Churchy

The VBS program seemed benign enough, so I tagged along for the cute-factor. There were pokes, hugs, belly rubs, and loving smiles. It always feels like coming home.

I grew up in a church filled with the most amazing people. They were my family when my own family failed me. They were my employers when I spent summers babysitting their children. They were my counselors when I had nobody else to talk to. They were my mentors when I struggled with what I read in the Bible. They taught me what the church looks like. In turn, I hope I served them well, too.

I'll never forget Easter this year when I went to church "so the baby could hear the music." So much was still in limbo, and not much felt right about this pregnancy. It only took a few sincere hugs and sweet conversations to know that it would be okay and that we're surrounded by truly remarkable people. I wasn't going to be doing this alone, and these people believed in me. I left feeling different about my role as a mama. They restored me.

I wish "church" didn't make my skin crawl because I want Klara to know the rest of our family.

Do you believe?

I volunteer for the literacy program at the public library, and I've been working with the same student for the last couple of years.

We start our meetings off with small talk. I bemoan my stack of papers, and she tells me how her kids are driving her crazy. We laugh at our funny stories and then open our books to start that week's lesson. The chatting is my favorite part of our evening, and I think she likes it, too.

The other night, awkwardly, out of nowhere, she said, "Did you go to church Sunday?"
Me: "No"
Her: "Do you believe?"
Me: "Hmm...I'm not sure. I grew up going to church, and I went to a Christian college, but I don't think I believe any more."
Her: "Oh. I think the Bible has good things to say about life. I don't know about all the stories, though."
Me: "I agree with you completely."

We then talked about what brought her to church, about how she can practice English and meet people and her kids like it, about the few months when I went to a Chinese church (she's a Chinese American), and about how I'm open to talking about it with her--if she has questions.

The whole time we were talking about it, I couldn't believe it was happening. It was one of those conversations I would have been thrilled to have when I was a Christian, and it amazed me that, even though I wasn't seeking it, it still came.

It reminded me that sharing faith comes through sharing life and through understanding.

My most famous "witnessing" snafu

They still tease me about the time in high school when I got high and told them they were all going to hell.

I like to think that's not exactly how it happened. I do remember telling them I was afraid that they were going to hell, and I didn't want to spend eternity without them. I remember a huge weight being lifted off of my heart because I loved them so much and knew that, if what I believed about salvation was true, I needed to share it with them. I remember tears in my eyes and a deep urge to share the truth. I didn't want to carry the burden of their damnation.

What I know now (and that I can never seem to communicate) is that, although I may not have had the best methodology (drugs and potentially hurtful language, not surprisingly, get in the way of the message), it was the most loving thing I knew to do. Caring about a friend's soul is a deep kind of love. Even now, I don't think they understand that my words were coming from an amazing sense of love for them.

One of the greatest things about no longer being a Christian is that I can, genuinely, care about people's hearts and souls. I can care, not because I'm commanded to, but because I love them simply because we share in our humanity. I can love people because they're people, not because I feel it is my duty.

I can love them with no ulterior motive--perceived or actual.

Part Two: Nature
LVII
By Emily Dickinson

SOME keep the Sabbath going to church;
I keep it staying at home,
With a bobolink for a chorister,
And an orchard for a dome.

Some keep the Sabbath in surplice;        5
I just wear my wings,
And instead of tolling the bell for church,
Our little sexton sings.

God preaches,—a noted clergyman,—
And the sermon is never long;        10
So instead of getting to heaven at last,
I ’m going all along!

The golden calf...

...The post that's been a long time coming.

I don't understand Evangelical Christianity's obsession with virginity. There. I said it. In fact, I think it's really dangerous and hurtful to young people--especially young women.

