Always Between Groups
Why Church Refuses to Self-Examine
This piece will be biographical and tremendously vulnerable. I believe almost everyone carries a deep desire to be part of something—to belong. A quick look at society confirms that conclusion. People join churches, fraternal organizations, clubs, and causes to fulfill this most basic of human drives.
The First Fracture: Seeing Belonging from the Outside
Early on, I noticed this truth among even children. Everything revolved around groups and fitting in. I remember watching it all take shape, almost as an out-of-body experience. I wasn’t even seven years old when I first thought to myself how strange it was—the lengths to which people go to be “part of” something.
For instance, I was signed up for Cub Scouts in second grade. We did all sorts of activities, but much of it struck me as silly and formulaic baloney. How was singing jingles from commercials at a regional meeting helpful in developing character? I wasn’t trying to be judgmental—it simply made no sense to me.
In grade school, I remember practicing for one of those singing programs meant to showcase what we were learning in music The theme carried undertones I knew my mother would disapprove of. So, I manipulated her sense of ideals to get myself out of participating.
At recess, teams were chosen regularly for team games. I could count on being picked last. It wasn’t that I was incapable—I just seemed to lack an invisible currency that made others belong. Later, when we began playing rugby, I became competitive, even skilled. But it made no difference. I was still chosen last. That residual has continued to this day—now it involves thought rather than physical prowess.
Marked Without a Name: The Experience of Being Other
School itself was largely unengaging. I didn’t learn to read until well into 3rd grade, after repeating 2nd grade twice. Being held back didn’t devastate me—I took it in stride. But it did mark me. There was teasing, both from the class that left me behind and the one I joined. Looking back, I’m not sure what caused my slowness. I didn’t really begin reading well into the 5th or 6th grade.
Generally speaking, I was friendly. But something about me didn’t quite align with others. I wasn’t in special needs classes. I had some other oddity that set me apart from the other kids. Occasionally, aggression surfaced. I lived somewhat in my own world: not withdrawn, but not fully tuned into the norms of others. In 3rd or 4th grade, my best friend was seven years my senior.
My mother took me to a psychologist while I was still in grade school. He used those Rorschach inkblot images—asking what I saw in them. I never understood that exercise. It felt arbitrary—another example of adults assigning meaning to things that didn’t inherently contain it. In 4th grade, I picked up the word ethnocentrism in school. That’s a rather odd concept to remember consciously for an eleven-year-old. I also developed a reputation as a talker, something that has never withered despite my efforts.
Education in Meaninglessness
By Junior High, I drifted through school without much direction. I didn’t share the drive others had for sports, drama, or social status. I didn’t pursue team sports or school events. I wasn’t sure whether it was laziness or a lack of motivation. Everything felt like going through empty motions. Pep rallies, mascots, and school spirit seemed like a complexity of the same pattern: fostering team and community in the context of school identity. As silly as it seemed, I couldn’t imagine being an adult trying to stir excitement in teenagers over something so contrived. Even then, I instinctively resisted what felt hollow.
I liked shop class and mechanical drawing because my family worked in such things through business. Cliques formed quickly, and once again, I didn’t belong. I wasn’t a nerd, nor was I part of any recognizable group. I wasn’t a loner. I kept loose connections, mostly spending time with my cousin.
Our neighborhood was a single suburban block with 54 children. We played games like stickball, but I still found myself on the outside for a different reason. One family, coming from a rougher background, had a son who tried to establish dominance over the neighborhood like a gang leader. Our family, openly committed to church life, was very different.
Tensions escalated. Our house was egged several times. Messages were scrawled in chalk on the driveway while we were away at church. Fistfights were common. My mother became a focal point for neighborhood opposition. One incident escalated into a full confrontation between households—adults and children alike spilling out of houses into a free-for-all. To our discredit, we stooped to the same level as those who hated us. Even then, I knew it wasn’t right.
By High School, the hostility had become serious enough that I had to go on bus routes three neighborhoods away to avoid daily beatings by a gang of dudes. Their lead was the young man from our neighborhood, which I noted earlier. I was hunted all the time, but I knew how to move incognito through the neighborhoods because we delivered papers through them.
