as janitor—that's the only reason.
In fact, I didn't have any time for any church and held a lot of anger and resentment towards all churches. I figured if I were ever around church people, they would probably want to be "nice" to me—give me 60 seconds of their time as they rushed off to do un-Christian things. I told myself that if they tried to get me "saved" or "give me a word from their holy book," I would give them the brush-off. After all, it would be their duty to be nice to me but they wouldn't really mean it. This is what I thought of church people.
I actually found it amusing. Because I thought church was all so fake, contrived and self-serving on the part of the 'preachers', I loved to talk about religion but from a nonbeliever's point of view.
However, after a while, I said to church members, "You, as a group, disappoint me greatly. No one forced anything on me, tossed anything my way or tried to nudge me in any direction. Instead, as a group, you simply accepted me exactly as I was. You made me feel welcome and appreciated—and trust me—I didn't trust any of you for it."
Now I was beginning to get nervous. I decided to pay closer attention to what was going on around me. The first thing I noticed was that the people I saw at church on Sunday I also saw on Tuesday ... and Wednesday ... and Thursday too. Even on the days you didn't have to be here you were still nice. It was like you wanted to be here! What was going on? I asked myself.
In time I started to listen to what you were saying ... what the conversations were about on the patio ... in the office ... the fireside room. I even began to listen to the Sunday sermons. What I expected to hear was people talking about rules and regulations and telling each other how to live—about a whole bunch of dos and don'ts. But what I heard instead was people talking about everyday life—how God had helped them through difficult times.
I didn't hear people just talk about their faith, I saw them living it—day by day the best they could.
And still, no one tried to save me. Okay, fine, I thought, if you won't come to me, I'll go to you. So I started to ask questions, not because I wanted to believe, but I thought if I asked enough tough questions, I could find a contradiction—some kind of proof that what you church people believed was all smoke—just as I had thought all along.
What I really wanted someone to say was God works in mysterious ways. In my mind, that was the ultimate cop-out. The answer you always give when there is no good or reasonable answer to the questions—the Christian version of I don't know.
However, an interesting thing happened the first time I asked a tough question. I received a clear and complete answer. Instead of being chastised or warned about disbelief or doubt, I was complimented on the quality of my question and invited back to ask more! So I did with the same results. I asked and received answers. Or I was directed to someone else that had the answer or someone would get back to me later with an answer. I was getting more nervous now.
Then one day something really cool happened. I was defending my disbelief and supporting my doubts when the person I was talking to very matter of fact said, "You can't judge God by his followers." I felt like I had been kicked by a horse. For some strange reason everything I had based my belief system on fell apart. Twenty-plus years of a weight I cannot describe fell away only to be replaced by deep confusion—and more questions.
As usual, when confused or struggling with doubts, I cornered Pastor Dee Hazen. On one occasion I was rambling and trying to make sense of things when it happened—just what I had been waiting for. "I don't know," Pastor Dee said, "God works in mysterious ways." Someone finally said it. I couldn't believe it. The amazing thing at that moment was that I knew Pastor Dee believed it one hundred percent. Even more amazing was the fact that I did too!
If I break it down to the basics, the ways this church has impacted my life the most are as follows:
- I have learned more about being a Christian by watching how you people here live your life more than by your words.
- I was accepted and made to feel comfortable and okay even when I had major doubts and asked questions designed to look for flaws—and was always given help in my struggles.
- I have made some big mistakes along my short journey, but there was always someone here to remind me that it is okay to be human, and to keep answering my questions.
"I still struggle but feel very blessed. This church exists because of all you do, what you say, and all that you have given day by day. It is a place where someone like me can learn that God is here and is indeed working in mysterious ways. It has made a major difference in my life and in that of others—and will for many others to come."
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Click HERE to see the article: "What a Good Church Can Do for You."
Click HERE to learn more about the San Clemente Presbyterian Church—the church where Anthony is now a regular attender.
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