Fording The Stream

 Yesterday morning I was reading my email and took time to explore this substack post by Lore Wilbert. I have no knowledge of Wilbert, how I came to follow her, or what she's like as an author outside of this post, but it helped me.

It helped me because it echoed hurts in my heart and life that have festered, scabbed over, but not healed fully in the last five years. In "Out of Isolation" Wilbert mentions that we would prefer to be through things already. Definitely me. I wish I could step past the hurt, be healed fully, and embrace something healthy and new. Here's how she puts it:

"thing about doing this sort of work, though, is it comes with a near constant desire to be either out of it or through it. Everything in us aches to avoid the discomfort of whatever this is, and wants to return to the old ways of functioning in the world even though we know what we really want is a whole new way of functioning in the world."

Here's another truth of hers:

The thing about harm and healing, though, is that often both happen slowly. They’re not things we decide are happening or can dictate the time and place of their occurrence. 

They just happen. And they happen to us.

This captures what I feel.  I feel very much that I am waiting to move through this and beyond this, but I don't know how.  I feel stuck.  I feel that I have tried different ways to reconnect with the church and had limited success.

House of Mercy--too unbiblical mystic for me, though I admire their heart for people

Haywood--a place to serve but never established community there, felt like my boundaries were not respected and that I was not seen as a person.

Trinity--felt like I/we put a lot into trying high church and although I appreciate their posture, I find it difficult to connect with them.

So much dysfunction in the church--so, so, so much.  

I've experienced this also and know this to be true:

Good things happened in those years too though, we became detached from church as social security, faith as identity, and certain doctrines as right thinking. We needed isolation in order to detach from the things that hemmed us in before.

What good things happened to us?  Our faith became leaner.  We cut ties with  a lot of unhealthy ways of expressing and living out Christianity that were no longer authentic to our evolving sense of selves.  Because the process has not been tidy and more like foraging for sustenance in the dark, it's not something I lead with or like to linger on.

It prompts humility but not answers, and I'd rather have answers or at least firm stones to stand on while crossing the stream underneath my feet. Maybe that's how it feels---like being out in the middle of a sometimes rough but vibrant creek, studying the next stone. And the next.  And the next. 

The experience of fording is immediate-- forcing me to wholly enter the rigors and deep mysteries of Christian faith. It's intense; I'll say that.  But it's not easy, it's not done, and it's not comfortable.  I am arrested in process--figuring it out in real time, wondering if the next rock will be stable or if I will find myself downstream gasping.

So, yeah, to be in the middle is "not my favorite," as my son David would say.  He's great at understatement, and I can be too. I'm inherently cautious, pulled back, reserved----even without the challenge of crossing a living stream.

I feel double downed, braced, scanning. 

Where I'm at with Church

I asked some apt questions in a post last June that have been quietly waiting for me. In many senses, I could have written that post this morning--feel mostly similar about my faith journey and lived reality with the Christian church in America.

I divorced the church I knew back in 2020 during the beginning of Covid. Note--I divorced the church I knew, not The Church universal. I didn't divorce my Christian faith in Jesus or my belief in God, although there is more I don't know than I do about either. I'm still a believer as they would term it. I hold out more space and room though now for my relationship with God and others.  I assume much less than I used to, have no quick answers, pause longer and wonder more. 

I choose to reject the majority of the trappings and customs of my prior faith culture. It's as if I found an forgotten jacket in the attic that I can no longer relate to. It looks and feels uncomfortable, impractical, and not even warm.  The jacket is not my faith, and it needs to go.

Where it feels scary is that I don't want another jacket. Instead, I long to live out my faith in a warm room where I don't need one. 

This experience is not straightforward and involves a lot of questioning, rejecting, groping. I'm not looking to be a fan or a disciple of any church or man. Of God, yes. Of man, no.

It makes me feel a little better to think of John the Baptist living in the wilderness.  He also was not a fan of groups or people, although he had his followers too I suppose. But, he was unconventional, on the edge. Maybe that's where I'm missing it---John surely never found a warm cozy room for his faith, but he lived it out controversially and lost his life to it. 

