By Leo Nelson on April 18, 2026
By Nelson Ayivor
There was a time I quietly walked away from the church—not in rebellion, but in disappointment. What once felt like a sanctuary began to feel like a place of contradictions. I saw flaws in people I expected to be examples. I heard sermons that did not seem to match lived realities. I carried questions that no one seemed willing to answer. So, like many others, I drifted.
At first, the distance felt liberating. Saturdays/Sundays became ordinary. There were no expectations, no routines, no obligations. I told myself I could seek God on my own—and in truth, God never left me. His presence was still evident in quiet moments, in nature, in the gentle convictions of my heart. But over time, something subtle began to fade. Not my belief in God—but my connection to a community of faith.
What I came to realize is this: faith was never designed to be lived in isolation. The turning point did not come dramatically. There was no thunder, no lightning, no sudden crisis. It came through a quiet hunger—a longing for something deeper. I missed the collective worship, the shared prayers, the sound of voices rising together in hope. I missed being reminded that I was not alone in my struggles, my doubts, or my journey.
More importantly, I began to understand that my reason for leaving had been misplaced. I had placed my faith in people instead of God.
People will fail. Churches are made up of imperfect individuals navigating their own weaknesses, biases, and struggles. Expecting perfection from them is setting oneself up for disappointment. But the church, at its core, is not about human perfection—it is about divine grace working through flawed vessels.
When I returned, I did not come back with the same expectations. I came back with clarity. I no longer sought a perfect church. I sought a place where I could grow.
I no longer focused on the shortcomings of others. I focused on my own walk with God. I no longer attended out of routine. I came with intention.
And something changed. The same sermons I once dismissed began to speak to me differently—not because they had changed, but because my heart had. The same gatherings I once found ordinary became meaningful. I began to see beyond the surface—to recognize the quiet acts of love, the unseen sacrifices, the genuine faith that still exists within the body of Christ.
Returning to the church also reawakened something powerful: accountability. It is easy to drift when no one is watching, when no one is walking alongside you. But in community, there is encouragement. There is correction. There is support. The church became not just a place I attended, but a space where I was sharpened, challenged, and uplifted.
Most importantly, I rediscovered purpose. The church is not just a building; it is a mission. It is where lives are transformed, where hope is restored, where brokenness meets healing. Being part of it again reminded me that my faith is not just personal—it is meant to impact others.
Looking back, I do not regret my time away. It taught me valuable lessons about grace, humility, and perspective. But returning taught me something even greater: that God never intended for us to walk this journey alone.
If you have walked away from the church, whether out of hurt, disappointment, or confusion, know this—your story is not over. The door is still open. Not because the church is perfect, but because God is still calling.
And sometimes, returning is not about going back to where you were—it is about moving forward with a deeper understanding of why you belong.
The writer is associate editor and senior staff writer @ The New Republic. He enjoys writing on compelling topics in religion and spirituality, and draws inspiration from his faith and life’s challenges