A Journey Through Lent: Week 4
“Becuause they saw me as a whole peroson I was included in the Church; because I was included in the Church I was lead to Christ.” ~unknown
I am convinced that the Church is the hope for the world. I believe that the grace that can be imparted by Christians is the most beautiful act that can be observed in this universe. To be able to look and see a person as whole, despite the darkness, the wretchedness, the depravity, and the ugliness. To look at someone and see them as beautiful and worthy. That is grace. Grace that is more radient than a thousand suns peaking up over the horizon.
Last week we talked about the need to sit and listen to others. This week I wanted to provide that oppurtunity. I have asked several people if they would be willing to share about their faith experience with us. Throughout the course of the next week we will hear from several people. What follows is a the story of a woman who left ministry. It details her own dark night of the soul. This is not my story but hers…..
“Grief is not the monster we make it out to be. It is, in fact, much more like a friend. And when a friend comes to visit we invite them in for tea and to make memories while reminiscing on memories. When the time comes for them to leave we wish them well and close the door with a knowing smile because we wouldn’t be who we are if they had never stopped by in our lives. Grief is a friend: a sacred, uncomfortable one. She teaches us what other friends, such as Joy or Comfort, cannot, because she opens our eyes to the truths we’ve hidden from.
So when Grief came for tea I welcomed her inside. It was not the first visit She had paid me nor would it be the last. But it was different this time. When she poked too hard at the places screaming for relief and investigated the pain past the point of discomfort, I reached out as I always had. I reached for my always. I reached for God.
And I couldn’t find Him.
I couldn’t find Him in the woods. I couldn’t find Him by the water. I couldn’t find Him on the pews or in the songs. If His Name was in ink then it was the awful invisible kind that splatters on your clothes and disappears without a trace.
And my stomach and my hopes sank deeper as the months went on. What if He wasn’t invisible ink? What if He was the kid holding the bottle and sticking his tongue out, chubby cheeks overflowing with giggles over the divine practical joke He had played.
Or…
What if He wasn’t anything?
I love You. I have always loved you. I don’t know how to love You. I don’t know how not to love You. Please find me. Please be who You say You are. Please be my Vast One.
Grief brought a shovel and together we uncovered Doubt, suffocating doubts I had never had to face before. I had unanswerable questions about God and no way to express it. I was scared to share my fears and doubts about God with others because I didn’t want to open up my Sacred Grief only to have a believer try to bulldoze into my darkness with their fluorescent white light. It stung when the deepest questions of my soul were answered with clichés. I already knew the answers. I had already been arguing inside myself, running in circles and getting nowhere, rebutting my own questions with the answers I had been taught my whole life. I understood that it was difficult for the people who loved me to hear me say that I had to walk this path to its end and to turn around and diminish the doubt would only make a poison to be reckoned with later. But I needed them too.
And I’m still scared. When talk of God comes up, I just sit a little quieter and wait until it passes. It’s gotten better, but for a time I was so afraid of being misunderstood that I just withdrew from anyone with that white bright light. I had been so passionately, foolishly in love with God. How could I possibly explain that I cry almost every Sunday at church because I miss God but I can’t take the steps toward Him, even though I know the way?
Thank you to all the friends in my path who have let me sit down and breathe out my doubts. Thank you for making space for me to say that it hurts to lose a best friend, a guide, a God. Thank you for stifling the urge to give comfort where there is none. Thank you for not fighting my broken heart with theologically sound answers.
And if you have been that friend to someone else, Thank You.”
~Anonymous
