A young Kentucky woman hesitated attending church because — well — she was living with her boyfriend without benefit of a wedding ring. That may seem like a quaint concern, but in some churches it’s a big hairy deal that someone would share a dwelling with an intimate partner without walking down the aisle with that partner first.
The young woman was afraid if she showed up with boyfriend, they’d be asked to leave.
The visiting preacher — Internet Monk, to you — said she and her boyfriend were welcome. He writes:
This is hard stuff. Christians believe some things very deeply, but they don’t always see things clearly or express them with Gospel wisdom. When they forget the Gospel, they forget who they are and start finding ways to be justified in comparison to “real sinners.” There’s nothing about the Kingdom of God in a snarky morality club, but too many people don’t know the difference. They usher people out as if they are the angels gathering the elect at the last day, not signs pointing every person, no matter what their sin of the day, to the savior and the wedding feast at the end of the world.
And when someone asked if he would also welcome cohabitating members of the church — as opposed to visitors — he wrote:
Co habitating members are a matter for loving counsel and conversation with the elders of the church and the eventual stance of the church toward such a member or couple is a matter for the elders to work with.
I have never taken a stance towards approving of co habitation of any kind. But I’m a sinner too and my sin is as much a part of any church community as theirs.
Rock on, Internet Monk. It’s more important to be welcoming, in my opinion, than passing judgment.
Dating Jesus 
Glad to see anyone show up in my church. We don’t check for wedding bands at the door.
That could get sticky, huh? I really liked this man’s response. He’s a sinner. We’re all sinners.
I lived in sin before marriage and thank goodness we found a priest who was liberal enough to not care much about that. I keep trying to be sinless, but that’ll never happen. I’m human. I’m with the internet Monk in that we’re all sinners in some way, so how can you say my sins are okay, but your’s are not.
I’d like to think mine are mostly more entertaining than most other people’s, but I’m probably lying to myself about that.
A minor sin to me may be a “deal breaker” sin to another and what another may consider as sinless may be a sin to someone else….
Unless it breaks a law, then I am thinking that sin should be settled within a person and is no one else’s business (incl. the church). That’s probably a sin to think that way.
If you belonged to my old church, it probably was. We were taught to believe that a sin is a sin, but we certainly graded them in our own heads. I did. My friends did. Telling a lie was bad, but cheating on your boyfriend was worse. Getting in past curfew was bad, but wrecking your mom’s car, etc.
I’m wondering how much sin was okay to still get you a ticket to heaven according to your old church.
Pretty much none. No, that’s not entirely true. You could always get salvation by repenting of your sins and trying to do better, but the carrot (in my opinion) always seemed about six inches out.
Did you repent to someone (like Catholics) or repent to God in prayer? Who decided if you were genuine in your repenting?
That’s a good question. For the most part, we repented straight to God, but sometimes, a person would feel the need for others’ prayers, and that person would walk to the front of the church during what we called the “invitation song,” just after the sermon, and confess his/her sins on a little card, which would then be read to the congregation. The congregation would then pray for that person, and — one would hope — would continue to pray for that person over the next little while. It is like confession, without the privacy.
I would think it would take a brave (or a very guilty) person to participate in the “invitation song”. I would think it would be tough to admit a sin large enough to require the help of others. Did you ever do that? Did the congregation ever reject a request because it was too much of a sin?
When you repented straight to God, did you assume all was ok afterward? i.e. All it took was “I’m sorry God, I’ll do better next time.” and you could move on. Or could you? Was there always that question of whether God was okay with your repent – since he didn’t really reply, was that question the thing that always kept the carrot beyond your reach?
Just curious how things worked…
I can only speak for myself, but I never felt much different after going forward. However, I don’t think everyone would say that. Yes, I went forward, but I don’t remember any particular sin that moved me to do that. I think for me, it was more the cumulative weeks and months of a live-not-lived-like-Jesus, who was perfect. And I wasn’t. I remember some pretty big doozies being confessed to, but I don’t remember people ever being turned away. The theory was that we’d all sinned and we all needed forgiveness. I also don’t remember a lot of gossip springing from people repenting in public — which you might expect, gossip. I’ve told Catholic friends about this method of forgiveness/repentance and they were horrified that it was so public. To me, it just seemed part of church.
Maybe it was one of the good things about your church, dj. As you describe it, it sounds like there was a bit of community acceptance in there and that pleasantly surprises me.
There really was. I remember a doctor went up to the front to say he’d been addicted to pain killers and that was a shock because he was one of those pillar-of-the-church kind of man. But I don’t remember any one being anything but supportive after. I mean, we didn’t all go home and gossip about him.
“I mean, we didn’t all go home and gossip about him.”
That’s pretty amazing. Was that the general approach to other people? What if someone in the congregation found out something about someone NOT in the congregation? Still the same no-gossip policy?
God, no. We were champeen gossipers– though that might have been my family and not the church in general. Gossiping was, in general, frowned upon but I remember being quite skilled at it.
Maybe that’s one reason you can’t shake the old church entirely…along with some wonderful people mixed in and good gospel music from what I’ve heard.
There were some wonderful people there and yes, the music was fabulous (to my tastes, anyway). But there were also little tidbits of theology that made sense to me — the idea that you look out for those with less than you, that you don’t focus on the temporal (possessions, whether you’re well-liked or not), that there is, for you, anyway, a bedrock of faith. Yeah. That and more.
Good thing you can find a lot of what you liked elsewhere – except the (good) nostalgia. So, the sword that broke off in you will stay for good? I think I get that.
I don’t know how to take it out.
Maybe that particular sword is no longer a separate entity and is just another piece of you. Maybe it’s a good thing. You see the world a little clearer because of it.
I’ve come to believe there are worse things than the sword.
“Pretty much none. No, that’s not entirely true. You could always get salvation by repenting of your sins and trying to do better, but the carrot (in my opinion) always seemed about six inches out.”
Ssssh, Susan! There may be youngsters on this board!
Sorry. The carrot on the string? Dangling just out of reach? Did I make a dirty joke and not even know it?!?!?
Sort of like Chairman Mao ordered the Chinese people to do?
You know, written out like that it sounds pretty horrible, but it didn’t feel horrible at the time, and I don’t think it is horrible now. I am fairly far from being brainwashed, but I do remember freely walking to the front. The fact that I didn’t feel much different after doing that probably says more about me than my fellow travelers.
“Sorry. The carrot on the string? Dangling just out of reach? Did I make a dirty joke and not even know it?!?!?”
Of course you did. But, fear not. You aren’t going to Hell.
I guarantee that some time this winter Hell, Michigan will freeze over. Trust me.
I would think I would go to hell for the dirty jokes I made on purpose. That is my plan, anyway.