“I’m not a Christian, but I love my church”
What happens when you no longer identify as a Christian but still find yourself needing the church? This question came to life for one of my dearest friends, who recently faced a health crisis that forced her to make an emergency move back home.
This friend grew up with the epitome of an evangelical upbringing—the daughter of a megachurch pastor. Now she’s a retired evangelical turned seminary graduate, liberation theologian, and dedicated advocacy worker. As she has navigated life with intersecting identities, she’s come to the realization that she’s actually not a Christian.
Yet, amid her health crisis and the marginalization she has faced for various aspects of her identity, she found herself returning to a small, inclusive church. This church had never been her core community, but in her time of need, she turned to them. This past Sunday she shared with me over the phone, “Dot, it was wild. They swarmed around me. They physically held me up at an event so I wouldn’t fall. And they pooled together their resources to find me housing. This is the point of church.”
We both fell into a quiet moment, tears welling in my eyes as I heard the tremble in her voice. We both knew the weight of what she was saying. While Christianity as an institution had failed her in many ways, this little church hadn’t. They had shown up, advocating for her and caring for her in a way that was deeply meaningful.
I gently reminded her, “You’re not a charity case. You do the same for others. This is the mutual belonging of the community.”
My friend may have given up on Christianity, but the Church—oh, the Church—there’s still something powerful about it. Something that goes beyond dogma and doctrine, something deeply human and profoundly sacred.
As I reflect on her story, I can't help but think about how many of us at Harbor have expressed similar feelings. Just recently, someone shared during a Thursday night gathering, “I’m not sure about Christianity or my beliefs, but I see God in community.” This resonates deeply with my own experience as I’ve witnessed ways in which a community’s people—folks with all types of differing beliefs—come together for one another in some of our rawest and most vulnerable moments to offer deep support, care, and belonging.
As I reflect on my friend’s story and look at what we are doing at Harbor, I keep thinking: this is the point of the Church—it’s a place of radical welcome, where we belong to one another so much that we go out of our way to pool our resources, ensuring that everyone makes it through. It’s not a place of charity; it’s a place of mutual aid, trust, and transformation. It’s where we all share in being the Beloved Community.
Many of us will continue to wrestle with our beliefs. We may find ourselves altogether unsure about Christianity—as we do, may we come back to this vision and calling to participate in a community of deep belonging and mutuality.