Growing up, we worked constantly—shoveling snow, mowing lawns, selling goods, paper routes, maintaining gardens, and doing chores. We were taught to be capable, disciplined, and presentable. Yet, we seemed so outside our peer group.
Functioning Without Belonging
In High School, I interacted with all social groups—the athletes, the hoodlums, and the popular crowd—but I didn’t belong to any of them. I refused to lower myself to what it would take to make me -in- with them. I also maintained close relationships with people my senior. I quit youth group because it seemed juvenile. I hung out with college-age folks from the time I was in 8th or 9th grade.
I remember being given to an amount of ultracrepidarianism—that is, speaking beyond the shoe of experience. I developed a type of confidence, some of which was charade. Every now and again, some wanted to expose my game of confidence.
A couple of times, my gift of wit served me well. One time in particular, a “BIG” linebacker, two years my senior and twice my size, was holding me off the ground by the front of my shirt. He’d drawn back with his other hand in a closed fist. Smartly, I told him he might want to rethink his actions. I noted my well-placed friends in other high schools who could make sports life miserable for him, if not dangerous. My bluff must have been convincing. I didn’t get pounded into oblivion.
My tastes were much different than those of my age group. While they all liked popular music of the time, I was a throwback to two generations prior. I seemed to like the things that were provably “the best” rather than the latest flash-pan craze.
No Refuge in the Church House
Church, however, proved to be no shelter from the insanity of the world. My family was deeply committed—present, giving, and engaged—but we didn’t fit. The church placed value on polished, high society, and successful individuals. Leadership consisted mostly of business professionals. Though my family ran a business, we were merely tradespeople: that is to say, blue-collar.
We were useful when work was needed. Otherwise, we were invisible. In the context of “church,” I found myself as a pre-teen the target of an older teen female. She wanted someone to “fool” with her where there wouldn’t be consequences. In my teens, in another fellowship, an adult male targeted me. That experience never shook me because I realized it was something forced upon me. The woman, however, affected me for years.
All through, there was little discernment or care for developing people who might have potential. This detail tremendously depressed me.
When I left home, I began to see more clearly that church functioned exactly like any other social system. There was no transformational difference between the world and what called itself church. It operated on: performance, language, mimicry, conformity, and an unspoken rule: go along to get along.
In Bible school, that observation became undeniable. We weren’t simply studying Scripture—we were interpreting it through a predetermined framework. Rather than drawing meaning from the text, we were reinforcing conclusions we brought to any reading.
A few questions from a foreigner exposed that realization, which changed everything.
The Refusal to Settle for Perceived Certainty
I began to search the Scripture more seriously. I could see elements of truth in Calvinism and Arminianism. Yet, I couldn’t reconcile how truth could be divided into opposing systems that fostered debate for centuries. The same applied to Faith versus Works. Even the divide between Continuationism and Cessationism revealed folly on both sides.
My approach became twofold: search Scripture carefully and read history and literature with caution. I watched many anchor themselves to a single teacher or system of thought and stop thinking.
Truth isn’t, nor ever should it be, a short list of stuff one can just claim. Truth, first has many facets —any one of which can be an absolute lie. Secondly, learning to balance learning with practical living was key. Like, where does justice stop and mercy begin?
Working out details like this is where I feel most church people fail. They settle for collecting factoids and trivia, only to parrot them in various situations. To me, that is as worthless as a lame man’s legs.
Truth as a Threat to Belonging
Over time, my understanding shifted significantly. Questions I couldn’t answer forced me to reexamine assumptions. Years of study revealed details my previous framework couldn’t account for. Writing became both a means of processing and a way to consolidate what I was learning.
Sharing those insights, however, became a minefield. At one point, a pastor’s wife responded to my questions by saying, “We’ve chosen to accept history as we’ve always understood it.” It was a polite but rude dismissal. I wonder if she would have said the same to an emerging Martin Luther (not to infer that I am anywhere close to who Luther was.)
Later, as I shared my writing more broadly, relationships abruptly ended. The pursuit of truth—especially when it challenged established norms—was not welcomed. I remember a pastor taking me aside to say, “You don’t want to get labeled ‘radical.’” Later, that pastor caused four church splits… (Yeah, I should worry about being seen as “radical.”)