The worst part is, as a teenager in a Christian youth group,  I was lied to. I like to think the people "lying" to me didn't know they were spreading lies, but I was given inaccurate information about sex (and the dangers of having sex). They tried to scare me away from having sex, teaching me that condoms are ineffective in preventing HIV. I was taught that my virginity was "a gift" that I would regret giving to someone other than my husband. Pregnancy was held over my head as a threat, rather than teaching me how to prevent it. Although I don't agree with the platform, this video resonates with me because I was sold so many of these lies. Since when is spreading lies helpful for "protecting women?"

I'm not advocating "hookup culture," as that can hurt women, too. In fact, I think my "purity pledge" in high school did protect me from some situations I wasn't ready for, but it missed the mark.  The issue was that I wasn't ready for sex then (and I needed to be taught that I have the ultimate say in what I do and allow others to do with my body), not that I needed to wait until marriage to have sex. I used my chastity vow as an excuse, when, instead, I needed to be able to tell the boys I was making out with, "I don't want to have sex with you. This is as far as I'm comfortable going." Somebody needed to tell me that it was okay to say "no" simply because I wanted to.

We can't use virginity as the ultimate gauge of whether or not a young woman is living a moral life.  In Jessica Valenti's book The Purity Myth: How America's Obsession with Virginity is Hurting Young Women, she says, "Staying 'pure' and 'innocent' is touted as the greatest thing we can do. However, equating this inaction with morality not only is problematic because it continues to tie women's ethics to our bodies, but also is downright insulting because it suggests that women can't be moral actors. Instead, we're defined by what we don't do--our ethics are the ethics of passivity. (This model of ethics fits perfectly with how the virginity movement defines the ideal woman.)" Let's teach our young women to be moral actors--women who can change the world, not women whose ethics are defined by whether or not they delay sex for marriage!

We can give young people the tools they need to make wise decisions and have open discourse about sex and morality. There's not only one way to have healthy sexual relationships, and sex (or the lack thereof) is not the defining factor in a woman's moral character.

What do you think about abstinence-only education? Benefits? Dangers? Experiences?

Life of Pi

The Literary Society (my students' book club) selected Yann Martel's Life of Pi as their next read. This novel has been on my "To Be Read" shelf for years. Now that I've started it, I'm so sad that I've put it off this long. I've never read more eloquent and insightful descriptions of our major world religions. I love the protagonist, and I'm so wrapped up in his worldview and his life. Our first section was but the first 60 pages, and I'm already certain this is one of my new favorites.

Some of my favorite passages thus far:

The deeply spiritual protagonist says, "I'll be honest about it. It is not atheists who get stuck in my craw, but agnostics. Doubt is useful for a while. We must all pass through the garden of Gethsemane. If Christ played with doubt, so must we. If Christ spent an anguished night in prayer, if He burst out from the Cross, 'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?' then surely we are also permitted to doubt. But we must move on. To choose doubt as a philosophy of life is akin to choosing immobility as a means of transportation" (Martel 28).

and 

"He treated me like a grown-up; and he told me a story. Or rather, since Christians are so fond of capital letters, a Story. . . What a downright weird story. What peculiar philosophy. I asked for another story, one that I might find more satisfying. Surely this religion had more than one story in its bag--religions abound with stories. But Father Martin made me understand that the stories that came before it--and there were many--were simply prologue to the Christians. Their religion had one Story, and to it they came back again and again, over and over. It was story enough for them" (Martel 53).

I like it. I like it a lot.

Church?

When I was in high school, I remember someone (Caleb?) telling me that church is a place for believers to gather, not a place to invite those who don't believe. At the time, it made sense, but it seemed shortsighted. Of course, at that point in my life, youth group was the place where we invited friends, and youth group is different from "church."

Now that I'm removed from the church, the idea of a church as a place for believers to gather (and not as an evangelistic tool) makes more sense to me. I've been to church three times in the last year (one Sunday to Peace Lutheran, on Easter with the Rogers, and on Mother's Day with my mom). From those visits, I learned that a church (especially an evangelical church) is not a place for an unbeliever. It just doesn't make sense. When they sing, pray, and read scripture, what am I supposed to do? Observing them makes God no more real to me. In fact, it just leaves me more dumbfounded (and I'm very familiar with "church culture").  Imagine the feelings of an unbeliever who is unfamiliar with church culture.

