Quit Trying to Work on Your Faith

Aren’t You Stressed Out Enough?

I did something I haven’t done in a very long time. I really didn’t want to, but what I did want was to support a loved one, so I did it. I got ready, even put on a little makeup and waited for her to pick me up.

And then we went to church.

It was a sweet little group, and I could understand the appeal.

It’s amazing what distance does to your perspective. It’s been more than a few years since I attended a church service. (Well, except for an occasional visit to an Episcopal church I enjoy.)

Starting with the hymns, I started feeling cringy. Songs that plead for God’s mercy because, you know, we’re all sinners save for the grace of God.

I dismissed the whole hell thing many years ago. Nor do I believe in “original sin” but rather, original goodness.

Singing about how I’m an awful sinner just doesn’t spark any joy. (And oh ma gosh, I can hear the squeals of protest from the evangelical community. I am well familiar with it, having been one who has been an especially loud squealer.)

I pondered the set-to-music learned helplessness that was being reinforced. Oh, God, I can’t do anything. I am helpless and pathetic. Sing it with me!

When the man (and by the way it was ONLY men who did anything,) got up to preach, I braced myself. I could see 4 sheets of looseleaf paper and tried to assess how long he would speak.

I don’t know what has made me more nervous in my church years, a preacher with several pages of notes or a preacher who declares, “I had my sermon all ready but while I was shaving, God told me to say something else.” (Read: we are going on a non sequitur, stream-of-conscience blatherskite journey. I hope you nicked your chin, jerkwad.)

The topic for the day: Faith.

I surprised myself because I could almost quote all the verses he cited.

To sum up the message of the verses: try harder, dig deeper and build up that faith.

Got trials? Just believe better. Stand stalwart on Scripture. Pray harder. Give more. (And remember people, the tithe is on the GROSS!)

Faith is a muscle to exercise. And more exercise is always better.

I’m so glad my thought bubbles aren’t visible because mine had a great big WTF floating above my head.

It’s not that I was unfamiliar with the message. Hell, I could preach extemporaneously on the topic, complete with chapter and verse.

I tried to chill but the WTF cloud persisted.

I considered the small group of congregants and pondered what trials and traumas they were facing. I wondered what their conversation in the car was driving to the meeting. Were they fighting? Hissing at the kids? Stressed out over the tithe check they would drop in the offering plate even though their power bill was almost $400 and grocery shopping is a big game of “how much did prices rise this week?”

I pondered the collective trauma we’ve all endured from Covid. The deleterious mental health effects, the exponential rise of alcohol sales, job losses, impacts on children. And so much more.

I thought of people getting diagnosed with cancer. Having been one of those myself, I am familiar with the multitude of issues it brings. Not only does it bring an existential crisis, there are financial worries. (Medical debt is the number one reason for bankruptcy.)

Perhaps I’m just a negative Nancy, but I see suffering and traumatized people almost everywhere I look.

The world has sped up and social media ensures a steady drip of stress hormones. We’ve lost our moorings and any sense of connection to a larger community. (Unless you call firestorms on Twitter “connection.”)

These are truly unprecedented times.

And the solution this man is presenting: Do more, faster. Build that faith muscle! If you’re not well, you’re not doing enough. It’s your own damn fault.

Oh, my god. I am just exhausted thinking about WORKING at my faith. But yet, that is what western religion does yet again-turn faith into a morality test, an egoic feat to be accomplished.

For many years, I did this. I read the word. I prayed. I fasted. I BELIEVED!

And you know what it did? Increase my frustration and negative self-talk.

What didn’t happen? My marriage didn’t stay intact. I developed cancer. I am facing financial challenges.

What I thought was faith was really my attempts at controlling outcomes. And if the outcomes didn’t work out as I envisioned, I didn’t have enough faith.

My religious views started crumbling several years ago as I began questioning the tenants of my faith. And irony of ironies, it was the writings of Richard Rohr, OFM, a Franciscan Friar, who would help me unravel the toxic trappings and invite me into a place of gracious, open spaces of freedom.

Yeah, a Catholic dude. For the record, I was a cradle Catholic but left that church as a young adult and joined an evangelical church.

Irony.

Back to the service. I sneaked a few peeks around. I just wanted to hug everyone. Tell them they don’t have to work harder. That they are loved. I wanted to shout that surrender is the fastest path to peace and serenity.

I wanted to tell them that there is a force that holds the world together and that force is love.

You are enough, I would tell them.       

I wanted to tell them about my “shit happens” theology and that the painful things they are enduring isn’t because they lacked faith, it’s simply because they are alive. And equally so, I would underscore that the new car they just financed isn’t a blessing from God any more than a brain tumor is a curse allowed by God.

I considered the man giving the message and wondered how his formula was working for him. I’m not being sarcastic.

That approach can work for a while until the wheels fall off. And I wondered where he was on his journey. If he would find surrender.

It was excruciating when I started examining and deconstructing my religious beliefs. Everything I knew and embraced went by the wayside.
I became bitter and angry. Perhaps it was the warmup act for the divorce that would come several years later.

Rebuilding my life in every area has been disorienting, terrifying and, when I can adjust my headspace, exhilarating.

Faith now means rest. It means surrender. It means acknowledging a force greater and more loving than my thinking mind can grasp.

There is nothing I can do but accept what is and trust that whatever may happen next, I will be okay. You will be okay, too.

Not preaching nihilism, mind you. This sort of faith takes work in a way because there is a tremendous fight with the ego to release the things we have no control over.

This is what I wanted to tell these beautiful people.

I see you. I know you are burdened.

Can we just get real with one another instead of repeating platitudes and verses? Can we admit we’re scared and overwhelmed, and we don’t know what the fuck to do?

Can we celebrate just that fact that we are alive? Find ways to connect with one another more? Laugh and cry together?

Yeah, doubt they’d want me in their pulpit.

The service wrapped up, chit chat ensued, and folks went on their way. I eyeballed their fellowship hall on the way out and felt a twinge of nostalgia.

Mmmm, church potlucks. It even smelled like a church kitchen. Is there a scented candle that recreates that odor? I looked for the inevitable huge coffee urn that would brew battery acid. There it was. Right next to the sink. Ewwwww. Powdered creamer.

We gave a final goodbye to a lingering parishioner, and we, too, were on our way.

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