I grew up active in the Church because I was obligated to. The cut-and-paste simplicity of the stories I heard was lost on me once I was old enough to read the Bible for myself. I had questions and the answers I got didn’t answer them. Yet, I was still expected to do the usual round of youth group and acolytes. Not only that but I was expected to be perfect in the eyes of the church.
The pressure of that as well as the gnawing feeling that I was participating in something that forced me to believe fully in others ideas, not my own, shove me away from the Church.
When I finally got my own creed figured out, I found that the church was an unforgiving body. My story is not one where I left in a huff to never look back again. I tried to return to my church only to find my absence made others realize I am not perfect; their ideas of me were made up. They were unrelentless in their actions which told me that my imperfections were not wanted within their walls.
I won’t say I never will try to return, but the possibility of me becoming really active again are slim to none. And I doubt I’ll want to put my future children into a place that will not be accepting of their questions. They’ll learn about God, but not through the church.
