Thanksgiving, Part II. Intervention.

I rested my head in my hands and wished with all my might that I could disappear.  The words my uncle had just said echoed in my mind “We hear that you’ve decided to leave the LORD.”  

I felt extremely undignified for a conversation such as this; donned in sweats, face make-up free, hair in a goofy, bedtime bun.  Teresa and I had just had a wonderful evening meeting with a cousin of mine at Colorado’s gem of a piano bar, The Golden Bee.  Fortunately, I’d only had one martini, and had eaten plenty of the complimentary crackers, because if there was ever a time to be sober, this was it.  

“Is that true, Tricia?” 

We’d returned to my aunt and uncle’s house, where my parents, Teresa, and I were staying at around 11.  It felt to me like midnight because of the time change, and I was exhausted after driving 8 hours that day (which ended up being surprisingly free of confrontation from my parents- no overt words about my beliefs).  We entered their huge house, which loomed in darkness, and said to each other “I guess everyone’s in bed.”  As we felt our way up the stairs, passing the high-ceilinged living room where earlier that evening, we had all sat with our wine (Uncle W__ with his Scotch, neat) listening to my aunt and uncle’s vinyl’s play through their extremely expensive and high quality audio system.  That evening, everyone had been so cordial and enjoyable.  As we passed the living room, out of the shadows, we heard my uncle’s baritone voice say “Hey girls!”  We both jumped!  Then, looked over to where the disembodied voice had come from, we saw my aunt and uncle, wearing only their robes and reclining in their comfortable leather chairs, icy glasses containing Polish potato vodka within arm’s reach.

 “Oh wow!  Hi, W__.”  He could tell we were shaken and said “Sorry to scare you!  Did you have a good time?  Did you drink a yard?”  The Bee is known for its “yards”, yard tall glasses filled with the brew of your choice.  “Oh no!!  I could never!”  “What?  No yard?  Did you at least have a few drinks?”  “Well, one.”  “One?  And you said you had a good time!  Impossible!”  “Uhh, I guess we’re not as wild as you are.”  “Ha!”  “Okay… I’m pretty tired and cold.  I’m going to get ready for bed,” I said as I started up the stairs.  They kept Teresa down a few more seconds as I dreamily thought of getting a good night’s sleep.  

A minute later, my face was washed, I was in my PJs, and Teresa said, “They want us to come back down and talk.”  They are almost 70 years old.  I’ve always just been a kid to them.  It boggled me that they wanted to have a late night, adult chat with me, but I figured if they had beckoned, I had better go.  

“Thanks for coming back down, girls.”  The set-up was so weird.  There they were, looking so in control, reclining in the shadows, drinks in hand.  There we were, two young ladies wearing pajamas, sitting on the couch right by the weakly glimmering kitchen light so our faces could be seen, but theirs could not.  Then, as unexpectedly as ever, the words poured out of his mouth “We hear that you’ve decided to leave the LORD.”  My aunt chimed in “Is that true, Tricia?”

I laughed to ease the tension, leaned back, stole a glance at Teresa as if to say “Is this really happening?”, then managed to speak.  “This is really personal.  I wish my parents hadn’t said anything to you about it.”  But it was what it was.  They knew, and they wanted to save me.  

My uncle dominated the conversation.  He told me about all of the signs of the time, his certainty that the LORD will return very soon.  He told me exactly how it would all play out, the future.  His ideas mirrored those in the Left Behind series.  Israel, wars, earthquakes, an Antichrist, the rapture, 7 years of torment for everyone left, “but the children born then would be automatically saved,” then the end to this earth.  “And you want to be sure that you are one of the one’s making it in the Rapture.  You do not want to be down here when the torment is taking place.”  They were evangelizing to me, in a really weird way.  And not only were their methods strange, it was also strange that I was in an evangelism conversation, on the opposite side.  I wondered why they were trying to convert me when I had already grown up Christian and heard everything they were telling me. 

