I had never thought about church as being somewhere that I could feel belonging. For so much of my life I have blamed religion for my own family’s brokenness. “If it just didn’t even exist maybe everything would be okay.” But in reality, religion is so much more than just something that can separate, because it was built to bring people together.
In school we have endless religious units. Most of the history I have learned in school has been through learning about countless belief systems from centuries ago to the most recent religious trends. Shoutout to Soroush because I don’t think I’ve ever learned more about the historical importance of religion until his humanities class, although it was one of the hardest classes I’ve participated in until this day. Anyways, there has always been a disconnect for me around these topics. There’s never really been a time that I have wanted to learn about them, because I so badly don’t want them to be a part of my life anymore. When teachers give lectures on religion I notice my friends giving me looks to see if I’m okay, but only the close ones that know my story. They understand how uncomfortable it makes me feel, like I need to crawl out of my own skin.
When Laura assigned us this stepping out project I knew exactly where I didn’t want to go. Going to church actually happened to be the last place I saw myself stepping into, but hiding from religion hadn’t been getting me anywhere. This was the exposure I probably needed, and I knew there was nowhere to hide.
I walked up the long set of stone steps that lead to the large wooden doors that have gorgeous carvings on them. Above the doors stretched tall, stained glass windows, glimmering with bright yellows, reds and golds. The morning light was shining bright through them, and the colors shined in abstractly onto the stone floor like someone had painted them on. I wasn’t expecting this feeling of brightness and love, I was picturing more of a dark and dull room.
The greeter’s hand was already fully extended before I reached the door. I shook it firmly and she shouted “good morning” just as she did to every person walking through the door. It’s routine. Her subtle perfume hit me right before her large, inviting smile.
Upon entering, I was immediately hit with the sound of music. Much louder than I had imagined. Modern sounds of guitar and drums filled up the room, and people were swaying back and forth to the beat. The music was loud enough to vibrate the ground, but inside my head there was such an awkward silence.
The ceiling stretched high above us, supported with gorgeous wooden beams that looked like they’d been there for ages. Endless rows of wooden benches encapsulated the room. They were already almost full to the brim of people crowding around chatting with each other.
The stage gleamed a little more than all the rest of the room. The pastors and priests stood with their eyes only slightly opened. Their heads were angled upward, as if they were looking up to someone or something bigger.
The woman standing in front of me was wearing a beautiful, flowy dress that reminded me of the stained glass from when I first arrived. I guess I didn’t catch onto the dress memo since I had shown up in jeans, but I actually hate dresses anyways so it’s beside the point. Another song began; both her hands rose into the air and her eyes closed. She swayed along with the beat. I realized that I seemed to be the only one not singing along and dancing. My thumb nail pressed deeply into my palm to try and calm the feeling of impersonating someone else. I didn’t feel completely in my body.
Everyone stood up in unison out of nowhere, and I was about two seconds late. Then, everyone sat back into the benches, which I was also about three seconds behind on. Wow I look really awkward right now, this is kind of embarrassing. My chest tightened up, a familiar feeling that appears every time I feel like other people know something I don’t.
Words appeared on a large screen and I tried to read them fast enough, but it was too late. It was time to sing yet again, but when I tried to get my words out, they felt out of place.
The mass was coming to an end, and it was only then when I was listening to the priest speaking about belonging, that I realized that my thoughts were formed not by experiences but by my pre-conceived notions I had about the church in general. My discomfort was inevitable at first, but was a decision of my own. The woman in front of me was raising her hands and dancing to feel connection, not to be performative. The priests’ eyes were closed and their heads were slightly raised to feel relatedness. Church wasn’t about conformity, but about looking up to something larger than yourself.
Once the service ended, I sat still a little longer than everyone else. The room began to feel empty and my parents exclaimed that they wanted to leave. I sat for just a second longer, not knowing exactly how to feel. I just knew it wasn’t how I expected to feel at that moment.
