Edgework

One of the biggest barriers to a deepening spirituality is a lack of authenticity. Not being openly honest with oneself and with others about our doubts, fears and visions has a similar effect as throwing a wet blanket over a small fire. Instead of fanning the flames of what could potentially become a splendid bonfire, the absence of an open authenticity tends to reduce the small flames to smoldering embers and sometimes even extinguish those embers completely.

In his book, A Bigger Table; Building Messy, Authentic, and Hopeful Spiritual Community (2017), John Pavlovitz dedicates a whole chapter to “Total Authenticity” (75-82). His major point is that lack of authenticity discourages the formation of communities of inclusion. He says that as a pastor, “I gradually crafted a renovated, sanitized version of myself suited for public consumption in my church, and with it the table of my hospitality in a very practical way began to shrink” (76). He suggests that this is the experience of many leaders within organized, institutional Christianity. He continues by saying that, “If we are not careful and continually fighting against it, organized religion has a way of making us all chronically insincere” (77). And that leads us to a place where, “…life becomes about perception management more than open and true pursuit of God” (77).

I understand what Pavlovitz is talking about. For most of my years of public service in the church and its institutions I reluctantly accepted such a dual existence as the cost of Christian service. So I sometimes chose not to be openly authentic for fear of disturbing the peace or maybe even endangering my livelihood. The “powers” paying your salary have a way of silencing your voice if that voice is not repeating an acceptable mantra deemed essential for institutional sustainability.

I justified possessing both a private and public persona by suggesting that it was, in fact, necessary to have both; that it would not be appropriate to bare your soul to people you minister to. That might engender insecurity, unnecessary doubt and even chaos in the faith community. So, I thought, it was perfectly normal to be on a personal growth trajectory while at the same time saying only those things that were “acceptable” for public consumption.

I suspect there may be a degree of legitimacy to this way of thinking. After all, as a public servant of the church, is it not a mark of humility to lay aside your own struggles in order to help someone else struggling in a different way with different issues than you are? Is it not appropriate, on the one hand, to consort “clandestinely” with those who mirror your journey while, on the other hand, offer expected answers to standard questions among those not ready to join you on your growing edge?

And yet… It seems to me, that if one stays within this duality too long the dissonance between these two personas can become unbearable. A homesickness develops; a desire to just be who you are and let the chips fall where they may. Unfortunately, many persons in the public service of the church try to deny that homesickness for the reward of “fitting in” and sometimes even just keeping their jobs. Pavlovitz tells of a pastor being “retired” by church leadership because after fourteen years of fruitful, public ministry she had begun being honest about some of her internal doubts and her private wrestling with some biblical passages. In the aftermath of being fired she declared, “I’d rather be an honest ex-minister than an employed liar” (78).

But this tension can also exist with ordinary church members who are not in leadership. Through trial and error such persons often learn what part of which persona is acceptable to share openly. Some appear to be able to navigate such waters fairly well and so remain in good standing with the church while being on their own trajectory of growth. But what do you do when your soul cries out for your authenticity to be affirmed in your community of faith? Is there not room in church for those who doubt and wrestle and grow in unexpected ways?

The fact is that “…the Scriptures are filled with people who wear their doubt openly and who are regarded as caretakers of their religious tradition” (78). Moses, King David, and the disciple Thomas, for example, didn’t always have it all together. Yet they are included in the story of God’s people. At the end of the Gospel of Matthew Jesus is gathered with his eleven disciples at which time he delivers to them what has become known as “The Great Commission.” Mostly we have overlooked verse seventeen, I think, because it does not support our notions surrounding unity and uniformity. Note that it says, “When they saw him, they worshiped him, but some doubted.”

Really? You mean Jesus delivered his ultimate mandate to his inner circle even while some of them doubted? Would he not have done better to ferret out the doubters, send them packing, and then deliver his commission to those who were of pure faith? Apparently not. There was room in the circle even for those who didn’t have it all together; to those who doubted.

Can you imagine a faith community in which even doubters – those not in support of the status quo – are welcome at the table? Can you envision the dynamic within such a motley crew where leaders and followers alike are allowed to be totally authentic? Can you imagine how revolutionary that would be; leaders telling their people what they are wrestling with and welcoming those to the table who don’t have it all together either? Would this not become the place where true spirituality could emerge in surprising ways?

Once you have tasted the sweet wine of such community you just don’t want to go back to the place where you need to hide your true spiritual journey from fellow pilgrims.