Perplexed about Religion.

"Discipline is the other side of discipleship. Discipleship without discipline is like waiting to run in the marathon without ever practicing. Discipline without discipleship is like always practising for the marathon but never participating.

Discipline in the spiritual life is the concentrated effort to create the space and time where God can become our master and where we can respond freely to God's guidances.

Thus, discipline is the creation of boundaries that keep time and space open for God. Solitude requires discipline, worship requires discipline, caring for others requires discipline. They all ask us to set apart a time and a place where God's gracious presence can be acknowledged and responded to." Henri Nouwen.

I read this and was left with one big question..............can someone on the road to believing be a Disciple, or does one have to be an honest to goodness, true blue Believer first?

(This post is longer than blogposts should be. Sorry about that. I tried to edit, but felt compelled to continue writing, mostly for my own benefit. I started this a week ago and hemmed and hawed about posting it, but obviously decided to, because i see this piece as a large part of my own story...... Each paragraph, has brought forth 10 other avenues I feel I could travel down and write about. Maybe one day I will. Perhaps this is the draft of an introduction........a means of possibly pulling together previous posts I have written on religion and spirituality. It feels that way right now. Or maybe it's just the reasoning behind my desire to seek awareness and I just have to get it out of my system. Either way, writing this has forced me out of my comfort zone. Pip often writes about the fact that learning happens when you step out of ones comfort zone. Revisiting and connecting some of the dots definately throws me into a learning curve outside my comfort zone. If you have time to read it, I would honestly like some feedback.)

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I'm not a regular church goer. Let me rephrase that. I am not a church goer. I havent been for many years, except for the token few times which to be quite honest left me feeling completely disconnected and unimpressed. In the course of the last 15+ years, only one service has left me feeling a powerful surge of spiritual emotions. Ironically, the sermon was on the topic of illusions versus reality. It hit home. It was the first time in a long time when I felt comfortable taking in communion. Prior to and since then, I have taken part in communion a couple of times, not always, and felt like a fraud.

I was baptized as a child. In high school, I attended weekly confirmation classess at the local United Church. They were led by a wonderful man, a dynamic Minister who was able to weave Bible stories and lessons with present day events and intersperse them with snippets from great literature. At one point during the classes, he arranged to take us all out of school for a day trip into Toronto to meet with the people who live and work at the Missions, and with people who lived and worked with people our own age who were troubled and in trouble. We also met with the head of the United Church of Canada. To this day, that "field trip" experience remains vividly important in my learning.

I was confirmed that spring, at age 14 by the same wonderful Minister and for a while, I attended church services and youth programs regularly. At university, living away from home, I often attended Anglican services with a boyfriend and his family. His father was very involved in his church, and often the Minister and his wife would have Sunday dinner with us. I was open and accepting of religion. I felt like a member. I felt like I belonged.

Interspersed with my attending church services then, I was also very involved in organizing and delivering informal chapel services in the summers at the children's camp where I worked. It was a contemplative, morally ruminating time........adolescence........the chapel services reinforced a deep sense of spirituality in me. I was comfortable in this role and didn't have to question my belief in God.

During my travels through Europe just after I graduated from University, I added to my learning by visiting various churches and cathedrals, mosques and chapels. For the most part, I was in awe. St. Peter's, Chartres, St. Pauls, St. Giles, Yorkminster, the Duomo in Florence all captured and enraptured me. I was overwhelmed by Lourdes, where I felt like I was a stranger trespassing on the sacred ground of deeply true believers. I visited Aya Sophia and the Blue Mosque in Istanbul. Stunningly beautiful. Ornate and majestic. So completely different than anything I had ever seen before. When I visited the Vatican, my travelling companion and I attended the weekly service where the Pope blesses various groups and individuals in attendance.

It was fascinating, but it was also perplexing. It seemed quite foreign to me, the deep beliefs and the expansive history seemed a bit mind blowing......but I took it all in and thought often about the intensity of the congregations' undeniable beliefs........and wondered if I could ever get to a point in my life when I could have such unbending religious beliefs. The cathedrals and mosques and shrines were all so beautifully reverent. It's just that they never felt like places where I would feel the pull to worship regularly. Perhaps because I was simply a visitor. Perhaps I've always felt like just a visitor in a church.

Would my faith ever be so strong?

Will my faith ever be so strong?

Do I really want unbending religious beliefs? I don't think so. I want the freedom to investigate, ruminate and debate. To borrow a thought from Paul, I think I like my religion messy.

For a couple of years when I was in my mid twenties, I worked with children who were multiply handicapped and who were staying, sometimes for long periods of time in a rehabilitation centre. I LOVED this job. I LOVED working with these kids, trying various sensory stimulation activities and helping them to explore their potential. During this time, I also ran a "bedtime" program for preschoolers who for one reason or another were staying at the centre. This opportunity brought me in touch with their families as well who would often be at the Centre in the evenings.

