So, it turns out counselors are human and have human struggles. I’m a little upset I’m not learning to be a perfect example of human kindness, understanding, and love.
I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m learning how to aspire to these things. I’m learning to explore my biases so I’m at least aware of the populations I’m going to have difficulty working with.
And the biggest population I’m struggling with is religious people. Some spiritual people, but definitely religious people.
See, I grew up gathering some major assumptions about religious people based on a variety of factors.
First, we never went to church. Unless there was a funeral. I specifically remember attending a Christmas Eve service with my family the year my paternal grandmother passed away. I had no understanding about why we were there, other than they were reading her name.
Nothing about having her name read seemed significant to me, but what I remember most clearly was the rejection I felt when it came time for everyone to go up and receive the bread and wine. I made to stand up, but my parents held me back.
What the hell? She was my grandma. Why couldn’t I be in communion with her? Of course, now I understand that it was because I wasn’t baptized Catholic, and therefore considered unworthy to be in communion with Jesus, not my grandmother. And, you know what? My reaction is still, ‘what the hell?’
The Catholic church doesn’t have a monopoly on Jesus. Jesus is not property. Denying someone the opportunity to experience communion with Jesus is something that doesn’t seem very Christian to me.
Second, I remember numerous times my mother sicced the dogs on the missionaries that stopped by the house. I don’t think she actually meant the dogs to attack the missionaries, but she meant to rather scare the missionaries away so they would never come back. But the lesson I took from this was that religious people who come to the door are dangerous and deserve to be mistreated.
Third, (and I know for a fact my parents didn’t teach me this, so I don’t know where I got it from) I have the assumption that people who talk about God and Jesus in the context of how to treat people do not actually care about people, but rather care about themselves and being ‘saved,’ and do this by treating people how the bible says to treat them. And since the bible is left up to interpretation…
That is a lot to admit, especially from someone who goes to church on a regular basis, who serves in multiple capacities in said church, and who is married to a deeply religious and spiritual man.
I become irrational when someone starts talking to me about God and Jesus. They may be just trying to tell me about their experiences with spirituality and religion, and all I hear is, “I’M TRYING TO CONVINCE YOU TO LOVE GOD AND JESUS JUST LIKE ME!” It’s exhausting because I know it’s often not true.
Yet, there’s that part of me that immediately closes off and refuses to really listen to what someone is saying. I don’t do this during church services. I chose to be there, and I know the homily (sermon) is going to talk about God and Jesus, other characters in the bible, and their relationship to God and Jesus and how we can learn from them in our own relationships with God and Jesus.
Maybe I’m just churched out. I’ve been serving in various capacities for ten years. But it’s often in the business side of the church, like dealing with money, or searching for a new leader, or even dealing with the business side of leading worship.
I try to think back to when I first started going to church, and why I decided to be baptized and confirmed. Baptism seemed like something that should have happened to me as a kid but never did. So, I felt like I was just doing what I was supposed to do: get baptized as a Christian. But even when I got baptized, I felt awkward. I felt like it didn’t work.
Maybe it was because of how I had to lean over the font of water. Our wonderful priest poured the water on the back of my head when I leaned forward, as I thought it would be weird for me to lean back like I was doing the limbo. I didn’t even really feel like anything had changed, even when I felt the water run down my face. Wasn’t I supposed to feel transformed, saved, somehow absolved from all my sins? I took a covenant and everything!
So, I thought getting confirmed would be the better way to get those feelings of ‘the spirit.’ Because then I could read lessons, and do other stuff in the service. I was already singing in the choir and serving on various committees. Why not entrench myself deeper into this church? That must have been it. I wasn’t deep enough in the worship.
Ultimately, years after being confirmed I went and got trained to lead worship. And at first, I thought my struggles with faith were normal. I didn’t feel spiritual while trying to pray as part of the congregation, so I would definitely feel that way leading worship, right?
No. I didn’t feel it. I felt like I was performing, like I had to act spiritual because I didn’t feel that way. And that was very difficult. Furthermore, it was a real disservice to the people I was supposed to be leading in prayer. I know I have a sense of when someone’s not being genuine, and I’m afraid they could sense that in me. So, I backed out. I resigned, and when it came time to renew my license, I didn’t attend the training. I can no longer lead worship in that capacity, and it actually feels like a burden has been lifted.
