My dear brothers and sisters,
I’ve been involved in churches since I was a young child. For the last 35 years, that involvement has usually been in some type of leadership role, including 25 years as a pastors’ wife. That’s a long time.
When Dave and I moved back to Denver in 2020, it was the first time in our married life that we didn’t move for a job at a church. Instead, we moved to Denver and then got to (had to!) look for a church on our own.
Let me tell you, after being in charge (or some type of leadership role) for that many years, it was hard to find a place that felt like a fit. In addition, I was going through a sort of deconstruction about how we “do” church in American evangelicalism.
For a time during the pandemic we co-led and hosted a house church for a group of folks, and a bit later we tried starting another. In between, we helped a new, young congregation for about a year. But I then realized I was pretty burned out on my experience of church. I was tired of always leading and carrying things, and I was discontent with what I experienced in most churches we visited. I stopped going anywhere for about six months, while Dave served as an interim pastor in a community toward the mountains.
But then in early 2024 I told Dave, “I miss church.” To his raised eyebrows, I explained what I meant. I didn’t miss attending a program or a production as part of an audience, or singing songs or hearing a sermon, or being in charge. I missed being a part of a community: a group of people who were just trying to live together in the way of Jesus. At the time, we were approaching the Lenten season. I didn’t want to celebrate Easter alone—as if that’s even possible.
In addition, I had felt the Lord clearly telling me that it was time for me to not just commit to community, but to submit to community. This was new for me, I realized. For my entire life, I had been committed to regular participation in a congregation. But again, in most contexts I usually was the leader. And as the leader, I realized that I tended to hide behind a leadership shield: I shared just enough, but overall I kept a distance from real vulnerability.
Now, the Spirit was saying it was time to truly submit myself to others, to come as I was, to not hide behind any type of shield, leadership or otherwise. After all, church is not a building or a service or a program. It’s a people, and not just a collection of individuals partaking of religious services. It’s a people doing life and following Jesus together: honestly, authentically, and vulnerably.
We had visited Platt Park several years earlier, and decided to visit again. For the first time in memory, we just went to church that Sunday as Dave and Angie. Neither of us identified ourselves by any of our experiences, degrees, or titles. We were just regular congregants, participating with everyone else.
For the first time in my adult life, I experienced church in a completely new and different way. Thirty-five years of ministry, and it was new to me to be on the same plane as everyone else, without the power distance inherent to leadership. It was new to let myself truly receive, not just give. It was new to submit myself—my time, energy, and honest self—to this group of people, trusting them to hold me, and trusting God to shape me through it.
It was an act of submission, an act of obedience. It felt risky. And it was exactly what I needed, and what I had been missing for most of my life.
In response to my obedience, I have found true community. Deep friendships, support, and accountability with people who love Jesus, love others, and love me unconditionally. In other words, I have found church.
Peace,
Angie