Return, Redemption, and Resurrection.
Some thoughts on where I find myself in my faith journey.
return.
If I could sum up my journey back to church it would be slow and painful. In fact, it would be a variety of pain and a lot of it.
I wish that I could say that I hopped right back in into ministry when we arrived in Texas. It was more licking wounds to no end. Almost everything had fallen apart and to me it didn’t really matter whose fault it was - I could sort that out later. Nearly two years later I still am. Church, and faith itself, felt gone and out of reach. Who knew when and if they ever would be again.
Over the first few months of being in Texas, my wife Angelique and I would hit pause on looking for any type of church community. Slowly we’d start to explore, and eventually we’d decide to livestream a church a few miles down the road During the pandemic, Angelique ended up in some digital faith communities inside two different traditions. One being Anglican. It was the familiarity with this tradition that had us exploring the Episcopalian church in Devine - St. Matthias.
I wanted so badly to be ready to attend a church let alone be a part of serving at one. That first Sunday I held my breath so tightly - and I cried in the service. Partly because of pain remembering those I used to call friends and family I was and am still grieving. My tears were partly because I felt a bit of relief. That I didn’t just break down in anger or deep sadness. I knew I was not healed but I wanted so badly to be. After a few weeks of visiting we stopped. Unfortunately, I was still having a few minor bouts of panic and anxiety around returning to church. I was also keeping not just the church but Jesus at arms length. Though I wanted to feel safe in my heart and mind - my body did not agree at the moment.
Then, one day we started coming back and I was just as nervous as the first day. I remember telling Angelique on the way there that I might leave and sit in the car and maybe watch the livestream. I’m thankful I didn’t.
redemption.
The pain of being at any church was outweighed by the desire to be among community and to partake in communion and the hearing of the word. I cannot tell you how thankful I am for a simple sermon. Not simple in it’s intelligence, but in it’s ability to connect with the hearer, without need to exaggerate or invent any type of emotional weight beyond the text and it’s own presence. I am thankful for each gift that is a tight hug, a shaking of hands, and those “I was just thinking about you” exchanges. They are sweet because they are true. I’ve written before about how this church has had to hold onto the Lord through grief. It is this sacred understanding that allows me to believe these seemingly unimportant exchanges as the holy glue inside the work of fellowship. That glue is not the foundation itself but it builds on the firm foundation of Christ.
This reality is the redemption phase for me. Gathering at a church has been renewed for me. It is no longer a place of anxiety. I even attended without my wife one week in a church where it is near impossible to hide. What a world of a difference from the end of my time in Seattle.
These days, I am silent during most prayer time holding onto each word. Holding onto hope and sometimes resisting the urge to burst into tears of gratitude - just in case I fall apart. No longer are these tears of anguish needed to express the hurt, frustration and loneliness. I feel seen, known, and not shamed for where I find myself in my journey with Jesus. I feel the invitation to participate because of my journey not in spite of it.
resurrection?
Along came Easter. The holiday of the Christian faith. We went to the service at our church, and I was so thankful for it, I remember holding onto one of the Scriptures that admittedly I cannot remember right now, but it hit me in a profound way. That feeling within my soul is what I hold onto most. That the truth in those Scriptures was for me to claim as well. I remember some other distinct moments like that in my lifetime. The night I heard from the Lord that the call to salvation was mine to choose to walk into and another was as I was getting ready to leave my college to go home and begin a long long journey to where I am now.
That summer Hillsong’s “Cornerstone” was everywhere.
When darkness seems to hide His face
I rest on His unchanging grace
In every high and stormy gale
My anchor holds within the veil
These were the words I held onto - that Jesus would hold me in the middle of it all. I find myself in a space where I’m beginning to believe that as truth again. What does that have to do with resurrection? Well, I have found that in the middle of the mess my spiritual journey has been, remembering the Jesus who resurrected gives me hope that all the darkest days of mental and emotional anguish are heading somewhere. Not that they are “worth the pain” just that inside of that pain I know what it is to be held by Jesus. The days of laying on my kitchen floor, the nights of panic attacks before and after meetings - the days questioning if my friends cared if others ignored me and even the nights I’ve spent not sleeping as I think about how to make ends meet. The truth is those nights are too much for me to handle alone. They are too much for me to bear in my own strength and capabilities. I acknowledge both that the Lord was holding onto me, AND that the people holding onto me were the ones who kept me going in the day to day. In conversations, in prayers, and just by living out what it means to reflect Jesus in the everyday.
I find myself in a space now where I don’t have to hold Jesus far away. I have taken chances in praying, slowly watching clips of other sermons as I regain capacity for it. One thing both Angelique and I are so thankful for is the freedom to listen, to hear, and to be attentive instead of waiting for the butchering of the Word or opinion preached as spiritual revelation. It’s sad but this what Sunday had become. No more.
As I have new experiences inside the Episcopal faith tradition and am watching this tiny church live out what it means to hold to Jesus - I trust I can too. As we rub shoulders each week, and even join an inquirers class, the polishing of the all the tarnish is happening.
Not only is the resurrection happening in me. but inside of everything that was held by death and destruction and sin. It is being made new. I hold that dear truth close as I am seeing it happen in real-time. It is a slow renewal and yet… I can hardly imagine what it used to be like most days. This space feels like home. Safe enough to be dangerous. Kind. Vibrant. Full of life. Walking in love. Living in love.
I know I have more to share but for now I’ll leave with this Scripture in mind as well as this song that recently resurfaced in my playlists through this post from my internet friend Jenai Auman. You should preorder her book OTHERED and subscribe to her SubStack, linked at the end of this post.
Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. - Ephesians 5:1-2
May our offerings - our lives lived in love - be a fragrant and pleasing sacrifice - not one which is only a stench and therefore rejected.
May we live freely, and fully, in love.
Amen.