Maybe my desire is altogether a wrong, misguided one.

I still remember when I was first contemplating Christianity and wrestling with all the man-made bastardizations that made me want to run the other way. My sister Kathy's advice was to focus on Jesus and not all the rest. I think that's still useful advice; it's not an answer, but a direction nonetheless.

I reject everything that does not make sense in light of the Jesus I've met in the pages of the Bible.

This is not a straightforward path either though.  Through the years and study, I've come to recognize the that Bible is a much more complex and historical book than I've been able to grasp or understand. I hold my Bible with more wonder and more context.  

Part of me feels that I've been wrestling the Bible to match my faith and wrestling my faith to match the Bible for too long. The Bible is a complex text written by hundreds of people over hundreds of years. It's not an algorithm that spits out clean cut answers and ways to follow God. It's messy too--full of narratives, histories, poems, and letters that need to be approached with wonder and a quiet openness.

Over the last year, I've spent little time in the Bible and in our Episcopal Church.  This is something I hope to explore more, as these experiences have been my most obvious straightforward expressions of my Christian faith in the past. 

It's too much this morning to tackle either of those thoughts, and I haven't answered my questions from last June either:

In what sense do I align myself with this local congregation?  In the sense that they are a touchstone, a center point, a local manifestation of His Kingdom and a place to call home.  Over time, I hope to understand pieces of this church better, to find places to serve that feel both like church and ministry.

Answer:

I align myself with this church because I respect the leadership there. They don't come to me with packaged solutions or presumption.

I align myself with their organizational posture which seeks to involve congregants in a multitude of faith expressions and communities in which to connect.

New Question--where do I feel disconnected or struggle?

Worship is foreign.  Although the bones of it are familiar from my Catholic youth, the songs are awkward, and I often feel that I am trying to follow a dance I'm no good at. Awkward.  I mostly feel awkward.

Is this an excuse? Is it too much to carve out time to attend the Celtic service which is easiest to follow and avoids all the pomp and circumstance of the main service?

I have time to devote to learn it. To serve. I just don't want to end up "putting time in" to "put time in." But all relationships require time and investment. No short cuts with God or people.

So maybe if I don't feel at home in the service, I find ways to connect on the edges. Ladies Bible Study was one such commitment. It feels inconvienient and sometimes awkward too, but it's also helpful and a way to connect.

I could join a knitting group. I could start a book club. I can be a Christian on the edges. More questions than answers...

June 2024

 In May we joined a local Episcopal congregation officially. It was the next logical and emotional step, and I'm glad we joined. After four years of wandering, it's good to settle.

Settle in both ways?  Maybe.  If I'm honest, I've given up on finding any body of Christians that I can truly connect with in all ways. I find groups of Christians--and unspecific social groups in general--a lot of work. It takes a long time to know a church, a pastor, a person.  So, I am content to join and slowly get to know this congregation and its people, but I am in no rush.

Last post I mentioned that I dislike the term "deconstruction" or the thought that the last five years have been about deconstructing my faith. What verb would I use instead? Assessing. Examining. Sorting. Kneading. I'm not sure still. Whatever it is, it's an active and passive process--a lot of sorting, sifting, wondering, letting things rest, picking them up again, trying new approaches, asking new and old questions in familiar and different ways. It's involved picking up some of what I learned as a Catholic, rejecting some of what I learned as a Southern Baptist. It's a broader pasture I've entered where there is less certainty, but more room for beauty and wonder. It feels roomy, a place where I can catch my breath and just begin to seek God again anew.

It's less about what the church is doing, although I identify as part of my local church. In some sense, if there is a sense in which I've taken apart my faith and put it back together again, the taking apart has involved placing aside all the crazy that I encountered as a "nondenominational" but essentially Southern Baptist Christian.  I literally spent decades trying to connect with and live my faith through this culture. It's been a heavy load and journey--I'm thankful to set it down.

