I am a bit of an outlier when it comes to organized religion. I used to go around to the laundromats in our town and leave Bibles. This seems like a frenzied but well-intentioned activity now, but review of this stage of my life defies easy adjectives
I was such an evangelical type then, and in my heart I still am. What has changed has never been Jesus. His love, his sacrifice, his constancy, and his friendship are defining, priceless, immeasurably worth it.
I have lost nearly all my faith in people, in churches, in the clubs we sheep join.
I did not lose my faith (in people and their institutions) when I found out my children had been abused by their adopted brother.
I lost faith (in people and their institutions)
When friends disappeared
Churches turned against us
Pastors got ghostly quiet
Family supported the abuser
The courts and LEO refused to prosecute all the offenses and the appropriate felony level.
He abused children after his juvenile sentence and police did nothing.
The victims were marginalized, treated like they were, we were, contagious.
But Jesus is there. He is the God of the marginalized. He is the voice in my head telling me that despite all my disaffection, I should write all this down.
When I have wailed to God about this incipient loneliness he says in his steady voice–I am here.
And one glance at the Cross reminds me of what that cost him,
Being there for me.