It wasn’t the first time I sat alone on that church bench, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. But it was one of those Sundays that just hit hard.
After being separated from my husband for a year and half, going to church on that day felt like lead, a weight that was almost crushing. I already felt like an outsider, and every side glance or whisper in the hallways seemed as though it must be aimed at me.
Sitting there, the self-doubt started to flood my mind as though Moses had dropped his staff, the Red Sea had closed, and I had been left behind to drown. With tears welling up, I quietly stepped out of the room and made my way to the parking lot.
But with my car in reverse, I paused. “What am I doing? Why did I come here in the first place today?”
The answer was clear. It is because I want to follow Christ. It is because I want to connect. And it is because I want to heal. With heavy steps, I walked back to my lonely seat with a determination to finish church and lean into my purpose in being there. That moment of assessment and revelation didn’t make the rest of that day easy. It’s still hard. And I know it will be for a long time.
Divorce was the right choice for me. It was also one of the most painful experiences of my life. And for me, and for many others I know, religion can make it even more painful.
I want others to know that there is no shame in saying this out loud. You are not less of a Christian if you feel as though no one in your church is looking at you the same. You are not lacking in faith if it feels like you are not getting the support you need from your church community. You are not smaller in the eyes of God if you feel alone in your grief.
We are good at caring for one another in so many ways. When a child is sick. When a parent dies. When a widow loses a partner to death. We rally for people going through these heartbreaking experiences.
But divorce appears to be a different matter. Where is the rallying? It’s just not there.
This isolation, loneliness and out-of-placeness that we feel is hushed, which only amplifies these difficult emotions. We already feel undeserving of connection and belonging, since we “failed” at marriage. Those of us on the fringes of church culture don’t feel like there is a safe place for us to voice how we feel and what we are experiencing. Doing so would jeopardize any — albeit unsteady — standing we might still have in our congregation. Sometimes not fitting the mold in church culture is the gravest sin we can commit. But how do we overcome that so we can jump in and serve, share our love of Christ, connect, heal and contribute?
Because that’s what we want to do. Many of us feel robbed of the venue and opportunity to take part because we live outside of the traditional mold. Yet at our core, we still have faith. And, in fact, that faith is often stronger than ever. It has to be to make the decision to divorce, knowing that while you have made every effort to keep your covenants and preserve your marriage, others will question whether you did enough.
Where is the place for members like us?
Whenever anyone questions church practices and cultural expectations, there are those of faith who will respond: “Leave the church if you feel out of place!”
That’s not what the church actually teaches, though. In mine, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we are clearly instructed that, “when divorce occurs, individuals have the obligation to forgive, lift and help rather than to condemn.”
There is, I acknowledge, a lot of room between not condemning someone and rallying to support them. But there is, I testify, a lot of coldness in that space.
Religious people in general, and Latter-day Saints in particular, have lower divorce rates than the general populace. But divorce is not an unusual experience, and the church needs all of these voices who can connect, and through the love of Christ, work toward the healing that we all need.
We all desperately want that belonging. For those of us going through difficult life experiences, the community that is touted in most churches is the rope we are grasping for as we desperately fight to keep from sinking. We crave that connection as we heal from deep wounds that so many don’t understand or even see.
It is devastating when that community we had hoped for — that we know exists, ready and eager to serve, in so many other circumstances — turns cold.
Every meetinghouse in my church has a sign on it that reads: “Visitors Welcome.” As a community, we recognize that there is always space on that church pew for people who need God in their lives.
But there is a space beside that spot as well.
Come sit with us.
(Andrea Whatcott) Andrea Whatcott was born and raised in the mountains of Arizona, and has loved hiking and exploring the beautiful mountains here in Utah.
Andrea Whatcott is a single mom of four of the coolest, most incredible kids around. She was born and raised in the mountains of Arizona, and has loved hiking and exploring the beautiful mountains here in Utah.
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