Compassionate Reconstruction

     I love my church. As someone who spent years deconstructing childhood experiences of church, loving a house of worship has come as a great surprise to me. My return has been to the Episcopal variety, one quite different from what I’d known. This church makes artful craft of a variety of smells and bells. Exceptionally beautiful choral music, intentional pauses for reflection, an elegantly designed worship space, respect for quiet—all of these lured me. The proverbial cherry on top was the wild abundance of flowers on Easter morning, such vibrant smells and colors. I find beauty, joy, and creative energy in this place. The liturgy, too, has become a welcome companion, with its invitation to worship alongside the worldwide communion in a collective recitation of the words of the Book of Common Prayer. It’s that very welcome companion, though, that also brings me to a sticky place of irritation.

     That liturgy invites all to kneel and offer confession for what we’ve done that we wished we hadn’t—and then for what we haven’t done that we wished we had. A reasonable invitation for people of faith. But what happens for me at this point in the liturgy is that amid all this beauty, my inner critic rears her cacophonous head. Her scathing voice insists that confession must be met with shame—that horrid feeling that says I am inadequate or inherently bad. Vestiges of my formative church experiences creep back into my consciousness and fears arise—the fear that I am indeed no more than a wretch and a worm. This presumption that our human propensity to error, to missing the mark, renders humankind essentially flawed and therefore unworthy of love runs deep. It’s an ingrained neural pathway that is challenging to rewire. That feeling of shame is what caused me (and many others) to abandon church altogether. During my season of deconstruction, theological alternatives aided my rewiring efforts. Theologies that offered new ways of understanding cracked open a once tightly sealed door.

      Theologians through the ages have debated the issue of the nature of the relationship between God and humankind. Augustine’s interpretation and the concept of Original Sin, though, have deeply shaped most of Western Christianity. Humans are innately sinful and require atonement, Augustine declared. Pelagius argued back, insisting that humans are born neutral and have free choice regarding their nature. Pelagius’ view didn’t make quite as significant a mark on contemporary Western Christianity as did Augustine’s. Fast forward a few hundred years, and we hear Matthew Fox introducing the idea of Original Blessing as an alternative to Augustine’s Original Sin. Liberation theologians launched into awareness by Gustavo Gutiérrez invite us to look beyond the individual to the collective, naming systems, not individuals, as the problem. The sheer number of voices offering perspectives on this subject and the heated reaction to challenging long-held views attest to its hold on us humans.

     These theological interpretations helped me in my deconstruction by widening windows and opening doors to broader understanding. They did not, though, reorient the message of that cacophonous inner voice. That reorientation demanded a regular practice, one that created new neural pathways—pathways that insisted on my belovedness. What has helped most in that reorientation has been a simple form of mindfulness-based compassion practice. Compassion, very simply, is noticing suffering and responding with kindness and concern. In that moment in the liturgy when we’re invited to offer confession, or for any moment when the critical inner voice rises with its habituated judgment, the invitation is to pause and recognize the suffering. Confession itself is not what causes the suffering. It’s the shame. Our humanness isn’t the problem. What is problematic is that icky sensation that there is something inherently wrong or problematic with that humanness. Extending compassion to self in that moment of shame, perhaps even placing a hand on heart and noting the challenge of this moment, invites a reorientation to the welcoming of self in all its limitations and loveliness. Confession without shame becomes possible. A non-adversarial relationship with self becomes possible. A simple acknowledgement void of judgment opens the way for liberation from shame. We practice compassionate presence to our own inner critic and begin to form new neural pathways that affirm our belovedness.

     For me, this turn to self-compassion is what has made it possible to remain a part of a faith community. For so many, the church has become synonymous with shame and judgment. The faith communities that have such potential to validate belovedness have instead left many with a distorted sense of self and disillusioned with faith. My experience of a long departure from church, followed by a return, is a rare one. Most leave the church and with it leave the God of their church’s understanding, never to return. I offer here no argument for a return to church. The heartbreak for me is for those whose church experience hindered or utterly thwarted an experience of Divine love and compassion. Much of the Western Church has formed a neural pathway in our collective consciousness that reinforces various forms of judgment. New pathways affirming our belovedness are needed. Our work as Soul Companions offers a beautiful opportunity to aid in shaping these new pathways. Broadening theological frameworks can help. The non-anxious presence of a spiritual guide can help. Faith communities that offer authentic hospitality can help. Specific tools can help, too, spiritual practices that offer opportunity to form those new pathways—new ways of experiencing God and self.

Practice
     Pause for a moment. Take a conscious breath or two. Make note of the inner conversations you’ve had with yourself in just the past several hours. What’s the nature of those conversations? If you observe any message of self-criticism or judgment, take a moment to reply to that message with a comment like, “I see your disappointment. I get it. And I’m sorry. Please know that you are welcome here.” What was that experience like for you?