On Leaving the Pentecostal Church

I have toyed with this topic for a number of months, years, actually.

I've thought and thought again about what to say, how to say it, when and where, and if it should be said at all. But, since I harp on this from time to time to close friends and close Christian friends in particular, maybe that time of setting words on the screen has at last come.

My wife and I and then-young family left the traditional, pentecostal church in January of 1988. It's not that we felt there were no good people there, or that we thought better of ourselves than the rest of the church, it was just time to go, to get away from the "safety" (as the pastor at the time said) of life at 222 1st Avenue in our home town. Google it if you're curious enough about where "our home town" is, and let me know if you get a hit.

We were tired of banal traditions that had been brought in the back of someone's grandmother's 1949 Ford coupe when they relocated here from wherever it is in Arkansas they lived. We were tired of a clothes line mentality that constantly carped on women wearing jewelry, slacks, and makeup. It seemed to me both now and then that there were far more urgent things to talk about in the church; discipleship, personal growth, developing the faith that could make us a more interactive entity with the community. Those things weren't the hot button issues, though. We majored in minors. There were Sunday night services that borderlined on the fanatical. This included, but wasn't restricted to, a Holy Huddle of the church's "holiness" women who would gather at times in a circle near the front, determine fields of opportunity, and then line up on the 40 yard-line of devil-busting and go to work. Certain individuals were "rebuked;" I was present in one service where an elderly woman was virtually told to sit down and be quiet during a "message" from the Lord. Another woman started at the back of the sanctuary and started stamping her feet, screaming, waving a dismissing hand over several couples seated there. They were being dissed, you know; God showing His displeasure by sending these emmisaries to shoo them away. These things happened under the very nose of a pastor, who recieved a check each week for his pastoral duties. I guess maintaining a spirit of balance and mdoeration and seemliness during Sunday services didn't fall into that category. From where I sat, he was a spectator in a theater of spiritual gladiators. These were among the most pathetic scenes I have ever witnessed as a believer and follower of Christ, and make the suitcoat waving antics of shyster Benny Hinn pale by comparison. Why none of the men in this congregation didn't rise to quell this quasi-religious rebellion and three-ring circus is beyond me. Maybe we felt outnumbered by the female quarterbacks

This was a church that wasn't interested in dialogue with non-Christians. They were interested in their own "spiritual" agendas, of coming to church with the view not of learning the fundamentals of the faith, but generating an exclusionary religious mindset. In the time simnce my family left, other families have left the church - some to find more stable and relevant bodies of Christians with which to fellowship and worship, and sadly, some have left the church completely, only to be embittered from living in an embattled atmosphere.

I found Christ in this church. He became real to me in life-changing ways. I found my wife there; our children were born during those years, and despite much of what happened, discovered that God loves me just as I am, but loves me too much to let me stay that way.
I'm concerned about this congregation. While other churches in the area have grown, thrived, and moved ahead, this one pretty much stays the same. That, too, is pathetic. I hope the trend can change.

Several years ago we returned there for the funeral of a relative of my wife's. One of the people we knew from the very early days came up to me and asked how things were going. "Fine," I replied genuinely. "We're doing great. We've got a blessed life, our children are grown and love Christ, and we have a tremendous church family." When I told her we were attending a more "nominal" church in town she sort of paled. "Really. . . you left here, you're not attending this church anymore?" "No," I contunued, "we've not been a part of this congregation since the late 1980's." "How could you leave here for a church like that?" she queried.

It wasn't a matter of how I could leave the church; it was a decision made after a lot of discussion, thought, and prayer. We left because our lives needed a re-definition of sorts, a revival that just wasn't happening there. How could I leave? Simple - how could I not?