Diving in

It seems to me there are two kinds of people in the world. Those who stand by river’s edge and take the plunge, diving into even very cold water. And those who dip toe in the water, gradual entry, bit by bit, often a more arduous process. I count myself in that second group, especially when it comes to the spiritual journey.

When as a young adult, I began to explore the Episcopal Church, I waded in slowly. I’d purposely arrive at church a bit late, locate myself behind a column toward the rear of the church, avail myself of easy exit when service was done. My journey at that time was marked by lots of questions and some confusion about the ways Anglicans worshipped. All that book juggling and liturgical aerobics. I heard words like narthex and verger. Even the word eucharist was new to me. I read in the bulletin about something called the Collect, clearly distinct from the Offertory. I thought: These folks are avid fundraisers.

And then there was the Creed. I was struck with how a group of seemingly intelligent folks stood and mouthed the same words, week after week. It often seemed rote. Many seemed bored. I joined in, sort of. I would stand and begin the creed, able to affirm the mystery of a creator. But there were other lines that were perplexing or even unbelievable. Raised a Protestant, I decided I would not say the lines I didn’t particularly like or comprehend.

I observed several things. First, no one seemed to mind, or in fact, notice when I stopped talking. The community let me come at my own pace, as I stepped bit by bit into that stream. That was grace.

And while I indulged in this defiant personal boycott, the creed still got said. The community continued, and in fact, carried on even if I was unsure or uncomfortable. More than that, the community carried me into deeper belief.

You see, over time, I found myself changing, growing, expanding in what I said I believed. For me, it was true that faith is more often caught then taught. It was contagious. I came to say more of the creed, until eventually I joined saints around the world and across the generations in fully making this affirmation of faith. I came to see that the doctrine of the Trinity expressed in the Creed is key, revealing the character of God as mysterious, as relational, as community, as welcoming me into that community, as love.

I came to be moved by the creed, words polished over the century. I was moved by the fact that for centuries, people of faith have gathered and said these words. I was moved by the fact that around the world, on any given Sunday, people were saying these words. I was moved by the fact that in red states and blue states, faith was affirmed. Maybe not fully understood. Maybe not even fully believed. But the words got said.

I still have moments when certain lines defy understanding. On those days, I say them anyway in the spirit of the New Testament character who said “Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.”

On this Monday after Trinity Sunday, the only Sunday of the year dedicated to a doctrine, take time to think about what we believe, about where we give our hearts, which is what belief is all about. Give thanks that God’s love welcomes us, preceding our assent, exceeding our comprehension.

And dive into that great stream of saints around the world and across the generations. Or dip your toe in the water, taking a small step into the ever rolling stream, a community on the move that will carry us with our questions and our challenges and our injuries, with our gifts and hopes and love.

Come on in, the water’s fine.

-Jay Sidebotham