“And when we examine the deeper issues of our beliefs or questions – particularly when the roots of those beliefs are not merely information but gut-level experience rooted in sadness and grief – well, it is sacred ground or scary ground, a minefield. That’s okay. One thing I’ve learned is that the Holy Spirit can be trusted. When the time is right, the time is right.” ~ Sarah Bessey, Out of Sorts: Making Peace with an Evolving Faith
Over the past few months, I have had several friends say that they have moved away from the faith of their childhood, and are searching for something more… Not a new religion, but a faith that they can call their own… A faith born out of who they are and the experiences that have brought them to this point.
I get it… I started on this same journey well before Bruce died…
It’s funny… when we first met, I thought I had it all figured out. I knew what my religion taught. I could go through the rituals and say all the prayers. I could stand and kneel and fold my hands and bow my head. I could quote scripture and place my offering in the basket when it was passed. I spent my days trying to “get it right” … wanting this religion to hold all the answers…
But it didn’t… It couldn’t… not for me at least… I was divorced (Oh my, no!) and about to remarry. (Well, you can’t get much more “sinful” than that.) I can remember sitting in choir and hearing people talk about my situation. I can remember having a fellow teacher tell me I was no longer welcome to take communion. I can remember being made to feel that my faith was somehow “less” simply because I refused to stay in a violent marriage, and instead, chose to find someone who could love me and my children unconditionally.
Don’t misunderstand, it wasn’t the priest, (he was quite supportive), or my friends, (they were wonderful). It was only a handful of people, but it still hurt… And it left me doubting my faith and my religion. I hadn’t quit or given up yet, but the seed had been planted.
Then there was Bruce… He was a quiet, humble, private man who knew what he believed. He was a man who knew what unconditional love meant and how to express it. Seemingly without effort, he lived a life that was true to what he believed and centered on those around him. When we first met, I remember thinking that I needed to be sure he was “saved” … that he was a “Christian.” After all, I couldn’t marry someone who wasn’t a Christian.
However, it didn’t take me long to realize, he lived the most Christ-like life I had ever experienced. It wasn’t too long before I was asking him questions… I loved our conversations about God and faith. I soon learned that our biggest difference was he didn’t give two hoots about dogma or what someone else said he should think. He was quite capable of figuring out his own spiritual path.
Only months before he died, I found myself leaving church mid-sermon and in tears, because the pastor was insisting that his view point of a certain scripture was the only right one, and any other opinion was from the devil himself. In that moment, I knew I couldn’t do it anymore… As much as I love my God and my faith, and as much as I wanted to “get it right,” I knew this path was not the right one for me…
I cried and grieved for days as I realized, I couldn’t go back… and I really didn’t want to… I needed something more… I needed to start from scratch and figure out what I truly believed – not what anyone else was telling me to think. I no longer wanted the faith of my childhood or the faith of my parents. I needed something that was mine and spoke to my heart… Something more relational; something that was big enough to allow me to push back – to debate and question and doubt… Something that would expand my own thoughts and fill me up so I could live a life that was true to what I believe. In other words, I was looking for something more like what Bruce had. I mean, the rituals and all are nice and definitely filled with emotion in the moment. But I needed something more… Not a list of do’s and don’ts… I needed something that was real all the time – day in and day out – moment by moment.
Then, less than two months later, Bruce died… and I floundered. I was so mad at God. I stopped praying… I stopped my devotions… I stopped singing… I stopped all of it. In my grief, I just couldn’t care about a God who didn’t seem to care about me.
But time passed… and my faith is too deeply rooted, I suppose, to let go completely. So… I started thinking about the many conversations with Bruce about what he believed, which led me to read the books he had read, and listen to the speakers he had listened to… In a lot of ways, I was starting from square one. In other ways, my prior religious upbringing, gave me a lot of background knowledge that helped me find context and value in the things I was learning.
For the longest time, I thought I was alone. I thought I was the only one on this journey. Then, a couple of years ago, I learned about a whole movement within the church that is heading in this same direction… (like another Reformation, only better, because I am actually blessed to experience it firsthand.)
I am still on this journey, and hopefully, will be for the rest of my life. I love not having all the answers. I love reading and thinking and comparing all of the different aspects of what I thought I knew, what I am learning, and how all of it is shaping what I now believe.
So, as I sit here this week, listening as my friends find their own way, I understand their pain, their frustration, and their struggle. Still, I find myself smiling… Yes, it is a bittersweet moment, because I keep thinking about the fact that I would never have been on this path if it weren’t for Bruce… (And maybe even because of my grief over his death). His legacy of living a life that was true to his beliefs, has been a shining example for my own path… He did and still does give me the courage to keep digging… to keep reaching… and to simply keep on…
And I am forever thankful for that.
To old friends, (whose names I recognize week to week), as well as, anyone new to our site… I am sorry for the reason you are here. I hate it for you. At the same time, you really AREN’T alone. This journey is an odd one – filled with challenges we never imagined. We never know from one day to the next, or one moment to the next, when something will remind us of our loved ones. We never know when another wave of grief will hit or what will be the next trigger. That can sometimes make this journey feel even more lonely. Yet, there are other times when I know I am not alone at all. We are here for each other. This journey holds both challenges and peace-filled moments for each of us. Yet, it is actually our love for those we have lost that brings us together to this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing. Do you have a story to tell? I believe we can find courage and strength in one another’s stories. I believe we can offer each other empathy when we open our hearts to one another. I don’t know about you, but it makes me feel better knowing there are others out there who understand what I mean, and what I feel. It’s nice to know I’m not alone… Maybe this strikes a chord with you too. We would all love to hear your thoughts or your story. If you would like to share your experience or if you need a helping hand or maybe a virtual hug, let us know. We are here for you.
Please do… This is our community. To share your thoughts and experiences go to the comments and leave your message.*
This is a weekly blog, for daily affirmations we have a Facebook page of the same name. Join us daily at www.facebook.com/peaceloveandgrief
* Be advised that all comments are subject to approval prior to posting. Any comments determined to be spam or not in accordance with the mission of this website/blog will not be approved or posted. Furthermore, any comments determined to be hostile in nature will be reported to the proper authorities. Thank you.