God, roots, and the wordless nature of spiritual evolution

I started #deconstructing my faith many years ago. The buzz word is relatively new, but the practice is ancient. People have been questioning, unlearning, releasing, and receiving ideas about God, faith, and religion since the beginning of time. This isn’t new.

But social media is relatively new. Living so fast that it’s difficult to keep track of what matters most is new. Being this disconnected, while also being somehow hyperconnected…these realities are new.

And all of this newness is compounded by the seeming (and in some cases, actual) failure of the institutions we’ve held dear. Be it due to scandal, exploitation, power-hoarding, or some other variety of an outright lack of integrity…of course people are changing. Of course folks are rethinking things. Giving their doubts and questions a bit more breathing room.

I’ve been sorting through what it means to cultivate faith in the midst of so much anxiety and noise. In my own journey, I’ve been exposed to and dabbled in a variety traditions and technologies along the way. Everything from centering prayer to breath work to spiritual baths to tarot reading. I don’t post about it a lot because, well, it’s personal. But I’m sharing now because I’ve realized a some things that might help others who are finding their way.

#1. God is better than I was taught.

God is expansive and generous and wholly unafraid of every question, every adventure, every doubt, and every wondering and wandering moment. As my sense of place within the Christian tradition has waxed and waned, the Divine has been there. Sometimes through intuitive nudges, often times through the gracious and loving words of friends. Sometimes through a tarot spread. Other times in an old hymn that rises in my spirit in a moment of need. Sometimes in the dew dripping down my office window. Sometimes in the play of my puppies. Sometimes in a lovingly prepared meal. Sometimes in the middle of the night when my questions and fears keep me awake. Sometimes, even, in a church service. God is everywhere, and unlike what I was taught to believe as a young and new follower of Jesus, God is not afraid.

If you find yourself wandering down roads others told you to avoid because they feared you would fall into some great and tragic unknown, you’re okay. God is there. The Divine has been dwelling in wild and mysterious places all along.

#2. Rootedness is still available to you. You might have to dig and wrestle to find it, but it’s there.

The simplicity of my former religious life was a compass. Go left, turn right. Say this. Do that. It was so simple. Not always easy, but simple. And in recent years, as I’ve chosen a path of more integrity—one of spiritual wilderness, curiosity, and exploration—I’ve had times when I’ve longed for that old compass. But when I tried turning back to the old way, I knew in my bones it was the wrong direction. There was no going back. As I’ve continued along the path, however, I’ve been delighted to find that while the compass is gone, there are still ancient ways and ancestral legacies for me to find. There are still communities and places to nourish the roots of my spiritual life. What I’m saying is: there is more goodness, presence, and nourishment to be found. Not less. There is more, and it’s so good. So when you feel uncertain and afraid, remember point #1: the Divine is in the wilderness too.

#3. Words often fail when you’re navigating the unknown.

As someone who loves words, it’s been strange to have so few to describe this journey. In fact, this is the first time I’ve been able to say something about it that makes sense, to me at least. Coming from exceedingly verbose traditions, of sacred texts and worship sets, and sermons galore, it’s easy to believe the only faith that matters is the kind for which you can craft a systematic theology. I used to believe this journey would only be validated if I could define it, describe it, defend it for others. But I’ve learned that the truest realities need no defense. If it’s true, it’s true. If you find it tough to articulate your experience and if you feel inadequate because you don’t have a robust theological framework to describe your soul’s evolution, that’s okay. The wordless is its own kind of holy. Savor it.

Okay, I’ll stop for now. I have more I could say, but this is enough for today. If you needed these words, I hope they meet you with love. Please let me know how it lands with you. And if you didn’t need these words, no worries. Thanks for reading them any way.

Be well, Beloveds.

Bethaney