reflections on one year: on the other side of fear (a letter to myself)

In this series

In my final months in the PCA, I had a candid conversation with another member of the presbytery who understood and sympathized with why I was leaving. He said, “We’re sad to see you go. You are one of the good ones and they’re lucky to have you. I’d consider leaving too if I were younger in my ministry…”

That last line still rings in my head. He explained that his ministry is now too deeply ingrained in his church and it would be too much for him and his family to part ways with the denomination. It made me think a lot about what was at stake to leave a denomination. All the people I regularly ministered with, the organizations, the resources and books… it was so tightly bound up in our affiliations. I wasn’t sure what was in store for me when I left the denomination.

I was afraid that there would be nothing on the other side. The church I left was a place I loved. I felt connected to people there. At the same time it was also a place of fear. The atmosphere was one that was concerned about whether certain authors/books/resources were “safe” for fear that it might lead them astray. We raised concerns about singing certain songs for fear of affiliation with a group with different beliefs. As much as I tried to keep my head clear of such fear-mongering, I couldn’t escape it completely. It has a way of getting into you in unexpected ways.

So with all that has happened in the last year, I’ve often thought about what counsel I would give my former self. To be honest, I’m not sure if I would’ve been in a place to even hear it. But assuming I could get a little bit past the barriers I erected around my hurt, I have a few words I’d want to tell myself:

To myself,

I know that it feels disorienting to leave a place that you know and go toward the unknown. In the past year, I’ve learned and experienced how important connection and relationships are to the human existence. Even in abusive situations, connection is so important that people would often choose connection with their abuser than separation. So the confusion you’re feeling is real. It doesn’t feel right to leave. How could something right be so painful? I won’t lie to you. The upcoming disconnection will be hard. The next several months will feel even worse, but lean into those who are still with you. They will be your lifeline and remind you that you are not alone.

You worry that there will be nothing after this is gone… maybe not nothing… that’s a little overdramatic… but from years and years of being taught and teaching from dogmatic fundamentalism, you don’t know whether a vibrant community of faith can exist outside of what you know. Losing something you have always feels worse than the potential of gaining something in the future. With all your current faith anchors, I get it. Can grounded faith exist when biblical inerrancy is tossed? When hierarchical structures are leveled? I’ve since learned that a line from that blessing/poem you read at your last sermon rings true in a way you didn’t quite expect:

Blessed are we in the After zone, loudly shouting:
Is there anybody here?
We hear the echo, the shuffle of feet,
the murmur of others
asking the same question,
together in the knowledge
that we are far beyond what we know.
An excerpt from “for the life you didn’t choose” in The Lives We Actually Have by Kate Bowler and Jessica Richie

“Is there anybody here?” I can assure you that there are, and they’ve been here a long time — longer than the fundamentalist strain you were brought up and nurtured in. Yet in hindsight, I could see that the Spirit was working, even in that fundamentalism. She’s woven herself into all your experiences so that when you come out of it, you’ll recognize the goodness that she instills in her people. You will be able to say, “Surely, this is how the people of God are to live.” From the poem/blessing, it is to enter into the unknown where people are there asking questions, not with fear and anxiety, but with hope and confidence that “we are far beyond what we know.” God’s love envelops us.

I remember that you were teaching the church, and fighting to believe, that “perfect love casts out fear.” You knew it more theoretically then, but in the next year or so you’ll know more experientially how true and freeing it is to live out of love rather than fear. There are aspects of fear that you don’t realize are at work in you, and I don’t think I can sort it out for you now, but I want you to be assured that these words do hold true. It’s better on the other side even if it feels so painful to get there. It will get better than this.

With the people that you’re leaving behind… I think this will and still is the hardest part. Your lives are currently so intertwined. You’ve dreamed about growing together. You’ve imagined family groups together… about how your kids will have “church friends” and get into all kinds of mischief while adults were doing a study discussion in the next room. Allow yourself to grieve this. And allow yourself to let this go.

I think you belief you could have made this happen. That the desire for this was there and people would have followed you. They would, I think. But it would have been a very lonely task. Sure, in discussion they’ll affirm its goodness and be on-board with the direction. But when it comes to actually doing it, you won’t be up against their theoretical assent, you’ll be up against their actual life patterns. Their actual life patterns were plain to see: moving east, living into privilege for better schools for their kids, building financial security and wealth for themselves. Comfort and stability are their idols and it will be really hard to shake that. Just think about how hard it was to even introduce liturgical movements to worship. It’ll be even harder to get the leaders on board with a reimagining of the good life.

I know you don’t blame them for not knowing what happened, and that part will be the hardest for you to accept. You want to vindicate yourself so people know what happened. It’s okay to feel those things, but try to let it go. Your family knows. Your close friends know. God knows. That’s enough. Let it be enough. You imagine that if they knew, they would do something. There’s a movie scene in your head of people wanting to do good and act. Though you’ll never know because we can’t redo it (we can’t travel the multiverse!), I’m beginning to see that it would be unlikely for them to act. Comfort and stability are too important to them; they wouldn’t invite change.

You and I loved a congregation that was content in being what it was. We wanted something different for them, but leading a community well cannot be done alone and there were too many fundamental differences you had with the rest of leadership. You can’t see it now, but one year out, they seem comfortable with what they’ve chosen: a new pastor (2 as of this writing) that are leaning into PCA beliefs of gender roles and “gospel” preaching. Learn to let them choose what they chose. Yes they don’t know how everything went down but perhaps even that lack of desire to seek explanation/understanding about your departure is a choice that they made. They are content in not knowing and letting things move along. It’s painful, but there has not been any good fruit in holding onto the “what if” here. You don’t have control here.

Finally, for fear this is going too long, don’t go back, move forward. This is easier said than done. And to be honest, I’m still working at this in the present. What I mean is… for a long time, everything you experience… you’ll be measuring against and longing for things that are now past. — I should even warn you, though nothing will really prepare you for it, that you’ll have some very difficult encounters in the near future where you feel like you’ll just want to shut down. It’ll be really difficult. It even pains me presently to think of those moments. But they’ll also be revealing. They’ll remind you that you genuinely had a deep love that is showing up as profound grief. That grief will keep tugging at you. Don’t ignore it but don’t let it sink you. Don’t go back, move forward.

You’ll find yourself mentally defending the way things are. You’ll start formulating theological or biblical interpretive lenses for why you can hold on to the view you have which separated you from the church you cared for. In all this you will be centering the world you left behind. You will be thinking that you need to explain yourself to justify where you are. You don’t. In many ways this comes back to that original fear that there’s nothing beyond the church environment you once knew. But there is life on the other side.

There are robust doctrinal explanations for the views you now hold, but you don’t need them to love others. Many people on this side of fear have let love lead the way they live with and toward their neighbors. Live into it. You don’t need to explain it before acting in love. Doctrine isn’t bad. But leading with doctrine… there’s a component that is led by fear… fear of getting it wrong… or doing it wrong… or doing it improperly. This doesn’t mean I’m championing ignorance. The same knowing that let you know “this is how God’s people should live” will help you. The Spirit moves in a ways that goes through and beyond knowledge.

It’s the end of 2024 now as I write this and I want you to know that you’ll get through this. It will be really confusing and lonely but God hasn’t given up on you. Enter into the depths of your hurt knowing that in a year, you’ll be in a really different place, but you can’t get there without experiencing and working through all your frustrations and hurts. You’ll have a 2025 to look forward to and you’ll look back at 2024 as a year of transformation.