Doubt as Hope

Crisis of faith. Time in the desert. Struggling. Doubt.

I worked hard for a long time to find language and metaphors for my loss of faith. I left a religious culture cemented in certainty to drift, untethered, in a wide ocean of possibilities and fear.

The thing about leaving that culture is, you act exactly the way they tell you you'll act when you're backslidden. Sermons don't move you, and worse, irritate you. You read attempts at proselytizing as an insult to your intelligence and right to self-determination. You forget your religious language fluency, and scrunch your nose in concentration to understand what others mean when they say, "It's my heart to..." or, "The Lord told me..." or, you know, "backslidden." So, I constantly felt one foot in the accusations of the old world, while the toes of the other stretched to pull me toward new thoughts and truths.

Deep (breathing) and Wide (living)

Remember that Sunday school song, "Deep and Wide?" I'll admit, I'm not sure about its purpose -- other than giving large groups of hyper kids something to do with their hands. But the refrain came to mind today as I considered the changes ahead of me.

I lived "shallow and scattered" for years. I ran from opportunities to look deeply into my talents and faults. In college, I wrote a paper about Christians in journalism. I argued that persons of faith report, write, and work with integrity and depth in a field that views belief as undermining to "objectivity." Good paper, actually. Even though my professors held the opposing view, they offered to help me publish the paper. I never followed up. I remember walking away from at least two other offers to publish or promote my writing talent.

We do this. We think we have all the time in the world to get it together, or get off the couch, or love big, or take risks. And, having all the time in the world, we never do.

Open letter to Like A Child

 This is an open letter to likeachildscience.blogspot.com. Her blogs are so beautifully honest and rich. Stop by her place, and see what I mean.

Dear Like a Child,

I don't even know how to subject this email. Sometimes things resonate too deeply for pithy titles. After you joined my blog, I started reading yours, and even your "About me" almost brought me to tears. I know that heart-aching loneliness that comes from leaving the exclusive teachings you grew up with. With no "church body" around to tell you that you're ok, your teaching rears its ugly head, and says you most certainly are not ok, you are "backslidden," or "out of God's will." Or maybe not "saved" at all. Not only does your fate hang in the balance, the fates of all the people you aren't impacting for the Lord hinge on your disobedience. It's crushing. Maybe, like me, you've even tried to convince yourself to just quit and conform. This liberty I've found offers none of the security of the boxes of the past, and at times, I wonder if I'll drown in it.

I'm beyond the panic attacks. Although, going to church, depending on the church, can wind me up so tight it takes all day to calm down. And I finally found the courage to approach a new church, lay my current "condition" on the line, and let the chips fall. Trying to hide this new evolution of me and faith bothers me most. Because so many people I love and admire still live in that old world, I try to protect them. And, while I am getting to the place where I think this journey is a good and meaningful one, I don't wish it on anyone else. It felt so violent to wake up in the middle of this doubt storm. And life keeps going. You have children needing you, regardless of your condition. I have patients needing me. Like you, I don't think we'll ever go back. It's never going to be the same "faith" for us. But I don't believe that was pure faith back then. Not enough doubt. Living honestly brings its own reward, and I find the molecules of faith that remain mean so much more.

I'm going to follow your journey. Lately, I have been collecting a small coterie of individuals facing their doubts and on this continuum of faith. Each of us different, but believing we all belong. We do need community. I'm glad you're in mine.

Thanks,
chesha in motion