I became entrenched in my religious routine for so long
that it is starting to grow numb. I grew
up in the church, I went to a Bible college, I got a degree in theology, and
then I went straight to being heavily involved in the church again. I am far too comfortable in this little
village of mine.
Yet, at the same time the skills I learned from Bible
school—to think well—never went to waste and as I continued to think, I seemed
to grow in disillusionment and cynicism.
As I began to step outside of my bubble and read different things and
meet different people and truly experience the culture war between the churched
and unchurched, I felt this detachment grow.
My theology evolved, my politics shifted, my views on
race, women, and sexuality were met by living anecdote after anecdote. I may have moved left along the spectrum, but
felt my love for Jesus grow day by day.
I woke up every morning and questioned the Gospel and if I could still
believe it to be true and fell asleep each night clinging to its relevance to
my life. I was not yet a heretic.
These things were not the breaking point for me, but
rather ones that created the foundations for this catalyst. I never intended for this all to happen. I was in my routine as normal for a Tuesday—going
to work, going home, meeting up with people from church—when it all
shifted. I was turning the corner and serendipitously
ran into a couple friends. They invited
me to join them for a couple drinks. I
in turn returned the favor and invited them to join us for dinner.
I expected it to all go well. I expected my religious “family” to love them
well. It didn’t seem like a hard task,
they were quite easy for me to love.
Instead they were met with niceties, smiles and small talk, but it was
clear that they were not a part of the tribe—sadly clearer to them than it was
to the churched. My heart broke. Was this not the whole intent of our trying
to cultivate community together—that we might love well trying to live the way
Jesus intended? We talked about it every
week. We taught that people needed desperately
to belong. Yet they did not and if they
did not then neither did I.
After we left, my friends spoke of their lack of
belonging, which felt strange as they had always shown me great acceptance and
hospitality. We went back to their
apartment and continued to hang out. One
went to bed and my friend Josh and I ended up on the balcony. It was one of those sacred times where you
stare out at the city around you, feel the coolness of night, and talk about
life when you are only half awake. We
smoked a copious amount of cigarettes as we talked about love, truth, beauty,
God, Jesus and ultimately the journeys we both needed to undertake.
He turns to me at one point and says, “You know you’re a
bohemian.” I laughed a little, but realized
it was true. These conversations with
Josh always awakened a stirring within me that was turning into a
screaming. He talked about how he longed
to travel—but alone. I asked if that
would get lonely, but he said that you meet people along the way. We talked about my fears of leaving the world
that had grown so comfortable and he told me if I never took the journey I
would never become everything I was meant to be and would always regret
it. And so, I decided I would leave.
Now, I am starting this journey and for the time being it
will be what I write about. I have
decided to follow Jesus even though he has led me outside of the church with
walls for a time. I am entering my
liminal place—my edge of chaos. It’s
scary and lonely to start this pilgrimage because I do not know where it will
go. My comfort seeking self hopes it is
a short journey and quickly comes full circle.
Another part of me fears that I may not come back. I am not running away. I have not turned from the Gospel. I have not fallen into grievous sins. But I still have to go. I have to spend some time planting my flag in
solidarity with the other. I have to
find those who love Jesus, but do not go to the walled church—a flock of black
sheep if they are out there. I hope to
find my philosophical gypsies and bohemians and discover my Butterfly Circus.
In my head, I’ve romanticized this to a very Tolkien like
journey--Bilbo leaving the Shire. I am comforted by Tolkien's words, “Not
all who wander are lost.” And now I take my first steps out of comfort to
wander.
