Sanctuary

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the idea of church as sanctuary. The obvious way that church is sanctuary is the traditional way: church is sanctuary because it is holy. It is sanctified by what happens there, by the mysteries of Word and Sacrament, by our prayers and worship, and sometimes by relics or by building on hallowed ground. As places where we gather to worship, churches become sanctified – are made sanctuaries – by being carved out as sacred spaces in the midst of what we (by default) consider the profane world.

This is also part of the reason why serious infighting, or profound political and theological differences, can affect some peoples’ views of how ‘holy’ their congregations are: it’s a difficult reminder that our holy spaces are filled at times with ‘worldly’ things like strife and bickering and pettiness. We must struggle to see that holiness resides in these places at a deeper level than what we could call simple agreement or surface unity. A church does not become less sanctified because the people in it don’t happen to agree, or are having an outright feud.

Though the word “sanctuary” was originally defined wholly by this kind of religious significance, church-as-sanctuary has a more immediate, and less ‘spiritual,’ meaning for many of the people who come through the doors and into a congregation. Many people come to a church seeking the kind of sanctuary understood as safety, refuge, calm in the midst of the storm, freedom from harm. In my own quest for church, I was one of those people searching for a space where I felt safe to explore my relationship with God in a secure and supportive environment.

Many of us come to church carrying profound sorrow and brokenness with us. Seeking the courage to heal demands that we place our trust in a group of other broken people. Yearning to grow in faith depends on our openness to those who can sometimes be wrong. None of this is easy, and we rely on the idea that church is sanctuary to help us get through our own fear. We demand certain things of our clergy and our church leadership when we put our trust in them – things like confidentiality and boundaries and compassion and willingness to grow – that help create sanctuaries where we can be broken, where we can seek peace and rest and God (Who can sometimes be anything but peaceful or restful!). I believe that broken people have the right to be in church while they are still broken, that they have a right to safety, that as church it is our responsibility to provide haven while they seek healing and forgiveness within our walls. Church is sanctuary because it supports us in our seeking and in our pain as well as in our joys.

Church can also become a source of friendship and community which is another sort of sanctuary. We all have a desire to put down roots, to make friends, to help others and to accept their help in return. Some of us have other desires within these communities as well: we desire to lead, to teach, to take on responsibility, to do outreach, to be involved in something greater than ourselves. Church can allow us to accomplish things, to grow as people, to give back to community. These are precious gifts that church offers us: love and fellowship, friendship, trust and responsibility. Sanctuary is not merely a building in which we can be safe from harm but a community that allows us a place in it.

There is not, and will never be, the kind of false-utopian church that is free from disagreement. Sometimes, people will find themselves in congregations where others from their churches – perhaps the laity, perhaps the leadership – have vastly different views than their own. In the church I have attended for the last several years, I have listened to sermons that I find offensive. I have worshiped with liturgy that sometimes wildly departs from the forms accepted by the larger Church. I once had a Bible slapped down on the table in front of me to basically point out that I was an abomination – in public (that was a relatively awkward moment at a church lunch).

I do believe that disagreement within a church does not make it less of a sanctuary. Sanctuary, while safe and upholding at its core, is not always comfortable. We have a responsibility to hold our ground when we find ourselves in the midst of disagreement, of controversy, and sometimes of anger. If we begin to link sanctuary to the idea of a community where everyone agrees with us about everything, our congregations will ultimately become ossified and isolated. A church that agrees about everything is a church on its way to stagnation and death.

Having said that, there are times when church can, for some, cease being a sanctuary. Sometimes this is hard to recognize. Sometimes, especially when we have put down roots in a community, we don’t want to recognize it. There is a certain amount of comfort to be drawn from being in familiar surroundings even when that community is profoundly uncomfortable. It may be that we do not want to give up the privileges that we have gained, the positions that we have attained. It may be that we do not want to abandon the effort we have put into becoming a member of the community. The idea of leaving our friends behind can be difficult. When I left the Roman Catholic Church, it was a very painful decision which took me a long time to make. But I also knew that it was more important to follow Jesus, to seek where I felt I was being called, to be able to grow in my spiritual life, than it was to hold on to the things I had known and the certainties I had proclaimed and even the people whom I love.

It isn’t fair, in a way, that people should ever have to leave their churches, their congregations. It isn’t fair that they should have to put aside the things they have accomplished, the friendships they have made, and the responsibilities they have attained. But sometimes, people are called to do so. Regardless of what can be considered ‘fair’ or ‘right,’ if we – if I – am serious about following Jesus and discerning his plan for my life, I need the courage to recognize if a church is no longer a place of sanctuary where I am upheld in my seeking, in my journey, in my brokenness.