I'm not opposed to going to a church, but I don't think it's helpful, either.  Have you had a different experience?

Peaceful

A friend (whose opinion I hold dear) suggested that I explore manifestations of Christianity outside of the evangelical movement. His suggestion confirmed an urging of my own heart. 

I finally acted on it. Today I attended Peace Lutheran Church. No doubt, this church experiences and expresses Christianity much differently from any church I've attended. 

The focus seems to be on the peace that can be found in fulfilling spiritual urges. It's not about knowing the right answer, pointing out the ills of others, or winning souls. It's about noticing that we have souls and worshipping a God who cares about our spirits. It's about letting the truth speak for itself.

I like it. 

How I got here from there: Part 4- the end

The first year I spent in Livermore after college was one of the darkest in my memory. I was depressed, alone, and hopeless. Choosing to live didn’t feel like the default, by any means. I had to really fight for my life. 

Night after night, I kneeled at my bedside crying out to God. I HAD to believe because it was the only thing I could cling to. I kept going to church, teaching Sunday School, praying, reading my Bible, and going to Bible study, but I just couldn’t believe.

I felt a physical barrier in my brain that I couldn’t defeat. I described it as the fuzzy area in the front of my head that wouldn’t allow me to believe, despite my best efforts. My efforts were ardent and humble. I felt I needed God. I needed Him to save me, and a life without Him was simply impossible. I couldn’t find Him, though.

As time passed, nothing changed. I have no idea what I expected—a lightening bolt from heaven, perhaps? I was so angry that God was silent, and I gave up. That was it. There was no climactic moment of turning away. I finally started talking about “it.” As I talked, I learned I wasn’t the only one. That’s where I cling. We’re in this together. This thing called “agnosticism.” “Agnostic” was a word I never understood until it came to define my soul.

I’m still open to a spiritual realm, but it would be a lie to say I believe in the God I was raised to serve. It’s much freer than I ever would have anticipated (especially four years ago!). The best part? I can befriend people because I like them not because I want to be “intentional” about my relationships. 

Oh, sweet release.

What's this all about?

How I got here from there: Part 3

After my junior year of college, I went overseas on the last of a string of annual summer mission trips. I sat alone in my room and stared at my Bible, wondering why the words were no longer my sustenance. I was away from my Cal Baptist bubble, and I couldn’t seem to make sense of my faith. My only female teammate was dealing with anorexia and deep psychological issues, and I was on a mission trip, where I felt no desire to share my faith. It was a weird place to be. I was also disgusted by my leader and his constant evangelistic pressure and noisy chewing. (Yes, in my mind, those qualities are equally pressing.) I just wanted to leave.

My senior year, I spent “quiet time” after quiet time sitting on my bed staring at my Bible, wondering when the Word ceased to be my bread. It never failed to take me off guard. I lost a desire to know God through his word, and it was so confusing. Although it was a new feeling, I reminded myself that every day wasn’t going to be an experience of elation or awe, so I carried on.

The year after I graduated, while living in Riverside, I began to wonder if I believed. I had questions, and “it all” started to feel like bullshit. I refused to give up. I didn’t tell a soul. It just couldn’t be. I went to Bible Study Fellowship, for God’s sake. I was hardcore and trying harder than ever before.

What's this all about?

How I got here from there: Part 2

I went to a Baptist college because I felt a part of something (and because, secretly, I hoped to meet a “like-minded” spouse, but saying it aloud makes me feel like a complete fake). I wanted to teach overseas and live a life designed around zeal for God’s glory. It was real for me. No doubt. I believed ardently. 

The people I met at Cal Baptist fell into three categories: a) True, true friends b) People who constantly made me feel like I would never measure up, and c) People I judged because I thought their faith was fake. Oh, the irony.