I'm cautious about picking up any new loads....feel pretty against any man-made or directed loads that I don't understand on a literal or metaphysical level. I'd rather experience my faith one day at a time, mostly apart from the waves and wind of cultural expectations and interpretations whether Southern Baptist or dyed in the wool Episcopal.

In what sense do I align myself with this local congregation?  In the sense that they are a touchstone, a center point, a local manifestation of His Kingdom and a place to call home.  Over time, I hope to understand pieces of this church better, to find places to serve that feel both like church and ministry.

Why I Dislike "Deconstruction"

Well, I think part of my dislike for this term goes back to my English Master's program at Clemson.  Back in the early 1990's, "Deconstructionism" and "Postmodern" literary analysis was all the rage.  Honestly, I'm confident I didn't understand it then, and still don't understand it now.  The difference is that I now know enough not to be overly impressed with anyone who waves that flag--it's just another category and word that can mean many things to many people and nothing at all.

As a Christian, I notice the term gaining ground in edgy circles in the last decade. It became fashionable to "deconstruct" one's childhood or adult faith.  If I think of it that way, I certainly had a season of deconstructing my childhood Catholic inheritance, then deconstructed my Pentecostal season.  Somehow in the effort to be "nondenominational" and place an emphasis on the authority and relevance of Biblical scripture and worship, I ended up in the Baptist camp, which is now a dirty word. Not that I disagree.  But all the same, words and still just words and many different noxious or benign things lurk under each.

And how is deconstructing different than growing up?  As we grow into maturity, which is certainly a prime Biblical value.  The apostle Paul is echoing in my mind here, and what a lovely translation:

"This work must continue until we are all joined together in what we believe and in what we know about the Son of God. Our goal is to become like a full-grown man—to look just like Christ and have all his perfection." Ephesians 4:13-ERV

I guess I feel like deconstruction is a slippery term. Are you saying that you are denouncing parts of your faith?  Are you denoucing belief in Christ?  In the authority of scriptures? What exactly are you deconstructing?  

An even more important question is "What are you building or REbuilding?" What do you struggle with and why? What have you come to peace with and take me through your journey and story.  That I can relate to.

But deconstruction, that feels a little pompous and too easy--like one of those toddler boys who ambles along knocking down another child's block tower, often solely for the pleasure of watching the tower fall.

I'm more interested in what you are building.  

A Step

One of my intentions for this new year is to set aside time for journaling and reading. This entry is another effort to tease out my thoughts on my experiences with His Church and His church. 

I continue to visit our downtown Episcopal congregation. After running from my often rote and nominal Catholic upbringing, it's not where I thought I'd find myself at 53.  But, here I am. 

Because Briggs is actively angry at the visible church, he doesn't want to visit any churches right now. This is fine by me--it leaves me free to process things and worship without having to consider how he's processing things and worshipping. It's less complicated in an already complicated season of faith.

He recently asked me what I liked about the Episcopal congregation I'm attending though--why I chose it from the dozens of churches I could attend. This entry focuses on my answer to him more or less.

Why?

First--I feel like I can go there and focus on God, bring my whole self--body, soul, mind--to this physical place as a way of offering my heart, voice, thoughts, hopes to Him. I can bring all this on Sunday mornings to express a desire and attempt to reconnect formally with His church on earth, in Asheville.

Second--I feel relatively safe emotionally while attending.  I know this sounds a bit bizarre, but with all well-meaning intentions, the church can feel like a sales pitch. On one hand, it's always nice for people to notice you as new or unfamiliar.  It shows that people think outside their circles and of others.  The downside of this is that you can feel like someone's religious project.  I've seen too many surface smiles that don't carry into more authentic conversations or a consistent working out of faith in others' lives.

I don't want another spiritual project (sorting through all that) nor do I wish to be another person's spiritual project in this way.  And, I'm sure some of these feelings need to be cleared away or refined, but right now, I just want to sit in a solid pew in the corner of a beautiful santuary and connect with the liturgy.  This feels restful and restoring to me in a way that I've been longing for.