I sing in the choir. I enjoy singing. And I enjoy singing hymns. But when it comes to feeling like I’m praying when I sing, I’m just not feeling it. Slipping on the choir robe even feels uncomfortable to me. I feel like an imposter.
And while there’s much more I can say on the subject, let me just say that being in love with someone who feels a deep connection to God and Jesus is sometimes quite difficult for me to handle.
Now, I’m really having to face down all of my experiences, feelings, opinions, and assumptions. I’m having to look at them directly and challenge them, one by one. And it’s exhausting. I’m exhausted.
I know my tiredness is only going to deepen as I write about these things for my assignments in my classes about culture and ethics. Maybe I’m just in need of a good rest. Some good self-care. But I have boxed myself in with tasks. No time for self-care - you have to work! And if it’s not work, it’s writing your book that you’re pushing yourself to do. And don’t forget to spend time with your family. And take care of the dog. And send those emails. And those papers aren’t going to write themselves. So, you really don’t have time to waste.
And yet, here I sit, using my precious time to write a blog that maybe a dozen people read. “What’s the point?” I keep asking myself. “What’s the point in devoting yourself to church when you don’t even know if God exists? What’s the point when the church will go on without you? What’s the point of all this work when someone will step in to fill your shoes? What’s the point when you know you’re replaceable?”
Church has yielded me wonderful, earthly things. I’ve made beautiful friendships. I’ve learned what I believe Christianity should look like, because of the examples of the people at the church. And I’ve learned that Christians aren’t all the same, and therefore shouldn’t be painted with the same broad brush.
But I’ve also learned more about myself over the ten years I’ve attended services at this Episcopal church. And I’ve learned that the more people talk about their personal relationship with Jesus and God, and about how their faith sustains them, and how God loves me too, and is in my life… the angrier I get. And I know that anger comes from an ugly place inside myself.
I’m jealous.
It took me years to figure out what I wanted out of life, what I thought my purpose might be. A calling, if you will. And I still don’t feel called to do anything. I chose counseling after years of personal discernment. I chose to write books because I desired a creative outlet for myself, and desired to read stories that didn’t yet exist in the world. I chose to sing in the church choir because I was 21 years old and had never been to church, was dating the music director at the local Episcopal church, and wanted to impress him with how good of a singer I was.
I recognize now that my intentions in joining the church weren’t about deepening my connection to God at all. And I think that’s why I haven’t experienced any kind of profound experience of faith.
But I also struggle with even wanting to have faith in God in the first place. “We are made in God’s image.” Awesome, so God is a human, and a bee, and giraffe, and a plant, and is literally everything. And that includes emotions. So, God is kind, and loving, and compassionate. I’m down with that. But God is also cruel, and vindictive, and greedy. Because we can’t just say God is only the good things in us, right? So why should I stress myself out to believe in a deity that is like me and everyone else? Why don’t I just work to believe in humans instead?
Humans can change. Some say God can change, because of stories from the bible. Either way, change is the one thing in our life we are to expect. So why not try to change for the better?
I’m trying to change, to be more open-minded, to be more willing to hear about people’s spirituality. I’m trying not to look around at the billionaires exploiting labor, at the politicians taking money under the table to deny rights to their constituents, or at the rapists who refuse to acknowledge their crimes. God exists in those people, if that’s what I’m supposed to believe. But changing God seems impossible.
So I’m going to work to change people’s hearts. Because people can learn empathy, can learn what kindness looks like and feels like inside themselves, can learn to donate their extra money to people in need. And in those cases where they don’t want to, we can learn how to enact laws that required them to pay their fair share of taxes that will then be used to help the people they refused to help in the first place. And if the politicians refuse, we replace them with politicians who won’t refuse. And if the system is broken, we change the system.
And we do all of this by changing people’s hearts. It’s a big deal. It seems impossible. And it does if I think about needing to do it myself. But I know at least 26 other people in the counseling program I’m in that want to help heal people’s hearts as well. And there are so many more people like them.
I believe in people’s desire to be good, genuinely kind people. And the more we join together, the more we can help heal our world.
I may not believe in God, and I may not believe in Jesus. But I sure believe in good, decent, caring people. And that’s a start.
