Detoxing from Church

By Robby McAlpine

If Jesus is building His church, and the gates of hell are no match for it, then why are so many of His followers weary, disillusioned, and ready to abandon church?

Mixing humor, modern parables, and lived experience, Detoxing from Church is a redemptive look at recovering after toxic church experiences, and finding our identity anew in Jesus.

The 10th anniversary version includes a new collection of Assorted Parables, addressing genuine community, faith in the marketplace, respectful dialogue, and leaving a legacy.

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"Many books pass through my hands in a given year. Most of them are repeats and rehashes of what's already been said dozens of times before. Not so with Robby McAlpine's Detoxing from Church. This is a fresh and engaging discussion for those who have broken with the status quo of modern-day 'church' . . . or who are leaning in that direction."

~ Frank Viola (author, Pagan Christianity)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robby McAlpine
• Release date: Aug 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9780993888007

Robby McAlpine

Robby McAlpine (the blogger formerly known as Robbymac) is a veteran pastor, missionary, author, and musician. He earned a B.A. in Biblical Studies from Providence University College, and invested three years in postgraduate studies at Tyndale Seminary (Toronto) and Providence Seminary (Winnipeg). Robby’s articles have been featured online at Next Wave, Think Theology, Church Leaders, Worship Links, and Church Plants. He also served on the editorial team for Dr. Bill Jackson’s History of the Christian Church, Volume Two. Robby and Wendy live in western Canada, and enjoy good times with good friends over good Okanagan Valley wine. When he’s not writing, Robby can usually be found playing his Fender Jazz bass, hanging out with friends in various coffeeshops, or spending time with his adult children.

Book preview

1

HOLY DISSATISFACTION

One hundred religious persons knit into a unity by careful organization do not constitute a church any more than eleven dead men make a football team. The first requisite is life, always. ~ A.W. Tozer, Man: the Dwelling Place of God

Steam wafted in random directions above the twin ceramic bowls, teased to and fro as busy café patrons crowded past their table. Despite the chili’s enticing aroma, the Younger and the Elder seemed lost in silent reflection.

They were an odd pair at first glance: the grandfatherly Elder in his tweed jacket, the epitome of a university professor, and the energetic Younger, who despite his youthful deportment and sense of fashion, had found a kindred spirit in his older companion. Their friendship had grown into an easy rhythm of conversation, often punctuated by mischievous verbal sparring. Their animated discussions took place, more often than not, over coffee at various local coffeeshops, or pints at their favorite pub, the Tipsy Fiddler.

What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again, the Elder said quietly, there is nothing new under the sun.

The Younger’s usual easygoing nature was noticeably subdued today. The Elder’s words, however gently spoken, seemed to provoke rather than calm him. "Ecclesiastes? You’re quoting Ecclesiastes? He scowled at his chili, not meeting the Elder’s gaze. This isn’t hypothetical. It’s real life. They’re good friends of mine, but lately they’ve just gotten so … his voice trailed off and he gestured helplessly. They’re so fed up with church they want nothing to do with it anymore."

The Elder nodded, waiting for the emotional storm to pass. He picked up his soupspoon and stirred his chili. I’d hoped to point out that your friends’ experience – discontent, restlessness, disillusionment with church as they’ve known it – isn’t a new phenomenon. I don’t mean to trivialize what they’re going through.

The Younger seized his soupspoon, motioning as if to stir his chili, and then set his spoon on the table. Sorry for jumping down your throat. I’m just upset. He laughed nervously. But I guess that’s obvious.

You know, this might be one of those moments when one could ask if the glass is half full, or half empty. The Elder nudged his glass of ice water closer to the table’s center. Condensation left a streak on the wooden surface, and ice cubes clinked quietly against the glass. Church history is replete with people like your friends, who’ve become frustrated and disillusioned with their church experience. He wiped the water streak with a napkin. If you want to look at the glass as half empty, their decision to quit attending could be an indictment against their churches.

Or against them, the Younger replied, emotion clouding his voice. They’ve already been confronted with ‘forsake not the assembly.’ That didn’t help, to put it mildly.

The Elder nodded, memories of similar conversations passing like old photographs in his mind. There are always well-intentioned people who trot that verse out. They mean well, and we must show them grace, even if they are ungracious. But getting back to the glass half empty or half full metaphor … He paused until the Younger nodded. As I said, your friends' discontent isn’t new to church history. And the metaphor might be more ‘glass half full’ than you’d think.

The Younger took a tentative spoonful of chili. How so?

