Trials of many kinds

Hero complexes, deconstruction and re-enchantment with Divine Mystery

Somewhere along the way, I started to believe only good things should happen to me.

It could have been my upbringing during a time when everyone got a trophy? Entitlement.

It could have been the experience of being taught to the test, learning how to perform for grades to define my worth. You can always earn love.

It could have been believing a sort of prosperity gospel in which faithfulness was to be rewarded with money, connections and power. Be a good girl and you’ll never know suffering.

Or, more likely, a soul-shaping cocktail of all the above.

I recently attended an event where the hosts featured an incredible conversation on generational theory. Millennials are considered “the hero generation” because we came of age in a time in which our primary orientation was towards finding our voice, making an impact and changing the world.

Apparently, “the hero generation,” like all other generational archetypes, emerges every four generations. So we didn’t choose this. It’s more like the confluence of time and collective evolution chose it for us.

If you’re anything like me, you believed this story. You believed that world change was your destiny. And you were dedicated, for better or for worse, to doing your part to make good things happen and to lead a good and satisfying life.

Then life keeps unfolding, and you learn by way of choice or circumstance that changing the world is nowhere near as easy or simple as you thought it would be.

You find out that you can do all the right things and still lose your job.

You realize that you can believe the right “truths” and champion the right causes and still find yourself heartbroken by the next legislative bill drafted to dehumanize you, your neighbors, and the people you love.

You can check all the boxes, get the best scores, and still be found standing face-to-face with a problem that might break you.

Of course, these types of disappointment are the stuff life is made of. But in the moment, when your dreams are crumbling, nothing is working out and you are challenged to move through unmet expectations, it’s painful. It’s disorienting. Disappointment becomes fodder for reevaluating everything about your life.

When we talk about “deconstructing faith,” many of us spend time in these hyper-intellectual phases of our unraveling. We learn all the things that might help us make sense of what we used to believe and why it was harmful. We go to great lengths to find new teachers, or new churches, that are more closely aligned with what we now claim to believe. Or we abandon the story of God altogether. I’ve done versions of these things. It makes sense.

But as I’ve continued journeying, I’ve come face-to-face with the limits of an intellectual shift in theological position.

Yes, we change out minds. But the longing we feel, and the disappointments we carry aren’t just in our heads. They are felt in our hearts and bodies. To be a person of faith, at least in my experience, was a full-bodied, wholehearted commitment. And so even though I changed my mind about some things, despair lingered

Maybe you’ve changed your mind, but you still desire to stand in awe of Mystery.

Maybe you’ve changed your mind, but your heart still stirs at the possibility of knowing and being known by the Divine.

Maybe you’ve changed your mind, and left the church and can’t stomach the Bible right now, but you still feel a gentle tug towards the whimsical, powerful, liberating story of Jesus.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about a sort of resurrection I experienced in my faith while on retreat in North Carolina. The mystical experience of connection and transformation was as real. And in the weeks since, I’ve been reflecting on what made my re-echantment with the Mystery of this tradition possible.

Much of it has come down down to this one line:

“In this world, you will face trials of many kinds…”

I’d heard this line hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. Jesus says something to this affect to his friends in his final days leading up to his death. And then a similar phrase is used in the book of James, long after Jesus is gone.

You will face trials of many kinds.

When I heard it with new ears, I started to wonder, How did I miss this? Of course, life is hard. Of course the world is full of oppression. Of course disappointment is a big part of the story. How did I miss it?

There’s probably a lot of reasons I missed it. A strong mix of American exceptionalism, the myth of meritocracy and a millennial hero-complex surely played no small part.

After years of wandering through all sorts of hard things—health things, marriage things, racism things, work things, etc.,—being reminded that trials of many kinds is literally written into the story of my faith gave me an overwhelming sense of peace.

I felt seen. I felt held. I felt understood. And I felt loved by the fact that this old story in this ancient text somehow carried the foresight to let me and all of us know that in our suffering we are not alone.

I can keep walking with a God who knows pain.

I can keep walking with a God who has suffered under the hand of systemic oppression and harm.

I can keep walking with a God who answers questions with more questions.

I can do this. I want to do this. Because my intellectual conclusions, which form a cage of safety around my vulnerable parts, don’t have the tenderness I need to stay soft and hopeful in the world.

I’m finding my way back to enchantment and delight through honesty about the places of my deepest suffering and pain. It’s all very unexpected honestly. But also kind of beautiful.

If you are finding you way through a spiritual wilderness, know that I’m holding you, and us, with much care in heart and mind. It’s such a tender journey. I know that. Your story is your own. Your wounds are valid and sacred. My hope is that you’re able to make space to be honest about the trials that have found their way to your doorstep. I pray you know, in intimate and mysterious ways, that even at the point of your greatest despair, you are cherished, wanted and dearly loved.

Until next week, beloveds, your faithful companion on the journey,

Bethaney