Walking Out of Church on Christmas Eve

I love Jesus but the Church is Not My Spiritual Home

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Like so many Christmas Eve nights before it, our house smelled like Fraser Fir and cookies baking in the oven. The TV was on a heavy rotation of The Grinch, Elf, and A Christmas Story, and my kids swung like a pendulum between checking on cookies, counting presents, and watching a movie. The Christmas tree shined as bright as ever, the windows let in the fresh, crisp breeze, and our home looked like a quaint seasonal den of comfort.

Something was different despite smelling, looking, and feeling like many Christmases before. Even after years of deconstruction, changes in our beliefs and understanding of God, and the emotional rollercoaster of institutional Christianity, we've always gone to Church on Christmas Eve. Yet, this year was different. While sitting at the family table during lunch, our team went back and forth, sharing all the reasons why we should go to Church and all the reasons we should not.

Ultimately, my teenage daughter won the day when she shared she wanted to go. If nothing else, Church on Christmas Eve was a family tradition and held a place of nostalgia for her. We all agreed and decided after dinner, we'd get dressed and go to an Episcopal service where a family friend is the Reverand.

Like so many Christmases before, we spent the afternoon picking our outfits, trying different ensembles, asking each other 25x, "How does this outfit look?", showering, and finally getting dressed for Church. Despite the comforting nostalgia and longstanding tradition of attending Christmas Eve church services, my family's evolving beliefs and sober examination of institutional Christianity led us to a poignant turning point. On Christmas Eve 2024, we walked out of a church service for the first time, and I'm so grateful that we did.

The In Group We Don't Belong To

The lead-up to arriving at Church came with excitement and anticipation that I had not felt for much of this holiday season. My kids were excited and bouncing off the furniture as they anxiously waited to load up in our SUV and head to Church. My wife looked amazing, my kids bathed on the same day (it is the little things that mean so much), and I was excited to see our friend lead the service.

When we pulled into the Church, I was relieved to notice plenty of spots available, which made parking a breeze. Internally, as I held my youngest daughter's hand and started walking toward the Church, I knew how we were greeted would set the tone for the evening.

As I reached the front door, I held it open for my family. Entering the Church last, I caught the end of an awkward exchange between the greeters whose faces clearly expressed, "You people must be new," while handing my kids candles. Their greeting was courteous but forced, like when you walk into a store and an employee addresses you with the customary, "Hey...Let us know if you need anything."

Once we turned the corner from the narthex to the Church, we ran into our friend, which was the highlight of the evening. We exchanged hugs, wished each other Merry Christmas, and told her we were glad to see her. When my wife turned toward the pews and asked, "Do you want to sit here?" The elderly couple in the row grabbed their belongings and spread them out as if to say, "Oh, sorry, my purse is sitting here. You'll need to find somewhere else to sit."

Making eye contact with the couple, it was clear that their facial expression screamed, "Please sit somewhere else." I told my wife, "Let's find somewhere else to sit." We settled on a pew in the back of the Church where no one else was seated. As we waited for the service, I caught an elderly couple to my left gawking at my family as if we were glowing like the baby Jesus.

We hadn't been at Church for 5 minutes, and I had already had second thoughts about this decision. For the sake of my kids, I'd let the uncomfortable start to the service slide, do some breathing exercises, and focus on being present during the liturgy.

The Liturgy I Can No Longer Say Earnestly

The choir finished the first song, and I thought I would make it through the service; okay, I thought to myself. Looking back, I now realize that the first song, "Hark the Herald Angels Sing," was the only piece of the liturgy I would recite. With every song, prayer, and scripture reading, I repeatedly asked myself, "What are we doing here? Do I even believe what we're saying?"

The truth is I don't believe much of what the liturgy sang, prayed, and read during the service. I couldn't get past how the service effortlessly blended birth narratives unique to Matthew and Luke that were unreconcilable. Emotionally, I already felt like an outsider, and now, intellectually, I knew I wasn't a part of this tribe. The conviction and honesty with which the Church was reciting that Jesus was God born as a baby by a virgin were lines I couldn't bring myself to say because I don't believe it.

I made it to the sermon and felt like the rest of the service would be downhill. As much as I care about my friend, the sermon was the final straw. Specifically, my friend made the statement that,

"God began reconciling humankind 2,000 years ago at the birth of Jesus, and we are living as a part of that story tonight."

No. I don't agree with that statement at all. I reminded myself,

"The God I know is far bigger and more loving than the deity celebrated tonight. The God I know is love and didn't stand passively by for millions of years as humankind unquestioningly felt our way through history. God has been in and among humanity from our first breath. God has walked with us, nurtured us, given us this beautiful creation we call earth to grow and sustain us, and has throughout history sent unique messengers (some call them 'spirit people') who have a unique intimacy with God so they can remind and show the rest of us how to walk in the Way of God."

If pressed, I believe Buddha, Moses, Jesus, Muhammad, and innumerable unnamed men and women have been used by God to call us back to the Way of life in God. I love and care deeply for my friend, but this was when it became clear that the Church was no longer my spiritual home. To claim God is reconciling us implicitly teaches that we have committed a wrong that needs to be set right.

I skipped ahead a few pages in my bulletin and noticed that after the sermon, we'd recite the Nicene Creed and, shortly after, corporately confess our sins. I squeezed my wife's knee and whispered, "Do you want to stay for the entire service?" She looked at me and paused. In 18 years of marriage, I've asked my wife thousands of questions, but "Do you want to walk out of a church service?" has never been one of them.

She replied, "I think once they start communion, we can sneak out without being noticed." Communion was too far away. Once the sermon ended and we recited the Nicene Creed, I was emotionally and spiritually already gone. The only part of me left to go was my physical presence.

With the time for confession fast approaching, I began feeling like I may have a panic attack. What kind of God, on the night we celebrate the coming of the human who most embodies what God would be like if God were a human, would want us to grovel and ask for forgiveness on this night? What had my kids done while baking cookies, wrestling with their own emotions and history with the Church, getting dressed, and celebrating the season constituted the need to publicly apologize to God in the company of dozens of strangers doing the same thing?

I'm sorry, but no. I was finished. Before we got to confession, I leaned over, told my wife it was time to go, and began walking out. To my shock, as soon as we got outside, my oldest daughter (the one who asked to go to service) said, "Don't say a word until we get to the car."

Through the sound of doors closing and seat belts clicking, my daughter said, "I'm so sorry I asked us to come to this. I don't know what I expected, but I'm glad we left. I wanted Christmas to be like it was when I was little, but now I know that season is over."

The Realization the Church is No Longer My Spiritual Home

My daughter perfectly captured what I felt and wrestled with every second I was inside the Church. 'That season of my life is over.' I didn't realize until we left that my whole family was wrestling with the same thing.

I love Jesus. I admire his teachings, his passion, and the life he lived. However, the more I study and appreciate what Jesus embodies, the more I recognize these same virtues in the Buddha, Muhammad, Socrates, Marcus Aurelius, and several other spiritual figures.

It's only fundamentalist thinking that claims "my way is the only way." Whether this "way" pertains to God, politics, or how to wash dishes, truth often reveals itself in various forms through different cultures and traditions. The God who created us understands that humankind is not a monolith. Walking out of the Christmas Eve service reminded me that the institution we call the Church is dogmatic by design. Regardless of where a congregation falls on the conservative-to-progressive spectrum, being a church inherently involves some degree of dogmatism. I can't confine God to a single tradition, religion, or theological perspective.

The Church is not my home, and I don't know where I truly belong.