Disillusioned, But Not Disconnected
He was there for the wedding. I was the officiant.
There were only thirteen guests. No clergy collar. It was a quiet garden affair—just family. Afterward, he approached me and said: “That was the best wedding I ever attended.”
He continued, “I usually hate weddings. I even get sleepy. But this was different. You brought a message without preaching.” Then his tone shifted. “I’m not religious, you know.”
I waited.
“I taught at a church for years,” he added. “But I don’t go anymore.”
When I asked why, his answer was honest and familiar: “Disillusionment.”
He went on to describe the hypocrisy, the contradictions, the wars supposedly blessed by God. The rituals. The routine. The feeling that churches had stopped asking questions—and had become experts at giving answers no one asked for.
Later that week, I met a woman who said something similar. She sometimes goes to Baptist services, has had encounters with Jehovah’s Witnesses, but mostly reads her Bible at home. “I’m religious,” she said, “but I don’t go to church. Too much mess. Too many people pretending.”
I knew what she meant.
If not for grace, I would be her. Or him. Or the many others who once showed up but no longer do. Not because they stopped believing—but because they no longer feel the church is asking the right questions or making space for real conversation.
Disillusioned doesn’t mean disconnected. Many still hunger. Many still believe something is there. But they are cautious now. Wounded. Watching.
We say people don’t come to church anymore. But maybe church needs to come to them. Not with leaflets or loudspeakers—but with listening. With space for doubt, and room for dignity. With humility that dares to say, “We don’t have all the answers—but we care enough to hear your questions.”
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