Had I borne my testimony today...

Every month my church's main meeting is passed over to the congregation.  Think open mic-but less comedy.

People spend a few minutes sharing what they believe, feel and experience as it pertains to faith.

Except its ususally with more certainty than mere faith suggests, we like to speak in absolutes-knowing is often the order of the day which can create an epistemological earache when things stop ringing true.

I used to be a regular contributor.

It's been a while, today though I was tempted.  I came close to getting up but resisted.

My problem was with how to end.

Had I shared, the beginning may have gone something like this.....

My favourite movie (most dodgy testimonies start this way) is The Painted Veil.  In it there is a scene with an old nun who describes her relationship with God and how it has evolved over the years.

(Since I am not in church and actually in front of my computer at home I will find the exact quote for you).

Mother Superior: I fell in love when I was 17... with God. A foolish girl with romantic notions about the life of a religious, but my love was passionate. Over the years my feelings have changed. He's disappointed me. Ignored me. We've settled into a life of peaceful indifference. The old husband and wife who sit side by side on the sofa, but rarely speak. 

When I first watched this movie my own faith was securely intact.  I was much younger and still idealistic.  I harshly judged this sentiment and was perhaps even audacious enough to extend that judgement to the creed she represented.  

I took it as evidence she had somehow missed the point, done it wrong and even worse simply devoted her life to the the wrong flavour of religion!  Unlike me of course, who could never give way to such error.

No, my faith would always be vibrant and passionate I asserted to myself back then.    

Perhaps I was the way the all knowing childless are before parenting their own.  

Smug, presumptuous and safe.  Oh life was good back then.  I had it all figured out.

Now though I unfortunately recognise each of the stages this wise old Nun describes.

The disappointment 
Ignoring 
Peaceful (and not so peaceful) indifference.

A few years ago on a walk round the loch I remembered this movie scene as I nursed an inner turmoil, I identified with the Nun and flirted with the idea that it might be time to make up with my creator.  Hoping it could go back to the way it once was.

The view from my bench

I sat down on a bench, looked up to the sky, patted the bench and said out loud "have a seat"  I think I may have added the word "then".  Which probably made it more of a dare than an invitation.

I am not sure if I was taken up on my offer but since then I have offered the odd invitation and more often bounced between those other stages.  

My testimony today might have sounded something like that- as I say though perhaps what stopped me was how to close my remarks.

You see I have the impression,  I'll admit perhaps unfairly, that in my church we seem to like things neat and tidy, all wrapped up.

Problems of faith are better shared in the past tense with an accompanying faith promoting tale of what fixed it and how the gospel is true and the one sure antidote to all ills.

So I am not sure if these kind of journeys are common within my congregation since I haven't heard many of them shared out loud on a Sunday.

Which encourages my silence.

This is strange because if I had a car I would take it to the garage, toothache would be dealt with at the dentist and so on. So where would I take may questions on faith?  To church right?

Except no, and I'm not sure why.

I have the fear that what I am describing would be quickly diagnosed and dismissed-pride or disobedience, most likely both but certainly an error on my part.

And the cure would be promptly prescribed-humilty and repentance for a speedy recovery and please never speak of it again.

I can give myself those sermons-they don't help.

What has is time.

I'd have probably preferred some more company along the way but maybe that's not how long dark nights of the soul work and all is just as it should be.

As the dust settles and glimmers of light appear items of value are emerging.

I can see how different I've become and am beginning to hope that what has felt like being lost is actually how I am found.

I hope anyway.

I now see my church as a vehicle and no longer is God and church synonymous.   The divorcing of which has been a large part of the agony but so vital to the cure.

With this new understanding remains a choice.

A choice to attend, participate and contribute.

But what does that look like now?

How do I merge my new understanding with the seemingly unbending traditions that have served me so well?

Is this still my home?

Am I still welcome?

Time will tell for now though my focus remains heavenward and on healing that rift.

I know there is still a long way to go.

The fictional woman of the cloth ended her speech like this....

He knows I'll never leave Him. This is my duty. But when love and duty are one, then grace is within you.

Which feels like a good thing to aim for and perhaps the elusive ending I am searching for.