I Miss Church.

I Miss Church.

There is something I never thought I would say out loud, but here it is; I miss church.

Not casually. Not nostalgically. I miss it deeply.

I was born and raised in the Seventh-day Adventist Church. My childhood, my moral compass, my understanding of right and wrong, my concept of grace, all of it was shaped under Adventist and Christian teachings. Church was never just a building. It was rhythm. It was identity. It was home.

But if I am honest, there was a season in Zimbabwe when that home felt far away… even though it was only five minutes down the road.

I was in a dark space. Not the dramatic kind. The quiet kind. The kind where hope slowly leaks out of you and you don’t even notice it’s gone. I stopped going to church consistently. I convinced myself that watching Hope Channel and other Christian programs was enough. I told myself, God is everywhere. I can worship from home. And yes, that is true, but partial truth can sometimes become a comfortable lie.

The things I ran to for comfort felt hollow. The distractions were loud, but my spirit felt silent. I was spiritually surviving, not thriving.

One of the reasons I withdrew from church was people.

I hesitate to use the word “hypocrites,” but that was the tension. The disappointment. The subtle hurt. Sometimes we forget that church is not a museum for saints, it is a hospital for sinners. We all walk in wounded. We all sit in the pews needing grace. Expecting perfection from broken people is like walking into a hospital and being shocked that everyone there is sick.

The church was never meant to be a showcase of flawless humans. It is a gathering of people in need of the same Savior.

Then I moved to Japan.

And isolation has a way of disciplining your perspective.

Living in a country so different from Zimbabwe stripped away familiarity. Culture shock, language barriers, distance from family, all of it grounded me. In that quietness, my faith grew. My prayer life deepened. My personal relationship with God became more intentional. I can genuinely say my spiritual life matured here.

But growth does not erase longing.

There is still a void.

I miss collective worship. I miss singing in harmony with other believers. I miss the atmosphere that shifts when a congregation prays together. There is something whole about corporate worship that personal devotion cannot fully replace.

The Bible gently reminds us why gathering matters:

“And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together… but encouraging one another.” — Hebrews 10:24–25

Christianity was never designed to be lived in isolation. Faith grows in community. We sharpen each other. We carry each other. We remind each other of truth when our own minds grow tired.

You might be wondering, If she misses church so much, why doesn’t she just attend one?

Japan is beautiful, orderly, peaceful… but it is also linguistically challenging. Many churches conduct services entirely in Japanese, often without translators. I have tried. I have sat through services not fully understanding the sermon, trying to piece together fragments of meaning. I have searched for English-speaking churches and attended two. They were good. They were welcoming. Nothing was “wrong.”

But belonging is a delicate thing.

Sometimes it is cultural. Sometimes it is worship style. Sometimes it is simply being used to the way you grew up praising. I understand flexibility is important. I understand faith transcends environment. Yet, I am still navigating that inner tension between adaptation and authenticity.

This is not a complaint.

It is discovery.

It is me realizing that church is more than doctrine. It is more than Sabbath routine. It is more than tradition. It is fellowship. It is shared language. It is spiritual family.

And maybe this season is teaching me something deeper: to not take community for granted. To not allow disappointment with people to distance me from the presence of God. To remember that even imperfect gatherings are sacred.

If you are reading this and you stopped going to church because of people, I understand you. Truly. But do not let flawed humans block you from divine healing. The hospital may have sick patients, but it is still where the medicine is.

And if you are in a season like mine, growing privately yet longing publicly, know that your yearning is not weakness. It is evidence that your soul was created for communion.

Maybe this is what faith in diaspora looks like.

Not rebellion.

Not bitterness.

But holy homesickness.

And perhaps, in this in-between space, God is building a deeper foundation, one that is not dependent on location, language, or familiarity… but still tender enough to long for the beauty of gathering.

I miss church.

And maybe that missing is sacred too.