My place in this world

“What about the epic narrative?”

This was a question asked recently on a private Facebook group I’m part of. The group is for people who have left (or are in the process of leaving) the evangelical, fundamentalist way of thinking.

The question caught me off-guard. At first, I wasn’t sure what the poster meant. Then I read further:

You know that sense that “there must be a reason you are having to go through this, there must be a purpose….” This feeling that somehow the universe is kind of revolving around your life and that heaven’s eyes are on you waiting for you to get it right? To figure out the puzzle and crack the code to human suffering and do “greater things” than Jesus did?? Do you struggle to find meaning in life or joy in life when soooooo much of ACTUAL life — then and now — is really as mundane as memory lane and misplaced dishes??

This is one of the harder things I’ve been working my way through. I was totally one of those people who would thank God for giving me a close parking space or for “leading me” to do something. For a short time, I believed that every single moment of my day was being guided by the Holy Spirit, to the point where I was literally asking whether to walk forward three steps or four. When difficult things happened, I fully believed that there was a reason, there was some greater overarching purpose to my pain. It was the only way I could comfort myself and find hope in challenging circumstances.

But when I started questioning, one of the things I kept coming up against was basically the problem of pain and my need to escape from the pain. It feels extremely privileged to be able to believe that there is a purpose to my suffering. When I studied the Rwandan genocides in law school, I wondered if the mothers and fathers of those children who were tortured and murdered could step back and believe that there was a “reason” for this horrendous cruelty. Or if those children would one day grow up and believe that there was a purpose behind their parents and siblings being forced into buildings just to be slaughtered or burned. Sure, it was easy for me – in my white, American, middle-class, financially and familial stable world – to say that there was a reason for everything, but what if I was not one of the fortunate ones? And then I started thinking about how easy it is to use faith as an escape from the pain and suffering of this life. How easy it is to wish it away and prevent myself from fully entering into the world’s (and my own) trauma by claiming there is a purpose for it all.

There is a reason why people who are going through a hard time don’t really find comfort in the now trite saying, “there’s a reason for this.” I mean, when you are the one suffering, it can sound dismissive and disrespectful, like the God who supposedly loves you will intentionally cause you enormous pain. He is the “good, good father” who gives “good gifts” yet thinks nothing of utterly destroying your life by permitting rape, abuse, awful things happening to your children, painful debilitating illnesses, financial ruin… the list goes on.

I got to the point where this whole epic narrative idea – for others – made me feel sick to my stomach. How could I possibly look at the horrible circumstances of their life and believe that God was behind it all? But, honestly, strangely, I am grieving the loss of the epic narrative for myself.

I WANT to believe that God has a purpose for everything in my life. I heard some people speak at a conference last year about how Jesus directs them at every moment of their lives and I wept with desire for that experience. I craved that kind of communion. I desperately wanted the magical guiding hand of a savior who would keep me from harm and from making bad decisions and would help me neatly and nimbly thread my way through all the obstacles and challenges of life. I want to think that when I get that parking space or see a verse on a billboard, that it is a “sign” from Heaven, that God is communicating with me in every second. I want to believe that when bad things happen, there is a blessing and a victory just right around the corner. I want to believe that there is a specific purpose for my life and I am living out God’s exact will for me – and that there is some direction “He” created uniquely for me.

While I never ever ever ever would have described my relationship with God or my idea of “Him” as being like a genie or magical or anything like that, I am starting to realize that that is what I wanted…or hoped for… or at least how I treated “God” and talked about Him. I have realized that I made my convenience and my safety (and my family’s) into full-on idols in my life. To some extent, I worshipped at the altar of ease and security. More than a relationship with God, I want my family to be safe from all harm. More than a relationship with God, I want my life to be easy. More than a relationship with God, I want to be healthy and my kids to be healthy. More than a relationship with God, I want there to be millions of dollars in our bank account so that we can do what we want to do and go where we want to go and not be beholden to anyone. More than a relationship with God, I want our lives to be easy and pain-free.

Once, in a Bible Study, we read one of Paul’s letters and his beautiful opening benediction. Later, during the group prayer time, it struck me how unlike Paul we all sounded. Paul prays that his readers will have spiritual wisdom and a growing knowledge of Christ. We pray for more patience with our children. Paul prays that his readers will know the hope of His calling and the wealth of our inheritance in Him. We pray for protection from the pandemic. Paul prays that his readers may be able to comprehend the length, width, and depth of Christ’s love. We pray to be able to let go of the need to clean the house before our friends come over.

It’s not that anything we pray for is wrong or bad, but so much of my prayers all my life have been so…. surface level; So indicative that I am not “setting my mind on things above” but rather am all-consumed by the emergencies and inconveniences and challenges of life here and now.

There is a theory that the reason the common people couldn’t understand so much of what Jesus was talking about was because He was speaking from this higher level of understanding. Jesus was trying hard to elevate their thinking but very few of them “got it.” They were simply too stuck in the old ways of seeing the world. I find it fascinating and revealing that Jesus’s use of the word “Repent” means “seek a deep, radical heart change.” Some sources indicate that “transformation” or “conversion” is a better modern understanding of that term “repent.” When we hear “Repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is at hand,” Jesus was saying, “It’s time for a radical heart change! You’ve got to reform your mind!”