In addition to sensationalist doctrine on the End Times, there were some accusations.  My aunt said, “But, Tricia, we thought you already made this decision.  We thought you had a real relationship with Jesus.”  There were warnings about what could happen to me if I really walked away.  Then some bashing evolution.  There was a moment when my aunt said to Teresa “You’ve been awfully quiet.  What do you think of this?”  (Like someone who only just met these highly opinionated people would be honest about her thoughts!  She had a truth omitting answer: I'm a pastor's daughter [true, but telling?  Still, they accepted it, even asking her to try and steer me in the right direction])  They even warned me about joining “the Arab religion” (really???).  Occasionally, they asked me questions, provided me with gates to enter this “conversation” (it was more like a sermon). 

I had so many things I wanted to say, but I knew that no matter how kind and rational my defensive argument, I could not “win” this battle.  Still, I summoned up the strength and tranquility that I wasn’t feeling and proceed to defend myself.  I explained to them that, yes, I had been a real, very believing Christian.  I’d read my Bible daily, I thought I may one day be a missionary in a faraway country, I lived differently than so many people my age.  I wondered what I needed to do to prove that I hadn’t lived my life up to now as a fake Christian!  But then I explained about the people I’ve read about online or in books who have been to seminary and become pastors, preached before a congregation for years, then have admitted to themselves that they just could not believe and walking away.  

I explained how I had had doubts all of my college years, doubts that had kept me from evangelizing to others, doubts that kept me from feeling like a good Christian, doubts that ate away at my self-esteem.  This break from religion was a long time coming.  I told them that I was not trying to walk away from the LORD, I was only trying to tackle questions that have gnawed at me for years.  Trying to view and process them objectively while still considering yourself a Christian does not work.  You are biased.  The only way to get a balanced view of truth is to detach yourself from belief systems and look at multiple perspectives.  I explained that, if after much research and thought processing, I realize that the Christian beliefs are really true, then I will come back to them with a faith stronger than ever before.  I don’t think God would be mad at me for doing what I needed to do to renew and strengthen my faith.

But, to refute their End Times words, which made up a large percentage of what he said, I said, “Honestly, a return to Christianity would have to be motivated by reasoning and authentic belief, not fear.”  I didn’t even begin to tackle his unsubstantiated claims about evolution, or try to tell him how rude it is to refer a religion that millions of non-Arab people adhere to as “the Arab religion.”  Mostly, I kept things to myself, and wished for this session to come to a close.

Finally, about 45 minutes after Teresa and I had blissfully come in from the cold night, the sermon ended.  I told them that I appreciated what I realized was well-intended, but that I was very tired and did not want to discuss my beliefs any longer.  They were able to respect that, and after some slightly awkward hugs and “Love you’s”, we left our places in the cold, dim living room and returned to our chambers.  My head was reeling for about another 30 minutes with disbelief over what had just happened.  I wondered if once Teresa and I had left for The Bee earlier that night, my parents had shared what was happening with me to them.  I imagined them discussing it in that chilly living room very worriedly, my parents lamenting the loss of a sheep, my aunt and uncle vowing to help them bring me back.  It made me sick to think about.  As I lay in bed trying to quiet my mind, I couldn’t help but realize that until (that is, if I ever do this) I come back to Christianity, my family and friends will pray for me, mourn for my loss, and think that I made a terrible mistake when I decided to leave the LORD, as W__ put it.  

But as you all should know, it's not something you decide.  You can only believe what makes sense to you.  I don't feel bad for doing what I need to do to get to beliefs that I can actually believe.  I just hope that whatever I end up believing doesn't alienate me from my family and friends, or lead to many more Come to Jesus talks.  They are tiring.

Grace Episcopal Cathedral

The Episcopal church that I went to last Sunday is in a beautiful Gothic cathedral, very close to the beautiful Gothic style high school that I attended.  I've been to it a few times for things unrelated to church.  Every year, my high school choir did a Spring concert at Grace Cathedral.  The acoustics, the incredible organ, and the ambiance usually made for our best concert of the year.  Most recently, I attended the annual event that Grace hosts, Silents in the Cathedral, in which old spooky silent films are shown, right around Halloween.  Obviously, Grace is all for using its beautiful space as a gift to the community.  I was excited to learn more about what happens on Sunday mornings in this place I'd been to only on weekday evenings.

