The modern church never really worked for me. That’s a hard thing to admit, especially after spending over a decade as a pastor within its walls. Honestly, I feel like the modern church is failing a lot of people. Have you ever walked into a church and felt completely out of place, like you just couldn’t connect with the people no matter how hard you tried? Maybe your beliefs didn’t fit neatly into the box of what the church expected, leaving you on the outside looking in. That was me.
For years, I wrestled with the discomfort of being part of something that didn’t feel like home. Then one day, everything changed. My church plant—the one I had poured so much time and effort into—was canceled. It was devastating, but it forced me to take a hard look at my faith and the kind of spiritual community I was seeking. Instead of finding a new version of the modern church, I stumbled upon something ancient.
When the Dream Ends
I was leading a church plant, the first one where I was fully in charge. But from the start, I had questions. The “normal” way of doing things felt wrong, like a shirt that doesn’t quite fit. It didn’t reflect me, and it didn’t fit the community I was trying to serve.
During a meeting with my mentor, I brought up my concerns. He asked if I would ever consider taking a position as a discipleship pastor somewhere else, if it was the “right” church. I thought about it and said yes.
That was the end of the conversation.
He told me that anyone who would take a role like that wasn’t ready to lead a church plant. He canceled the project on the spot.
The denomination later contacted me, offering me another chance to plant a church. By then, I had already moved on. The dream I once had wasn’t relevant anymore.
Discovering Something Unexpected
In the aftermath, I felt like an outcast—someone who couldn’t find a place in the very institution I had dedicated my life to. I began looking for a church home. That’s when I stumbled upon a tiny church in an unassuming strip mall near my house: the Apostolic Celtic Church.
Walking in, I was met with something entirely foreign to me. Fewer than ten people were in the room, and most of them were in robes. On the altar sat a massive book filled with call-and-response liturgy, something I had never encountered before. I found it overwhelming and honestly, a little off-putting.
But then came the invitation to Denny’s.
For reasons I still can’t explain, I went. Sitting in that booth, surrounded by this small community, I noticed something I had never experienced in a church before: radical acceptance.
One of the church leaders said something during the conversation that would have been labeled heretical in any other church I’d known. Yet no one flinched. People disagreed with him openly, but they didn’t argue or dismiss him. They listened, they engaged, and they accepted.
The Beauty of Generous Orthodoxy
That moment at Denny’s was my first exposure to what I now understand as generous orthodoxy—the idea that everyone belongs, even when they believe differently.
This ancient way of being church, rooted in history, invites people into a space where disagreement isn’t divisive. Instead, it becomes an opportunity for growth and deeper connection. In this little church, I found something I hadn’t realized I was searching for: a spiritual community where acceptance wasn’t conditional.
Moving Forward Together
This journey changed my life. It taught me that the answers aren’t always in something new. Sometimes, we find what we’re looking for by returning to something old and unshaken by the tides of modernity.
If this resonates with you, stick around. Generous orthodoxy, radical belonging, and the richness of ancient spiritual practices are at the heart of what I explore. Take a moment to check out the next post or video, engage in the comments, and share your thoughts. Let’s create a space where everyone belongs.