The Elder lowered his spoon, his gaze equal parts earnest and compassionate. "What if your friends’ reaction could be described – not as malcontent or rebellion – but holy dissatisfaction? The same dissatisfaction felt by the great Reformers of yesteryear. Church dynamics were very similar in Luther and Wesley’s day."

The Younger almost forgot to chew before swallowing. Now that you mention it, there’s a lot of Old Testament stories about the Israelites’ hearts growing cold, until a judge or a prophet shows up and rings their bell.

"Exactly, exactly, the Elder replied. He kept his voice down, but his gestures grew more animated. Bible history goes in cycles, just like church history. First, there’s a season of revival and renewal, followed by a time of peace and spiritual depth. But, inevitably, the spiritual ‘hardening of the arteries’ sets in. Devotion devolves into dry ritual and, eventually, idolatry. And then the cycle repeats itself. Think of Elijah, hiding in the desert from Jezebel, convinced he was the only one still serving God."

The Younger’s eyes lit up. "And then God reminds him there were seven thousand others fully devoted to Him." He gestured enthusiastically with his spoon, scattering chili sauce across the table. He caught himself and sheepishly dipped his spoon into what remained of his meal.

The Elder chuckled as he deftly wiped chili splatter from the table, frowning at a dollop of sauce on his jacket cuff. Elijah’s good news is also ours. There’s always a ‘remnant,’ somewhere. He set the napkin aside, continuing with his meal. "Where things can go sideways – and this is nothing new under the sun, either – is keeping your friends’ holy dissatisfaction … well, holy. I’m not bothered by them questioning the status quo; I’m more concerned they not get lost in bitterness and reactionary finger-pointing."

The Younger finished his chili and turned his attention to his fresh-baked roll. You make it sound like questioning the status quo of church is a good idea. Can I quote you on that?

Think of Jesus’ words about new wineskins, the Elder replied, watching his friend tear his dinner roll apart. It’s not a stretch to say the wineskins of how we ‘do church’ should always be open for reevaluation and renewal. That’s the glass half full potential your friends have before them. But there’s also a real danger of opportunity slipping away, depending on how they process it.

Holy dissatisfaction, the Younger mused, brushing crumbs from his fingers. Sounds like a direction worthy of exploration. Who knows? It might be the perspective my friends need to hear.

I was twenty-one years of age when I chanced upon a copy of Bob Girard’s Brethren, Hang Loose, originally published in 1972 (a groovy time, as the title suggests). Reading the book served as a confirmation and a catalyst. I’d already begun to question our models of doing church; Brethren, Hang Loose let me know I wasn’t alone. Girard’s candid-yet-hopeful documentation of his attempts at local church renewal (a work-in-progress at the time of publication) gave me practical insights to flesh out my thinking.

I owe Bob Girard a debt of gratitude. His books – Brethren, Hang Loose; Brethren, Hang Together; When the Vision has Vanished – tell the tale, with raw transparency, of his church’s ups and downs in their pursuit of genuine koinonia fellowship. I’ve always appreciated believers who aren’t afraid to catalogue their mistakes as well as their successes.

I reread Brethren, Hang Loose recently, and was amazed at how much influence it continues to have. Girard’s emphasis on restructuring church for relationship in the 1970s is uncannily similar to the heart-cry of many today.

When Wendy and I first started dating, she heard a lot about Brethren, Hang Loose. We found a copy in a used bookshop while on our honeymoon (book nerds in love). After reading it, Wendy remarked, I’d attend this kind of church. It’s not perfect, but at least it’s trying. Years later, we bought multiple used copies via Amazon for our home group and leaders.

Anyone experiencing a sense of disillusionment with church stands in a fine tradition in history. The need to detox from church is nothing new; it’s not peculiar to the 21st century.

So, what should our perspective to be? Is the glass half empty, or half full? What’s the best course of action for anyone who feels disconnected from church? Abandon the sinking ship; write Ichabod (the glory has departed) over the church doors (1 Sam. 4), or put a safe distance between themselves and the institutional Titanic?

Or is the glass half full? Could our sense of dis-ease be the same holy dissatisfaction that fired a passion for change among God’s people, century after century?

If we view detoxing as glass half full, the prospect sounds both noble and visionary. Recovering from church-inflicted wounds is a necessary step, but it’s only one element in what can be a life-changing adventure. Reformers like Martin Luther and Charles Wesley walked similar roads in the past, and left us inspiring examples.

At the same time, being a change agent can be hazardous. Anyone who dares to question or challenge the status quo may run headfirst into a parochial brick wall. Luther and Wesley could tell us stories about that, as well, as could the nameless saints in the Hall of Faith (Heb. 11).

