Pew-warmer. That expression makes me cringe. It’s riddled with so much negative connotation I can hardly abide it. I’ve been there. We’ve all been there. Sometimes it’s an accurate assessment. Sometimes it’s not. Labels can further divide an already divided heart.
On social media, there’s been a post circulating for a while called “When Church is Hard.” It’s so so good. I can’t say it any better. I can only speak of my own season of hard.
Ironically, my season of hard came on the heels of a spiritual high. I had just been on a mountain top, so to speak. I had seen God’s hand so clearly and praised Him for it. It wasn’t long until that mountain top experience came crashing down. I came down with it.
Life happened. Circumstances that made my heart hurt led me to a dark place. Up until this moment, my walk with God had been fairly smooth. I had seen some difficult things. But in my mind, most of those could easily be traced back to sin and its consequences. This was different. I could not map it, I could not trace it, I could not make sense of it. The set of rules manufactured in my mind weren’t working anymore. My immature, impatient faith needed answers. My descent was abrupt. I know exactly what caused it. What I did not know was how long my season of hard would last. It felt like a long, cold, gray winter that hovered. It was strapped to my back, settled-in, overbearing. It became my constant companion; it followed me everywhere. I found myself in the valley, grappling around in the dark. I didn’t know how to find my way out.
“Where was He?” I questioned His timing. “How could He?” I questioned His goodness. “If you really are God…?” I questioned His sovereignty. “Why, God?” I questioned His wisdom. I didn’t know what to do with the thoughts going on in my head. These thoughts felt strange. They felt wrong, but so very real.
I knew the “right” answers to all of those questions, at least in my head. This time Satan was throwing darts at my heart. I was not prepared for this battle. A full-blown war ensued between my heart and my head. Sometimes life experience teaches our heart something much different than those things we’ve learned in our head.
These warring emotions were compounded by the shame that came with it. Shame that was a result of the struggle, not the circumstance. In fact, those same circumstances that sent me to the valley might have left others’ faith unscathed. Why did it affect my faith so detrimentally? That’s still a mystery to me. Nonetheless, I felt like I had committed the highest form of treason. Doubting can breed isolation when it’s not handled correctly. I did not handle it correctly. It was a silent battle—born, nurtured, and grown inside my mind.
I continued to do what I knew how to do. I showed up. I kept walking through those doors. I sang “Jesus Loves Me” to the little ones. I participated in small groups. I checked all the boxes. It was my heart that needed to be checked. I was playing tug-of-war with the very hands that formed me. With my feet dug in and a firm grip on that rope, I would not surrender. It’s hard to meet God face-to-face in worship on Sunday when you sit there with rope-burned hands. Pew warmer.
Sometimes I felt “called out” by Satan himself, calling me a hypocrite for trying to fool everyone. There were times I couldn’t stop the tears, spilling out for the world to see. The Liar spoke to me more often than I allowed God to speak to me. Shame on me. While I longed for peace with God, my heart had grown weary of a battle fought for too long.
My prayers felt so heavy I could no longer lift them. I envisioned myself hanging from a cliff and the only thing holding me was His outstretched hand. I felt that I had already turned loose of Him. My daily drive to work was spent whispering the only words I could muster: “please don’t let go of me.” I begged God as I muttered these words over and over and over again, “please don’t let go of me, please don’t let go of me, please don’t let go of me!” It became the cry of my heart. For years.
Even while a war waged within, He fought for me. In the midst of going through the motions, He fed me. Even as a pew warmer, I was exposed to His truths. I was, and still am, blessed to be part of a faith community that speaks His truth. One Sunday morning, sitting in my warm pew, I was thrown a lifeline. I will never forget these words: “you can be weak in faith and still be close to God.” Everything else fell silent around me. I can’t remember anything more about that particular message, but I hung onto those words. Much like someone drowning, I reached out and grabbed that life preserver. Those words, wafted out onto a sea of people, settled in and around my heart. It gave me hope that I might could do this after all. It absolutely saved me.
I wanted to know more. I wanted to move from the deep water I had been treading, closer to the shore. I needed safe footing. How could I possibly walk with God and still be so weak in faith? That concept seemed foreign to me. God provided a gifted teacher, the feet of whom I’ve been able to sit at regularly. His correction helped rid me of the set of rules I had in my mind, and see more clearly God’s truth. Coming to terms with that was a process. It didn’t happen immediately, but the godly wisdom this teacher provided, paired with his unique ability to share God’s Word, gave me the traction I needed to stand up again.
I now have a greater understanding of God’s character and who He is. I have a better understanding of His promises. I had to acknowledge that God never promised fair. This pew warmer learned that faith does not always come without doubt. Faith is always a choice.
These sound like such simple answers, academically speaking. There’s nothing simple about it when the heart is involved. My heart fix required surrender. It’s still a work in progress, every single day. But there’s no longer a war going on inside. I’m choosing Him daily.
The muttering cries of my heart have turned into abundant, joy-filled “thank yous.” I have a better understanding of His grace now, too. I’m inclined to believe that even in those darkest days, hanging from a cliff, fighting Him every step of the way, He had me clenched in the palm of His hand. He did not let me go! The realization of that is overwhelming, still.
God did rescue my weary heart. He is faithful even when we are not. The seasons of hard look different for each of us. Sometimes just making it through those front doors and nestled in a pew is all the hard we can do. I am thankful for all the pew warmers that choose to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes going through the motions, even when our heart is not where it should be, is enough to bring us into His presence. And it is only in His presence that we are healed.