As much as I thoroughly enjoyed the interactions and the opportunity to provide recreation and stimulation for these children and their families, I was struck often with pangs of doubt wondering about a God who would allow these kids to be born with such debilitating disabilities. The very idea that people are forced into a life of pain and sorrow because they deserved it somehow or because they are being "tested" just wasn't accepted to me. These swirling throughts started my tailspin..................the daily interactions drummed up doubt.

As I write this seemingly never ending post, I am struck by amazement.....I can't describe to you all of their beautiful faces that have resurfaced from my memories .........so many kids. So many little ones I spent one on one time with............

The 2 year old little one born with only a brain stem whom I rocked every night for a week, hoping she would inherently feel my touch, wondering how she was able to hold onto life, wondering how her family felt day in and day out trying to care for her. Quite honestly, she was angelically beautiful looking.

The 13 year old boy too sick and weak from his chemo treatments to fight off a brain tumour, but would talk to me every night while waiting for his mom and dad to arrive for a visit. He eventually went home and recovered to a point where he arrived one day walking unaided. It blew me away how tall and strong he looked after months of seeing him in bed or slumped over in his wheelchair. A week after his last visit, when he walked in to say hello, he passed away. I attended his funeral and realized that there were only a few of us attending amongst the throngs of people who only knew him only when he was so ill. My memories of him were so different than all of his school buddies and family.

The 10 year old little girl amed Phillipa whose body was contorted by cerebral palsy that it would take 30 minutes of me holding her and talking soothingly before she could relax enough to smile and to let her limbs stretch out.

Michelle, a 14 year old girl who spent a summer at the Centre recuperating after jumping 11 stories from her apartment balcony after months of humilitating testimony against her sexually abusive father, only to see that the justice system gave him a slap on the wrist and let him go free. Not only did she survive the fall, after 4 months in rehab, she walked out the door on her own, her deepest scars scraped her soul permanently. Michelle and I were together every of her rehab. We did amazing things together......we even camped out in tent, and did a lot of sight seeing throughout Toronto. Whatever I did, she did.

A roomful of girls, all of whom suffered excruciating pain every moment of their lives from juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. Their disease was so extensive that they basically had to live at the Rehab Centre while receiving ongoing treatment and intervention. And even though they were always in pain, they never missed a craft activity or a trip to the movies.

Many, many, many stories……………many…………leaving me in a wake of bewilderment.

My beliefs began to really start unravelling when I moved east to the Maritimes, which ironically is more religious than the part of Canada I grew up in. Maybe that's what part of the problem was. All of a sudden, I was confronted with a black and white montage, where questioning seemed blasphemous. At the time, I was facilitating groups of individuals who were on welfare. For 4 weeks at a time, it would be me and 12 or 15 participants covering several topics that fall under the banner of "life skills." Topics ranged from self-esteem (what is it??) to assumptions to values to personal problem solving to goal setting to anger management to networking in the community. It ran the gamut. The conversations were vivid, lively, compelling and heart wrenching. AND, they were beneficial. It didn't matter where anyone was on the continuum called life, there was jumping on points for all. Everyone was welcome, and it was my primary role to provide a safe place to be................. to be........... well, that and to try to keep us on track!

My groups were the first step to help connect people back into the community and back into the possibility of entering the world of work. I ran 24 groups back to back, with a week of "clearing my head" in between groups. When I think about it now, I can't believe how many individuals I met.........with no formal teaching background, I started from scratch, and ran it like a counselling marathon, with a lot of interaction.

Baptism by fire................. for the participants AND for the facilitator. The lessons learned are too numerous to list here.........one day the book will be written ........

Each group had their own flavour, their own chemistry. Ages ranged from 19-64. Backgrounds were different, but often the wounds were the same. Poor, abused, emotionally and/or physically abused, neglected, systemically driven dependent, unanchored, marginalized, disconnected to the larger community and unable to cope.

Unable to cope and feeling all alone. Unable to cope and feeling overwhelmed.

I loved working with these groups. It was truly satisfying to help them move a couple of inches farther along life's precipice. It was AMAZING to see some of them realize that they weren't alone.......that their struggles were being experienced by a whole community of others......that they had a say in the path they chose to head down.........that they had a voice attached to opinions and beliefs and values which for the most part no one had ever asked them to elaborate on. No matter what wound was shared with the group, more often than not, someone else in the group had a similar story. Once the scars were revealed, relationships formed between individuals. Often, I was privileged to see another human being shed layers of hurt in order to move forward.

The experiences left me with a wide array of learning, gifts and stories of survival. However, it also left me with the desire to push away from any organized religion. It seemed so hurtful and so judgemental.

