Here’s the thing: I actually love church services. I love hearing the pastor’s interpretation of scripture and arguing about it afterward on the way home. I love the worship (mostly). Throw in a pipe organ and I’m yours for life! I’ll never forget the time Lee and I snuck into a service at Notre Dame cathedral and the rich, vibrant music from pipe organ seemed to hit the high beams of the soaring rafters, into the very ears of God Himself.

I love seeing little kids in cute outfits sitting in their grandparents’ laps. I even love bulletins with lines on them for my notes.

It’s just…the people.

It’s not that I hate people. I’m a teacher. I have a family. I’m aware there are people in the world, and that there are more of them every day.

Hello, I’m Tina, and I’m an introvert.

Being an introvert doesn’t mean I’m “antisocial.” People misuse this term all the time. Did you know that to be truly antisocial means to have a mental disorder? According to Dictionary.com, “Antisocial [is] a personality disorder, beginning early in life, characterized by chronic and continuous antisocial behavior in which the rights of others are violated, as by lying, stealing, or aggressive sexual behavior.” So no, this doesn’t describe me. The dictionary further explains that an antisocial person is “antagonistic, hostile, or unfriendly toward others; menacing, threatening an antisocial act” or ” opposed or detrimental to social order or the principles on which society is constituted.”

So no, I’m not a deviant. But, to be introverted is more than being shy.

The meet and greet portion of nearly every service makes me break out into a cold sweat. I know it only lasts two minutes. But to me, it seems as if I’m in some strange space-time continuum where one minute equals an eternity. Some people, in an effort to be friendly, ask really personal questions on the spot. I just want to tell them, “Look, we just met. Can I maybe discuss childhood traumas with you another time?”

It doesn’t take long, in most churches, before the pressure to join a small group pops up. People can get really pushy about this. They insist you “plug in.” I’m not a toaster. I don’t want to. Granted, my actual experience with small group has been largely positive. Except for the time we were appointed small group leaders by some leadership and they didn’t ask the Small Group Leader first and we were told, awkwardly, that we weren’t really his first choice but since everyone knew about it they would just hope for the best. What are we, Satanic cult members? Are we incapable of holding a bible study once a week? Was there some worry we’d pollute the Sheep?

Then, we did start leading the small group, and I found it to be so much work. I’d spend Sunday cleaning the house as if a Marine in white gloves was going to come by and inspect. Sorry, Sargent. I didn’t see that M&M behind the toilet. I don’t know how it got there. How many pushups?

There was also the question of the meal. It seemed as if I ended up cooking for the 15-20 people who may or may not show up. A lot of times the group contribution was chips. I’d make pasta; they’d bring chips. I’d make burritos; they’d bring chips. When we stopped offering meals, instead of having coffee and dessert almost everyone stopped coming.  But we still saw them in church every Sunday. They just stopped talking to us.

These are just a few of the reasons why I find it difficult to begin the search for a new church. It can be daunting. Churches are full of people, and people are imperfect. I’m included in this description, no question. But this is just one reason why as an introvert I find church heartbreaking. Sometimes, it seems those who call themselves Christian can be the mean girls in town.

That day in Notre Dame was unforgettable. I’ll never forget it. My hubby and I listened to the sermon (though we don’t speak French, so for all I know, the priest was selling us a condo), took communion, and spent a few minutes in the undeniable presence of God.

Shockingly, nobody brought chips.