Musings on the Trail

We had a lovely stay in the Monasteiro de Armenteira and among the Cistercian sisters, but alas. We did not take our vows.

We were fully expecting another rainy day today, but this morning we left the convent under partly cloudy skies and had a gorgeous day for our longest walk yet: 16 miles. The first half was on a lovely trail in the woods along a small river; the second half of the day was on little country roads up through numerous vineyards. The vines are heavy with grapes and the harvest must only be a week or so away.

So, I’ve been thinking a lot about  this question of whether or not my perspective on my faith can change. I think what I’ve come to understand is that my faith has been contained by a variety of different perspectives, not necessarily my own, at various different times during my life.

I have a clear memory from when I was 5 or 6 years old, riding in the backseat of my parents’ car home from church and worrying that what I had just done in Sunday school—ask Jesus into my heart (as it was put back then)—would be remembered by Jesus. Would I still be a Christian tomorrow? Next week? Ten years later? That childhood era of my faith was contained by my parents’ belief, as far as they instilled it in me.

In junior high and high school, my faith took the shape of that of the church youth group I was involved in—that container had a lot to do with showing others what I believed. Much to my horror, I found I was expected—as a Christian—to speak to others about my faith, whether it was my own personal “testimony” to be told to another, or my use of a popular Christian pamphlet as my guide (The Seven Spiritual Laws.) I couldn’t do it, and I felt like there must be something wrong with my faith.

In college, my faith encountered the Baptist church in the context of Baylor University and a certain Southern Baptist Church near campus. For all the wonderful memories and friends I have from Baylor, my faith journey is not one of them. In that context, faith seemed like it was all about emotion—falling on your knees at the front of the church, raising your hands in praise while singing, feeling the unsuitable news of my own thoughts and feelings and turning those over to God in some act of emotional contrition. Again, I couldn’t do any of that, and I left Baylor with a very foul taste in my mouth for that brand of Christianity.

My faith during medical school, residency and the first part of my years of practice was largely influenced and contained by my ex-husband’s views and, honestly, by my own sometimes misguided sense of morality. This was a highly moralized time, with not the best guidance, as I grappled with how to fit multiple gay friends and the abortion issue, among many other things, into what I thought I understood to be Christianity. I am not proud to say that this container was possibly the most disappointing and damaging to me, in retrospect. And was by far the most difficult to forgive myself for even as my faith thrived in a more intellectual sphere with teaching from a pastor I respected.

And, most recently, I have allowed my faith to be contained by those who would claim Christianity as the justification for all sorts of evil and wrong-headed ideas (some that I myself had during that prior phase just mentioned.)

The challenge here, and now, is to not let others contain my faith!! Seriously, I’ve been allowing it my whole life, and it is not a healthy way to nurture a faith. It is time for me to work out my own faith, and my own views on how faith should impact my opinions, my positions and my stands. My most important measuring stick should be the words of Jesus, and the interpretations and guidance of those who have sound wisdom.

I’ll think on that a whole lot more over the next few days of this pilgrimage.

And there’s that good old burro again.