As I walked in, I realized that I hadn't been to church in a month!  I'm glad I did this project, but it's not always fun visiting a new church by yourself, especially when you don't believe a lot of what's being said during the sermon.  Still, I committed to this for a reason.  I was glad to be following through with my plan that morning.

The service reminded me of the Catholic service I attended a couple of months ago (you can read about that here) in its rigidity, its weekly Eucharist, and the formality of the service.  One thing that I liked about Grace even before I attended was the effort the staff members made to make visitors feel welcomed by providing a Get Acquainted document on their website with the hopes that it would make all of the rituals and processes a little less confusing and foreign.  Of course, I still fumbled through the service, failing at my attempt to look natural. 

The readings were all on the End Times: Isaiah 65 17-25, which paints a picture of what the redeemed kingdom will look like; Thessalonians 3:6-13, which exhorted the members of the young church to continue living their lives and not putting down everything to wait for Jesus to return, which many of them were doing; and Luke 21:5-19, in which Jesus warns his disciples of things that must happen before the end can come ("Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be great earthquakes...")  When I realized this sermon would be on the End Times, I braced myself (excitedly) for a much more liberal interpretation of End Times prophecies than I've heard at my church.

I'm going to go off on a little tangent.  The End Times!!  I don't remember being terribly fixated on when Jesus would return before we moved here (though I remember sermons on it).  Sidenote to the sidenote: Brief church-going history for me [in order]: 6 years at a Presbyterian church, 2 years at a Four Square church, 3 years at a Vineyard church, 5 years at a Methodist church, then 7 years at the Bible church I have attended where I live now, plus summers at a Methodist or Congregational church with my gradma.  My parents weren't just indecisive; we moved a few times.  I'm guessing that the Four Square church talked a lot about Jesus' return, but it wasn't until we began going to the Bible church here when I was 15 that it became preached to me again and I began taking it in more. Basically, the church I'm at right now is very Biblical.  I love the pastor because he really works to remain true to the Bible- all of it, even those counter-cultural passages like the ones above.  I always trusted his teaching and I'm sure that he is sincere in his beliefs.  My apprehension about the idea of an Apocalypse has nothing to do with any cooky presentation or weird twist on Scripture.  I've just never longed for Jesus' return the way that my parents or some people I know do.  The idea of earthquakes, plagues, an antichrist, and even Jesus "rescuing" his followers from this world scared me.  Not to mention my abhorrence of the thought that all the believers would be rescued, but all of my nonchristian friends, no matter how lovely or gracious or helpful, would be tormented here on earth, then sent for more torment in hell.  I avoided learning about the End Times scripture partly because I figured my time was better spent trying to live for God in the here and now and let him worry about when he was going to fulfill his prophecies.  Then there's the Dispensationalists who search for signs that God is returning, or when signs are not showing up, force them in the hope that they will speed up God's return (i.e. supporting Israel no matter how unfair they are with Palestine because you believe that they are the ones who are vital to God's plan of returning- I read a book several years ago on this, Whose Land?  Whose Promise).  I haven't been able to really ignore End Times prophecy, however, because my parents (and some friends) are really into it.  My mom actually thought that Obama may have been the antichrist.  She's taken a 2 year Bible study on Revelation and  considers herself quite the expert, often saying things to me like "There really are so many signs right now that the End is near."  Then there's my dad, who pipes into discussions on future plans, even for things as mini as weekends away, with this comment "Well you never know for sure.  Jesus might return before then!"  And he's being dead serious.  So, with my notions of what Apocalypse sermons meant, I really wondered how this Episcopal pastor would tread on the waters of End Times scripture.

Indeed, it was different.  The preacher said "Excessive concern about the End Times is a distortion of God's word."  Whoa!  On the gospel passage, he said that many get excited and believe that Jesus is naming things that must happen before the Day of Judgment can come, but that he thinks they are taking it too literally.  He believes that when Jesus says "As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down," Jesus was encouraging the disciples (and us) to remember that all we see will turn to dust, but that we need to place value in the everlasting and do our best to live every day dwelling in the fruits of the Spirit, not fixated on when the End will come.  The preacher acknowledged that to live looking ahead, waiting impatiently for the End, and trying to be fully here and contributing to this world is impossible.  "We are called to serve God in this world, not to sit and look to the sky for signs."  He said this wonderfully un-dispensationalist (I'm sure there's a word for that) statement: "The future belongs to God, and that's all I really need to know."

