Renovating Beliefs

An unimaginable tragedy crashed into my family recently and I watched from afar as the brokenness and pain drew my loved ones away from their differences and towards each other in a mutual search for some way, any way forward. All the struggles and difficulties in my life were suddenly white washed and insignificant as the horrific news reached me, and the truth of what’s important and real came so painfully into focus. I looked on in awe as my family members were lovingly embraced in a monumental way by, of all things, their church. They came together and stood taller because they were united. The beauty and strength I witnessed in that, was so large and so vivid that I immediately recognized its absence in my life, and it’s opened up something in me that I put aside long ago.

Church. It’s a relatively small word that overflows in my mind with muddied memories of uncomfortable dress clothes, shiny people, and a few terrible examples of all that’s meant to be good in that place.

I have developed a deeply rooted mistrust of religious gatherings, and I’m especially suspicious of overly rehearsed or exceptionally methodical Sunday morning sermons. I emphatically reject the widely accepted notion that someone is good, simple because they wear nice clothes while attending weekly meetings in some pointy building. There are just as many nefarious intentions found in people within such buildings as without. Some of those most vocal about their noble beliefs and faithful attendance understand surprisingly little about the principles of the religion with which they so loudly identify. I’m fairly certain that every single one of us knows someone like that.

Because of the shortcomings in the church as an institution, I haven’t yet made an effort to shuffle my kids through the charade of it. I do want my children to find faith, but I want them to do so with their eyes wide open and their hearts properly shielded from those who would misuse them.   To be fair, I wouldn’t let my kids believe that every restaurant in New Orleans serves authentic Creole food, and to me it’s unthinkable that they be any less particular about matters of the soul.

Despite my reservations, in the shadow of the recent tragedy and the news of an unexpected battle ahead, I crave the strength, shelter and growth an authentic community might provide in this troubled turbulent world. In that spirit, I am renovating my beliefs about what a church could be, and I’ve decided to begin by gathering a tribe of friends. Instead of sitting still out of fear of the disingenuous, I will move pointedly forward, recognizing and nurturing the positive influences, awkward strengths and relevant insights I encounter along the way. I will search for the kind of authenticity found in those who are silently kind and happily unrecognized. I would much rather meet quietly with a bunch of fellow misfits who’re determined to make a difference in this world, than parade around in public with a well polished group of judgmental saints.

While I don’t, and may not ever belong to a church, I do belong to God and I sincerely hope my children grow up recognizing the difference. It’s important that they realize that even or especially in the face of a religious society that demands a blank check of faith, it’s okay to ask the hard and uncomfortable questions.   I hope they learn to be wary of those who have every answer and those who deflect their inquiries by questioning their faith.   After all, a God who created the intricate inner workings of curiosity and thoughtfully designed each brilliant synapse would surely expect it all to be put to use, don’t you think?

As for that tragedy we spoke of, its darkness has eroded into the deepest unsteady bits of me and I am forever changed by its gravity. To those close to it, I will see your grief in the eyes of every patient’s family member I am tasked with comforting. The one who was lost will follow me endlessly through each encounter and to every patient’s bedside. I will love on those I am able to reach, in honor of those that I cannot.

With all my heart,

The Glittery Nurse