Finding Life in the Compost
I had already left Christianity for the second time before coming to SHOC.
Honestly, I only came to appease a friend who wanted to stay connected with me on Sundays. Ironically, I don’t really talk to that friend anymore—but SHOC is still a big part of my life.
On my first day, I wrote “they/them” on my nametag, even though “she/they” would have been more accurate. I wasn’t sure how people would respond to a 6-foot-tall, masculine-presenting person with those pronouns. By the end of the service, I felt safe enough to grab a new nametag and write down my actual pronouns.
A big part of why I left Christianity the second time was the gatekeeping. I had been desperate to prove myself useful to congregations, to show that I was serious about my faith. But most churches weren’t ready to have an openly queer person in a leadership position, even in Southern California.
When I met Donna (pastor) at SHOC, I shared that I was looking for work. She didn’t have much that needed doing, but she asked me to be her assistant. The pay? It was the same hourly rate she made herself. She strove to make me her equal in every way imaginable.
She even asked me to help with the kids’ ministry—a simple request that carried so much weight for me. As queer people, we’re demonized early on, labeled dangerous or predatory toward children. It left me speechless the first time she asked. I’d always loved working with kids, seeing their personalities develop and helping them learn through play. But since coming out at 13, I’d been made to feel guilty for every interaction with children, no matter how innocent. Being trusted in this way was more meaningful than I think Donna even realized.
Eventually, I got a full-time job and passed my SHOC duties on to a friend with Donna’s blessing. Yet through it all, I was never asked about reconversion. I was very vocal about not wanting Christianity as a spiritual practice, and that was respected.
Even so, SHOC held so much meaning and value for me.
At a recent service, we were asked to compare our faiths to stumps or sprouts—a stump representing a stagnant, hurting faith, and a sprout symbolizing something newly born and awakening. I realized I was neither.
I am compost.
My faith, at least in a Christianity that resembles anything recognizable, is gone. But the components that made it—the lessons I learned, the gentle validation and vindication I found at SHOC—have allowed me to lay it to rest in a way that is fruitful and life-giving. There is life, even in death.
I’m happy to be part of the compost of SHOC. You’ll still see me helping Donna where needed—not as an assistant, but as a friend. You’ll find me carrying heavy things, holding doors open for people, and being part of a community that is genuinely excited to welcome others, confront past hurts, and discover who we’re all meant to become.
SHOC is a community of healing and change, not just as Christians, but as people—human beings trying to live kindly in this world.
If you’ve ever thought about trying again—with Jesus, with yourself, or with life’s big questions—there’s no church I’d recommend more than SHOC. I hope to see you around.
—Jupiter King
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