There always seem to be some "I'm new here" blunders, and this Sunday was no exception.  During communion, I went forward, scanning the people who were getting Eucharised in front of me to try and see how it was done here, thinking "I should have read the pdf document more carefully!"  I remembered that you were supposed to place your right hand over your left to receive the wafer, and then you'd get to dip it into the goblet of wine... right?  Actually, you keep it in your hands like that and the guy in charge of the blood of Jesus will pick it up, dip it in the wine, then feed it to you.  It all happened so fast!  I realized as he was moving the half-soaked wafer from the gold goblet to my confusedly opened mouth that he was going for the tongue.  I moved my mouth to prepare for landing, but somehow my teeth got in the way and he bumped into them.  Then, I about bit his finger off, trying to move again.  He awkwardly said, "Sorry!" then I moved along.

Then, after the wafer was down and communion had ended, the congregation stood up and began doing what I thought was the greeting part of the sermon.  I thought it was a strange part of the service to be greeting (they'd not had a greeting portion earlier in the service), but I went along with it.  When someone behind me shook my hand and said something, I said "Good!  How are you?" then another hand was reaching towards me for a shake, this time the owner of the hand was more articulate.  "Peace."  Ohhhh, this was a congressional reminder that because we had been cleansed and forgiven, we now had peace.  I caught on after that :)  "Peace... peace... peace..."

Other notable things about this visit were the music and the aggressive style of making me feel welcome.  Because of those same acoustics that helped make my high school choir sound so heavenly, the music was stunning (and the choir talented).  I was given a hand out on a Grace Cathedral concert series.  It is nice of them to loan their majestic venue out to musicians, or really, the community.  Also, the level of "We've got to meet the new girl" here was comparable to the level at Antioch Missionary Baptist Church.  Both churches had one or two staff members eying congregants like hawks, making sure they noticed strangers.  Once a newbie was identified, after the service, the newbie was sure to get a firm hand shake, a welcome gift bag, a guided tour down toward the lobby area, then refreshments.  No newbie can opt out of any of those things, not with the skilled salesmen the churches have on staff.  Haha!  I will say, it made me feel welcomed, but maybe slightly guilty, since I will not be returning, at least not for a church service.

The beginning of this journey

A little personal history, for myself or anyone who may actually discover this blog.

I was born 23 years ago into a loving Christian family. I did all of the classic things a child in a Christian family should; attend Sunday school, VBS, refrain from cussing, learn the Bible stories (to a shallow enough extent that they seem happy and sugar-coated, only to be reevaluated later on with curiosity and slight fear of what was actually taking place in them), etc. It wasn't until I was in high school that I really had to begin making choices that backed up my beliefs- avoiding partying, committing myself to staying a virgin until marriage, attending Bible studies, and going off on mission trips. I took my faith in Jesus so seriously that I felt certain during my junior and senior year of high school that God was calling me to attend a Christian college. I ruled out secular colleges and ended up going off to a school were I would be able to dig deeper into theology and Biblical meaning, but equally as important to me, meet others who took their faith as seriously, maybe even a future husband!

All of this was extremely pleasant. I was happy to be one of the saved ones. I took deep joy in reading the Bible, discussing passages with friends of mine who shared my beliefs, and pondering how God would choose to use me to impact his kingdom. I wanted nothing more than to make an eternal impact and though I had never brought anyone else to Christ, out of fear and an aversion to the idea of approaching complete strangers all creepy style and trying to shove something as mysterious and important as the gospel down their throat, I hoped that God would work through me to bring people to Him in the future.

