I Walk the Line

When we were making the decision to move from the Catholic church to Covenant, it was a struggle for us. Mind you, the Catholic church was not the ideal place for us. We were uneducated ritual followers who liked the conformity of tradition. It did serve as a platform to "wanting" to be have faith and trust in God, but it lacked so much that we were seeking and equipped us with nothing except a nice group of catholic women that taught me about catholic traditions, rules and guilt.

The biggest hang-up for me (and sometimes still is) of joining a Protestant church is not having to pray through a priest and determining how I am comfortable worshiping. Three years ago when we tried our new church we felt odd. We felt like it wasn't reverant enough, too casual. Where were the robes, organ and holy water? Where were we supposed to kneel?? We should have rules here people, and there certainly shouldn't be any hand clapping or hand raising.

But you see, in our Catholic church we felt distanced from God and it felt like a "safe" place to be. After all, the priest did all the work. He handled the praying, forgiving my sins and gave out the bread of salvation every week so I could start out new. There really wasn't much expected out of me besides maintaining the guilt and serving Saint Vincent de Paul.

Now, three years after joining Covenant church, I find myself in a much different place. I am called to be the seeker, an active participant, holding myself accountable, being missional and knowing who God really is. We are responding to our faith through an adoption, we pray regularly, we are learning the Bible. Our eyes are opened to what has been done for us and how deeply we are loved. We've changed. Our actions are more deliberate, our smiles more genuine, our time better spent.

That said, there are some days I want to go back to taking a back seat. It was easier. Some Sundays I look around and think to myself all these people have noodles for brains and want to go back to the kneeling bench, rosary beads in hand, repeating Hail Marys. Furthermore, I admit, sometimes I want to hide, call the whole thing off. It was easier being the follower. I could claim to something I wasn't because it was more mainstream, and acceptable. I admit that somedays I don't have any idea what I am doing and clinging to "Jesus" feels off the wall and crazy. I would willfully be what "the other guy is" because it I am fine with being in the middle of the road. Sometimes, I feel doubt and feel like I am too far behind my Christian friends who can recite scripture and seem to have it all figured out. Faith just doesn't seem like a convincing way of explaining the world. God doesn't seem to be near or answer my worries and sometimes I lose hope.

Does this mean I have doubt to where I am, or am I just tired? Do I want acceptance more than I want God? Are the questions I ask normal or have I just earned myself a ticket on the next train to Hells-ville.

Here is what I think...I think the doubt is good. 

Somedays I think of my faith as a castle—safe, comfortable, familiar. But what if God doesn’t want me to be comfortable and safe? What if comfortable and safe keeps God at a distance?
Doubt tears down the castle walls to force us on a journey. It may feel like God is far away or absent when in fact doubt is a gift of God to move us and grow us.

But it is scary and painful because I feel like I am moving away from Him. But actually I am only leaving behind the idea of God I like to surround myself with—the small God, the God I control, the God who agrees with me.

God is teaching me to trust him, not myself. He means to have all of me, not just the surface, going to church, volunteering part. Not just the part people see, but the part no one sees.
Not even me.

I’ve heard this many times: “Let go and let God.” It’s true—but “letting go” might be more than I bargained for. I must be taught, for I absolutely will not willingly go there myself. When we are not letting go, when we try to stay in control of something, that’s when God turns off the light and makes it dark—not because he is against us, but because he is for us. When we are out of control, that is when God can speak to us—without all of the layers of stuff we have piled up inside of us. God puts us out of our control so that we can learn to trust—not “believe” or “have faith” but something deeper and harder:

Trust.

You can only trust when you have let go completely, when you don’t try to control. When we learn to trust God out of our emptiness, we become liberated from our attachments, from our fears, and we learn to live with freedom and joy. That is the Christian journey.

So, friends I will continue my internal saga and I will come out alright. I will arrive a little disheveled and messy, but I will get there in the end.