How?

I came to this congregation by happenstance and through research. At first I confused it with another downtown congregation that has a camilia bush and a pastor I knew through my Woodcock Johnson testing.

It may yet have that camilia bush (I haven't  for it!), thought to look for it, but its rector is definitely not the one I met, who is actually lead of the Presbyterian Church right next door. 

This confused connection landed me on their webpage, but after that, other things drew me further, such as:

*Their advent devotion was a selection of thoughts from members of the church. I love the thought of valuing communal expressions of faith in this way.  This alone prodded me to further investigate a church and denomination that I would knee-jerk say is not a good fit for me.

*Viewing their service online was initially a negative--too much Catholic PTSD.  However, I was encouraged that there were more bodies in these pews than in either of the other two downtown congregations on Church Street.  I'm not after a popularity contest, but I am interested in finding a congregation that is not breathing its last gasp or consumed with drumming up new members or fiancial congregatons.  I am looking for stable, established, living.  

To elaborate more---I am too weary and protective of my spirit to engage in an upstart, new church, dying church, mortally crippled church congregation.  And, I cannot imagine stepping into another Southern Baptist affiliated congregation, nor a Pentecostal denomination. Even "non-denominational" feels emotionally exhausting to me---because I've learned that this is a blanket term for many things. "Non-denominational" sounds like a great compromise and way to seek unity with the larger Church, but after being a part of a non-denominational church, I've learned it can mean too many things or nothing at all.  The categorization can be a way to hide from the negative baggage of the Baptist faith. It also usually means that the emphasis of that congregation will be determined by the pastor--or elders'--preferences. It may cast a broader net of congregants by nature, but in the end, someone or some group, healthy or unhealthy, is shaping the undergirder of that congregation. All things on earth are unstable, and all chuches are full of sinnners--this is Christianity 101--but I find that construct leaves too much undetermined and open to flux and error.

*Despite being turned off by watching a service, one morning I found myself visiting anyway.  It felt solid, safe, old, peaceful. I could relax and take in the organ prelude, the arches, the stained glass. I could feel anonymous enough--though among others--the congregation is large enough and formal enough that I could sit and take it all in without bracing myself for being welcomed and urged to attend a more intimate function.  I could be among others and yet self-contained mostly.

Since my first visit, I've developed other reasons to continue visiting--maybe I'll elaborate in another post as I try to sort it all out. Mainly though, I watch for "deal breakers" not "deal makers."  I realize it's an odd way to phrase it, but in my faith journey, I've learned from experience that it takes a long, long time to get to the middlish, not even bottom, of the spirit and outworking of a congregation and its staff.

Religious folks tend to pad up and compartmentalize themselves even to themselves. The healthier ones share some of their underbelly over time, but it takes time.  In fairness, I'm no different as a visiting congregant.  Admittedly, I'm polite but skittish.  I'm not staying for coffee after church. I'm not attending smaller or larger groups outside of the main worship service.

For now, it's enough.  It's an offering.  A step toward His bride. I'm not running away, but I'm not running toward either.

Prayer

 I just began reading Walk In Love: Episcopal Beliefs and Practices by Scott Gunn and Melody Wilson Shobe. So far, it seems a gentle, orderly approach to helping others known Christ and live out their lives in Him via the Episcopal faith.

A few days ago, I read the chapter on prayer. Part of my dissonance with my Catholic upbringing revolves around the formulaic prayers that I grew up with.  It felt like too much emptiness to recite big words over and over until I knew them so well that I could say each prayer without engaging my mind or heart within it.  Is this prayer?

And is the answer to this disconnection the types of freeform prayers characteristic of low church tradition?  These prayers may engage our minds more immediately but can also become empty pockets of flowery jargon without meaning. Such prayers can also center around our own perceptions and needs to the point where the prayer becomes more about the individual than God.

