A year ago, I had no particular intent to return to church, at least not any time soon. Tonight, I’m preparing to go to the Ash Wednesday service at my Episcopal church, where I will also be singing in the choir.
This isn’t a story about a return to the church. It isn’t even a story; at least, not yet. It’s just a beginning. It’s the part where everything gets knocked out of control, sending the protagonist on their quest. Everything else proceeds from there.
This is the wilderness. Here there be dragons. Walk without rhythm so the worms don’t eat you.
The earliest parts of this story are pretty easy to guess. Conservative upbringing (by truly excellent parents, let me make that very clear), alienation and dissatisfaction because I didn’t fit into conservative Texas churches as a weird artsy kid, etc. Went to a conservative (but not fundamentalist) college, found a church that worked for me, began to settle into young adult life. In fact, I was beginning to make a career as a conservative writer in the late 2000’s. You can find an essay of mine in an anthology by a well-known conservative pundit, but please don’t go looking for it.
My church was where I put most of my energy. I served on the vestry and the Altar Guild, went to daily mass when I could, joined the book club; you name it, I was there. They were my family, in a very real sense.
You know how this part of the story goes, too. Hypocrisy in church leaders plus my own growing uncertainty about church positions on current issues shook my faith. I resigned from the vestry. I stopped going to services. (I stayed with the Altar Guild, though. That still had meaning for me. It was one of the few things that did.) I’m not pretending my story is unique.
I moved across the country and started life almost from scratch. There was no pressure on me to do or believe any particular thing anymore. I didn’t really think about theology or politics or religion at all for months. I wanted a BREAK.
Then, last year, I suddenly realized it was time for me to go back to church. I didn’t want to. I enjoyed my quiet Sundays. I liked the time to go hiking in the parks. I liked sleeping in. That didn’t change anything. It was just time. I already knew where I wanted to go; I’d checked out the local Episcopal church and it seemed right for where I had found myself.
And so it’s my first Lent in a while. I’m not giving up anything in the traditional sense. But over the last year, I’ve felt a growing tension between what I’ve always been told the Bible says, and what reality seems to indicate. I can either disregard reality (not a good idea), discard the Bible entirely (a not-so-unusual ending to this kind of story), or I can do the hard work to actually figure out, to the best of my limited ability, what the Bible actually says and means.
I’ve opted for the latter. I need to know what’s actually there. I haven’t been able to read my Bible devotionally in years. It’s like looking at a ship that’s been coated in barnacles and kelp; it’s vaguely boat-shaped, but you can’t see the boat itself anymore. I want to strip away all the barnacles, all the kelp, everything that’s been crusted on over the decades, and find out what’s there. I need to know if it holds water. I need to know if it was ever the kind of ship that could take me on the journeys I was supposed to go on (probably time to drop that metaphor.)
This Lent, I am going to be reading as much as I can to develop a layman’s understanding of the Bible and biblical criticism. I’ll post my reading list soon; my only criteria for books to include was that the author be respected as a serious scholar. Conservative, liberal, moderate, I don’t care. I just need information right now.
I’m going to be writing about some of this. That’s a scary thing. I remember how my friends and I used to talk about “liberal Christians.” I’d rather they not talk that way about me. I’d rather my friends, whom I respect, not think of me as backslidden, or lost, or actively working against the faith. That’s the thing. I still believe. I say the Nicene Creed without mental gymnastics. I even still pray. Sometimes I wonder if anyone believes that I do.
It’s Ash Wednesday. Time to put aside what I want, to set aside fears about losing status or reputation. Time to put on ashes and think about mortality and repentance. It’s time to head into the wilderness. I don’t have anywhere else to go. My only consolation is that He went there first.
Reading: Reading the Bible Again for the First Time by Marcus Borg
Listening to: “Defying Gravity” and “Let It Go.”
