Is There More?

have sincere love for each other, love one another deeply, from the heart. 1 Peter 1:22

Are you a church-goer?  If so, what keeps you going?  This week I had conversations with two people who wanted to feel more connected with their faith community.  I knew there was context and I inquired.  In both cases, they had experienced recoil when they revealed some of the struggle that was inside and emerging from the deep waters of their heart.  They both wanted to know how to feel and struggle less because they wanted to keep others comfortable and have a better chance at friendship and connection.  One friend was sure she was seen as the downer in the group.  I know her to be a thoughtful struggler with an inviting vulnerability.

I’ve heard this sadness before.  Sadly, I have likely been the cause of and have felt this loneliness at times in my own faith communities.  How does this happen with a group of people who, by and large, place such a high value on loving well?  People come together with the sincere hope of richly connecting with people they care about and yet, too often, we walk away with longings unmet.  And we are lonely.  Where does the train derail?  

My friend described a desire to talk about the meaningful, vulnerable, parts of her soul with long-time friends and wanted to inquire about theirs.  Yet, her efforts were met with a discomfort and a shift in their seat.  Inevitably, someone will joke or attempt to fix it saying what others are thinking (at least this is what my friend believes) and the opportunity is lost.   She wonders if there is a shared space for embracing the difficult mysteries and painful struggles of a life well-lived?  Could it be that we long for deep, meaningful connection yet it is the very thing that we fear?  To be known is to take a risk.  The risk is recoil from a trusted ear which can feel like rejection.  Rejection is painful.  On the flip side, I have felt the discomfort of a bared soul and my inadequacy to respond well.  The struggle of my friend inevitably touches on something within me.  I live in a world that is beyond my ability to control.  How well I engage that reality within me greatly affects how well I handle my friend’s realities.  

Years ago, there was a professional film-maker who attended our church.  He took on the filming and editing of 5 peoples stories (sometimes called testimonies).  Tom and I agreed to film a 5-minute video about the turbulent, early years of our marriage.  At that point we had been married 15 years (we will celebrate 30 this year!) and we were enjoying some brighter days. But, although I was convinced that telling the truth about our marriage was a good thing, I was hesitant.  What if we were misjudged?  What if we became known as “the couple with a bad marriage”?  What if people thought less of us?  

The opening sentence of our video was Tom saying, “Without Christ, Lisa and I would be divorced today.”  We went on to talk about the pain and disillusionment we experienced as we failed each other.  And with skill, the videographer pieced together a narrative that portrayed a couple who shouldn’t have made it but because of our relationship with God and His work in our lives, we did.

When the service was over, a woman I had known for many years said to me with a concerned look and pity, “I will pray for you.”  A torrent of responses flooded my mind and I must have looked dumb-founded, since I was.  I wanted to say, “But we’re doing better!  Wasn’t that clear?”  or “Certainly, you have had dark days in your marriage.”   In a stroke of grace, I found myself saying, “Thank you.” The truth is our marriage will always need prayer. I will be forever grateful our rocky beginning made that clear.  Thankfully, about four couples thanked us for telling their story as well.  Another wondered if she could show it to her husband because they were considering divorce.  I went from feeling alone and regretful to feeling embraced and humbled that God could use our story in some small way to encourage another.

Why did I feel such a disconnect from that first, well-meaning friend followed by the hope of meaningful connection with others?  I can't be sure what was going on inside her but I do know, there is a thirst in my soul for something that is beyond me.  There is a longing for relationship and purpose that leaves me vulnerable when I am willing to see it clearly.  As image-bearers we share this longing in common with others and it is what builds a bridge of connection.  Yet, sometimes I forget myself and my pride leads me to believe I have it figured out and I’ve got what it takes in and of myself.  From this misguided vantage point, I have no other view than one of looking down from a higher, more distant place onto those who actually know what is true-- that they don't.  The truth is neither does anyone else, really.

This week, my thoughtful, struggling friend was facing the same choices I have faced and face daily.  I can take a deep, discouraged sigh and look to numb or deny my God-given, deeply, relational orientation or live with a courageous integrity that admits there must be more. There is more.  We were created to live beyond loneliness and into relationship with God and others.  And there are others who are fellow strugglers, those who get it that we were meant for meaningful community.  We need each other. 

Do you wonder if there is more?  Join me in asking, what is the condition of my heart/soul?  From that place, can I see into, inquire and care about the state of my friends?  Am I willing to struggle with living in a sometimes painful, always imperfect world or am I intent on staying busy, smoothing it over and/or explaining it away?  These are the questions that breathe life into our search, our relationships and into our existence.  They will lead to deeper waters.  You may feel in over your head and at a loss to find land.  If so, you are in touch with your humanity and the greater question of where to find this life you seek?

-Lisa Branton, LMSW