Where Wholeness Can Begin its Work

Might I be honest? These days, many church experiences have become extremely underwhelming. There seems to be a war on at the end of this age and some churches are losing. The battle is between those who fight to hold onto tradition, and those who are trying to move beyond traditions that keep us from serving the purpose of God for people today.

I have found the search for a good church, for divine gathering, exhausting. Not because I am searching for a place of perfection—I do not expect the people, the leader, or the building to be perfect. Personally that illusion was dismantled long ago. From my youth, I learned that perfect churches do not exist on this side of heaven.

I refuse to believe the church must remain unchanged, so I am on a search for churches that are committed to walking with God to do a new thing. 

But I have grown tired of showing up in spaces that feel like imitations of heaven—experiences that resemble something sacred, but never quite become it. Spaces that gesture toward “on earth as it is in heaven,” but never fully embody it.

“Have I Become the Problem?”

I enter these spaces expecting a move of God, and yet I often leave still expecting. I have walked out of sanctuaries wondering if something was wrong with me. Why did I leave feeling the same way I came in? Have I become the problem? Has God stopped showing up for me? Have I thought my way out of faith? Has my questioning made God distant?

I have wrestled with these difficult questions longer than I care to admit. As I found myself thirsting for something deeper, I turned online—scrolling through sermons, searching for a word that might meet me where I was.

Surfing the web was equally disappointing, but at least I saved on gas. On YouTube, I found so many messages that stirred more fear than faith. Words that carried harm in the name of God. Teachings that made my spirit uneasy.

A New Thing Divine

At some point I saw an online sermon in which the preacher stated, “People go into seminary believing one thing and come out not knowing what they believe.” That statement stayed with me. I have wrestled with it for months. I realized it is not so much that I do not know what I believe, but that I am firm in what I will no longer believe. 

I refuse to believe the church must remain unchanged, so I am on a search for churches that are committed to walking with God to do a new thing. 

I search, not for perfection, but for alignment. I am searching for a place where, somehow, God can look at me and I can look at God, and we both agree: we can work with this community. A place where God, through human hands, is actively at work.

Getting Through the Week

Visiting sanctuaries across denominations, I carry a hope each time—that something within the space would fill my spirit with what is necessary to sustain me through the week. A warm smile at the door. A welcoming presence. A place where I belong in mind, body, and spirit. Where I can serve, survive, and ultimately thrive.

In church I long for music that does more than sound good. Hymns that remind us of who God is in the midst of who we are. Songs that allow the soul to respond.

I long for worship to feel alive, not observed. Where all voices are lifted until earth and heaven rings.^[1] Where the knee is bowed—in body or in spirit—in reverence to the Holy God. And where the congregation can also speak and respond. And be represented at the decision-making tables too. 

I long for spaces where children are not an afterthought, but central—where they are seen, heard, and formed with intention. Where teaching extends beyond scripture memorization into emotional awareness and a genuine relationship with God, and activities are planned with an understanding of the necessity of joy, play, and color. 

Unafraid of the Dirt

I long for preaching that is both prophetic and edifying—a word that names what is happening in the world beyond the sanctuary and asks: What is God calling us to do when we leave this place? And for a congregation that cares not only for those inside the building, but for the neighborhood outside. A community unafraid to touch the dirt, the unclean. 

I realize this longing hasn’t gone unheard. In my life I have seen glimpses of what’s possible.

During my season as an undergraduate, I attended a church where the pastor carried a vision that challenged the congregation to think differently about stewardship, about abundance, about what it meant to build a life. That space planted something in me. It stirred something in me. It is, in part, why I became a homeowner at 23.

At another church, the leaders thoughtfully incorporated sensory elements into the services to ensure neurodivergent communities are welcomed and full participants in the worship experience.

I know of churches that are strengthening their outreach, renovating their pantries and in-house kitchens to serve and feed a greater number of God’s children. And others that are holding on to their choirs, refreshing music to adhere to our expanding knowledge of God, inviting in new voices, and enhancing their children’s choir.

Rejecting Perfectionism

These experiences stand as a witness—not just to good leadership, but to a great God who works through community to transform lives.

And maybe that is why the absence of it, in my experience these days, feels so heavy. But even in that exhaustion, I have not lost the vision.

Divine gatherings, as I understand them, do not require perfection from me or anyone else—neither wholeness, nor full maturity, nor a sinless people. Instead, they create the conditions where wholeness can begin its work. Where truth can be told. Where people can be formed, not performed. Where heaven does not feel distant—but begins, however imperfectly, to take shape among us, within us.

And in naming all of this, I am left with a harder question:

If these are the things I long to receive from community … what does it mean for me to help create them?

Morenike Oyebode ’25 M.Div. is the first YDS student to graduate with diplomas from both Andover Newton Seminary and Berkeley Divinity School. A former elementary school teacher with Teach for America, she earned two degrees from Hampton University, a B.S. in business administration and an M.B.A. She is interested in pursuing a law degree and working at the intersection of religion, justice, and education in order to advocate for marginalized communities.