Chapter One: The Itch
The second of three excerpts from my book proposal, Edge Dwellers: finding your way to a new kind of faith. Intro here: backstory here. It might be too much of the same compared to the intro. What do you think?
The Itch at the Top of your Nose
Tell-tale signs that you have put on a new set of lenses
Sometime in my thirties, just after getting my first gig as an ordained minister in an evangelical church, something about how I was living my religious life started to feel not quite right.
The first itchy little problem was that I was having an increasingly hard time hiding the fact that I disliked Bible study. The truth of the matter was I’d never been one for ‘devotions.’ I was forever setting my good intentions towards daily readings, only to find that my Bible ended up on the shelf covered in dust. In seminary I took as few Bible courses as possible, and although I loved studying Hebrew, I never did develop a heart for that Biblical studies mainstream, exegesis. I dreaded any small group session that involved Bible study, text-based sermons made me nuts, and any staff devotional I had to sign up for was mercifully brief.
By this time I had taken on a preaching roll in the church, and I was good at it. True, my sermons were more stories that scripture, but the words rolled off my tongue and I was getting animated responses from the congregation. But the truth was I was tired of sermons. Suddenly I, the person who could take non-stop notes for three solid hours in a graduate school seminar, could not sit still through a simple Sunday morning message. (And I certainly didn’t remember much of what was said once I was outside the church doors.) I felt as though I had developed some sort of adult-onset ADD. I just could not absorb a twenty minute sermon, much less for the hour-long pulpit sessions which were in vogue at my church.
Then, much to my dismay, the standard versions of prayer started not working so well. The “prayers and praise” format which had carried me most of the way through college was making my skin crawl, and I was practically developing an allergic reaction to meeting with a “prayer partner” or spending an hour praying for people in a small group. The long prayer session that were popular in my charismatic church began to feel like a laundry list of worries and demands, and in our intense healing prayer circles I felt twitchy and discouraged. The church staff I was on was quite large at the time, and we had called in a specialist to come and do some communication training with us. He asked us to pray prior to the meeting, something that had been standard practice for us in the past. But when ten minutes went by with only one or two moments of spoken prayer, the trainer called the prayer session to a close. He was quite disturbed by what he perceived to be our lack of participation, and when the younger pastors in the group tried to explain that we had become more accustomed to silent prayer and meditative listening in recent years, the trainer chastised us for not doing “real prayer” more often.
All of this was a little concerning, but I had one ace in the hole that was preventing me from having a full-blown spiritual crisis: “Worship”. I still adored the worship activities at church. We had great musical worship sets. Man could our church bands play! We had original songs that were seriously hip, adaptations of Fat Boy Slim mixes that rocked the joint, and ballads so plaintive they could bring you to tears.
Not only did we have great music, but the artists were really coming into their stride in our congregation and the place was filled with beauty. Most months there was something fabulous and inspiring in the Sunday morning services: a series of paintings on walls and easels; interactive sculptures for various sermon series; and for Lent and Advent whole services created completely of visuals and music.
I was thrilled. I should have been thrilled. I was trying to be thrilled.
But the truth of the matter was, the worship sets? I’d been working myself into them for quite a while, trying to convince myself that they were ‘working’ for me as a connection to God. In truth, they were feeling a little forced and repetitive. Moreover, after the high of jumping up and down with 200 people wore off, I was left with just me walking out the doors and into the rest of my life. There was little connection between the ecstasy of Sunday morning rock and everyday reality of Monday morning living.
And the art? I adored the art. But it turned out to be a secret agent. The art was my undoing.
During my second year on staff one of the artists, Stephen Wood, made an enormous sculptural installation for Advent. It was Mother Mary, her figure formed of bent bamboo and draped in gauzy cloth. Her arms were arched up and outward like a dancer and her belly glowed with an internal light. Each Sunday, while the worship band played, while people clapped and sang and raised their hands, while the senior pastor gave us good and wise words in a sermon–I sat at the feet of Mary. There was a little half-wall that curved around one side of the sculpture, and if I leaned against it I could sit behind Mary’s draping sleeve. Crouched there, something solid at my back and something beautiful at my side, I could be present to the congregation I was serving, but at the same time feel protected from a system of faith practices I no longer understood. I could soak in the reality of what I really needed, while still being tethered to what was familiar but no longer functional.