One thing I like about the book is that they connect their explanations of concepts back to what the Book of Common Prayer (BCP). Here is a difference from my Catholic experiene--there is no such book in the Catholic tradition.  Also, there is no such book in the low church tradition. In fact, it could be considered blasphemous.

The low church is great at putting the Bible on a pedestal then not wrestling with it and making too many pat assumptions about it says.  First, we have to read it.  

The high church is great at adding things on---like the BCP.  Episcopalians would respond that the majority of the BCP is scripture, which is a great point. Gunn and Wilson also point out that the BCP offers many variations on prayers and ways to celebrate while also offering a consistency and uniformity that unites us with the larger church.  

At this point, I believe these are sound arguments. The rhythm of a liturgical year feels healthy to understanding, inhabiting, and being mindful of Christ.  Although Paul states that Christians do not need to follow feast days and that all are equal in Christ, the intentionality of the Anglican approach and BCP appeal to the orderly thorough pieces of my spirit.

The Episcopal definition of prayer is beautiful and well-rounded, "responding to God by thought and by deeds, with or without words." This leaves the concept of prayer wide open--broader than pre-formed or free form prayers, spoken or internal words, it also embodies deeds, a concept that seems logical, instinctual, but also somewhat new to me.  Acting out my faith in deeds is not new, but praying through deeds, yes. 

Gunn and Wilson comment further that "an intimate, unbreakable connection exists between the words that we say in prayer and the things that we do in our daily lives." They reference the Latin phrase, "Lex orandi, lex credendi" which links prayer, belief, and action. Dipping into the history of that term, it's easy to quickly find oneself in deep waters. It's an old term which taps into the differences between Catholics and Anglicans and how these traditions view the primacy of scripture and the proper purpose and role of liturgy.

I appreciate having more to think about though.  I still don't know how to inhabit preformed words as I recite them congregationally, and I'm not sure if that is even the point.  I do see value in the act of prayer being interpreted in larger senses--prayer becoming an outworking of our faith, linked intimately to belief becoming action.

Visiting an Episcopal Congregation

 I've visited a downtown Episcopal congregation for two Sundays now.  I really couldn't tell you why I haven't returned yet to the Evangelical Lutheran congregation that I visited in early January--nothing specific pulled me away. 

Perhaps it is that the other congregation feels like a "start up," and instead of feeling energized by that newness, I feel exhausted by it. They were friendly and engaging, but I'm not sure how broad their vision is and I'm not sure that I want to be "known" quickly.

Coming from a Catholic background, I was concerned that I would have a form of religious PTSD when visiting a "high church." Instead, I find an unexpected peace in the familiarity of some aspects--kneeling for prayer, sharing peace with congregants.  The service is comforting in its structure. Looking around the sanctuary brings solidity, beauty, purpose. I find the details understated and quietly reassuring.

There are things that I don't understand fully or do well with nonetheless. The service moves back and forth between the congregational responses, hymns, and priestly duties. I'm often on the wrong page or the wrong book, shuffling back and forth between the hymnal and the Book of Common Prayer.  They recite things at a constant pace, and I long to enunciate, linger, and understand the words. After more than 25 years in the low church tradition, it can feel like "a lot" to take in.

But, I am trying. I am part of this group when I attend--I feel part of the congregation giving service to God, reciting time worn prayers, receiving communion.

I visited the church office on a whim this Tuesday with the thought of getting a parking pass.  The volunteer who was at the office desk was....a typical older volunteer. A little bit of a warm body, a little clueless, not especially tuned in or helpful.  But, the woman waiting behind me was more present and kind. I suppose the visit neither encouraged or discouraged me.

I think I will keep attending this church on Sundays, although I admit that I am not looking for quick relationship.  I would rather be quiet in a pew and slip out without having to face the mingling. I do like the thought that they gather for "formation" and share breakfast in the morning and coffee after church in the courtyard. It seems like a great way to encourage fellowship--just not there yet.