stay close.

I'm not worried. I'm not scared.

I am curious. I wonder what it will be like to go home. I imagine myself, sitting around the kitchen of my mentors, sharing wine with my closest friends, talking about life. Jay will tell tales of med school, and activism. Suzie just graduated from law school. Elle and Mack are sending their oldest off to college this fall. They'll all tell about their victories, and their faults, and what they think has gone well since we last shared, and what bombed.

What will I say?

"Well. Remember that blog I sent you about that megachurch I visited when I first went down there? Something happened. Yes, it's big, and very conservative. But these people get love like no church I've ever been in. And I know it seems crazy from the outside. Yes, I remember Bush's re-election. But that's not what it's like. The media picture of evangelicals is not really all that accurate in the flesh. These people love. No, they don't agree with certain things, and they won't pretend like they do. But they don't hate, they don't judge. They just stand. And they're not dumb. They're not unsophisticated. On the contrary, they're well-educated, and incredibly talented. Take everything you thought you knew about born-agains, and chuck it."

Hmmm...that's pretty much how Christmas Eve started. That night ended with Mack telling me that I was an idiot if I agreed with the literal conservatism of the kind of church I was attending.

Maybe I should try a different route.

"You know the church I've been telling you about? Yeah, I kinda love it. Actually, I really love it. The love these people show is unbelievable...I feel like I finally see what the biblical church should be. It has changed me. I thought I understood Christ. But seeing Him in these people has changed my perspective. I feel myself getting softer. Slower to judge, less sure of my own truths and more open. I like it. I like who I'm becoming. They're not perfect. I'm not perfect. But I'm glad I'm there. Really, really glad, actually."

Hmm. Better. Not perfect.

To my closest friends, I think my faith is something of an enigma. They trust me. They trust my mind. But they think that truth is relative. So, we can maintain separate belief systems happily (though I see now that there are probably cut points--places beyond which they would find difficulty in living to let live). To my mentors, this is probably seen as just a necessary part of the path. I think they assume that I'll come through it, and back to them (the liberal intelligentsia, for lack of a better descriptor).

It's hard not to feel alone. Caught between. It was easier to hold the liberal theology--it was a bridge between whatever corner of truth I had found in the Gospel, and the relativist culture of secular education.

I can start to wonder if my mind is playing tricks on me. If reality isn't real. I begin to wonder if I'm not a little schizophrenic. Split between two worlds, unsure of which is truth.

I go to His Word. And I hear the Episcopal priest telling me of the difference between fact, and truth. How the bible is true, but not necessarily factual. A Lindell-esque response fires back: given that, how will we decide which parts are merely truth, but not fact? In which book, chapter, or verse will we decide to buy in? But, of course, we can't discount the priest out of convenience, or ease. To say that we ought believe from the beginning, because we are otherwise bereft of knowing where to begin speaks only of our desire to know, not our ability. And ignores the many ways of knowing, of understanding.

So, it's complicated. A sometimes lonely sort of complication.

Father, stay close.