Out of Sorts: Making Sense of an Evolving Faith

by Sarah Bessey

“Let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect.”

We create Jesus in our own image, don’t we? “It is always true to some extent that we make our images of God,” wrote Brennan Manning. “It is even truer that our image of God makes us. Eventually we become like the God we create.”

When we’re sorting things out, when we dare to ask questions, sometimes someone will pat us on the head and say, “Well, you know, you need to have faith like a child.”3 Pat, pat, pat, right on the head. Patronize, patronize, patronize, right on the soul. Just stop wondering, stop wrestling. You aren’t supposed to be a grown-up in the kingdom, darling, you’re supposed to be like a child and accept what you’ve been taught and stop asking questions. Trust the truth you’ve been given. To which I now respectfully ask: I’m sorry, but have you ever been around a child for any amount of time? Because let me tell you, kids ask a lot of questions. My tinies ask questions constantly. They want to know where the Eiffel Tower is and why it’s there and why don’t my friends go to church and why can’t I marry Daddy and what time is it in China and what colors make pink and do you want to hear this song and why does this bug tickle me and why did Jesus die on the cross and why can’t I watch this show and why do I need to sleep and on and on and on. There is a natural curiosity that is inherent to children. I think it’s a bit dishonest to use “Have faith like a child” as a way to shut a person down. Like, somehow, it means we’re not supposed to wonder, we’re just supposed to accept. Now that I have a house full of small humanity, I think I’m beginning to understand why Jesus would encourage us to have faith like a child. They don’t know. And so they ask. We don’t know. And so we ask. The as...

Be curious. Look behind the curtain, push against the answers, lean into the questions or the pain. As the psalmist wrote, fly on morning’s wings to the far western horizon, God is already there.4 God isn’t threatened by our questions or our anger, our grief or our perplexed wonderings. I believe that the Spirit welcomes them—in fact, leads among them and in them. We ask because we want to know, because it matters to us, and so I believe it matters to God.

But maybe this isn’t your time to do that. Maybe this is your time to let go and walk away. You’ll be surprised where you end up. If you have needed to walk away, I know you’re grieving. Let yourself grieve. When something ends, it’s worthwhile to notice its passing, to sit in the space and look at the pieces before you head out. In the early days, when you first walk away, you may feel afraid. You don’t need to be afraid. It can be confusing to separate from what so-and-so-big-guy-in-the-big-organization says about you or people like you. It can be disorienting to walk out into the wilderness on purpose. It can be lonely. It can be exhilarating. It can be terrifying. My friend, don’t stay in a religious institution or a religious tradition out of fear. Fear should not drive your decisions: let love motivate you.

“The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof.”

It’s faith because it is hope declared,

remember that God is not threatened by you