Too many stories of abuse. Too many emotionally scared individuals who refused to make any choices for themselves because it wasn't their responsibility.....it was God's. Too many people who on Sunday were church goers and for the rest of the week slammed everyone around them. Too many hypocrites.

One time when I had read a piece by Psychologist Virginia Satir on self-esteem. It was an ode to recogizing ourselves as unique individuals with much to offer the world. I liked the piece and fully agreed with it's message. I had also found that previous groups loved it as well because it generated positive discussions on our roles in life and on the masks we tend to wear etc. However, several members of this particular group completely shunned it. Self-esteem was not the responsibility of the individual. It was up to God.

The next day, to make their point, they brought their pastor with them to join the group. For the whole day, I was lambasted at every turn. Bible quotes were tossed at me. Accusations were lobbed at me. Even when I tried to suggest that we agree to disagree, there was no holding them back. Methinks they were making a concerted attempt to "save me." Instead, their attempts turned me right off.


Time and again, I was confronted by evangelical Believers who seemed totally stuck and pulled into their church that to me seemed as dysfunction as they were. Women in particular who for the most part had lived in a rural area separated from community, unempowered by their subservient "role" in their church. Individuals who had experienced a "conversion" the weekend before they decided to sign up for my course, and who hadn't really gone below the surface of their "beliefs" and the previous life they had led. So many wounded people who were for the most part flailing and often times were walking into a milieu where they were being taken advantage of. Churches and their leaders who were telling women who were abused, to stand by your husband no matter what the consequences are. Stories of being abused by other church members.

It was a stream of guilt inducing bizarre rules all dug up through some twisted interpretation of the Bible. I wanted no part of it.

At the same time, the church that I had been a part of in my teens and young adulthood seemed turn itself upside down by throwing out the parables and stories, and began a dissent into the realm of political correctness. Conversations about sexism in the scriptures prevailed. Debates over whether or not it was politically correct to talk of the Holy Trinity ensued. Politically driven issues became the norm instead of religiously driven ones. I was not the only one to walk away from the United Church of Canada. We left in droves.


A couple of years ago, a friend at work started dropping off articles on my desk written by his friend Peter Short, who was the Moderator of the United Church at the time. I had met this man a couple of times, once when I was decorating the church for a friend's wedding with flowers, but at the time I hadn't attended one of his services. My first impression of him was that he reminded me of Reverend Johnson who presided over my confirmation and wedding. The articles left for me to read reinforced my impressions. I was intrigued again. His words pulled me back into wanting to learn more about worship, about the lessons gleaned from the Bible, about how applicable organized religion could be in my daily living.

A little light through the armour? Definately a start. Prior to that, I wasn't receptive whatsoever to even discuss religion. My attitude was completely dismissive. I shot it down whenever I could..........criticizing too quickly. It didn't matter what demonination it was, I had no time for it. Complete and utter bullshit was my thinking. I had almost convinced myself that my destiny, was solely based on my choices, my determination. Faith in myself. Only.

The idea of fate, of predestination rather than coincidence, of faith in a higher power creeped back into my world the summer I was turning 45. How textbook is that? It arrived at a time of crossroads, when I knew it was time to reclaim myself, to get out from under the tasks and responsibilities that were defining who I am. Fateful encounters with old and new friends like my friend Finnan who appears to have given me up for Lent but I hope will return soon, discussions with my husband who has been on his own personal journey of faith as well as being introduced to the works of Philip Yancey, Henri Nouwen, Dr. Paul Brand, Thomas Merton, Rollo May, and Anthony de Mello and many others have allowed many more splinters of light to shine through the armour. With the help of some beautiful people who write beautiful reflections out in blogland, I am learning more and more each day.

Through the people I work with on a daily basis I learn about grace, mercy, struggles, and strengths. I have a much different perspective on why I am where I am, and on why I have met and worked with so many people who are picking up the broken pieces OR who have learned to rely on their faith to live with their broken pieces. My religion is fed by the beautiful souls I have the privilege of walking a mile with everyday. Their stories, their lives are my Bible stories. I just have to show up and take it all in............and then share them with others. That seems to be my role, my function in the Body of Christ. It is why my writing began to flow, so I could take part in a religion...........on the streets, at a kitchen table, sitting in my office, on the road, even in the front foyer sometimes in a government office.

I'm plugging away, relearning the stories, revisiting the concepts, reconnecting with a Higher Power. I know now that I may be by myself at times, but I'm never alone. I may have some say in my destiny, but there are some things that happen for a reason I may never know the answer to. Still not attending church.......does it matter?

Faith is a journey, not a guilt trip. Faith is a journey, not a confrontation with judgement.

.........to answer the question originally generated by Nouwen's quote..............

My discipline is helping me to practise for the marathon............and I am as good a Disciple as I can be today. My goals are all laid out in a sermon on some important Mount......not too far away.