Reconstruction & reintegration
Deconstructing religion & building an integrated faith (plus a new paid subscription option!)
Hi again friends,
How are you keeping? It’s been a heavy week and I suspect we all feel it in one way or another. What's saving your life right now? For me I feel the sustaining grace of copious amounts of tea, a new show to watch after my kids are in bed, and kitten cuddles at all hours of the day. I’m still thinking about Monet and how he painted in the midst of a war. And about Emily Dickinson who wrote poems. And about the women who enlisted in the ‘Land Girls’ to tend England’s land and grow food. And the families who grew Victory Gardens all over the world. And the countless people who kept raising children, going to work, and managing the home front on behalf of those who were needed elsewhere.
I wonder what you’re creating amidst the destruction? Where are you needed? May you know God's peace in these bright winter days when suffering seems to be pervasive and the light is hard to find. Please remember to give yourself permission to rest, too.
It would be great to hear from you; leave a comment or reply to this email if you'd like to share your sustaining grace or have a catch up.
This month’s newsletter contains the regular reflection, a couple of resources, an update about my new paid subscription tier, and a blessing in the form of a poem by rupi kaur. I hope it is a means of grace to you. I started writing this a few weeks ago and I keep coming back to it, changing things, adding and taking away, rethinking and reconsidering. I suspect that is a sign of my insecurity about being more open about my faith shifts than I have publicly in the past. I think it is also a sign that it’s exactly the story I need to tell. Thank you for reading. Your support encouraged me as I typed these words to share.
Our move back to the United States after our five years in England has provided the context I’ve needed to wrestle with my ongoing questions around identity and integrity. My grief and longing for my life in the UK is nearly as strong as it was on August 4th when we left, and I find myself feeling regret and resentment as I wonder about the what-ifs of our choices that led us to Kansas. Why did I agree to this? Coming to Kansas was a decision that Jonathan and I made together, but I often want to place the blame on him for my grief and discontent.
In Cambridge I had a community, a job I worked hard to obtain, and dreams that now feel impossible to fulfill. I have tried to wonder about the England version of Janette, and how she fulfilled dreams and became in that space. Did anything come with me when I left? Does the Janette who found and developed her identity, freedom, and vocation get to bring that here? The easy answer is, of course she does, but I'm not sure how to do that when my heart is hardened and I'm still resisting making a home or life here. Last week a friend wondered with me about riding my bike again. The weather is a legitimate reason I’ve not done this, but the deeper reason is that I want to resist making a home in this place. Perhaps our departure won’t feel so real if I avoid arriving as my full self.
When I dig into the crux of my heartache and my questions, I recognize how much of my identity was shaped by my life abroad, and how during those years I finally discovered what it’s like to feel like myself. I’ve often said that a mix of the particularities of England, and the phase of my life I was in while I was there, led to lasting personal awareness and development. I had children there, I explored my vocation in new ways, I became a gardener, and I along with my family built a life and community despite everything being completely new to us. I learned my own resilience, and I learned how to prioritize what really matters to me. I had a particular freedom to become what I wanted & felt called to be, without the watchful eyes of the community that raised me.
Don't get me wrong - that community is very important to me. But that chronic hesitation we sometimes have because we’re worried about what someone will think was rarely a part of my daily reality. It was in the absence of that feeling that I was able to worship, work, parent, socialize, and create rhythms in my home and marriage. I felt free to take risks, fail, and succeed without pressure to perform or receive validation from the people who always supplied me with it. Many times I missed that validation, but in its absence I was more able to rely on my belovedness as a child of God instead of on others’ approval for my own self-worth. My community shifted and so did the standards by which I felt evaluated in my successes or failures. I learned to trust my own voice and my own Janette-ness as created by God.
These days I'm trying to remember and discover anew the Janette-ness that exists wherever I am. What parts of myself emerged in England, and how can I give them room to explore and flourish in the Midwest? Sure, certain environments may make it easier or harder for me to live into myself, but she's in there. I want to flourish here, even if my grief prevents me from diving head-first.
Our ability to flourish is, in part, dependent on our ability to be vulnerable, open, and honest with ourselves and others as we continue to make sense of our own shifts in identity and belief.
This path of self-discovery has resulted in many late night musings on the matter of integrity. I mean this both in the sense of living with integrity: making choices which reflect my values, faith, and family, and in the sense of being an integrated person. What does it look like for these many pieces of myself which feel fractured to live within myself as an integrated whole?
My identity has and always will be shaped by my Christian faith. I was raised in the church and I knew the grace of God from childhood. I don’t remember a single salvation event; rather I can look back and see the threads of grace that have been woven into the bends and turns of my story.
I had my own version of what is commonly referred to as a 'deconstruction' of faith when I was freshly out of my undergraduate theology degree. That first summer out of college I began to have questions that did not have easy answers, or at least I was not satisfied with easy answers. I entered of period of serious questioning, all while holding onto some fragments of my faith, namely the core doctrines most Christians profess: God created the world and everything in it, Christ is the son of God who died on the cross and was raised to new life, and we’re given the gift of the Holy Spirit who is with us in all things.
