Last night I said to a friend, "my evangelical roots run real deep".
I've strayed so far from that world that most evangelicals would hardly claim me, but lately I've been realizing one truth deep down within myself: I will never be able to fully leave. Part of me wants to stay, because part of me loves this world, this messy, imperfect, Protestant Evangelical Church of North America.
Recently I've been processing this, how to reconcile who I am now with where I came from and how I grew up. How does one keep a foot in charismatic, fundamental roots while taking steps forward into a bright, brave, new world?
On one foot I am standing in the posture of a LGBTQ affirming, science believing, social justice advocating sort of Christian. Questions are spoken bravely, doubt isn't scary, and these arms are wide open because Jesus loves us all.
The pieces of this world rarely fit into that of the Evangelical Church, and that's what I'm trying to reconcile.
Because let me tell you: those evangelical roots run real deep.
My heart is in that world, because it raised me and fed me and formed me in various ways. I came from that world, and I can't bring myself to leave, at least not yet, because somewhere deep down, a bit of that world is a bit of my home.
You know those terribly cheesy, yet absolutely heart-warming, conservative, sappy fiction novels by Karen Kingsbury? I read those when I'm sick, because they remind me of my middle school years. The theology might not always be spot on and they couldn't be anymore heterosexual, but God has used those books to speak life to my soul before, and so a part of me will always see them as such: channels in which God has spoken.
My little years saw multitudes of flannelgraphs and endless vacation bible schools, and of course I had that catchy tune memorized that they teach you when you're learning all sixty-six books of Bible.
Church camp was always my favorite, because it meant giggly-cabin sleepovers, and those summer days were spent swimming and hiking and swinging from real tall trees. At snack time I'd always get M&Ms and Dr. Pepper, and the people who tried the "camp relationship" thing were always more mature because whoa they've got the romance thing figured out at just thirteen.
(and that guitar-playing boy who's never cussed in his life loves Jesus a whole lot, so better hold on tight because those types don't come around very often).
Except that they do in the evangelical world, they are absolutely everywhere, and at just thirteen we thought the sugar-coated kinds were the best boys in the world. I now know that I like the more authentic sort, because admitting that you have flaws means admitting that you need Jesus.
I've discovered that I prefer to date a person; not a cupcake.
Besides, I swear too much to date a boy who never has.
Even though I trust science because it's held up true, a part of me will always find peace in that passing butterfly dancing by, because though I can't empirically prove it to you, God is in that somehow. There's beauty in that space. I used to journal that every butterfly was a small gift from above, that in sending it fluttering my way Jesus was reminding me just how much He loves me.
This might be true, but it's more likely that the insect was attracted to the lavender nearby, or perhaps it is in search of a mate or a flower or a small drop to drink. Either way, it reminds me of God and that's a really good thing.
I raise my hands in worship like the people of old, and sometimes I even dance because those instruments just get me and I'm a free spirit 'till the end. The power of prayer is something that I've seen, and I believe that the Holy Spirit speaks, though I can't explain it most days.
When it comes to spiritual warfare, well: demons were important to Jesus, so in some sense they matter to me as well.
The metaphysical life is one that I will never be able to comprehend, but for now let's leave it here: I don't mess with voodoo, because what I saw that shit do to people in Haiti scared me senseless.
I'm not one to walk around and evangelize, though I've seen it happen a lot. I've had pastors and deacons teach me "the right way to share the Gospel", but what I've found through the ordinary, daily, simple life-living is that the sharing of our stories speak about God more than any right kind of evangelicalism ever could.
Besides, stories make us able to relate to one another, and relating helps us grow.
I'm reconciling it somehow, having a foot in both worlds, and I'm not really even sure why, I don't know why I care so much, except that it's beautiful for worlds to collide.
Being pulled to both sides is honestly beyond difficult, and it's tempting to just walk away from the fundamental Church in every and all aspects. I can't do that though, and honestly I don't want to.
I guess it goes back to those roots. Those evangelical roots run real deep.
The thing is, those roots are a part of me, and I think they always will be.
My heart belongs to two worlds, and though it's a little weird it's also kind of great. Maybe they need to collide a bit more than they do. Maybe the evangelical Church needs a bit of feminism, and perhaps the rest of the world needs some of the dancing and the praying and the loving of us charismatics.
Maybe we need each other, because that's what unified diversity looks like at the table of grace.
Though I'm growing and changing and figuring out what I believe and why, my roots will always be there, and they will always call me home.
If you're figuring it out too, how to stand in multiple worlds, here are some words to think on from Sarah Bessey:
In Which This is For the Ones Who Stay
In Which This is for the Ones Leaving Evangelicalism
