My Quaker faith journey was interrupted.

As a young, single mother who had returned to my beloved Friends meeting where I grew up, I eventually was tapped to serve on the Ministry and Oversight Committee. What incredible work!  I was honored to be nominated and took my responsibilities seriously.

Unfortunately, my idealism and understanding of Friends’ practice butted heads with the behind-the-scenes reality of church work. When members of the committee withdrew their support for meeting leadership, I was aghast at their un-Quakerly conduct. 

Splits in Friends meetings and the denomination over worship and practice aren’t all that historically uncommon. Quakerism comes in many flavors from just such conflicts. But I didn’t understand that then.

Oddly, at about the same time, a similar situation developed at the Methodist church where my husband belonged and served in lay leadership.

We both left, disillusioned.

Sadly, our five kids watched it all unfold.

I wish they hadn’t.

Despite our lagging church attendance and membership, I like to think Jerry and I modeled a faithful life for our kids over the years: praying, reading the Bible, talking about God’s presence in our lives, and living our Christian principles. Our kids saw, heard, and/or participated in it all, even if they didn’t have a church home.

But I wonder how they fared in the long run, now that they are adults with decisions to make about their own daily faith and practice.

Over the past couple of years, my husband and I visited a dozen carefully vetted churches, trying to find one that was a compromise in our beliefs. It was a challenge.

We found a couple of possibilities, but neither felt completely right for both of us. Eventually, we narrowed it down to two. Because each of us was willing to concede some needs for the sake of the other once in a while, it worked. Sort of.

My spiritual director says what we were seeking probably doesn’t exist anymore.

Those two separate leadership events so many years ago still impact my view of institutionalized religion. Today, I want to attend meeting or a church service, but I don’t want to be a leader. Not even a member.

I want to slip into the building close to when the service begins, and then out the door at the end of meeting for worship, not stay for greetings or discussions. I don’t want to go early to Sunday School or later in the week to Bible study.

I guess I want to connect with God with other people present, but I don’t want to engage and start building new relationships. I want it to be about God and me. Because, frankly, I still have some beefs with him that need to be resolved.

That’s probably selfish.

Now that Jerry has gone, Sundays are both harder and easier. Harder to sit in a pew or padded chair without hearing his booming baritone singing praise songs next to me. Easier, maybe, to find a place to worship that includes the silence that I crave.

Maybe I just need to rest contentedly for a while in the arms of God.

Or in the arms of Mary as my Catholic friends would suggest.

I’m okay with either one of those right now.