It was in this small Marian way station that I finally acknowledged that everything I’d grown up with as a Christian had stopped working – probably hadn’t been working for a long time. I’d been talking myself into so many things: convincing myself that prayer was a discipline; that the Bible had to be helpful somehow; that God needed me to express my devotion to him through lots and lots of emotive songs; and that I needed to be lectured at for at least 30 minutes a week or I’d backslide my way into hell. But as I gave each of those things up, then after a bit of a delay realized that I’d given them up, a stunning reality came rushing in. It didn’t really matter. I still loved Jesus. I still lived as morally or immorally as I had before. I still felt randomly connected or disconnected from God on any given day or any given hour.
In spite of the art, liturgy, and ritual, church still wasn’t helping me. It wasn’t transformative. I didn’t help me be a more Jesus-like person. Rather than letting me be a minister and servant to the world around me, the tasks of running the Sunday morning show just kept me trapped in the church. I began to see the church as a castle, holding me inside with the Ruler, but isolated from the rest of the population outside. The amount of time it demanded of me, and the amount of energy I spent feeling badly that I wasn’t doing Bible study, prayer, or worship left me unable to be present to the people outside the walls of the church – unable to be part of the broad range of God’s kingdom.
There, sitting behind Mary, something had happened. My nose had started to itch. When I reached up to scratch it, there at the top right between my eyes, I found that I had a pair of new glasses fairly permanently affixed to my face. I started to think of it as wearing a pair of very funky cat’s eyes glasses – orange maybe—a style linked to the past, but hip enough for the future. Everything looked different now, through those funky lenses.
Perhaps this is happening to you. Perhaps after a life time of devotion you are waking up on Sunday mornings and feeling sick at heart. Perhaps you are starting to feel angry that what you say you believe and the way your life in “the world” really works are not in alignment. I’m here to tell you: Don’t be Afraid.
What you are experiencing is not a dark night of the soul. It’s not a crisis of faith or a season of doubt. What you are experiencing is a shift away from one kind of Christian faith practice to another. In technical terms you are moving away from traditional Christianity – probably evangelical Christianity, but possibly some form of mainstream Christianity—and into what is referred to as “postmodern” or “emergent Christianity.” Now, we aren’t going to get into what all those things mean yet. That’s for the next chapter. For now let’s look at a list of symptoms.
Symptoms
• Former religious practices (sermons, prayer, Bible study, small groups, worship sets) are no longer meaningful to you.
• You are beginning to suspect that Christianity may not have cornered the market on Truth.
• Your intellectual life and your spiritual life no longer seem to be able to play nice together.
• You are increasingly interested in spending time outside the four walls of the church.
• Many non-Christians seem suspiciously Christ-like to you.
• If you are a woman, you may have begun longing for a God that looks like you.
• You have started asking questions that worry your family, friends, and pastor.
• You have begun to suspect that you might have to give up your faith in order live with integrity.
Don’t worry my friend. This discomfort you are feeling, this disconnect, is just a portal you step through into being what Brian McLaren calls A New Kind of Christian. You’ve just put on a new pair of glasses, and that’s a good thing. They are going to help you see things more clearly, and with that clearer vision you are going to be able to craft a new version of your faith that is going to work for you. It’s going to be a true reflection of what you believe and how you intuitively want to live. It’s going to bring integrity back into your life, and allow you to honor what you truly value about God, Jesus, and the Christian life. A new kind of faith is growing– is emerging out of your soul. You are forming a new kind of spirituality:
• A spirituality which finds its inspiration in ancient teachers and newly published writers.
• A spirituality which spins out of fresh translations of the Bible.
• A spirituality which will be messier and more open-ended, but ultimately more genuine to you and truer to the deepest parts of your soul.
Joseph Campbell, the godfather of comparative religion, tells us a story in his videography The Hero with a Thousand Faces. In these interviews he talks about the epic hero’s journey which is captured in the myths and traditions of every culture and every faith. According to Campbell, we are all on a hero’s journey—intentionally or because of life’s unexpected circumstances. He tells us that each of us will come to what appears to be a great impasse. For Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz it is the field of poisoned poppies near her journey’s end. For Luke Sykwalker it is the great literal and metaphorical divide between him and his unknown father, Darth Vadar. For Indiana Jones it is literally a deep chasm between himself and the Holy Grail. Campbell says “On your journey, you will come to a great chasm. Jump.”
Are you ready? Give your cat’s eyes glasses a rub and make sure they’re nice and clean. Can you see the chasm? Go ahead. Jump.
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November 13th, 2008 at 8:59 am
seriously, this is wonderful. something that has been missing within the emergent church conversation, something that has been missing in general.
i do hope that you will also give voice to the people silenced by the emergent church, namely girls and gay. *grin* the emergents still seem mainly white, male, and straight. the jim wallis type, slightly radical but still afraid of being heretical.
not that this is a critique of your writing here, just thought i would throw it out there.
this, though, is beautiful and lovely.
