Over the past few days, it struck me that I have never quite
explained the noticeable shift in blog entries from travel updates in Thailand
to primarily faith-based posts.
Because I am never not me, it didn’t occur to me that I should explain
why I was suddenly talking/thinking about Christianity all the time.
However, I think there is value for me in charting out my
journey as concisely as I can manage. The timing is also useful, with summer
being the time to reflect on year 1 of seminary and the move forward into year
2.
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One important caveat: this is my experience and is not meant
to be a blanket statement for/against anyone or any denomination. The great beauty of the American
Christian landscape is its diversity of thought and practice—in other words,
the very things that didn’t work for me have worked quite well for others I
love and respect. And I love and respect that experience.
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The title of this blog is “Why Christianity?” because when I
started this process, I started with that very
question. I was living in a predominantly Buddhist country (Thailand) and
hadn’t been involved in a church since high school. I had been raised in a
South Carolina Presbyterian church. Although there are many wonderful things
about the Presbyterian Church (PCA), it wasn’t for me. I had never found a home
there and thus left it as soon as I wasn’t compelled to be in church anymore.
As I underwent a huge shift in mindset during college, I was
rapidly reading any social justice type text I could get my hands on. I found
the idea of community thrilling and wanted to be a part of making our world a
better place for everyone, including myself. I was over-involved in campus activities
and had too many majors because I was so excited about learning everything I
could about everything.
During this time, I wouldn’t say that I ever identified as
atheist or even deist, but I would say that I didn’t identify. I never stopped passively believing in
a God, but I didn’t actively believe in one either.
My path back to God began when I saw the church as useful
for the first time. Honestly,
there was nothing theological about my insight—as a struggling
student/community organizer, I was jealous of their membership. I was struck by the effort I would
exert to get 10 people in a room when the church had 5 times that number once a
week. People went there,
presumably, because they believed in something greater than themselves. I saw
potential for organizing, potential for engagement.
But I had no idea what to say to Christians. They were the
other to me and I had no idea how to talk about what I cared about in that
community.
I distinctly remember sitting down with a religion professor
at Wofford my freshman year and telling him that he was the first Christian
leader I had ever heard openly say that he had doubts. I was floored—Christians
could have doubts??
I knew that I didn’t know anything about Christianity, but I
had my experiences. These were
largely negative at this point—I had seen the church be hurtful to people I
loved, I had never seen a woman in the pulpit, and I never felt like there was
a space to ask questions or voice concerns.
Thus, as I made the frightening decision to move to Thailand
and work for the CIEE-Thailand program, religion was the last thing on my
mind. All I thought about was
changing the world through the force of numbers and the might of people power.
It took being broken open through the process of living,
working, and striving in community to show me that I hadn’t really known
anything about the “why” of social justice work. I learned what it was to love and feel the deep pain of that
love. But I also learned the power
of that love to change the world.
As my fervor for a love ethic of social justice grew, I
found myself coming back to the memory of the church as a group of people
seeking something greater than themselves. Because there weren’t many other
people I could explore this with in-country, I started my own process of
discernment. I started with the
biggest questions: “How do I want to feel when I wake up everyday?” and “What
gives me the most life/energy?” As I worked back from there, I came to the
conclusion that I wanted to do social justice work in the South, my home. And I saw that the church could be the
most organized base from which to act.
I actually felt much more compelled by Buddhism than
Christianity. After reading a book on engaged Buddhism, I thought it sounded
right up my alley. However, I then
read a quote by Gandhi (I think) that said, (paraphrased) “Why would you
convert to my religion or another one? Look within your own tradition and
you’ll find what you need there.” I started to rethink the faith tradition I
was raised within.
When I started my search for seminaries, this was all I had.
I didn’t feel like I was seeking God—instead, I was seeking the ability to
communicate with Christians. It seemed funny almost, that I was looking for
seminaries. I, who had raced away from the church the moment I moved out, was
looking at seminaries.
Somehow, this crazy idea took root in the shelter of
Thailand and I applied to three schools.
When I decided to go to Wesley, it was only after several frantic emails
to the admissions office and my old boss to make sure that Wesley was really as
open and progressive as they claimed.
I was making a huge bet, and I knew it. I had never seen a
group of socially progressive Christians and I didn’t know much about the
Bible—but I was betting that they might exist. I was hoping that they existed.
That summer was filled with great doubt for me, especially
when I returned to America.
What the hell was I thinking? I don’t even know what I think
about Christianity, so who am I to go to seminary?
It didn’t help that whenever I told people what I was doing,
some assumed I was far more devout than I was.
Q: Are you going to be a pastor?
A: No way, definitely not.
Q: That’s so great, let me give you the name of a good
Christian dentist that I know…
A: Uhh, I don’t really care that they’re
Christian—I’d just like a good dentist, thanks.
When I went through orientation at Wesley, my fears were
only amplified. Suddenly, my six-year religious hiatus caught up to me. I was in chapel, I was being prayed over,
and I was freaking out. I WAS AT A CHRISTIAN SCHOOL WITH CHRISTIANS.
For the first time in my life, I felt like I had made a
serious mistake. Normally, my bold decisions have yielded good results—this
time, I thought, was my time to be humbled for my boldness.
The questions asked during this frightening new time only
compounded my insecurity.
