In the two years since 2020, too much about my faith in Christ has changed to be put into a single blog post.
I no longer believe that the Church has all the answers. (I sometimes wonder if they have any.)
I no longer believe that the Bible is meant to be read as the “Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth.” (cue eyeroll and finger down the throat)
I no longer believe that everything I was taught about Christianity is true.
I no longer believe that I understand it all.
I no longer believe that I have to.
I no longer believe that I have to be certain, even about such weighty things as Christ crucified.
But I’ll tell you what I do believe:
I believe in the natural implications of loss and renewal. I believe we see death and new life over and over in all of nature.
I believe that Christ’s story is told from Genesis to Redemption and that it’s not my job to put my life into those verses. It’s my job to see His life through them.
I believe that one day all of Creation, including mankind, nature, and the animals, will be made right, and that this may happen simply through the evolution of all things.
I believe that our primary job on Earth is to LOVE others as we LOVE ourselves. We can only love others after we first find our own value.
I believe that as a mama, my job is to nurture the four children that I brought into this world with the help of Clayford and my Creator.
I believe that part of nurturing my babies is to fight like hell for the marriage I have. That some things are worth dying to self for, and this is one of them.
And I believe most of all that I owe it to those four babies, their father, and myself, to grow into a more authentic version of me. I believe that being this audaciously authentic me will reap rewards too numerous and unimaginable to count.
Part of that authenticity for me is redefining what Easter Sunday looks like.
Because I’ve had to come to Jesus with the demons in my closet about church, I could no longer stomach attending “just because.”
So much is wrong with the modern-day church. So much is wrong with the old church, the medieval church, the ancient church.
It seems to me that Jesus didn’t get his big toe into heaven that human man started royally screwing up the Way. It suddenly became the Old Way, the Jewish Synagogue Way, the Roman Pagan Way, and any other way that looked like anything but Jesus’ Way.
So we skipped church this year. I still love and support the Christian church. But the belief I have to be there every time the doors open is gone.
I don’t know how to reclaim Christianity. It seems lost to me, and maybe it always was.
But I know how to celebrate Easter. Because for a woman like me–a washer of Jesus’ feet with her hair, you could call me- the woman at the well, Jezebel running, Lot’s wife looking back, the prodigal son eating pig slop instead of the feast at the King’s Table–whatever kind of woman I am, I am also saved.
Bought with a high price.
I am free from expectations.
No more matchy-matchy Insta-worthy family photos.
No more attending Easter Sunday church because I know I’ll be seen.
No more making sure my family does this or that.
No more striving. Just resting.
Easter was redefined for me in 2020, and I have never been the same.
And I’m so thankful for it.
Happy Easter, y’all.
See you soon,