The “missions clique” was the most admired group of people on campus, but I was so hurt by the way they made me feel with their incessant exclusion. I know now that I sometimes made others feel that way (but I never would have imagined it at the time). I don’t blame them because I hope it wasn’t intentional, but now that I’m on the other side of my faith journey, I definitely don’t miss that feeling or culture. At Cal Baptist, there was an impossible standard (that I would never meet), so I constantly struggled with becoming a “better Christian” and wondering what made them so much closer to God than me. At the same time, I didn’t want to be just like them. It was clearly a paradox.

I remember being invited to join a strategic group on campus that wanted to raise awareness about “God’s Heart for the Nations.” I don’t remember who invited me to meet with them (probably Stephanie or Tyler), but I do remember looking around the apartment and wondering why “they” finally decided we might share some of the same ideals—ideals I’d committed my life to promoting. I was clearly the outcast of the group, though. I felt like a fraud when I wore my “Night of Nations” T-shirt. I knew that I didn’t see Christianity as black and white as they did, so they would never truly accept me. I thought there was more than one way to do and see the faith. I didn’t go to their church, share all of their theology, or constantly talk about faith. I was less, even if it was only in my eyes.

I knew that we would never be true friends, and I couldn’t let it go.

What's this all about?

How I got here from there: Part 1

I was a cradle Baptist. Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, and youth group were second nature to me. My church was my second home, my church family my true family, and my faith was as much a part of me as my fingernails. My friends in high school teased me for “saving myself” for marriage and called me, “Sister Sherry.” I secretly liked it.

I’m a follower, though. I got drunk and high on the weekends and put my church smile on for Sunday mornings and for school on Monday morning. Okay, so maybe Fridays and Saturdays were my only “wild” days, but my rebellious streak led to some crazy spiritual battles. By my junior year, I was done living a two-faced life (and scared of the demon-sightings). 

The summer after my junior year, I had a crazy God-experience at church camp that convinced me I was to be a missionary--and good little missionary girls go to Christian colleges to meet their missionary husbands and live happily ever after, right? That was my plan, at least.

What's this all about?

How I got here from there: My testimony in reverse.

I get many questions about my faithlessness (especially from college friends). The simple answer is, "I just don't know." Just as many people have a journey into faith, I had a journey out of faith. I decided to write it out because I really needed to reflect on the journey, too.  I wonder how I got here, and I'm still not sure what happened, but over the next few days (weeks?) I will share my journey in several parts.

I hope you'll share yours, too. Odds are, I'm not alone. Even if you believe, I'm sure we have some parallel experiences.

I'll be praying for you.

I have many friends who are Christians. Obviously. Odds are, dear reader, you are a believer yourself.

When my believing friends get worried about me or want to offer me some encouragement, they will often tell me they're praying for me. Almost always, the "I'm praying for you" promise is premised with "As cliche as it sounds" or "Even though it probably doesn't mean much to you." Please don't apologize for praying for me. It's only cliche and meaningless if you're just saying it, and you really have no intention to actually get around to praying.

When you say "I'm praying for you," I hear, "I care about you," "I'm thinking about you," and "I wish I could do something." Those are all pure sentiments. I think of your prayers as positive thoughts and pure offerings of friendship.

Why would you apologize for that?

My wish for you

As I rocked you to sleep for one last time tonight, I realized that I don't know your last name. I don't even know where you live. I don't know how old your mom is or what she looks like.

I do know that, a few minutes before I knew I would have to pass you back to your foster mom, I was compelled to pray for the first time in over a year. It seemed like the only logical gift I could send. I squeezed you a little tighter as the tears flowed and I prayed for your biological mom. I prayed that she would protect you and that her desire to love you would be matched by her ability to care for you. I prayed that you would be safe and that you would know how loved you are. I prayed that, somehow, the intense love I have for you marked your little life. 

