Book Excerpt—Breaking into the Church

I am currently working on a memoir of my spiritual and personal journey.

Every Thursday I plan to share a short except from the writing.

From Chapter One

Photo by Tyler Hardie@tylersphotographyus

Three weeks before high school graduation, I broke into the church of my childhood. As graduation was approaching, I was feeling lost and directionless. On that particular night, I was wandering the streets with no specific intention and my feet took me to the church almost without knowing. I circled the building looking for a possible way in, and finally found a door that hadn’t been locked properly. With one good hard yank, I dislodged the remaining lock to gain entry. Thank God churches weren’t alarmed back then!

Today (especially after a stint as a probation officer), I realize this is technically breaking and entering. But back then it didn’t feel that way at all—I was just looking for home. I went to the one place where I felt accepted and a sense ofI belonging. I didn’t steal video equipment or look for loose cash. I just wandered around the building. I did briefly venture into the kitchen looking for cookies, a habit I still haven’t broken.

Wandering through the fellowship hall, I recalled the laughter and energy around inter-generational potlucks gone by—the young people serving the older people at their seats and young parents holding an infant in one arm and fulll plates of food in the other.

I went downstairs, where I had enjoyed nine years of Boy Scouts, eventually becoming an Eagle Scout. I visualized the large circle where we would recite the Boy Scout Oath and Motto and clap when fellow scouts received merit badges for swimming, archery, first aid, citizenship, radio operating and astronomy.

A hasty dart across the hallway brought me to the choir room, where I fingered the adult chancel choir robes, robes I’d proudly worn when I was invited to sing with the adult choir. I remembered the first time I sang in a trio in front of the church in third grade as well as the solo I dedicated to my emotionally distant mother as a senior in high school.

Finally, I made my way up to the sanctuary, sat in the pew I’d become accustomed to, and felt the warm spirit of all those who had loved and cared for me in that church. I said a prayer of gratitude for the youth pastor and his wife who had paid special attention to me. I gave thanks for my friends—all of whom belonged to the church—and to the parents of many of them who sometimes acted as stand in parents providing both support and accountability.

That “breaking and entering” experience contains both the deep loyalty I have to the church and the visceral desperation I had for emotional connection during the first half of my adult life.