Being raised in one of these religious groups (although I’d call it a cult) was a very impactful experience for everyone involved. If you didn’t know anything about the Jehovah’s Witness church, they don’t celebrate holidays or birthdays, apparently only 144,000 people are going to heaven, no blood transfusions even if you’re bleeding out about to die, and if you go to college it’s actually shamed. I had no clue about any of this until doing my own research, but the most important thing that came out of my research was learning about shunning, which is where, “If a member leaves or is removed, they are completely shunned by family and friends still in the organization.” So, yes this does really happen and for a lot of people their families won’t ever speak to them again, including mine! And it doesn’t only apply to that one family member who left, it applies to their entire family. Because of this, I have never met my grandmother or uncle, and don’t even remember their names most of the time. They have no clue how old I am or what I’m doing in life, and it seems completely normal, until I think a little deeper.
Growing up, my dad has always been obsessed with Christmas. I’m talking, playing Christmas music five months early and getting our decorations out as soon as my mom would permit it. I had always thought it was just part of his personality, until I actually asked him one day. He responded with, “I missed out on Christmas for 19 years of my life, so I have a lot of catching up to do on celebrating.” How could something that was supposed to bring belonging and love like religion, focus on missing out on such special moments? I still don’t understand it. I think this is all what started my belief that religion divides families and that belonging is only conditional.
That division has created intense grief throughout my family. And I think grieving someone who is still alive might be one of the most difficult emotions of all. I receive texts about once a year from my “grandma” saying how she actually does love me and how I need to connect with her faith in order to become closer to her. She attempts to follow me on Instagram almost every month to comment on my posts with something like, “my beautiful granddaughter!” Like genuinely whose grandmother hasn’t seen them since birth, but has an incentive to comment on a social media post? If this is how she acts towards me, I couldn’t even imagine growing up with a mother like that, as my dad did for many years. This unfortunate disconnect between my family has created what I thought was an unfixable emotion behind religion and church service. But, behind this disconnect there is forgiveness and that forgiveness for me is doing the things I have such harsh pre-conceived notions around. At first I felt like belonging had meant that I knew exactly where to stand, and what to sing, and even what clothing to wear. Since then I realized that no one actually pays attention to whether I wore a dress or not; they’re all there searching for connection just like me.
I try my best to avoid uncomfortable situations, because I hate that feeling, the sweatiness of my palms and the unrecognizable tightness that forms in my chest. You think to yourself, “everyone else must know what’s happening, why don’t I?” At first when I was sitting in church, always seconds behind everyone else, I started convincing myself that I simply just didn’t belong there. So many thoughts had popped into my head at once. Why is the music so loud? How does everyone know what to wear? Why do people close their eyes? I don’t understand.
I wanted to believe that maybe a belief for something had to be rehearsed over and over to be valid.
These judgements can make you feel in control, and I love feeling in control most of the time.
Maybe this source of connection was something I had needed, right in this moment of time.
Walking into the doors of this service, I had made up in my head that I wouldn’t be returning. This was a homework assignment that just had to be completed, and nothing else. I didn’t realize how rigid my conceptions of the church were until I was reflecting about my experience in my journal.
While writing down my reflections, I wrote, “place of belonging.” And that’s exactly how it felt, but not in only a singular way. There were people who spoke different languages, who were from different cultures, different backgrounds, who all gathered collectively in one area. It evoked a sort of confidence that anyone and everyone was allowed to share.
Another entry I had written was, “parents seem to be enjoying themselves, which makes me happy.” Both my parents were raised in extremely different households. Different beliefs. Different ways of living. My father had been raised a Jehovah’s witness, but had left the religion as soon as he could. This created major tension on this side of my family, and because of the different religious beliefs a lot of my family won’t even speak to my dad or me. Sometimes I think this is the reason I have the pre-conceived notions I do on going to church. My mom was raised Catholic, but never really identified with that part of herself. Therefore, walking into a new church all together was a really transformative and healing experience. We found out that the pressure everyone had been feeling of belonging to a certain religion and practicing it was only pressure we put on ourselves. And afterwards, we all agreed we would go to church again, as a family.