All the other bits? Lots and lots of questions. Pieces don’t fit together like they used to. I didn’t feel integrated, and I didn’t know how to get there. I lived in that messy, grief-filled middle space for several years.
I’ve deconstructed. What comes next?
In the midst of my questions and doubts, I increasingly find great solace and comfort in the rituals, sacraments, and prayers of the ancient church. On days when I am not sure what I can firmly hold in my hands with any certainty, I believe the sacraments and the prayers of God's people hold me. We attended an Anglican church our five years in Cambridge and I felt a sense of place and mothering there that helped me work toward becoming integrated. Our time there helped me dig deeper into the heart of God who calls us to the work of love and peace. One the distinctives of the Anglican communion is they are bound across time and space by patterns of prayer. The church doesn't cater to me, current trends, or market research. Instead it continues with the work it began centuries ago, and the Spirit is at work within those patterns. The church isn't trying to be something specific for me, and I don't have to be something specific to fit within it. The church isn’t seeking to have the most popular answer, but instead to reflect the mystery and boundless love of Christ.
In the words of Rachel Held Evans, I held onto something of my Christian faith in the midst of my questions “because the story of Jesus is a story I’m willing to risk being wrong about.” But I’ve not always been sure what that means in my daily life. I can speak the language of theology and practice in the church, but what does it meant to me, really?
I’m ordained as a member of the clergy, so my faith identity is not only an expression of my belief; it’s also my place of employment and the community which endorses me in living out my vocation. This muddies the waters quite a bit when it comes to discerning how to answer the questions I have, and how to proceed with integrity to God, myself, the church, and others. I’ve not always felt safe to speak about these shifts in fear that it will affect mine or my husband’s employment prospects and/or family relationships.
I have so much gratitude for the tradition that introduced me to Jesus. It was here that I learned about the grace that is available to every person before they are aware they need it. I’ve been nurtured, educated, and raised by faithful people and congregations. Caring ministers saw the gift of grace in my own life, and ordained me for ministry, trusting God's calling and ability to work through me in that particular office of the church. What a means of grace to know and love them, and to be known and loved by them. I especially do not take this for granted as a female in ministry. I have very rarely met people from within my own tradition who do not fully support my role as a minister in the church.
And yet, as I reflect on the matter of integrity (becoming integrated) and my journey of deconstruction, I’m realizing that the faith I’m piecing back together is different from the one I started with. I want to hold onto the best of the tradition that raised me and integrate the other pieces which have come to matter to me, too.
As a child I was planted in a rich soil which nurtured me the best way it knew how, and now I feel the need to take in even more nourishment and light, and to maybe even be a bit wild.
As I reflect on my last five years of becoming, I realize that I created Viriditas out of a desire to begin working toward that reconstruction.
I’ve deconstructed a faith that’s exclusive, compliant, promising prosperity, and all-knowing.
I’ve deconstructed a faith of empires, power, and wealth.
I’ve deconstructed a faith that centers me and my individual experiences of God.
In its place I’m reconstructing a faith that calls people to radical love and inclusion.
A faith that does not see theology as something that has final answers to problems, but rather is an invitation to live within the never-solvable mystery of an embodied God.
A faith that is not concerned with my individual salvation but is instead attuned to the communal nature of Christ’s redemption.
A faith that celebrates the land and its peoples, striving to learn from, preserve, and renew it.
A faith that’s diverse and nuanced, open to mystery, and a little bit rebellious.
A faith that makes holy trouble with and for those who have been historically marginalized and disempowered by the church.
A faith that moves on behalf of Ukrainians and other refugees, asylum seekers, and victims of war.
A faith that responds to unjust, unkind treatment of trans kids in my home state of Texas.
A faith that celebrates and affirms belonging for people who are LGBTQ+, paying attention to the unique ways they bear the image of God.
A faith that brings about the Kingdom of Heaven (not earthly empires), which is unruly like a mustard tree, and provides a safe place for the birds of the air to make their nests.
A faith that is anti-racist, isn’t afraid of speaking up in fear of getting it wrong, and is willing to unlearn white supremacy, in pursuit of Christlikeness which compels us to lay our lives - and pride and power and privilege - down for another.
A faith that makes peace instead of keeps peace.
A faith that never feels crowded or at risk of maxing capacity, and always has more room, more love, more curiosity, and more grace for all.
And most importantly, a faith that orders all else in my life and is the lens through which I understand the world, and not simply a hobby to pick up when it suits me.
I am equally comforted and challenged by these words by St. Augustine, “If you think you have grasped it, it is not God you have grasped.” On days when I am not sure what I am grasping, thanks be to God the sacraments of the church grasp me.
I don't know where you are in your faith, if you have constructed, deconstructed, or are building again, or perhaps your home of faith feels pretty stable. For me, I am ready to find that stability and to rebuild a faith that is integrated for the whole of my life.
