Wondering. And Wandering.

And me?  I had been wondering, and wandering before.  There were these answers.  And these people who loved me.  For the first time, I was using the same kinds of words as my wife to explain, and describe the important things in the world.

I remember the night I decided I wasn’t battling with Jesus anymore.  I would be contemptuous if I saw a movie like that.  Because the weather outside was such a perfect representation of what was going on within me that it would be difficult to believe this sort-of thing actually happens.

The thunder was so loud that night it literally shook the glass window panes in the sill.  Huge rain drops came down, roads flooded and the wind whirled.  And then?  Then it all fell into place for me.

This church that my wife had found was good.  The people was good.  I found a place I felt like I belonged for the first time in a long time.

 

It was all so good in the beginning.

Adam had this garden, and this partner.  He walked with his maker.

And me?  We had these groups that met every week.  We ate together and laughed, and we worked at figuring things out.  They loved me.

Our lives intersected, outside of those times.

We worshipped on Sundays.  Songs that felt like they were constructed in my world.  Not the silly and obselete church organs of my youth.  Electric guitars.  Drums.  And sermons that spoke to where I was…  Mostly.

Adam and Eve eventually contended with the snake.  

And me?  Well I guess like Adam, it was all those doubts and fears that I didn’t want to own.

There were all these pat answers and easy explanations.  Lots of them were about who goes to heaven and who goes to hell.  There was not much doubt about those explanations.  We invoked God’s mystery, sometimes, but mostly about why and how it had to work this way.  God’s mystery didn’t threaten the explanations themselves.  It was only ever use to justify why those explanations didn’t make sense to us.

When I look back on that time, I think about all the things I thought I knew.  I think back about how knowledge seemed like a requirement for the right way to be.  And it seemed like the fruit of the right way to be, too.  We knew this and that and the other thing.

I don’t know why I never wondered about the tree, in the garden, that caused all those problems.  It was the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

These days, in the middle of my reconstructed faith, I see some importance to that.  It is, perhaps, a statement about the human condition.   We have this desire to know the nature of good and evil.  But someway, somehow…  This is just not how it works.

We don’t, we can’t know the nature of good and evil nearly so much as we want to.  This is the only tree that we are told not to eat from.  We are, I guess, supposed to lean into our connection with God, and discern good and evil in some other way.  Perhaps with a bit more humility.

 

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