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I recently read Micah J. Murray’s blog post from about a year ago where millennials articulated why they left the church. I was curious about the responses and could relate to this subject because there was a time long ago when I, too, left the church. A few weeks after my fifteenth birthday, we had moved to a different city and I had started attending a new high school. Three weeks later, my father passed away suddenly from a heart attack. In addition to my struggle to make friends and find my niche, I also found myself swallowed by grief. Soon thereafter, red, hateful, vengeful anger swooped in, evicted Jesus, and took up residence in my heart. At a time when I needed God the most, I couldn’t stand to go to Him–and that meant not going to church.

In the first month or two after my father’s death, I mined for wisdom in the Bible, and I studied the trials of the people in it in an attempt to better understand what was happening to me. I read about the Israelites and Job. I revisited Romans 8:28, Jeremiah 29:11, Isaiah 12:2, and John 3:16, but nothing helped. These stories and verses didn’t comfort me like they used to. Then, at some point, I was struck with the notion that maybe I wasn’t worthy of God’s love after all, and I was being punished for not being faithful enough, or not being loving enough, or not being selfless enough.

During this time in my life, Self-loathing threw a party and invited all her friends: Loneliness, Pessimism, Depression, and Suicidal Thoughts. God wasn’t on the guest list. And so I continued this way for a couple of years. I tried to stay involved in activities that made me feel normal. I took piano lessons. I sang in the school choir. I was in theater productions. I wore a smile and tried to be happy. But the void was still there.

A couple of years later, out of complete desperation, I decided to try church again. Nothing else had brought the joy or fulfillment that my heart and soul craved. I believe I finally got to the point where I was tired enough, lonely enough, and beaten down enough to know I needed something different. Attending church used to feel right a long time ago. Maybe it would again.

Some people find God in nature or in an act of kindness or mercy, and I am certain He is there too. But when I found my new church home, I found the hope that I so desperately needed. It sounds corny, but it’s true. My youth leaders and church family surrounded me and loved, nurtured, and supported me throughout my remaining high school years. My church family told me the stories of my faith and reinforced my parents’ teaching of right and wrong. They taught me about Jesus’s love and service to others. They taught me about my worth. These people of God extended grace and understanding to me in a way that could only come from the One who first loved me. I found hope in the messages from my pastors and youth leaders and from the glorious music that filled the sanctuary on Sunday mornings. I found hope in the ritual of receiving communion and in my personal desire for atonement and healing from my brokenness. I found hope in the history and heritage of my Methodist faith. By being surrounded by a community of the faithful, my eyes were opened, and I saw God at work around me and in me, and it gave me the hope to live again truly, fully, and with purpose and passion in the world. And it still does.

That’s why I go to church.

I’d love to hear why you go to church, regardless of denomination or affiliation. Please feel free to share your thoughts. I will read with an open mind. The only thing I ask is that you respond respectfully.

In case you are interested in reading Micah J. Murray’s blog post that I referenced, click here:http://redemptionpictures.com/2013/08/01/why-we-left-the-church