Standing Firm
The main struggle in my spiritual journey has always been whether or not I would commit to Christianity on a long-term basis. I have been a Christian in the past, as a Catholic, Lutheran and Methodist. At one point I was a chanting Buddhist and a follower of the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, too.
All of these faiths and traditions have added to my spiritual knowledge. All have given me so much in terms of acceptance and understanding. And yet when it comes to my Christian exploration, I always "run away" from the church when the following three scenarios occur:
1) I don't agree with the way something is being done or said;
2) I feel too much is being asked of me in terms of service; and
3) I don't want to face my real self.
In 2005, I walked away from the church I belonged to when some pretty serious family issues hit the fan. I felt let down by God, and deeply discouraged that even though I was what I considered a good person, that didn't seem to count in solving the present problems. The irony is that the minister and fellow church members tried to reach out to me, but I couldn't let go of my disappointment in God.
From 2005 to the beginning of this year, I studied Buddhism, mainly the Tibetan variety, though I had been a chanting Buddhist back in the late '90's. I find much in the Tibetan tradition that is so helpful in teaching me how to meditate in "the silence", and a great deal about living compassionately. It has taught me a lot about becoming aware, of living in the "here and now", of taking a look at my emotions and character defects and how they get in the way of my happiness. Still, as much as I loved meditating the Buddhist way, I could not give up the idea of a personal God.
In 2010, three people I considered pillars of strength in my life died within a three month period. I tried to deal with my grief through my Buddhist practice, but felt empty. Imagining those people just going off into a void to return as part of the life cycle again seemed so impersonal. Accepting the temporality of life and practicing detachment just weren't going to cut it for me. I needed to embrace the deep pain of loss, and I also needed to not feel so all alone. I needed to know that someone, somewhere understood my pain, and more specifically, that God understood it.
One part of Christianity that I always avoided was the "suffering" of Christ. Before losing my loved ones I used to think, "Sheesh, this Christ story is just one sad event after another." You know, "The baby gets born, and that's great, but then Herod orders all these other children to be slaughtered, then there's Jesus's story as a teacher and a healer, but the whole time he's alluding to his impending death and it's kind of downhill from there, all the way to the cross." And to accept the resurrection? Sorry, but that seemed totally impausible to me. Yet, as a practicing Buddhist, I had been willing to believe in reincarnation without any reservations. What was the hang up?
Just the other day it came to me. One of the priests from the Episcopalian church came to my house to give me the Eucharist and anoint me with oil because I had recently had surgery. As I waited for him to arrive, I was overcome with fear. I heard a voice in my head (MY voice, not Gods) saying, "You're afraid that what you have always believed in might actually be true." That was it! I knew that being a practicing Christian meant commitment, conflict, maybe even disappointment at times. But I also knew that surrendering to God's will and learning the story of his presence on earth as Jesus Christ was the only true path for me, and that if I wanted to be my authentic self, I needed to get on that path and stay on it.
During the priest's visit I talked about how I always "run away" from things. He pointed out that I've been married for 38 years to the same man, and have been sober 30. So I don't always run away. (BTW, not running away from my marriage and sobriety are about the two best choices I've ever made.)
In the 12-step program I'm in, this fellow member always says, "Don't take a drink, no matter what, no matter what." I used to think it was funny that he'd say the ending twice, but I get it now. One time isn't enough when you feel like running away. You need one "no-matter-what" for one foot, and another one for the other. That way, both feet are firmly planted and it's harder to run.
So I've decided to join the church and to stick around. When I hear that voice in my head saying "run away, this is too much" (yes, MY voice again), I'm going to say back to it, "Don't run away from your commitment to your church and to your God, no matter what, NO MATTER WHAT."
I'll let you know how it all works out.
Peace and all good things....Cristina
All of these faiths and traditions have added to my spiritual knowledge. All have given me so much in terms of acceptance and understanding. And yet when it comes to my Christian exploration, I always "run away" from the church when the following three scenarios occur:
1) I don't agree with the way something is being done or said;
2) I feel too much is being asked of me in terms of service; and
3) I don't want to face my real self.
In 2005, I walked away from the church I belonged to when some pretty serious family issues hit the fan. I felt let down by God, and deeply discouraged that even though I was what I considered a good person, that didn't seem to count in solving the present problems. The irony is that the minister and fellow church members tried to reach out to me, but I couldn't let go of my disappointment in God.
From 2005 to the beginning of this year, I studied Buddhism, mainly the Tibetan variety, though I had been a chanting Buddhist back in the late '90's. I find much in the Tibetan tradition that is so helpful in teaching me how to meditate in "the silence", and a great deal about living compassionately. It has taught me a lot about becoming aware, of living in the "here and now", of taking a look at my emotions and character defects and how they get in the way of my happiness. Still, as much as I loved meditating the Buddhist way, I could not give up the idea of a personal God.
In 2010, three people I considered pillars of strength in my life died within a three month period. I tried to deal with my grief through my Buddhist practice, but felt empty. Imagining those people just going off into a void to return as part of the life cycle again seemed so impersonal. Accepting the temporality of life and practicing detachment just weren't going to cut it for me. I needed to embrace the deep pain of loss, and I also needed to not feel so all alone. I needed to know that someone, somewhere understood my pain, and more specifically, that God understood it.
One part of Christianity that I always avoided was the "suffering" of Christ. Before losing my loved ones I used to think, "Sheesh, this Christ story is just one sad event after another." You know, "The baby gets born, and that's great, but then Herod orders all these other children to be slaughtered, then there's Jesus's story as a teacher and a healer, but the whole time he's alluding to his impending death and it's kind of downhill from there, all the way to the cross." And to accept the resurrection? Sorry, but that seemed totally impausible to me. Yet, as a practicing Buddhist, I had been willing to believe in reincarnation without any reservations. What was the hang up?
Just the other day it came to me. One of the priests from the Episcopalian church came to my house to give me the Eucharist and anoint me with oil because I had recently had surgery. As I waited for him to arrive, I was overcome with fear. I heard a voice in my head (MY voice, not Gods) saying, "You're afraid that what you have always believed in might actually be true." That was it! I knew that being a practicing Christian meant commitment, conflict, maybe even disappointment at times. But I also knew that surrendering to God's will and learning the story of his presence on earth as Jesus Christ was the only true path for me, and that if I wanted to be my authentic self, I needed to get on that path and stay on it.
During the priest's visit I talked about how I always "run away" from things. He pointed out that I've been married for 38 years to the same man, and have been sober 30. So I don't always run away. (BTW, not running away from my marriage and sobriety are about the two best choices I've ever made.)
In the 12-step program I'm in, this fellow member always says, "Don't take a drink, no matter what, no matter what." I used to think it was funny that he'd say the ending twice, but I get it now. One time isn't enough when you feel like running away. You need one "no-matter-what" for one foot, and another one for the other. That way, both feet are firmly planted and it's harder to run.
So I've decided to join the church and to stick around. When I hear that voice in my head saying "run away, this is too much" (yes, MY voice again), I'm going to say back to it, "Don't run away from your commitment to your church and to your God, no matter what, NO MATTER WHAT."
I'll let you know how it all works out.
Peace and all good things....Cristina
Keep it going, Keep it going. Tish
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