I really loved the college that I chose and felt like I had found my place there, however, by the end of the first semester, with the help of a chapel speaker (Shane Claiborne) who spoke on simple living, and the reality that after I graduated, I would be entering a low-paying field and it would take decades to pay off the tens of thousands of dollars I would rack up in debt, I decided that I could only afford this one year there. So much for God calling me to a Christian school. I didn't put much effort into choosing school #2, deciding to go back to my hometown and attend a college 10 minutes from my high school (not what my high school self had had in mind! But it all worked out.)

Something very important happened to me the summer after leaving my Christian college. I got a job at a beautiful, relatively high-paying arts camp in Maine. I had initially hoped to work at a Christian camp where I could be more open about my faith to the wee ones, but most of them were voluntary or very low-paying (understandably so, but I needed some scrilla). During my last few weeks at the college, I felt sure that God was sending me to this camp to shed some light on the counselors and the kids who did not know him. I felt the same way about the non-Christian college I'd be going to. I was on a spiritual high, in a Christian bubble, surrounded by people who, overall, subscribed to the same beliefs I did and didn't make me defend myself.

By my first evening at the arts camp, I realized that I was very outnumbered. Throughout the summer, I realized that there were about 3 other Christian counselors, but I considered them pretty nominal. My two co-counselors, Laura and Alex, were fantastic, fun, smart girls, but initially, I was freaked out by Laura's eyebrow ring and Alex's "fuck" and "shit" littered sentences (it's cracking me up to think of how I was back then)! I wasn't in Kansas anymore. I believe that it was the second night we all bunked together (there was a 10 day orientation before the kiddies arrives) that we laid on our beds in the dark, having a popcorn discussion the way little girls do at sleep-overs. When I told them which college I had just left and that it was Christian, there was a pause. Alex said, "So... are you really religious?" I nervously laughed and said, "Yeah, I guess I am." She replied, "Oh, well I'm not at all. I hope things are cool between us." My heart sank as I realized how difficult this spreading the gospel to others thing would be.

My summer at that camp was my first real exposure to people who didn't share my faith. Of course I'd gone to public school all my life and knew about the partying and the different lifestyle, but I'd had my little posse of Christians who made me feel safe, not like a freak or a nun. Well, here I had no community of like-minded believers and for the first time in my life, I began to see the weirdness of believing in a human that supposedly rose from the dead 2,000 years ago. I hated myself for having these doubts. They really plagued my time at the camp, which was clearly a lovely experience for everyone else working there. My struggle to hold onto my religion got in the way of me having much fun. When the counselors went out for drinks, I stayed in. When they laughed and told jokes, I suppressed giggles, when they discussed politics and religion, I remained silent, too afraid of my inability to articulate my rich beliefs- or afraid my doubts would get in the way-, to defend Jesus. By the end of my summer there, I felt like Peter who had denied Jesus countless times. I felt like Thomas, who needed to see the wounds to believe. I had stepped foot onto the campgrounds a brave soldier for God. I was leaving a soldier wounded, knowing I didn't make a bit of difference in anyone's spiritual journey, though my coworkers had greatly impacted me, for, what I believed, the worse.

The doubts that were birthed at the camp, to try to keep this from becoming a novella, ebbed and flowed throughout my college years. I would suffer from doubts greatly at one point, then months later, be on a spiritual mountaintop, only to find myself weeks later back at ground zero, wondering if my prayers for faith were even being heard, or if- to my shame of even processing this thought- there was nobody listening to my earnest prayers.

Maybe later on in this blog I'll get into individual episodes of faith boosts and relapses, but to sum things up, four years of going back and forth about what is true, I'm now beyond a doubting Christian. I am embracing my curiosity and skepticism for the gifts that they are and committing to finding the truth, be it that there is a God (Christian God or not), there isn't a God, a completely different system of belief is actually true, or that I just can't know for sure. In the past, I've kept one foot in my Christian faith and even when I've suffered doubts (I'm now not thinking suffering is the right word, but that's how it feels from a Christian perspective), I've remained faithful in praying to the Christian God for a revealing of the truth. Now I'm more in the agnostic camp. I want to look at the options objectively and openly, paying attention to the reasonableness of each belief system, the facts, the followers.

This blog will serve as a place for me to track my progress on the road toward Truth.