Naming The Who

their certainty re-ignites my curiosity

Why is one of my favorite questions. I struggled in the beginning to know and articulate the why for my second book of poetry. The initial working title didn’t feel quite right. I wasn’t sure what poems to include or how to arrange them, or even the message I wanted to convey.

When the why became overwhelming, a still small voice invited to me consider the who instead.

Generally speaking, why is about purpose and meaning, who is about connection and relationship. When it comes to faith, I’ve come to understand who as more important than why.

I cannot tell my faith story—learning it, losing it, and letting it go—without telling you about one of my great-grandmothers.

Grandma Bernie, as I affectionately called her, was short in stature and tall in spirit. Our connection was special and not without tension. As her oldest great-grandchild, I knew her in ways others did not. Yes, she was stubborn and strongly opinionated, and I experienced her as a soft and safe presence. I loved being around her; at the apartment, at the cottage Up North, and at church.

She was a devout Methodist. Next to her green chair was a book shelf, filled with trinkets, books, bibles, and a red Methodist hymnal with a crumbling spine and worn pages.

I remember sitting at her feet thumbing through that hymnal. Using the index to find my favorites and hers. Silently reading the lyrics. Inquiring about the symbols and images of the God they depicted. Asking about her childhood. When was she baptized? Confirmed? What did she think about communion? How did the Trinity work? What about prayer? Why is there suffering in the world? Why should girls wear dresses, slips, and tights? Why did she put fruit in her cottage cheese?

There was never judgement of my questions or attempt to squash my curiosity. Grandma Bernie welcomed it. Encouraged it. Especially as it related to faith and God.

Grandma Bernie died when I was 18. Her death propelled me deeper into a depression that had been growing for years. At the same time, I was wandering away from Methodism toward Pentecostalism. It was the certainty of fundamentalism that lured me in. They offered a specific life plan. If I did what they instructed and accepted what was taught, I would be saved from damnation and destined for a beautiful eternity. Any expression of doubt was demonized and curiosity was on par with blasphemy, the one unforgiven sin.

In the bigger picture, my time in pentecostal christianity was short and spread out over several years, but the toll it took reaches far into the marrow of my being. It’s only been in the last few years, that I’ve really allowed myself to name that trauma. When Grandma Bernie died, members of that church mocked my belief that she was heaven.

“Are you sure she was saved?” they asked. “Those Methodists don’t preach true salvation.”

Decades later, their certainty re-ignites my curiosity.

My first book, Unraveling: Coming Out and Back Together was about letting go. Surrendering clergy credentials and shame.

Not My Grandmother’s Hymnal: Composing a Curious Faith is about releasing the need for certainty. Embracing inquisitiveness. It is a continuation of my faith story. A story that honors doubt and makes space for searching. A story that values questions and doesn’t rush to answers.

It is a story born from delayed grief. Depression didn’t allow me to grieve Grandma Bernie’s death. While grieving the web of losses spun from coming out and leaving ministry in the United Methodist Church, I was finally able to grieve my grandmother. A grieving that included celebrating who she was in my life and the undeniable influence she continues to have on my faith. The faith I inherited did not die at the hands of familial and church rejection. It did however, need time for healing and examination.

The faith Grandma Bernie passed on looks different than the one she received. It has deepened and expanded. The songs she taught me at the foot of her chair and that we sang together in the pew will never leave my heart or mind, but the lyrics and the tunes have taken on new rhythm and meaning.

This next collection of poems is inspired by the hymns that followed me out of the church. Dedicated to the one who encouraged my curiosity not simply about faith, but about all of creation.

Naming the who, I discover the why.

Who are the people that have influenced your life and faith?

Who stirs your questions and inspires your curiosity?

Softly & Tenderly,
Rebecca