The main title for this post came to me as I sat in my bedroom in momentary silence, reflecting on the current state of my life. It was the one word that popped into my head as I stared at my messy closet and the shelved books I had just sorted through. My collection of books has always acted as a sort of barometer for where I’m at and what I’m interested in. In the past, the shelves were brimming with titles related to theology, Ethnic Studies, Christian romance, nutrition, classics. Over the years, I whittled down my number of books in hopes of abating a semi-addiction to buying reading material from Amazon. The books I knew I wouldn’t read, I parted with, and I refused to allow myself to purchase anything new until after the books on my shelves were read.
Since that first weeding through the books, my collection has seemed to shrink rather than grow. Or, perhaps the contents--the themes and topics--have merely changed so vastly that it seems shrunken, when in fact it’s not the number of books that’s been depleted but my sense of faith.
As I was examining the spines of books still in my possession, I came upon my university yearbook. The summer before I left for college, freshmen had the opportunity to send in copies of their senior photos along with a selection of two interests from a form that listed pre-determined activities and fields. I still remember when I received this notice and decided to participate. There was no option for Jesus or faith, and so I chose the write-in option at the bottom and inscribed “Christianity” on the blank line. At that time, it was very important to me that people knew what I was about. In my mind, knowing that I was a Christian was more important for people than knowing my name, or major, or how I spent my weekends (although, I could have come up with a way to link all of those things back to the fact that I’m a Christian). Even during my first phone call with the dorm roommate I was paired with, I openly talked about my faith and the depth of its importance to me.
Along with the yearbook, I found some old books on practical spirituality that I no longer want to keep. They seem to be the last bit of proof that I was once evangelical. Now, I make that claim with some hesitation, as I don’t know that I will ever be entirely “post-evangelical.” My upbringing in the church and experiences doing ministry around the world have created deep roots that I don’t know will ever really die off or be able to be pulled out. But I know that my faith is not the same as it once was; it seems to have become disheveled.
I was contemplating my feelings towards the church, and the only thoughts I can ever really come up with are that I have been deeply wounded. But as I sat and considered those words, it occurred to me that God and the church are not one in the same. God has not wounded me, but the church, and more specifically Christians in the church, have wounded me. And it’s not even necessarily specific people or churches or occurrences, but it is in large part the ideas and ideals I was imparted with so that I feel that I was in some ways recklessly (though the intention was not reckless) led to believe things that actually did more harm than good. Rachel Held Evans articulated my own sentiments beautifully:
“When you grow up believing that your religious worldview contains the key to absolute truth and provides an answer to every question, you never really get over the disappointment of learning that it doesn't...Like it or not, our religious traditions help forge our identities. The great challenge...is to hold every piece of my faith experience in love, even the broken bits, even the parts that still cut my hands and make them bleed. We are all post-something. We are all caught between who we once were and who we will be, the ghosts of past certainties gripping at our ankles. There’s no just getting over it. There’s no easy moving on.”
I haven’t regularly attended church in over two years, mostly because I don’t really know where I belong, but also because I needed space. My life was so hyper-focused for so many years on my participation in church and evangelical activities that I lost my sense of self. I would use the justification that we are to sacrifice ourselves for the cause of the cross and a crucified Savior. However, I think that my lifestyle was more representative of a codependent relationship and sense of fear than anything else. I was terrified of somehow losing my faith that my entire life became based on being engaged and a leader in as many Christian organizations and opportunities as I could possibly be involved with. In some ways, I admire that kind of dedication and commitment. At the same time, I had no idea who I was.
As my 20s quickly come to a close, I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on the amount of growth and change I’ve experienced during the past decade. I feel that every year since I first left for college has been one of pivotal self-discovery, particularly my year in China and those following. I can thank my time in college for providing me with the tools to think critically. It all started with ideas related to social justice. The frameworks for thinking that I learned in my Ethnic Studies classes began to shape how I viewed other fields, including Christianity. As justice for the oppressed grew in importance to me, I began to see my political ideals aligning with Liberalism. And because I had grown up believing that Christians were automatically Republicans, I had to begin to reconsider my faith and how I could possibly reconcile belief in Jesus and His message with Democratic ideologies.
I don’t consider myself to be a Democrat, but I merely point out this example to mark the first moment of the dishevelment of my faith. It was that one small reconsideration that has led me to become more critical in my thinking about Christianity, in relation to people groups, sexuality, church attendance, relationships, purpose, and beyond. I know that there are many circles and branches of Christianity throughout the world, but it’s difficult not to feel like you’re amidst a divorce from evangelicalism and looking to remarry a new Christianity. And perhaps that’s why I’ve taken a break from church for so long; I’ve been mourning the loss of a Christianity that was as formative as it was painful for me.
As I lay the on carpet in my bedroom and stared at my ceiling, all I could think about was the fact that God is with me and will continue to go with me--no matter the state of my heart or circumstances. And I know I will never fully understand Him in this life, and I know that I will often feel disappointed by the church and by Christians; but I also know that He is not done with me yet. He has appointed me my portion and my cup, and as much as I’ve faced disappointments and trials and pain, I truly believe that I am part of a much larger purpose and story. I just hope that those disappointments and those trials and that pain shape me to be more compassionate and Christ-like in my life. And even when I don’t know what label to use when it comes to talking about my faith, I pray my eyes will ever be fixed on Jesus and all that He was and all that He stands for and spoke about. God is bigger than our interpretations and ideas and labels and debates and churches.
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