The Oates Journal (ISSN: 1098-1446) is a publication of the Wayne E. Oates Institute addressing issues related to spirituality, ethics, and healing from the perspective of pastoral care and counseling.

A year ago, with great heartache, I realized that I could not in conscience remain any longer in the faith tradition I was raised in, had returned to as an adult, and had been deeply immersed in for many years.  I have many friends inside the faith tradition and in the two individual faith communities I'd been part of in the past 20 years.  I love those two communities, but I could no longer stand in the larger tradition whose actions and policies I've struggled with for many years.  In the aftermath of this decision and action, I realized I'd become a pariah once again.

This time it seems my stepping outside the box of a faith tradition troubles people deeply.  Friends who themselves hadn't been to church in all the years I've known  them suddenly were anxious and upset that I had no "faith" and wasn't attending church anywhere.  Individual members of the faith community I was in when I left the tradition continue to tell me I need to come back, that everything is fine now, even though the policies and practices of the tradition I left have changed not at all.  A dear friend in the tradition clearly thinks (although speaking it indirectly) that I have fallen out of the hands of God and into the hands of darkness.  People who have no church of their own keep suggesting churches I should join.  The responses of many clearly suggest that they have an inexplicable but firm desire for me to pick another tradition and get on with it.  I tried to explain to one of them recently that asking me to do that now is like asking someone just coming out of a lifelong marriage to hurry up and start dating again.  I can't.  I have no idea where my spiritual journey is taking me, but I know that I am doing what I need to do, being who I need to be, and resting in not-knowing, but many of those around me are clearly unable to believe that I could stand outside all faith traditions right now and be healthy and strong.

In life, when one thing changes, everything changes -- the beating wings of a butterfly creating a hurricane.  So it is with me.  Having left my faith tradition suddenly made keeping my job as a hospital chaplain much more difficult.  Everyone wants to know where you stand religiously -- what are you? -- when you approach times of spiritual crisis. And illness almost always triggers a spiritual crisis.  I had no answer to the question and I wasn't about to lie.  Colleagues wanted me to find another faith tradition fast and offered advice as to what I should call myself in the meantime:  "Just say you're a believer!"

To be a professional chaplain, one must be endorsed by a particular faith tradition, so in order to maintain my certification, I would need to find one.  My patients' parents (I worked at a children's hospital) all wanted to know what I was; and what I was and am is a seeker after my own truth, my own deepest knowing and understanding of who I am in relationship to the Divine.  Needless to say, this is not a satisfactory answer.  So, in the course of the year, I came to realize that I could not be a chaplain any longer.

Now I've entered the ranks of the "ungainfully employed."  At the age of almost old enough to retire, I no longer receive a paycheck, I have no medical insurance, and I still don't have enough cash on hand to make the next mortgage payment and pay the bills for the month ahead.  I'm a writer, artist and teacher (and recently now, almost by accident, an online bookseller) and am hoping to cobble together a life that matches who I am, but by leaving a job, I've now entered a whole new class of pariah-hood.   "What are you doing?"  "What are you going to do?"  "How can you just walk away from medical benefits?"  I hear these questions all the time.  (And, unspoken but clearly indicated, "What the hell is wrong with you?")  In a culture where what we do is the quintessential thing, in the eyes of many others I've become a "do-nothing."  I'm busy every day, yet none of my busyness has credence, because I've now stepped outside the box of having a real job.  I am now "once, twice, three times" (not a lady, but) a pariah.  Perhaps soon I'll enter the realms of bankrupt and foreclosed -- if I do, I expect I'll do it alone.

The social order demands that we have boxes or walls we fit neatly inside of.  I am trying to find a way now to live and to be without walls (although I'd kind of like to keep the walls of my house around me) -- to be solely and deeply attuned to the whispering of the Divine in the ear of my soul.  To do so creates within one's self what Dorothy Day described as "the long loneliness."  Until this past year, I've never really understood how deep and relentless are the demands of communities and cultures to conform, to walk in step, to keep the beat.  How ironic that pariahs were the beaters of drums.  I am reminded of Thoreau:  "If a man (sic) loses pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured, or far away."

Comments (0)

Subscribe to this comment's feed

Write comment

This content has been locked. You can no longer post any comment.