Random Thoughts on Religion & Faith

I'm sitting in our cozy family room, watching through the windows as the breeze stirs the madrona trees, and makes whitecaps on the water. The wind is from the North today, so there is a blue, cloudless sky, and the tide is running "in" - from North to South - so strongly that it looks like a river out there. The power of the water and the changes in its appearance will never cease to delight me.

I grew up spending my summers on the shores of this water - Puget Sound - and it is where my heart is, and always has been. Now, my daughter's ashes are in this water, and someday, those of my parents - and mine - will also be set free in it. I like the idea of our remains mingling together in the same salty body of water that holds so much life, and so many happy memories, for all of my family.

Yesterday, I was thinking about my faith. It is rooted in Christianity, but it is no longer what I think people would call a "religious faith." I don't go to church very often, and I hardly miss going. I miss certain people and fellowship, but what drove me to stay out was the infighting over doctrine that arose in our absence (when we were in Seattle for Katie's treatment). I expected to return to the bosom of the church that had nurtured us, and where I had served as a deacon, Stephen Minister, LOGOS volunteer, etc. But while we were away, a horrible fight blew up like a tornado, and ripped the church apart. After Katie's death, I could not enter that fray - and it was still going on. It has been resolved, after many of the members were driven out, but I cannot seem to drag myself back there. I have been to Mass with my Catholic friends, and that is a wonderful experience, except that I'm not allowed to partake of the Eucharist, which I miss. So I just study, read and pray here at home.

It occurred to me yesterday that one reason that I don't mind missing out on church is that my faith has changed so much. I'm not particularly religious, but I am faithful. I don't think I will fit in most churches, because my beliefs have been so shaped by my experience that I am a bit radical. Experience truly is the key test of religion, for me. If it held up in the hospital, then I believe it; if it's too intellectual - just a theory - then I have no time for it. I will give you an example of this: I now see Jesus and his mother, Mary, as a gift from a loving God - a gift, not just as objects to worship or emulate (though I do try to follow his example and teachings - he is my Lord), but as PATTERNS, like the instructions in sewing a garment. Patterns that we will be conformed to follow, if we are willing.

If Jesus and Mary are simply objects to look at and think about, little is required of me. I can remain comfortably distanced from the drama and the pain and think to myself, "So radical! So violent, those Bible days and times! Who could imagine a crucifixion now? I'm so glad we've progressed beyond that savagery...and I can learn from his forgiveness, surrender, generosity, healings, words and attitude." I used to see it like this, and it's so much easier, to take this sort of academic approach than it is to enter the story.

Without my consent, I entered the story on October 10, 2006. It really began on the 9th, the day of Katie's ultrasound and first CT scan, when the mass in her abdomen was discovered. That night, Gregg and I lay awake in bed, frightened and not talking, - me with a cold, leaden feeling in the pit of my stomach. I entered the story of Mary and Jesus that night, and I began to learn within a few weeks that this wasn't just a teaching story, wasn't just the Bible, wasn't just a cultural phenomenon, or even just my Lord and his mother; this was THE WAY things are, the pattern, and I was being called to walk in it after them.

Walking the way, companioning my daughter as she struggled to endure each round of treatment and the massive, invasive surgery to remove her tumor was as close to the story of Mary and Jesus as I had ever come...and I gradually recognized something new in it. God loves us so much that He put this story in our path, to teach us what this world is like. We are not alone, unobserved. God's own Son was called to walk the path of suffering, to show us how to do it, but also to show us that NO one, not even God's own Son, escapes suffering in this world. It's a broken world. We are here to live and do our best in it. We ARE God's hands and face for one another, in this place. (There are other traditions that teach the message in other ways, and this, to me, is further evidence of God's loving provision for ALL of His people, everywhere, in all times.)

I was given a "Mary" role, but also experienced my own "crucifixion," in suffering. My Mary role was "standing at the foot of the cross," Katie's cross of suffering, and suffering with her, watching her and helping to ease her symptoms. I had to let her go, and I had to keep out of her way as she went. I had to do that, and do whatever I could to soften the experience for her, to hold her in love, but not hold on to her. I had to let go, and make it as easy as possible for her to go - all the while, my emotions and feelings were screaming, "NO! She can't die! I want her here with me! I can't live without her! I love her! I need her here! Please!" But I couldn't give way to those emotions and feelings, because my job was to make the unthinkable as easy as possible for Katie to endure...to accompany her, to take the fear out of it (as much as possible), to let her know that each step was held in Love, - that she would always be loved.

In that experience, I found the love of God in a new way. I found, by Grace, that He loves us so much as to allow His own Son to do it first, and then to preserve these accounts, so that, two thousand years later, we know the story. Mary had to watch her son suffer and die a horrendous death; God knows how I feel. Jesus begged His Father to allow "the cup" of the experience that was coming, to pass from Him. He pleaded with his Father: if it was possible, please find another way. Apparently, it wasn't possible - for Jesus, or for Katie.

This story, as harsh and as difficult as it is to understand intellectually, has brought me great comfort. I feel known, understood and cared for. I feel God did this for me, for us, to teach us THIS IS HOW IT IS HERE. It's not about me, or Katie, or Gregg, or David, or Ben, or Carin, or Michelle, or Henry - and it is about us, all of us. This place is broken in certain ways, and we are God's hands and His face for one another. Stuff is going to happen that we don't like, wouldn't want, and will avoid at all costs; some of that stuff will happen anyway. He cares; He loves enough to send His own Son through it ahead of us, to show us that it will happen, and how to do it.

It's not what I thought Love looked like. It's not what I wanted Love to look like - I wanted Love to look like rescue. But it is Love, when you look at it from a certain angle - the love that is solidarity, understanding and union. And for that, I am grateful.