People enter a season of detox for a variety of reasons. For many, it’s because of unhealthy and, at times, abusive church experiences. Often, these churches began well but later degenerated into a culture of suspicion and control. Other churches were always abusive, but some leaders and/or congregants now recognize it and have fled from toxic church leaders/culture.

Healthy churches can still produce spiritual casualties – usually a generational clash. Younger leaders/congregants have a vision to change how church is done, to connect with a new generation in a changing culture. Unfortunately, they slam against the afore-mentioned brick wall, compounded at times by older believers pelting them with loose masonry (metaphorically speaking).

In an echo of the reformers of yesteryear, they experience censure, rejection, and the church equivalent of cancel culture. Many depart, disillusioned, wounded, and wondering how professing Christians can act in ways so opposite to Jesus.

I posted an article on my blog a number of years ago, simply entitled Detoxing from Church (now a chapter of its own). At the time, I had no idea how many nerves I was about to touch. Nor how tender some of those nerves were. The response was sobering: a staggering number of people left comments, wrote emails, or met me for coffee to talk about their experiences.

As I reflected on those conversations, I knew I had to fine-tune and expand on the detoxing concept. It felt like the most responsible way of honoring their stories.

There are numerous factors involved:

What I mean by detoxing from church, and why I see it as a healthy process if handled well. Included will be a look at the tasks and traps of detox.

Bob Girard’s challenge: detoxing church-exiters need to examine our hearts to get the system out of our system (more on Bob and his challenge in the next chapter).

While some are detoxing because of abusive leaders, others are former pastors/leaders who’ve been chewed up and spit out by either the leaders or congregants they once served. They qualify as Sheep-bitten.

Some School of Hard Knocks tips on how to handle difficult situations and keep our hearts clean. No one wants a holy dissatisfaction hijacked by bitterness.

Once detoxing has run its course, what’s next?

Just for the record, I’m a fan of the house/simple church approach. I love it when I hear stories of believers experiencing Body life in a fresh way. But I don’t believe house/simple church is the ultimate, one-size-fits-all Answer. I’ve visited a few that were no better – and occasionally worse – than the toxic churches they’d left behind.

I’m not knee-jerk opposed to the institutional church (also not a fan of using institutional as a thinly-disguised cheap shot). At the same time, I’m well-aware churches aren’t perfect or blameless, and a few could use a slap upside the head vigorous critique. My goal isn’t to debate the merits of whatever gathering you participate in. There are many thought-provoking authors tilling that soil. And, to be honest, I see benefits in many diverse approaches to church.

Wendy and I served in a variety of ministry settings over the years. We don’t pretend to have seen it all, but at the same time, we’ve endured our fair share of crises that caused us to question (a) ourselves, (b) our calling, (c) our understanding of how a healthy church is supposed to function, and (d) what our future in ministry could or should be.

At times, we’ve shared deep community with youth leaders who loved, prayed, worshipped, and served together. The vibrancy of our fellowship was attractive – high school students began inventing regular prayer crises at 7:00 p.m. on Tuesdays as an excuse to join the youth leader meetings in our living room. We’d pray with them, and they’d stay for the entire meeting – becoming unofficial peer influencers as they bonded with the youth leadership team and absorbed our culture of community and prayer.

Conversely, in other settings, we faced entrenched set-in-stone apathy, defended with sullen passive-aggression against any and all attempts to go deeper. We tried everything we knew: modeling, training, equipping, leading by example … nothing seemed to work.

It was eerily similar to the pastoral lament in Brethren, Hang Loose: "Much of what is happening is no miracle at all. It can be explained so easily: When I work, it goes. When I don’t, nothing happens! Everything can be explained in terms of human effort. Where is the divine life the New Testament Church had?" ¹

Like many of my contemporaries, my first instinct was to point an accusing finger at the institutional church. Fortunately, a gentle whisper (1 Kings 19:12) led me to contact Bob Girard, author of Brethren, Hang Loose, before I began writing. Bob’s wise counsel challenged me toward a different mindset and approach.

My goal is to (a) offer a cup a cold water to bruised church-exiters and (b) provoke some thoughtful reflection for anyone in the transitional stage of detoxing from church. And along the way, my good friends – the Younger and Elder – will drop by and add their voices to the conversation.

Detoxing from church = a glass half full opportunity. More than recovery, it’s an invitation to deeper spiritual growth and vitality.

1 Robert C. Girard, Brethren, Hang Loose (Or, What’s Happening to my Church?) , Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan Publishing, 1972, 29 (emphasis in original).

2

DETOXING FROM CHURCH

"We all want progress. If you are on the wrong road, progress means doing an about-turn and walking back to the right road; in that case the