Missions Work Clarifies
Missionary work brought another layer of clarity. In theory, it should have been straightforward. In practice, it was as unstable as a rope bridge over the Grand Canyon. Support systems were fragile, expectations unclear, and control mechanisms were more determining than I ever anticipated. There were valuable aspects—but disillusionment was inescapable.
Returning to normal life after mission training was perhaps the greatest shock. The intensity and purpose of missionary life contrasted sharply with the passivity and part-time nature of what they call church. What had once seemed normal now felt shallow, reduced to a weekly routine rather than a daily reality.
Once again, we no longer fit the peer group around us.
During that time, others began describing my perspectives as “Anabaptist.” I was unfamiliar with the term, but it led to new material. A teacher at Discipleship Training School recommended two books. The Reformers and Their Stepchildren, and Count Zinzendorf. These volumes brought me into the world of dissident faith. They introduced me to a stream of understanding marked by conviction, sacrifice, and endurance. The lives noted in these stories provided context and encouragement.
In the Religious Wilderness
Since then, we have continued to navigate different groups. Not because we were drive-bys, unwilling to connect. But simply because we are unwilling to “settle” for what it takes to belong to their sub-group of ideals. Many groups define themselves by minor distinctions, elevating certain points while neglecting broader, more substantial truths. Others impose requirements not grounded in Scripture, or, they raise texts from their context. Even well-meaning people often operate within systems that subtly distort Scripture’s priorities.
Locally, a consistent pattern emerges: strong language combined with zero application. There is often a disconnect between what is professed and how life is lived. That gap forces us into a state of tension—walking between worlds that seem to align on one level but operate in opposite ways.
A simple example illustrates this misalignment: A friend once told me, “You’re never going to find the perfect church.” Months later, he was frustrated with a situation involving his wife’s workplace. I responded: “You’re never going to find the perfect school (his wife is a teacher).” He immediately responded, “I take your point.” It harkened back to our discussion about “Church.”
We are not looking for perfection. We are looking for consistency and differentiation from the world to what God clearly wants. That distinction matters, but it is utterly missing from what calls itself church.
Even in smaller settings, such as Bible studies, the same issue arises. Conversations remain surface-level. Invitations are extended but never followed through on. Fellowship is conditional. It begins to resemble social dynamics from earlier years in life rather than brotherhood.
At a conference, I encountered this directly. A woman approached and asked about my affiliations and associations. Being cautious, I responded, “Ma’am, I don’t care if you’re immersed, poured, sprinkled, or dry cleaned. If you love Jesus, I want to work with you.” Her sheepish approach quickly gave way to a demanding voice: “I want to know where you’re at —on the Tribulation.” Realizing her inquiry was purely a religious cubby-hole game, I responded, “Ma’am, not to be vague, but I am sure it will all pan out the way God wants it to.”
It became clear she wasn’t interested in my life, my practice, or my pursuit of truth—only whether I aligned with her framework bias.
That is so often the pattern: classification over connection.
The Line is in the Sand: Settle or Pursue
All is to say, our choices remain—settle into something that appears sufficient, or pursue truth wherever it leads. The choice between the two isn’t neutral. It is a dividing line.
As time marches on, this dichotomy will grow more difficult, and the chasm between the two sides will grow wider.
What calls itself “church” has largely made its choice. Not through statements of belief—but through what it refuses to self-examine. Also, its wide appeal instead of the narrow road Jesus mentioned, see Matthew 7:13-14. Belonging has replaced obedience. Agreement to lesser truths has replaced truth. As long as that remains, nothing changes—no matter how strong the language, how precise the theology, or how sincere the people involved might be.
However, truth will remain just outside of those environs—waiting for anyone willing to step away without knowing where they will land. We ought to feel like Abraham, “Go out from this place to a land that I will show you,” see Genesis 12:1. Most won’t go because the cost isn’t a misunderstanding. It’s separation —a cost few intend to pay.
Soon, we will talk about how “publishing” reinforces the malady of Churchianity. As mentioned prior, Christians are THE MOST propagandized people on the planet. If we are to pursue truth, we cannot leave true believers behind in the delusion or fog of Churchianity. We must pull back the curtains and give them the chance to reject or accept. There is only one way that will happen.