Q: What denomination are you?
A: Umm… I don’t know actually. I guess I’m
non-denominational.
Q: So what non-denominational church are you at, then?
A: Wait, that’s a denomination too? Crap, guess I filled
that part out wrong on my Wesley forms…
Q: What is your call?
A: I don’t know, who’s calling? Wait, what do you mean?
Q: So what made you decide to attend seminary?
A: I HAVE NO IDEA.
It reminded me of when I studied abroad in Germany during
college. I had taken two years of German language and was ready to study
abroad—after all, I met the minimum requirements! Suddenly, I was standing in
front of the study abroad office in Freiburg, Germany and trying to read a sign
that was on the door. I broke down in tears because I couldn’t understand the
sign and was supposed to start medieval history, film, and art history classes
in German a few weeks later. I sat in front of that office for 30 minutes
before someone came and opened the door and spoke to me in English.
I was insecure because I knew I didn’t know what was going
on around me and knew that I was in way over my head.
But, just as when I studied in Germany, things got
easier. The terms thrown around
casually became more familiar as I was able to unpack their meanings in class.
I made friends and found that there was a wide diversity of belief and opinion
at Wesley. Not everyone was
Methodist and not everyone knew why they were there.
I found that we were all seekers, in some form or fashion.
We were all seeking something bigger than ourselves that (if we’re being
honest) probably scared all of us a little bit.
I came to see that my lack of theology was actually a gift—I
didn’t have any structures to tear down, so the only place to go was up. I had
an empty mental space and plenty of room to build.
As I studied the Bible and the history of Christianity more,
I came to see that the current trends of Christianity are just that—current
trends. I came to see that
Christians are just as diverse regionally as they are globally. I came to see that I could have a place
at the table.
I also found that I build trust through questions and
probing—and that this was the place for that. After class, we would sit on the porch and laugh and play
and talk about God. It wasn’t
always serious, but it was always formative.
Slowly, I found that I did indeed believe in God. I was
still a little unsure about how Jesus factored in until the spring, but there
came a point when I realized that I was a Christian. That I could authentically
claim that label, that community, and mean it.
I would sit on my porch and watch the sunset and marvel at
its beauty. Slowly, I started to
marvel at it because it was God’s creation. Then, I started to see it as a component of my spiritual
practice—a time of my communion with the divine.
I started to see God in every part of my life and I started
to lean a little more on that presence.
When I wasn’t sure where to go, I started to pray. I started to lean into God and
listen. I started to be still.
During this time of listening, I made my way around DC
churches. I went to a wonderful
Mennonite church in the fall where I found a hospitable community that helped
me find value in the community that is created through weekly worship.
In the spring, I started attending the National Cathedral
and a United Church of Christ (UCC) church downtown where I learned more about the Biblical principles of
social justice.
During this time, I found myself talking about theology all
the time. All of a sudden, I
wasn’t self-conscious at all! I
was writing blog entries about Rick Perry’s treatment of the supposed war on
Christmas and I was using “we” instead of “they” when I spoke of Christians.
I realized I really cared about Christianity. I realized I was wholly committed to
this, that I was really Christian.
I would move around plans so as not to miss church—not
because I felt like I needed to be there, but because I wanted to be
there. I watched sermons in my
spare time because I wanted to hear more and wanted to learn more.
The social justice ideals that had brought me to seminary
had new words piled onto them and I realized my love for God and humans
compelled me. It consumed me.
The fire that community organizing had lit within me had
combined with a love for the divine that brought me to tears of sheer joy.
But I was still searching for a denomination. The problem with looking for a
denomination in seminary is that you can’t just choose an individual church
that works—you have to find a whole system that aligns with your theology. I found myself critiquing liturgy and
lamenting that I didn’t get to take communion enough.
What had happened to me?
Through prayerful reflection, I felt that I needed to be at
the National Cathedral. I had no idea why—I simply knew it. I was moved to tears when deciding
whether to take a concrete opportunity at a church I knew I would do well in
versus joining the Cathedral, where I wasn’t at all sure I would find a home.
But I knew it was where I was supposed to be. So I started exploring the Episcopal
Church and attending the Cathedral full-time.
Sometimes I would get so excited the night before church
that I could barely sleep. Seriously.
I don’t understand it to this day, but I knew I was where I
was supposed to be.
As I grew more comfortable in the Cathedral Congregation, I
read as many books on the Episcopal Church as I could get my hands on. Every
time I read something new, I got more excited. (I even found out I had been
baptized in the Episcopal Church in Columbia!)
I felt like I had found home.
Now, as a baby Episcopalian seeker, I am hoping to start the
process of ordination at some point. I say “start the process” very deliberately—if you know
me, you know that I find process to be sacred and vital. I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I have faith
in God and in the church’s wisdom.
Thus, I don’t want to go into this saying that I want to be ordained
because, as history has shown, I rarely know what the next step holds. But I
feel called (yes, called!) to this process of discernment in a church I want to
get to know more deeply.
Maybe it isn't in ordained ministry, and that's fine. But just as I felt inexplicably compelled to be where I am now, I feel compelled to move in that direction. I feel called to be at the intersection of God's love and humanity's great need.
What can I say--I’ve fallen in love…and I couldn’t be more pleased about it.
