I have begun a “quest” – the term that my new church uses to describe
its process for becoming a member. Our “guidebook” that we’re working through
frames it like this: “Encountering the Holy does not leave us as we are. It doesn’t
make all the pieces fit, doesn’t assume everything now suddenly makes perfect
sense. But [it] may speak to your soul and call out of you a faith you can
claim.”
A faith that I can claim. What is that now? My faith has gone through
many metamorphoses over the years – and me with it – and it continues to take
shape. From childhood beliefs borne out of Sunday School and my parents’
teachings, to adolescent growth through camp and youth group. To college, where
those beliefs were challenged and I came into my own, realigning much of my
theology and worldview. To now, my twenty-somethings, where I am much more
certain about some things – and entirely uncertain about others.
The first topic in this quest is “confession” – but not like a
confession booth or someone on their knees confessing their sins. No, here
confession is framed as simply naming ourselves – our experiences, our beliefs,
our lives; all of who we are, all of what we bring. And it poses the question,
what do you believe?
What do I believe? What would my “confessions of faith” be if I were to
write them down? What is my Nicene Creed? I believe in a God who is Love. I
don’t understand how God allows so much suffering in the world and probably
never will, but I do know that God cares for us and walks with us in the midst
of it. I believe in a God who created a beautiful world, although I don’t
believe that it took six literal days; I don’t need to know how it was created
to know that it was good.
I believe in a God who created each of us in God’s own image, and each
of us equal. I believe in a God who transcends our binary understanding of
gender, is neither “he” nor “she” but both and so much more. I believe in a God
who became incarnate in Jesus, reaching out to those who were on the margins of
society and subverting the power structures of his day. I believe in a God who
in Jesus called out racism and all of the artificial divisions that the religious
institutions made, and instead called us to love – radically and
whole-heartedly, at great risk to our own comfort and well-being.
I don’t have an atonement theory that perfectly explains the
significance of Jesus’ death on the cross, and I don’t know if there is a literal
“hell” you go to when you die – although I’m pretty certain that any heaven or
hell that does exist is way different than what we imagine it to be. But if
there is a heaven, then more and more I am convinced that our Muslim, Jewish
and other brothers and sisters of faith will be there too – that our God is big
enough to supersede even these boxes of “religion” that we try to fit God into.
I struggle with the violence of the Old Testament, and with the
apparent misogyny and approval of slavery in Paul’s letters in the New
Testament. But I believe that the Bible was written to a particular people in a
particular place – it holds Truth, but must be understood in its proper context
in order to ascertain what that Truth really is. I believe that the Bible has
been misused and abused to perpetuate the oppression of women, people of color,
the LGBT community and other marginalized groups – which is a tragedy, because
I believe it holds a revolutionary message of freedom and hope.
I believe that there is nothing in the Bible, understood in context,
that condemns members of the LGBT community – and there is everything in the
Bible that speaks love and acceptance. I believe that even if we disagree on
this or other questions, it is never our place to judge – it is always our
place to love.
This is my confession – a faith that I can claim. I still have many
questions, many things I want to learn more about and explore further, but I am
certain of more than I thought. I don’t want to be too certain, though – I
don’t want to judge those with whom I disagree, but rather be open to hearing
their experiences and their beliefs – their confession.
But I don’t want to silence myself either – to stay quiet when I have
something to say, to stifle something that’s burning inside of me. Sometimes
it’s because I’m afraid of what people will think of me if I speak up;
sometimes it’s because I don’t want to get into an argument or hurt someone’s
feelings. Sometimes it’s because silence is easier, and because I don’t think
that we can have a real conversation about our differences.
But in staying silent, I am denying my own confession – I am hiding my
own experiences and beliefs; my life. And I am denying the possibility that in
confessing to one another we can build bridges in surprising places, we can
find common ground that didn’t exist before and we can come to new
understandings or perspectives. If I truly believe that I have a faith that I
can claim, then I must challenge myself to own it, to speak it – and to open
myself up to the confessions of others. Thus begins my quest…