In your first month, you were loved intensely. You were loved by your foster mom who wanted you so badly, you were loved by me for a short weekend--even though I knew I would have to pass you back on Sunday evening, and you were loved by your mommy who wants, so badly, to prove her love for you.

My hope for you, precious little girl, is that the rest of your life will also be marked by love. 

The old familiar story

Last night I pulled my Bible off my book shelf (a place I never thought I would "store" my Bible). I needed to look up a Biblical reference in a novel I'm reading. The cover is worn; it is comfortably flexible in my hands; the verses that spoke to my heart are underlined. And it's dusty.

Mission trip letters

I was reading this this morning, and I felt full of remorse. I always hated writing and sending the mission trip letter, but everyone else did it, so I joined their ranks. I sent these letters out twice, but, by the time I went overseas for the third time, I realized I wasn't making the same sacrifices I was asking of others. 

I was a college student with (what I thought were) tight finances. I had faith that God would bless my efforts, so instead of asking for money, I stopped shopping. I bought food and basic hygiene items and that was about it. I didn't even go to Target for a while because I realized I was spending money I didn't need to spend. I worked more hours at my part-time jobs at church and in the financial aid office. I shopped at Food 4 Less instead of Vons.  You get the idea. Incredibly, in a relatively short period of time ( a year or so), I was able to save the money I needed for my trip. I planned ahead and made it happen. I know this isn't possible for everyone, but I'm afraid it's more possible than we'd like to admit.

I was told it was a blessing for others to tangibly be a part of my trip, and I was robbing them of that blessing if I wasn't allowing them the opportunity to support me.  Bologna. A few people did approach me and tell me they wanted to support my trip financially. I swallowed my pride, and I allowed them to help. I didn't beg for it, and it still came.

I feel like I need to send out a letter apologizing for my mission trip letters. Or at least talk to those relatives who only heard from me when they got graduation announcements and mission trip letters. They must think very little of me. 

God?

I’m an agnostic. There. I said it. My four-year "secret" is now yours, dear Internet.

As I left Sunday School, I got teary eyed on my way to my car two weeks in a row. I was trying so hard it hurt. I felt fake and out of place. My former home-away-from-home is now a place of tension and pain. I get [metaphorically] itchy in church.

I’ve come to terms with where I am, at least for now. It’s not where I want to be, but it is where I am. I’ve always hated the grey areas, and now my very “faith” is one of grey areas. It’s not apathy. It’s an inability to take a side. A road block. I’m trying; trust me.

When I read the Bible, I see literature, and I see a familiar friend. I remember the words with fondness, but they are no longer my sustenance. They have ceased to be the only Truth.

Pascal’s Wager won’t cut if for me. If I’m going to believe, I’m going to believe. I know you probably think I’m going to hell, which might concern you.

I’m not without belief. I believe in humanity, peace, family, education, life, nature, home, laughter, and sacrifice. A reality I know and can trust.

The Father's Love

This song's been a around for quite a while, but it struck me this year. I hope you find the lyrics touching, as well.

After a few days of mourning, here's to celebrating tomorrow's events! Happy Easter!

How deep the Father's love for us,
How vast beyond all measure,
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure.
How great the pain of searing loss –
The Father turns His face away,
As wounds which mar the Chosen One
Bring many sons to glory.

Behold the man upon a cross,
My sin upon His shoulders;
Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers.
It was my sin that held Him there
Until it was accomplished;
His dying breath has brought me life –
I know that it is finished.

I will not boast in anything,
No gifts, no power, no wisdom;
But I will boast in Jesus Christ,
His death and resurrection.
Why should I gain from His reward?
I cannot give an answer;
But this I know with all my heart –
His wounds have paid my ransom.

Stuart Townend.

Maundy Thursday

Church tonight was powerful. We talked about the new commandment, traveled the stairs to the "upper room" for the Lord's Supper, and shared a prayer time in "Gethsemane."

For the first time in two years, tears came to my eyes as I contemplated Christ.

Sacrifice. Forgiveness. Love. Truth. Hope.