Wondering, Wandering Faith

Sorting through my understanding of God has felt a bit like trying to see through a block of Swiss cheese.

Impossible.

There are so many holes in the cheese that you’d think that you could find one that unlocks its full potential to be the world’s weirdest non-functioning telescope. But no. Instead, you’re left disappointed and dissatisfied. (To anyone who has never tried to look through Swiss cheese, you should give it a go sometime.)

Deconstructing my faith has often felt very similar.

I grew up in a very conservative Christian church and culture that shaped my view of self, others, the world, and God. While this experience was sometimes full of community and beauty and grace, it also taught me harmful beliefs. Some of those beliefs were that my body is shameful (I need to stay pure and hide myself away, I’m to blame for any man’s lust); exclusion of the LGBTQ+ community (the world exists in a binary of good and bad, and they are bad); and a legalistic understanding of God (you have to do the right things to be deemed worthy).

This was the air I breathed from the day I was born. Once I got to high school, I had been inundated with these messages for so long that they felt like they had to be true, like they were the only right way to see the world. I quickly silenced any questions or wonderings I might have had because I didn’t want to do anything to threaten this place of belonging. You see, I moved a number of times as a kid and with each move I craved a sense of home, of rootedness. When I found this home and friends at church, that’s all that mattered to me at the time.

Now though, as an adult living in what has turned out to be a complex world with complex humans, the questions are back. And this time I’m giving them room to breathe, to be, to take up space and make me uncomfortable. These questions have driven me to deconstruct my experience in the church and my faith as a whole.

My working definition for deconstruction is, the intentional work to refine, and perhaps redefine, your understanding of God and faith, and thus yourself and others, by asking honest questions and staying open to uncertain answers.

Wondering and asking questions has become the catalyst and inspiration behind taking a deeper look at the internalized beliefs I inherited from church. Some of these questions have sounded like:

Why does my body need to be covered up? What double standards for men and women’s bodies and sexuality have I internalized?

If the core of God is love, why is there so much hate towards the LGBTQ+ community in the church? How can the church be redemptive when its messaging is so harmful to LGTBQ+ people?

Why do I feel like I have to be certain? Do I actually need to have all the answers? What happens if I don’t?

As I began to make space for these and other questions I found myself retreating, taking a step back from the church habits that had been a part of my life for so long. I felt an utter dissatisfaction, like I was wholly discontent with going through what were preached to be holy motions but instead felt like dishonest actions. I no longer felt like I could engage with myself and church with integrity at the same time. So, I stopped trying to fake it and instead started to honour myself by listening to my doubts.

And that, my friend, is where I found peace. In the uncertainty, in my doubting. I’m still in that space today – unsure but still here, still seeking.

I share my experience with you not out of bitterness, though that has been a part of my process. When there is hurt it’s easy to get bitter. I share, rather, so that if you are in a similar season of doubting and questioning, you can know that you are not alone. That you and your thoughts, feelings, doubts have a space to belong. Asking questions can be an isolating experience, especially if we are in a community that fears and silences our wonderings.

I believe that we ask these questions, that we engage with our doubt, because we see something in Jesus that is radical enough, true enough, real enough to keep wondering about.

I still crave that belonging, that rootedness I felt at church growing up. But I am no longer satisfied or interested in exclusion and binary thinking. Instead, I long for honesty, for wrestling with and through questions, for the Jesus who fights for the marginalized and makes space for Thomas’ doubts.

It would be easier for us to walk away and let it all go. But that’s not what I want and perhaps it isn’t what you desire either. So, I stay. I engage. I ask and seek and question. Sometimes staying has looked like silence and space. Sometimes staying has meant reading books and listening to podcasts. Other times it has taken the form of changed, more inclusive opinions. But in it all, staying has required befriending uncertainty.

I used to believe that wandering and wondering were signs of faltering faith, but now I think that they are what our truest faith is made of.

My invitation for you today is to make space for the questions you feel coming up. Be honest with yourself and perhaps with others you feel safe to talk to. Choose to honour your feelings and doubts by letting them be real.

I can’t tell you what lies ahead for you and your faith. The only thing I can say for sure is that you will feel unsure. But that’s okay.

Because when we feel off-centred and out of balance, we might just be perfectly positioned to pause. To listen. To allow ourselves to wonder.

As we journey with and through our doubts, may our wandering wonderings be enough right now. May these questions be the holiest, most honest offering we can bring.