I am not a charismatic or outgoing person. I don’t command attention when I step into a room; on the contrary, I run far away from it. I was initially grateful for the lockdown restrictions: I didn’t want to have to make small talk with strangers, and I certainly didn’t want anyone to distract me from my academic ambitions. So when I first clicked on the Zoom link to attend CCC’s virtual Sunday service, I had little intention of getting involved. When people gently encouraged me to stay for breakout rooms or join a City Group, I claimed that I was too busy. Instead, I surrounded myself with lengthy Youtube sermons and theological literature. Surely that would be much more comfortable, and much more ‘Godly’, company.
Yet as an international student at Trinity College, my first months of life in Dublin became increasingly difficult. My classmates are four years younger than myself, and they had never lived abroad; they had never even lived away from their parents. I felt that they couldn’t understand my struggles. At my previous university, I had spent my free time chatting with my professors— we would speak for hours about books, movies, languages, and our travels. But now all of my lectures were pre-recorded, and I had few means of meeting new people. Moreover, due to the time difference between Dublin and Toronto, I couldn’t call my family or friends as frequently as I would’ve liked.
And there was also my pride. I’d always held fast to my principles of autonomy and self-sufficiency, and the mere thought of confessing my struggles made me feel weak. I didn’t want to burden anyone; I didn’t want to be a bother. When I had first told my old professors that I planned to transfer, they had assured me that I was fiercely independent, ‘different’, and promising. I didn’t want to disappoint them. But what if they were wrong?
As my emotions accumulated, I briefly toyed with the idea of contacting someone from Christ City Church. But I couldn’t tell anyone, I reasoned, because I didn’t know them. I didn’t ‘fit in’; I didn’t belong. And since everything was over Zoom, I told myself that there was no point in trying. My heart was (often is) conceited and arrogant. I secretly believed that I was intelligent enough, ‘spiritual’ enough, to not need other people. Yet I was also terrified. I hated the idea of being pitied, and I couldn’t bear the idea of their rejection. Maybe no one at church would like me. Maybe I would never make any friends. Maybe I would make a bad joke, mess up, say something completely wrong.
I reached my breaking point in December. I stopped attending church service. I stopped answering people’s texts and calls. Ironically, I remember crying as I prayed through the book of Psalms, wondering why I felt so miserable. While I lay on my bedroom floor, God revealed that my self-sufficiency was mere pretense. I craved human affection, touch, and conversation, and all for good reason— He Himself had declared that ‘it is not good for the man [or woman] to be alone’ (Genesis 2:18).
In light of this verse, my concerns about burdening people at church suddenly struck me as foolish. In Ephesians 2:19-20, the Apostle Paul writes, ‘you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of his household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone.’ As brothers and sisters in Christ, this relationship is founded on Christ Himself; it is not contingent on feelings of belonging. I therefore had not only a responsibility for, but a claim on the individuals who make up CCC. Obviously, I would never hesitate to ask my parents or my sisters for help— I know that they would help me in a heartbeat. Neither the pandemic, lockdown, nor the geographical distance between us had changed that. So if CCC consisted of a family of believers, why did I hesitate? Why was I so reluctant to get plugged into the church, to confess that I was struggling? God had given me the Church as a blessing— why did I think that my rejection of that blessing would somehow make me a ‘superior Christian’?
I finally sent an email to Vanessa, the current Student Worker. When we first met up for a socially-distanced walk, her vulnerability and compassion were refreshing. As she prayed over me, I felt incredibly liberated. I couldn’t believe that I’d considered myself to be above Galatians 6:2: ‘Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfil the law of Christ.’
Yes, I joined the church during lockdown, so I don’t know many people at CCC. Nevertheless, this community is precious to me for numerous reasons. You challenge me through your sermons, encourage me with your prayers and songs, and most importantly, your love for Christ is irresistible. You also hold me accountable: instead of attempting to hide the sin in my heart, I can reach out to you, who exhort and edify me instead of excusing my sin or criticising me harshly.
However, the church is not a ‘last resort’. It’s not something that we only turn to in troubled times. I love laughing at your jokes and cringey-slash-questionable icebreakers over Zoom, and I love celebrating your milestones and holidays. I love knowing that we can exalt God’s name together. Sometimes I scroll through the rows of faces during worship; I love seeing your expressions as you sing and meditate on the song lyrics. There is something that unites us, something far greater than fickle human affections: God’s love, Love Himself, holds us together.
If you are not yet actively involved in a church, I want to say that I understand. It’s scary. It’s intimidating. And unfortunately, for those of us who have a history with churches, there’s often far more hurt, betrayal, and disillusionment than the love that I’ve mentioned. Christ City Church is not perfect— but neither am I, and nor are you! Fellowship doesn’t equate perfect relationships with perfect people. As a church, we love not because we are necessarily loveable (spoiler alert: I’m definitely not), but because Christ first loved us. Just consider this quote from Charles Spurgeon:
‘If I had never joined a church till I had found one that was perfect, I should never have joined one at all; and the moment I did join it, if I had found one, I should have spoiled it, for it would not have been a perfect church after I had become a member of it.’ Amen!
Yet the blessings of Christ-centred fellowship certainly outweigh the initial awkwardness and discomfort of joining a new community, even with all of the technical difficulties of Zoom. Whenever I have my morning devotionals, God reminds me to thank Him for my family in Christ. As Spurgeon expresses, God is beginning to teach me why the church is ‘the dearest place on earth’.
Thanks for reading,
Audrey Bang