If we are seeking a radical heart change, what does that look like? My radical heart change this year has meant opening my mind up in an expansive way and also letting go of my certainties. I really have done a complete 180 from being in a place of faith where certainty – in God, my salvation, the meaning of Jesus’s death, and the truth of scripture – was paramount and indisputable, to a place where, now, I will curiously consider just about anything and am learning to rest in the reality that “God” cannot be comprehended or known, and that the mystery is intriguing.

Sometimes, it scares me that I have swung so far the other way.

The thing about shifting from certainty to uncertainty and unknowing, is that I have lost the certainty that there is some benevolent being orchestrating my every move. What if I’m not as important in the grand scheme of things as my faith had made me believe? What if our mere being here is the gift? What if this human experience, with all its pain and suffering and wild beauty and fierce connection and love, is the end-all-be-all, and we escape the full experience by believing there is something other out there that will satisfy us? Some other purpose, some other divine plan, that will rescue us? Some glistening, ripe apple that we set our sights on, as the means of understanding our way out of this mess? Hope is incredibly hard work. But, even harder, is accepting your lot in life. Accepting that what happens in this life, just happens, with little rhyme or reason. That the sufferings in this world are not part of some hidden tapestry God is weaving behind the scenes, or a temporary obstacle keeping you from the inevitable victory. What if this is just IT? Can you find beauty and meaning in that? And, if there is a “God,” can you love it and pursue it if there is no longer the promise of well-being or safety or convenience or… anything? But just for its own sake?

I have recently launched a new kind of business and I have found myself praying for its success, wanting some celestial reassurance that this will be an answer to a career question I’ve long struggled with. And as I’m praying, I go back to that epic narrative question. Was my idea for this business from God? Is He directing my path? Or am I chasing my own ambition? Am I craving wealth and freedom from debt (what God could give me) more than I’m craving a relationship with Him?

And as I go down that path, I start to wonder… Is “God” only worth something to me if He gives me what I want, or at least offers the possibility that I’ll get what I want? (And, for someone who has always thought the “prosperity gospel” was a bunch of crock, it appears I may have created my own version of it.) Does it make me feel better just believing that maybe He WILL do what I ask Him to do? Is the idea of having someone to petition better than having no one to talk to at all? (i.e. “Wilson” in Cast Away). Is it a kind of masochistic exercise to beg and plead to an imagined being, who I believe to be good and omnipotent even though it regularly fails to reveal itself like that to me and others? Is God only worth something to me if He is taking control over my life by leading and guiding me? Is God only worth something to me if He is, in turn, making me feel worth something?

I want to be the main character, or even a supporting character, in this great epic story of the world. I want to believe that my life means something and that everything that happens to me happens for a reason. I want to believe that my suffering and pain has a purpose. But what if it doesn’t? What if God gives us the world, as it is, and offers that as his gift? Is that enough? Is the laughter of my children as they sit on my lap enough? Is the warm, secure embrace of my husband enough? Are the rays of light shining through morning mist enough? Are a million spectacular sunsets enough? Is the kaleidoscope of colors on a hummingbird’s wing enough? Have we grown so desensitized to this amazing world that we have had to create the idea of another kind of heaven to escape to? Have we become so blinded to the fantastically mundane miracle of our lives, that we need to tell ourselves a story of how this life isn’t good enough, but is simply the means to another end?

As I’m writing this, I feel the struggle in my spirit, asking myself “what the heck am I even talking about?!?!” And I feel my privilege like a rabid dog that I just can’t shake. It follows every word, the stench of it finding its way into every thought. I know the conversation would be different if I were a refugee, having fled my home-country with my child on my back, who is half-dead from dehydration and disease. Or if I were of a different color or economic status or health. “There are no atheists in foxholes,” the saying goes. When everything goes south, we all want to reach for hope that this is NOT all there is, because from that vantage point, it is not enough. And I think that is part of the challenge, part of the mystery – to believe with all your heart that this life is enough and that we can enter into it fully and be held in love and find purpose and meaning in just making it a little more beautiful for others… while at the same time grieving and hoping and praying with all our might that this is more than just some sadistic experiment, and that all the pain and difficulties here will be rewarded with an epic resurrection that exceeds all we could ask or imagine.

So, do I still believe in the epic narrative? Kind of, I guess. I believe that there is a spark of the divine in each of us, and that we are all pieces of a much larger puzzle. If we fail to do our part to contribute to its corporate beauty, the puzzle is less for it, as are we, but it nonetheless continues to seek completion. As for the answers to any of those other questions? I have no idea. I ask them, I wonder, I look at them from all different angles, I try to come up with theories and read about the theories of others, but really I don’t know. None of us do. This is what all the great scriptures are about – trying to understand this world and our place in it. I take comfort in knowing that, if we can’t answer any of these questions, at least we are in really, really good company.