November 13th, 2008 at 10:15 am
Goosebumps. Literally.
November 13th, 2008 at 10:21 am
I will buy your book.
Your journey has been remarkably like mine. When I first got “the itch” (or when I first started admitting it), my pastor/friend suggested that the only way I could help change the church would be to sink myself more fully into the leadership of it. He convinced me to become an elder and I accepted, though reluctantly. I had some “successes” (eg. convincing the elders NOT to have an “official position” against homosexuality), but after three years I realized my heart wasn’t in it and I gave up.
Now I’m sinking my energy into an ecumenical NGO working to end hunger, and my heart is fully in it (even though I sometimes have to make presentations at churches that make me squirm… http://fumblingforwords.blogspot.com/2008/10/faith-of-many-colours.html)
There are many many people I know who have a similar itch, so I’m sure your book will be well received.
November 13th, 2008 at 10:25 am
beautiful, Rachelle,
i hope we get to hear what comes next! :-)
November 13th, 2008 at 11:35 am
Dear Rachelle,
Thanks so much for your blog. I’ve read everything on the old site and am slowly working my way through this. Your voice is a light in the dimness and fog.
I love where your writings are taking you. The glasses feel true to me. In my life I had to move out of the country to wake up and realize that the Dr Phil God I had relied on was no longer relevant.
I found out that women (and a few men) writers telling thier story could help me get out of bed in the morning more than anything in the BIBLE which felt like it was written in a language I could not read.
I was wondering if you had read some of my favorites?
(since you always give such good book recomendations)
1.Here If You Need Me: A True Story by Kate Braestrup
2.Practicing Resurrection: A Memoir of Work, Doubt, Discernment, and Moments of Grace by Nora Gallagher
3. The Hummingbird’s Daughter by Urrea, Luis Alberto
4.Grace: A Memoir by Cartledgehayes, Mary
November 13th, 2008 at 1:57 pm
Totally getting this. Jumped a bit ago, but landed on a ledge. Now it just seems I keep falling. Sometimes it scares the shit out of me …..
Heard a talk by Pam England (midwife, and author) on the Hero’s Journey. I was completely and utterly captivated by it, by the myths and how universal it was. Haven’t read any Joseph Campbell, but now I will. Thanks.
btw, great writing too …
November 13th, 2008 at 3:27 pm
I knew you could do this!!!!
I’ve been waiting years to finally see it come to life, but this is EXACTLY the book that I’ve been waiting for. And I have talked to so many people – so many women – who need to hear this story too.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!!
November 13th, 2008 at 5:39 pm
Wow. This happened to me – 5 years ago – and I’ve been sitting all by myself (metaphorically) ever since. I haven’t jumped, I’ve crawled into a little hole and there I have stayed. I’ve been looking at it as an entirely “me vs. them” situation. “A New Kind of Christian”? That never occurred to me.
Really beautifully written, Rachelle – thank you.
November 13th, 2008 at 7:53 pm
I really liked this. It feels like *your* voice. I liked this chapter better than the first chapter and I’m having trouble figuring out why. This chapter feels like it has a cleaner edge. I’ll keep thinking.
November 13th, 2008 at 8:52 pm
I really enjoyed reading this! I identify with your itch. It’s interesting to find out about what lead you to leave the church. I like how you described how you felt about devotions and worship, sermons and praying in the church.
November 14th, 2008 at 4:43 am
Yes, yes, yes! You’re speaking for so many. Amen, amen, amen!
And WOW!
November 14th, 2008 at 7:08 am
This is fresh and fascinating stuff that I (and I suspect many other religion writers would feel this way) would love to explore and share with my audience in Austin. A woman’s perspective combined with this sort of raw honesty about church life? Wow.
November 14th, 2008 at 8:02 am
This is a good description of what I am experiencing. It’s very nice to hear from someone who has been there before! Thanks Rachelle. I know this book will fill a need in many people.
November 14th, 2008 at 9:47 am
rachelle, you weave words beautifully as a way of inviting people not only into your own story but further into theirs. i’m so glad you are writing and can already think of so many folks who would benefit from your perspective. thanks for this from me and for all the others for whom something is not quite fitting/right. peace to you in this adventure.
November 14th, 2008 at 9:53 am
Dear Rachelle
I read both your chapters earlier this week and have been musing and feeling so grateful and impressed that you are taking the writing plunge. You can do it! Your voice is beautiful. You already speak to many and will encourage many more. I am especially taken by the clear images you use in your second chapter. And that awesome eyes in specs photo!
Go girl.
Peace
Kelly
November 14th, 2008 at 7:48 pm
Your story fascinates me. I can’t wait to read more. Carry on!
