Ancient Words in a Crisis of Faith
The pandemic was lonely, scary, and anxiety-inducing for many people the world over. For me, it was even worse because I felt like the bottom fell out of my life, and the pandemic was the icing on the cake. In 2018, I had finished grad school and moved back in with my parents to start a doctoral program. In the fall of 2019, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Her prognosis was bleak, and I took a leave of absence to care for her and be her sidekick at all of her treatments and appointments. Her cancer was aggressive, and on December 8, 2019, she died.
This is the part that is still hard to put into words. It’s the trickiness of grief. It’s so complicated and heavy. I had been busy and full of purpose. Now, I was spending lots of time alone and asking questions that scared me questions, like, “Why were my prayers not good enough for God to save my mom?” and “What in the world am I supposed to do now?” I was a seminary-trained therapist, spending my days holding space for my clients during the day and crying and asking existential and nihilistic questions of myself and the Lord at night. Then the pandemic came, and the world closed in even more. My despair hung in the air even after the world began to reopen. I still felt deeply shaken.
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Go Through the Motions
One particular Sunday morning, I was feeling the numbness and heaviness that is often so common for the grieving and depressed. My friends that I usually sat with at church weren’t going to be there, and I remember thinking a scary thought, “That’s fine. I don’t even know if I believe this anyway.” My next thought was something my church history professor had said. “There will come a day when you question if you even believe this. On that day, go. Go through the motions. Do the things you always do.”
So, I got up and put on my jeans. I pulled my messy hair into a top knot and didn’t bother with make-up. This is not my church’s standard of dress. In fact, I remember the greeter at the door smiling kindly at my disheveled state as I came in late, handed me a bulletin, and said quietly, “I think you’re really going to like this here.” I went into the sanctuary, where everyone was sitting in every other pew due to social distancing. I looked for an empty pew (hoping I wouldn’t see anyone I knew) and found one near the back.
The Words of the Creed
I was trying hard to follow my professor’s instructions to go and do the things I always do. When we stood to recite the Nicene Creed, I found myself unable to say the words. So I stood there, and I let the words wash over me. On this day, when I couldn’t confirm my faith, those around me upheld it for me. No one was searching for words awkwardly or dispensing platitudes or half-truths. They defended their faith and mine using the ancient words of the Nicene Creed.
As I stood there, I thought about all the Christians throughout history who have recited the creed together through times of doubt, celebration, persecution, feast days, boredom, longing, and fear. I was reminded of God’s faithfulness to those around me in both a physical and metaphysical sense. I thought about the faithful in Hebrews 11-12,
And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect. Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, desiring the shame, seated at the right hand of God.
But being a person who stood for the creed and listened to those around me contend for the faith, both the faith throughout history and my own faith, eventually brought me back to the place where I stand and whole-heartedly affirm the faith.
The Long Road Back
It was not an easy road back to feeling like I belonged among the faithful. Doing the things I always do included attending a small group via Zoom (because it was COVID) and moving in with a new friend who is now a dear friend. She is a strong believer, older than my parents, but precisely who I needed during the dark days of grief and the full COVID shutdown.
Once things were partially open, I moved to my own apartment again. I really needed people, so I started cooking dinner; some of my single friends who lived relatively close would come over, and we would put a laptop in the center of my little red kitchen table, and we studied, shared, and prayed together. I also met regularly with my priest via Zoom and phone conversations as he prayed with me and recommended reading. These books also became good company to me and helped me navigate the dark path of grief.
Finally, I also all but moved in with a friend of mine and her family, and she and her little kids reminded me of the beauty and hope that was all around me. I continued to prioritize time with the Lord and time with his people until, eventually, I felt hope that was not elusive. Slowly but surely, my faith returned things that used to feel rote to things I did because I loved the Lord and his people. I believed it, and I was compelled to do these things.
Ever Mindful, Ever Grateful
After my own journey, I am ever mindful that somewhere in the pew, someone is doing what they always do while sincerely doubting their ability to hold onto their faith. It is my honor to articulate who we are together by reciting the creed and carrying those people with me before the throne of grace with all the Saints, knowing that we are called together and will persevere in the faith together. I am grateful for this and so many truths of our ancient faith.
Photo by kadirdemir from iStock Photo.
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