Keeping the Faith

I grew up in a church-going family: every Sunday, no matter the season or the weather, we went to church. This was mostly a function of my mother’s upbringing. My dad attended church because he believed that Good People are people of faith. And, after growing up in deeply dysfunctional family himself, he was determined to become Good People–and to raise Good People, too.

All of which is to say that while I went to church as a kid, I wasn’t committed to doing so. I grew up in a small town in Idaho where everyone I knew was Catholic or Mormon; being a Lutheran made me feel like a spiritual weirdo. My church didn’t have a youth program, so there were no Friday night dances. We didn’t have CYO basketball. I grew up thinking of church as a boring thing for which I had to get up early on Sunday mornings. I would have gladly stopped going, had that been an option.

Fast forward to my adult years. I didn’t attend church services at all–but even so, I got married in my parents’ church. Both of my children were baptized there, too. Even though we lived across the country when my son was born, we made a special trip home for that occasion. All of these were choices I made.

As I often tell people, church wouldn’t let go of me. Not even when I tried to let go of it.

Some people argue this is just the lingering residue of the fear we’re taught as children, but I don’t believe that. God knows my first response to being told I have to do something is to do exactly the opposite. As far as I’m concerned, that’s how God made me.

And this, I think, is why I went back to church with my children when they were young: because I didn’t have to. But I wanted my kids to have some level of biblical literacy. I wanted them to be able to hold their own in a conversation with someone twisting scripture to suit a particular agenda. Above all, I wanted my kids to know that Christianity should be squarely situated in the Gospel of loving your neighbor, taking care of those in need, and being God’s hands at work in the world. And it should never be used as a weapon against anyone, for any reason.

I was nervous about going back to church with my kids, though. I was afraid of what they’d hear in Sunday School, worried about how that might shape the lens through which they viewed the world. For the first few months, there was a lot of debriefing after church.

Eventually, though, Mike and I decided to get involved with teaching Sunday School ourselves. The kids got involved with the music program. Mike and I volunteered to work on a Habitat for Humanity house. We decorated our car for Trunk or Treat on Halloween. We helped out with Vacation Bible School. The kids went to church camp. For a number of years, church was a central part of our lives, and I felt good about that.

But then, after a while, I didn’t.

I’m not going to go into specific detail here. The point is not who said what, or did what (or wouldn’t bother to do what.) I stopped going to church for a lot of little reasons and a handful of pretty big ones. When I came to the point where I routinely left church feeling angry–much less connected to God than I had when I arrived–I knew it was time to make a change.

I realize I could have joined another congregation–but I wasn’t looking for a way to fill a hole in my life when I went back to church. That wasn’t what happened at all. Church gradually made a space for itself in my life. And when that space closed up again, it happened just as gradually.

So where does that leave me, this Lenten season? Spending some time with The Lent Project each morning. Trying to remember to take a photo each day as part of the Lenten Photo-A-Day practice from Rethink Church. Making one crochet square each evening for Squares for Hope, a project started by one of my former students. I’m doing my best to stay focused on Lent without the structure of Wednesday evening and Sunday morning services.

I have friends who describe themselves as “lapsed Catholics,” but I don’t think of myself as a lapsed Lutheran. I’m just a Lutheran–even though I’m not attending Lutheran worship services, at the moment. I come from people of Swedish and Norwegian descent. Mike’s family is German. I teach at a Lutheran university. Lutheranism is a fundamental part of our story. I don’t think that could ever change, even if I wanted it to.

And honestly? I don’t.

Because I still believe in God’s redeeming grace, which comes to every one of us–not because we deserve it, but because God wants each of us to have it. I believe that the life force in each living thing–spirit–comes from that same place of love. I believe there’s a reason why seeds planted in the same soil, watered and tended in the same way, don’t always grow. Lacking spirit, we are all just physical matter, taking up space.

Science tells us energy can’t be created or destroyed. So what happens to our life force when we die? I don’t know. But the one thing we do know for sure is that energy doesn’t disappear.

I think there’s a reason I was called back to church and a reason why I left again. I feel like I’m where I should be right now. And whatever comes next, my faith that I am loved no matter what will help me remain open to that possibility.