November 19th, 2008 at 1:31 pm
I saved this post for a time when I could relax with a cup of tea and *really* read it (and oh, those times are not so easy to come by when two little ones are in your care!). I’m glad I saved it, though. A few years ago, I first read A New Kind of Christian, and it met me exactly where I was at — the first pricks of disillusionment with the church. However, McLaren’s book seems very “safe” to me now. It seems to discuss change within the church more than a change in Christianity itself, which is the wider and much scarier chasm I find myself crossing now. Like Shay said, a lot of the emergent authors seem to be treading carefully lest they be seen as too heretical. However, that leaves a lot of us with budding “heretical” spirituality still alone in the dark.
As a child, I occasionally wondered about all the other religions in the world and would be stunned for days a time at the thought that they were all WRONG. Or perhaps we were wrong. Grace did not extend beyond denominational lines, and knowing the only right Christian formula was imperative. Now, I’ve come through that fear to a much more ecumenical view of God (and trust in his intentions to not let ANY perish), but it still feels taboo.
That is why I want so dearly to read your book once you finish. Even just the introduction and this first chapter create a safe haven for those of us who have surpassed the cautious bounds of other emergent authors. I love your personal stories and your honesty and, above all, the wide-open heart evident in your writing. I can’t wait to hear more!
November 20th, 2008 at 7:07 am
Shay,
I don’t know how well I can represent the gay contingent, but I will try! Maybe you can suggest readers to me who will help me edit along the way?
Emergent is still really white (straight) male. I don’t know if we can change that or not. But I do know when you’ve got a story in your soul, you’ve got to let it out. I think I’ll do that and see what happens.
Love you lots, my brother.
-R
November 20th, 2008 at 7:12 am
Heather,
I suppose that’s a good first impulse– to get you (or to get yourself) to sink deeper into the structure and try to make changes. That was certainly my first impulse. “We can save this!” phenomenon. I think the jury is still out as to whether not the instutition as-is is a sinking ship or not.
When I was dealing specifically with the patriarchy in my particular denomination, one of my mentors, Rose Swetman, said to me “This will not change in your lifetime. The question you have to ask yourself is, are you called to this fight within these walls.” I quickly realized the answer was no. Now I’m trying to encourage a search for the feminine divine from outside the official structure –much as you are working in the NGO world instead. Here’s to ushering in shalom in whatever way we can!
-r
November 20th, 2008 at 7:14 am
Leanna,
It’s amazing what living in a different culture does for you, isn’t it?
I haven’t read any of those books, so thank you very much for your recommendation. I’m a very poor reader of non-fiction, so let’s start with just one. :-) Which would you MOST recommend and I’ll go order it pronto!
Tak!
R
November 20th, 2008 at 7:21 am
Bethany,
Thank you for giving me some of your precious kid-free time! Lord knows how rare that is!
The more water that passes under the bridge, the more willing I am to embrace and define my ‘heretical’ views — even if this makes it harder for me to get published. I agree with you, McLaren’s books and most of the pomo books I’ve read were groundbreaking for me when I first read them –what 5? 8? years ago. But now anything I pick up seems too tame. I need someone to walk with me right out on to the edge. I don’t want a groovier version of the same old same old. I respect that that is enough of a change for many people. But it’s more reformational than that for me. Every reformer is a heretic before s/he is a hero. :-)
Here’s to journey!
November 20th, 2008 at 8:32 pm
rachelle, this is beautiful. thank you for this gift.
i kind of wanted to put myself out there and bring up my book “stumbling toward faith” as a sort of early emergent (non-male) book which also challenged this thinking.
i have totally different issues (though i do recognise the desperate need for new lenses) but people ARE longing to hear from those who are willing to be real and honest and distrusting of the status quo.
much love.
renee
November 22nd, 2008 at 5:21 am
rachelle,
can’t remember exactly how i stumbled across your site (abbey of the arts, perhaps?), but i’m so glad i did, and so glad i bookmarked it so i could come back and read this! i have been struggling with faith for the past several years (really ever since i became a christian about 15 years ago). my struggles are of a different nature, but this piece spoke to me nonetheless. i had heard of brian mcclaren, but haven’t read his book (books?); perhaps i will now. i look forward to exploring your site!
November 22nd, 2008 at 9:17 am
Rachelle,
Bravo! You’re the perfect person to write this essential book. I love this first chapter – so descriptive, and articulates the dilemma with such grace. Please continue.
