I have entered the discernment process for the priesthood in the Diocese of Atlanta, through a program called Discerning Young Vocations Experience (DYVE), designed specifically for young adults (twentysomethings). This is the spiritual autobiography I wrote for my first meeting with that group on Nov. 17. (It could only be three pages, double-spaced, so that really forced me to edit and create something more structured and precise than I otherwise would have!)
When I think back on the wrestling match that has been my Christian journey over the past ten years, the overarching theme could be summed up in one brilliantly concise line from a book called Encountering God, by Harvard religion professor Diana Eck. She writes, "Theological questions are not merely theoretical; they are the life and death questions of real people attempting to live with intellectual and personal honesty in a world too complex for simplistic answers." As I have walked the path of faith, I have always asked tough theological questions; in the early years of my journey, they took the form of philosophical and intellectual speculation and turmoil, while more recently I have asked more practical questions about ways "to live with intellectual and personal honesty" in how I embody my faith.
In college, my journey was characterized by intense intellectual questions as I tried to make sense of my newfound faith in Christ. Though I had been raised Lutheran, I had never been very "into" church until I had a "conversion experience" through a retreat at a friend's church in my senior year of high school, which propelled me into several years of time in nondenominational, evangelical churches. My mindset in relation to my faith at this time was intellectual and rational; the communities of which I was a part thought of faith primarily as belief, as assent to a particular doctrine. I was drawn to these communities for their passion for Christ and spiritual certitude, but soon realized that I personally still had searing questions about God, my faith, and the scriptures. I became a religion major in an attempt to work through some of those questions, but initially the religion courses seemed to raise more questions than they answered. My first response was reactionary – I was determined to "prove" that Christianity was "right." However, after reading many apologetics, I came to the conclusion that there can be no objective proof in matters of faith. And after delving into the study of world religions in my later college years and encountering for the first time people with active faith commitments to religions other than Christianity, I found that my sense of "intellectual and personal honesty" made it impossible for me to continue to hold an exclusivist belief – the idea that Christianity held all the answers and all other faiths were wrong. This was not an easy conclusion to reach when I was involved in communities who believed there are fiery consequences for anyone who does not believe that Christianity has an exclusive hold on truth and salvation. These questions truly were "life and death," in the most literal sense, for me.
After I graduated from college and moved to Boston for graduate school, my faith began to shift, from a struggle with speculative theology about the afterlife to a sense of calling to address the immediacy of human need in the here and now. One of the things that had always compelled me most about Jesus, from the very first time I really cracked open a Bible in my senior year of high school, was his way of breaking down the social boundaries of the day and reaching out to call all people blessed and beloved of God – including those that society and the religious establishment were quick to dismiss or even condemn. Once I had exhausted myself with intellectual and philosophical questions, realizing that they were likely not ever going to be solved and answered entirely to my satisfaction, I focused instead on the practical – on what I could see and hear and feel and know on this planet. And one of the first things I noticed was that people were hungry. And I remembered that Jesus had said something about feeding them.
So began my struggle "to live with intellectual and personal (and I might add, spiritual) honesty" in the world, to live out my values in following Jesus's example, to answer what I began to increasingly understand as a calling from God to reach out to those in need, to assuage suffering, and to promote healing. After running from this call for nearly two years, I finally stepped out in faith and began to volunteer every week with a homeless ministry program that slowly but surely transformed my life. One particular Sunday, after giving lunch to a woman on the street, I offered to give her one of the crosses we wore as a symbol of our ministry with this group. She eagerly accepted, and asked me to place it around her neck for her. Many months later, I realized that this was my first true sacramental act. And in that moment, something stirred deep within me, something that let loose a chain of events that has brought me, two years later, to be entering the discernment process for the priesthood.
I went immediately home and rode a wave of inspiration as words flowed out of my fingertips into my computer, recording my circuitous path to homeless ministry. I shared that writing with friends and mentors, and some of them began to encourage me to think about ordained ministry. The next year, I wound up serving as an intern in an Episcopal church in Omaha, Nebraska, through a discernment program for young adults. I came out of that program with an increased sense of calling to ministry, and at the end of the program felt a strong call to return to my home region of the country, which precipitated my move to Atlanta this summer.
Through all my struggles with my faith, I have stared complexity in the face and refused to acquiesce to simplistic, pat answers in matters of faith. I am always and constantly "working out my salvation with fear and trembling," as Paul writes in Philippians 2:12; constantly wrestling with God, praising and thanking God, arguing with God, and listening for God. I have moved from a faith that was concerned primarily with belief and right answers to a faith that is rooted in compassionate action and is comfortable sitting with the places of uncertainty and complexity in the human experience, fully confident that the incarnate Lord will always show up in those places with us.
