Six Months In
What I found when I finally stopped borrowing religions and spiritual practices
A few months ago I wrote about leaning into the tradition I inherited, about the tension I’ve long felt between reverence and responsibility, and why I finally felt called to stop circling Christianity from the outside and actually step into it. You can read that here:
Leaning Into the Tradition I Inherited
At McGill University, many moons ago now, I completed a double minor in World Religions and Philosophy. Long before that, I was already preoccupied with questions about God....
This is what happened next…
I wasn’t raised religious. My spiritual heritage is Christian, though we never attended church and there was no shared language of faith in our home. I felt a deep connection to Spirit but didn’t know how to create rhythms, routines and rituals around my relationship to it.
I started meeting that need with a devoted yoga practice, by studying Buddhism and Hinduism at university, and then landing in Rudolf Steiner’s Anthroposophy when my children began attending Waldorf schools.
But for as long as I can remember I have yearned for a spiritual home and many of these practices, rituals and ideas felt like at best like I was borrowing from them and at worst like I was engaging in cultural appropriation.
Whenever I turned toward Christianity I would get stuck on the historical harm the system and institution has done (and continues to do) in the name of God and Christ. So much of the language felt hierarchical and violent to me: kingdom, fear, judgement, obedience. So many of the beliefs (and harms) associated with the religion felt the same.
But something stirred in me early this year and for the first time I felt called to actually live into the religion my maternal line has likely been (at least nominally) practising for thirty to fifty generations.
I started by reading the Bible every day through a historical-critical lens. Engaging with scripture through its cultural and historical context rather than as literal divine dictate. The underlying assumption is that like other religions, Christianity is a wisdom tradition channeled through human consciousness at a specific moment in time. It reflects the patriarchal, hierarchical societies it emerged from. It also contains countervailing wisdom: calls to justice, liberation and compassion that emerge from genuine encounters with the Divine.
Reading this way, even the difficult words started to open up. For example,
FEAR, traces to the Hebrew yare’ and Greek phobos which both infer sheer terror, but that scripture uses again for the trembling felt before something vast and holy, closer to awe or wonderstruck than to dread.
“To take the Scriptures seriously is not to take them literally. Literalism is invariably the lowest and least level of meaning.” - Richard Rohr
By slowly reading the texts with historical, cultural and etymological contexts in mind and then sitting with verses in silence and contemplation, I am able to take what resonates in a way that transforms and heals me, and better prepares me to serve others in love and reverence.
To ground this daily reading practice, I started attending a local church. I chose the most progressive one I could find, which just happened to be the church I was christened in (likely one of the only times I ever attended as a child). The United Church explicitly ordains LGBTQ+ clergy, has formally apologized for its complicity in the residential school system, and continues active reconciliation work. There is still a lot of ground to cover including land restitution, sustained financial investment and structural shifts. It’s not close to perfect. But it felt like the most honest place to begin.
The service I attend is in a beautiful red brick church built in the 1860s, set in the country, with stained glass windows and an organ. Ten to twelve people attend the weekly service, mostly women between the ages of fifty-five and ninety who have been coming for decades. They sell pie. They sing in the choir. They stay for tea and cake and are constantly raising funds for local and international charities.
On the first Sunday I attended, I fought a lot of egoic thoughts. This service is too small. The songs are so old fashioned. That electric candle absolutely ruins any sense of reverence. And then, with effort, I replaced those thoughts. This is enough. There is so much to wisdom here. These people are kind and compassionate. Everyone is doing the best they can.
It’s now late June and I absolutely adore attending the weekly service (although the Waldorf teacher in me still cringes at the electric candle). It’s hard for me to articulate exactly what it offers. Something about praying in a group, wrestling together with faith and our humanity. I’ve met people who have been taking meaningful action in the community for decades. Being around older women and connecting with them has been an honour.
At a recent service the minister asked: what is the difference between an NGO and a church? Both do justice work in community. Both aim for positive change. Both have their flaws and community members need to agree to disagree from time to time. But people in a church also come together to acknowledge, collectively, that something larger than themselves is at work in them. That difference is what feels like home to me and fills my heart with joy. Just like I have built the habit to move, I am also practicing daily relationship with the Divine.
I am still cautiously baby-stepping my way into Christianity. For someone who spent years cherry-picking spiritual homes the consistency alone is no small thing.
I don’t have it figured out. I just know that staying feels more honest than leaving. And showing up everyday to pray and to practice faith in community has been exactly what my little human soul desires.
Books, Podcasts & Apps that are Helping me Lean Into Christianity