December 12th, 2008 at 10:19 am
Hi Rachelle,
This is a great read, and like most everyone else here I totally relate. I have something to say, but don’t know exactly how to say it so bear with me…
I appreciate the comment above about McLaren’s books seeming a little too safe. The thing is- I didn’t read any of those emergent books when they came out because I was living it, as you know, at Church of the Apostles in Seattle. (By the way- my emergent experience is SO saturated with the presence of women! Lacey, Karen, myself, and so many other women leaders at that church who planted it and cultivated it! Not to mention your very impressive presence in the peripheral all the while. I NEVER thought of emergent as being “white male” until reading this and realizing that COTA is kinda not the norm… I’m very blessed to have had it.)
Anyway, for one thing I find that since I bypassed the standard “getting to know emergent” literature and went straight to living it, just the thought of going back and reading those books really drains me. But furthermore- and I guess the thing I’d be curious to hear your thoughts on (whether you can relate, and if so- how you cope with this)- is that I also find that I’ve moved one step beyond now, to the point of not attending church, and in fact not feeling a loyalty or sense of “responsibility” to Christianity as the religion that it is, was, or “should be.” You know- that sense of obligation to be part of transforming Christianity, to making it something better- making it into the thing it could be/ should be… I REALLY felt that at first when I got involved with emergent- I took on huge leadership responsibilities with a “we can change the world!” vigor. But at a certain point, I don’t know what happened, I just… let go. (I almost wrote, “I snapped,” if that sheds a little light on the sentiment I’m getting at.) Usually, this release just feels like a big burden lifted in my life, but deep down I still feel a very subtle, very consistent twinge of guilt like instead of “letting go” what I really did was… I gave up. I gave up on Christianity, that is the icky thing some voice in my head is telling me with an ashamed tone of voice. And (I go on to feel) that makes me somehow bad (not “going to hell” bad, just more like you said, “season of doubt” bad- the kind you hear your mother’s voice praying for you to come through unscathed).
I sort of felt this guilt come surfaceward, after a season of hibernation, when I read this post. Maybe it’s just hearing someone I relate to so much on that excellent list of “symptoms” (and who’s voice and opinion I value so much on the topic of spirituality and faith) recommend reading a book about a new kind of Christianity, when from my current position a book like that doesn’t appeal to me on any level. I find myself asking, “What’s wrong with me, then, for not caring what happens to Christianity?”
I have to wonder what keeps a person like you interested in any way in transforming Christianity. It’s not just that it seems like a huge task (because believe me, I’m known for taking on huge tasks, in spite of their ominousness), it’s also that I struggle with whether or not that is really something that NEEDS to happen, like, for the good of humankind. Why not just extract and glean out the religion it is supposed to be, and call it something completely different (or nothing at all)? Keep the ancient roots and all the Truth and Light, and let go of the stigmatized title, allowing for the not-so-great brand of Christianity that still dominates to just sort of fizzle out? I feel like a bad girl for asking that, but I guess we can say I’m being devil’s advocate even though we both know I’m really asking for myself.
At this point, I almost feel like attempting to play a role in transforming Christianity from where I stand now would be like trying to transform or change any religion I’m not really a part of. That feels wrong to me- so why do I STILL have this deep-set guilt of “giving up on it”?
Ultimately, I know that religion and faith come down to living the way you feel morally compelled to live and being faithful to that sense of Truth and centeredness in your life. I was never the one to ask this until seriously just a few months ago- but, why bother with a title? Why bother saving Christianity? Why bother eliminating the negative and unnecessary types of guilt so often associated with the OLD kind of Christianity (regarding “right living” and such) just to replace it with a new type of guilt- that it’s my obligation to transform Christianity, and I’m somehow bad if I don’t get involved in that transformation?
Oh man, sorry so many words. I’m probably being redundant in places too, but it feels good to get this out.
Thank you for thinking about this!
Lots of love,
Gwen
January 9th, 2009 at 10:41 pm
amazing, amazing, amazing.
i am nearly speechless and in awe of your “satori” (awakening).
journey on my friend, journey well and safe…
all love to you.
January 21st, 2009 at 10:25 am
I’m spending my morning readng through your amazing blog. When you said you knew Albania well, I was of course curious– still looking for your clues about that–lol!
We are SoulSisters! I “knew” it! I’ve been where you’ve been, sat in those same seminary classes, watched Christians go through the motions every Sunday, etc. And now I am ‘here’, in the wonder-filled place I belong. Having fun, creating beauty in my life. Moving far, far away from ‘home’ played a part in my growth and has taken me to awesome soulful places all over the world.
I am creating my SoulTribe, and I hope you’ll be part of it.
Kim
http://www.acrossthelana.blogspot.com (my expat life in Albania)
March 4th, 2010 at 5:56 am
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