I used to squinch my face in disgust when my sister, Rachel, asked to borrow my shoes. The thought of her smelly, oddly shaped feet in my beloved designer boots disgusted me, and I made no effort to hide it. I’d shut the door in her face and tell her in not-so-nice words to leave me alone. I knew I should love her, and I did—deep down. It just sometimes seemed really, really deep down. I would vent to my dad that I couldn’t stand her, and he’d say, “You know, she’s my daughter too.” I’d roll my eyes and resume dressing my dolls.  

Many people have a similarly troubled relationship with organized religion. People who truly love God can still struggle to love (or even like) the church.  

When I say church, I don’t mean a building or specific institution, but the people across the board of various traditions, the people that align themselves with belief in Jesus Christ, the human beings who gather in some form or another to attempt to live out this belief.  

Valid reasons to struggle with the church abound. For those who grew up in a congregation full of smiling faces, only to one day find out about secret “moral failings” and have their community and family torn apart, you can imagine why their hearts may not gush with affection at the sound of an organ. We experience hurt or disappointment in the Christian community in smaller ways too, and it leaves a bitter taste in our mouths. Maybe the super awesome Christian guy at school broke up with you because you didn’t prove yourself “spiritual enough” for him. Maybe someone smirked when you mispronounced “Gethsemane” at the Bible study you went to one time.  

To love something that may have made you feel manipulated, rejected or stupid doesn’t come naturally. 

A natural response would look like distancing yourself from the source of pain. Why would you knowingly continue to endure uncomfortable situations or expose yourself to disappointment?  

But just like with siblings, to turn our back completely would mean denial of our own identity. We belong in the community of people who believe in God. No one can take away the seat that God has given you at the table. Besides, we know our weaknesses all too well to pretend that we can live a life of faith in isolation.  

Whenever I felt alone and scared in the middle of the night, I’d go knocking at Rachel’s door and she would let me crawl under her disco covers with her. I completely forgot my annoyance as I cuddled up next to her. I felt only thankful to have a big sister. I could not have survived many nights without her. 

We need fellow believers—and they need us too. No matter how little you know about the traditions or how few Bible verses you can recite—you bring something to the table, something that only you can bring.  

I don’t intend to brush over the failures of the Christian community. But we cannot react to such realities by giving up on the whole concept of church. We sense something wonderfully good about people gathering together because they have seen the same light amidst the surrounding darkness. The darkness wouldn’t hurt us so badly if it didn’t matter so much. Anger arises as we witness the mishandling of something sacred.  

So, we must learn to navigate the nuances as we continue to live out our faith alongside other humans. We can press forward through the tension by relying on God’s higher understanding and refusing to worry if we don’t always grasp it ourselves. We can keep showing up because our faith defeats the spirit of fear that once held us back from connection. We can venture through vulnerability to the loss, heartbreak and betrayal that may come because we receive joy and security.  

The more we build confidence in God, the more freely we can love others. We can give compassion and acceptance, even to the ones who hurt us, judge us or bother us. We can trust that God wants even better for us than we want for ourselves. Maybe His plan for the Christian community has less to do with comfort and ease, and more to do with challenging us to exercise faith and commitment. Because the hope of inner transformation holds greater power than the hope of improved circumstances.  

Reflecting on how my dad handled my complaints about Rachel, I now recognize how much patience he showed me, a naive child who cared more about my precious boots than my relationship with my sister. With gentle reminders, my dad encouraged me to love my sister, knowing how much we would need each other. With his help, I outgrew my selfishness (at least some of it) and now share a bond with my sister that words can’t fully describe. 

Similarly, God graciously instructs us as He expands our capacity for love and understanding of its immense value. He knows that the more we learn to love others despite their flaws, the more we comprehend His unconditional love for us.