“I pray to God to rid me of God.” —Meister Eckhart
“God is dead.” —Nietzche
“Our faith is not assured, because faith can never be, it must never be a certainty.” —Jacques Derrida
(Photo by Josh Eckstein on Unsplash)
Dear friends,
Hi on this (what for me right now will be) 14th day of April 2023. I write this from a recliner in my living room from whence I can hear my daughters laughing and talking and solving the problems presented by a video game.
I write this as a woman, a mother, a minister-to-be, a seminarian taking a Jacques Derrida class, a friend, a daughter, a lover, a beneficiary of white privilege, and a third-culture-kid. I write this as a gal raised evangelical Christian.
I write this as a lifelong griever. I recently saw this image of a hearse passing through a neighborhood on its way to a graveyard, and I realized I live in the presence of that hearse— I’m willing to bet anyone who’s survived (or been related to someone who’s survived) cancer feels this way. For years, I thought this was a curse and resisted it. But recently, a professor posited, “living is grieving,” and then we spent an entire class contemplating the importance of affirming and imagining how to fascilitate people’s having “a good dying.” Part of this includes helping people grieve and say goodbye.
For the first time, I began to see the beauty in the hearse. After all, we were all born and we’ll all die, won’t we? Death is a part of the cycle of life. Maybe it’s not as scary as we imagine.
There’s a time to be born, and a time to die (Ecclesiastes 3:2).
And creatures, both human and not, aren’t the only things that die (or end). Trees and plants have beginnings and ends. Some marriages don’t last, and sometimes a dream we had for our life perishes. Our ideas about things can die to. This includes our ideas about ourselves, as well as ideas about God and “religion.”
Take a moment to pause and contemplate the endings you have experienced, dear one. Name them and hold them tenderly. How have these endings shaped you? In what ways do you carry them? As regrets? Shame? Have you thought of them as lessons learned? As moments of growth, empathy, expansion, or transformation? Take a moment to honor them, friend, for they are as much a part of you as anything else.
“Grief is the work of life,” Dr. Barbara McClure said in a recent class. I agree, and I’m starting to see why I ought to appreciate it.
The Death of God?
(Photo by Marc-Olivier Jodoin on Unsplash)
I realize grief happens when pieces of our theology die, even when we acknowledge how toxic that theology was. Like, as a child it comforted me to think God would always protect me (since I had believed all the right “things”), but later when I became cognizant of the not-so-life-giving side of this theological premise— that God doesn’t protect those who have not believed the right “things,” even when they’ve never heard about God— and let it come to an end, I felt as though a part of me had died.
Without harping on this for too long, I’ll just say, when I let this theological idea go, I suddenly felt alone and lost and so very, very scared. Now, I know that that letting go was a time of expansion and transformation in my theology, but then I had to let grieving run its course (and it’s still running it’s course, if I’m honest).
As I consider this experience, I ask myself, Should the feeling of fear and grief I experienced have kept me from asking questions and seeking a God whose love was actually love and not some sort of twisted game of whack-a-soul? Should my grief and terror have kept me from continuing to question my ideas about God, checking to see whether or not they lined up with goodness (my current working definition of “good” is whatever aligns with life)?
Could this be one of the reasons Nietzche declared God to be dead?
“I pray to God to rid me of God,” German theologian Meister Eckhart declared. Here I invite you, if you are a Christian, to still your racing heart and breathe in some of that good clean air which surrounds you. There. Now go ahead and let it all out. Consider the implications of Meister Eckhart’s words for you. How about what they might mean for your neighbors near and far?
I, Carissa, don’t own God.
Christianity doesn’t own God, either; neither should it claim to.
I mean, if God were owned by Christianity, then that would mean God could be owned, right? And we can all agree that as a “religion” that has both incited and participated in colonization, slavery, racism, homophobia, and the Crusades, maybe it would be contrary to good, contrary to life even, for Christianity to stake sole claim to God.
What do you think? Can we agree that some of our ideas about God and the cosmos ought to die?
Does “Church” need to die?
(Photo by Edward Cisneros on Unsplash)
If we could think about “church” from the tentative premise that what is good is what is for life and what is evil is what is against life, we could begin to unpack this question a bit.
Does “church” need to die?
I would venture to guess that many formerly devout evangelical Christians have left the “church” because they now consider it to be evil. A journey into their minds might reveal the following thoughts:
I can’t support an institution that speaks about God’s love, grace, and forgiveness and then tells some people they are going to hell because their sexual identity is wrong.
I can’t stomach a place that almost always takes the side of the abuser.
I can’t listen to another conversation in a church pew about how those migrants coming across the border are dangerous invaders, while in the next breath they sing of their love for Jesus who was himself a refugee.
I can’t bear to hear another sermon about tithing, managing my money, or saving up for retirement knowing only white, privileged people can have this conversation— and our time, energy, and resources would be better spent destroying the systems of oppression baked into society.
I’m not sure if my body, cushioned in this wonderful wheelchair, can take another beating from the eyes of my fellow congregants as someone declares, “Jesus heals!”
This list could go on and on. What do you think? Are Christians asking themselves, “Should the church die?” I would say, their actions are speaking louder than words.
I’m going to end (haha) with this question, asked one more time, “Does ‘church’ need to die?” but I’m going to add, for you. Does it need to die for you?
Before I go, I’ll leave you with one more thought to ponder— might the end that comes with death lead to expansion and transformation?
With those thinkie thoughts, I’ll go ahead and be done for tonight.
You, my friend, are so very loved. Take care of yourself this week,
Carissa