ABOUT

MY STORY

For most of my life I have always felt close to God — the Divine.  As a young child this closeness was experienced by a sense of well-being and belonging rather than as a religious expression.  Life was a seamless unity with God simply being present wherever I found myself.  However, when I was around 10 or 11 years old, I had the distinct impression that I was to “work for God” — even though I didn’t really know what exactly that meant since I had never seen a woman minister. 

In Sunday school, a distinction between life and God was consistently taught and modeled.  Slowly, the seamless experience of the sacred in the midst of life that I experienced as a young child was discounted and denied.  And as my world expanded, my experiences, interests and pursuits became more varied and diverse.  By the time I was in high school and contemplating college, my interests ranged from the military to theology — and everything in between.  Without a clear passion, I kind of fell into theology and ended up attending a conservative evangelical college.  Although I thoroughly loved my studies, I was completely turned off by the church — my naïve faith being undermined by a religion that valued overt power and control over acceptance and love.  Upon graduating with a BA in Biblical Education and a minor in Greek, I left the church completely.

Instead of “working for God,” I became an Army officer which allowed me to grow in confidence and ability and develop as a leader.  During this period, I realized that God, the Divine, was important to my life.  And yet, I knew that couldn’t abide by the authoritarian religious expression of faith in which I had been raised.  I found my way to the Episcopal church where my questions were encouraged and welcomed and where a relationship with the Divine was affirmed.  Much to my chagrin, as I reengaged with the church, the calling that I had experienced as a child reemerged.  Suddenly, or so it seemed, I found myself in seminary — studying to become a priest of the church.

I flourished in seminary and enjoyed learning about the Catholic and Orthodox side of the church — which introduced me to the contemplative tradition and spiritual practices.  The heady theological discussions about the doctrines of the church served to reinforce my neat, well-structured, if dichotomous, worldview.  The introduction to contemplative prayer re-introduced the idea of the integration of spirituality with my lived experience.    

As my second year of seminary began, two major incidents occurred that would shape my year and transform my life.  As I was preparing to return to campus for the new semester, my Mom relapsed (for the fourth time) with non-Hoskin’s lymphoma.  And a few weeks after the start of the semester, my best friends’ first child was born — four months premature.  I was present when Kaj was born (weighing 1 pound and a few ounces) and had the privilege of baptizing him.  Kaj spent the next five months (his entire life) in neonatal intensive care.

Shortly before Easter, the doctors stopped treating my Mom’s cancer and Kaj died.  My grief was overwhelming.  I grieved the anticipated death of my Mom.  I grieved for Kaj, his parents and family.  In the midst of my grief I was desperate for an answer.  At this point in my life I had been formally studying God for over six years.  I knew the bible (and could translate it), the doctrines, the creeds and who the tradition declared God to be.  And yet, I didn’t have an answer for my friends.  I didn’t have an answer for me. 

In my grief and confusion, the image of the crucifix came to me.  This was a totally unexpected image given my very protestant upbringing and viewpoint.   What I suddenly understood was that God was present with me, even — and most especially —when I felt forsaken, abandoned, and isolated.  Although this insight didn’t assuage my grief, I knew that I was not alone.  I understood that even in this dark place, I was not alone.  This image opened me to the presence of God.

Ironically, it was not my astute knowledge of the bible, doctrines and creeds that proved to be the most valuable benefit of seminary.  Rather, it was the establishment of a contemplative prayer practice — the willingness to simply show up and be present to the Divine.  My established practice, coupled with the image of the crucifix, enabled me to perceive God’s presence in my grief, in my pain, in my anger, in my fear, and in my not knowing.  In short, it enabled me to experience God’s presence.  I discerned that God is not an answer to be applied to a specific circumstance but a real and abiding presence to embrace. 

I did graduate from seminary and was ordained a priest and have served as a priest in the church for over 23 years.  And although I have continued to struggle with unanswerable questions and wrestle with many difficulties over the years, I have managed to hang on to the insight gifted me while in seminary — faith, or spirituality, is not about having answers; it is about wrestling with our questions and being open to God’s presence in the exact place where we find ourselves.  This is why I have little patience with religious expressions that are focused on providing pat answers (especially to questions that no one is actually asking).  I am interested in the questions imposed upon us by life, how we wrestle with those questions, and through our wrestling perceive and experience God’s presence in the midst of our lives.  It is in our questioning, grappling, and wrestling that we discern God and rediscover and reconnect with our sacred self.  The spiritual life does not exempt us from experiencing pain and loss and death.  The spiritual life is about being open to God’s presence in the midst of real life — especially in the place where we find ourselves.