I’m rebuilding a faith that looks like the one Jesus embodied: I want to provide living water to those different from me, go into the homes of the outcast and vulnerable to share meals and offer grace, call out the empire and invite people into a different kind of Kingdom, break the Sabbath to heal and to save, and lay down my life and privilege for my neighbors and friends.
Jesus deconstructed a religion of exclusion and piety, and in its place his life reconstructed a faith which is invitational for us all, calling us to holiness through justice and peace. Jesus is alive and invites us to share in his life, one lived for the sake of revealing God’s love to one another.
If you are on your own path of faith integration, I offer this space as one where we can explore our path of reconstruction, questions, doubts, belief, and integrity together. I hope to more openly practice this kind of integration, knowing I’ll get it wrong.
I would be honored to facilitate and host a space for us all, wherever we may be in our journeys of reconstruction and reintegration. That sort of curious, safe, and open landing is what you can expect from this little domain. I’m weary of deconstructing. I’m ready to build again, with renewed hope and belief there is room for us all at the table set for us.
Your company along the way is a means of grace to me.
With love and peace,
Janette
Introducing… weekly letters for paid subscribers!
I’m excited to share that I’m taking the next step in developing this little corner of the internet. Until now, Viriditas has been a free publication in which I have published a monthly reflection and resources. These will continue as they began, and will remain free.
I’m adding a new section which will be available to paid subscribers, where I will publish weekly letters with a bit more vulnerability and a monthly guide relevant to that month’s content. The letters will be a space in which I explore a bit more extemporaneously some of my thoughts about deconstruction, reconstruction, faith, and doubts as they are present in my own life.
It will be the best of what I hope Viriditas offers: a space which is invitational, reflective, and honest about how we pursue a nuanced faith in a messy, complicated world. I have hopes and plans for how we can engage with one another in that space in the months to come, for anyone else who also needs a safe place to build a nest, wonder, and reconstruct.
Moving forward, if you are currently subscribed you will continue to receive the monthly reflections & resources, with occasional extras as I’m able to produce them.
If you’d like to increase your subscription to $5/month, you will receive the monthly newsletter, weekly letters, and a monthly guide, and you will be supplying me with 30 minutes of babysitting so that I can continue to do the work.
As a thank you for becoming a paid subscriber, you will receive your first extra resource: a self-guided reflection tool for your next museum trip, as inspired by my own experience with Monet’s Water Lilies which I described in January’s newsletter.
And finally, whether you increase your subscription or not, please know that I am truly grateful you’re here. I’m still discerning my next steps in ministry and in Kansas City; your support here gives me the space and a bit of incentive to continue onward with that process, and to explore writing as a part of that vocation. I’d be ever so grateful if you shared Viriditas with someone you think would enjoy it!
Resources & Ideas
Some wonderings to ponder if you are also reconstructing:
Imagine you are disassembling something that took you years to create - perhaps a home, a garden, a bicycle, a lego set, a textile craft. You knew it was no longer fit for purpose, so you took it apart. You’ve held onto the pieces for some time, not sure what to do with them. They clutter your home. You’re itching for change but you’re not sure yet what that change will look like.
First, survey what you’ve taken apart. Is any of it salvageable? What can you repurpose, reuse, or relocate? What do you know stays exactly as it was? What are you certain needs to go in the rubbish bin?
Now that you see what’s remaining, look at it all with curious and playful eyes. Are there any new pairings, arrangements, or models you can create? What excites you and inspires you? What new elements do you want to introduce? Perhaps some color, texture, and vibrancy to freshen up something that was previously tired. What sources do you need to consult to help you accomplish your vision? What do you have questions about, and with whom can you explore possibilities? Perhaps that friend with an eye for design, or a local shop that specializes in what you need.
Give yourself permission to begin, holding your plans lightly, remembering there is always a chance they will change as you go and discover more about yourself and the materials you’re working with. Invite friends to come see your work and maybe even help, so they can encourage and celebrate you. You’re doing great, and we’re so excited to see what you create from the refuse.
Three books which have been especially meaningful to me in recent years as I’ve been reconstructing include Searching for Sunday by Rachel Held Evans, Holy Envy by Barbara Brown Taylor and I’m Still Here by Austin Channing Brown. These women are brilliant companions for the journey.
Blessing
This month, in lieu of writing a blessing, I want to share with you a poem by rupi kaur from her collection, the sun and her flowers. The book is described as “a journey of wilting, falling, rooting, rising, and blooming” which seems very much in the spirit of Viriditas.
bombs brought entire cities
down to their knees today
refugees boarding boats knowing
their feet may never touch land again
police shot people dead for the color of their skin
last month i visited an orphanage of
abandoned babies left on the curbside like waste
later at the hospital i watched a mother
lose both her child and her mind
somewhere a lover died
how can i refuse to believe
my life is anything short of a miracle
if amidst all this chaos
i was given this life
- circumstancesI’ll see you later this week for Ash Wednesday and the beginning of our grow-along.
May the peace of the risen Christ be with you all,
Janette
Beautiful words. I am especially struck by how beautifully you articulate reconstruction. Thank you for sharing all this.
You are a cool glass of water, Janette. Much love, my friend.