Refuge

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging. There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells. God is within her; she will not fall; God will help her at break of day.” (Psalm 46:1-5)

Port Au Prince, Haiti, January 12, 2010.  I remember sitting outside the guest house the evening of the earthquake. We sat under the gazebo for hours waiting for the next aftershock to hit, listening to the people cry out in fear as the ground would move, waiting to see if it was a minor rumble or if the whole ground would roll and quake as it did that afternoon. We watched the water in the pool splash around with every aftershock like a glass of water being sloshed in an unsteady hand.  Fruit kept falling from the trees and we would back away from the structures as we waited for more buildings to fall.  We sat together in the courtyard, struggling to respond to the terror we experienced driving through Port Au Prince to get back to our guest house. The city was in collapse and people everywhere were wounded, dying and dead. People were trying to reach their loved ones in the rubble, desperate for a miracle or at least some sign of hope that they were alive. Parents carrying broken babies, loved ones being carried out and wrapped in bloody blankets. People seeing the white missionaries and approaching our vehicle, begging for a ride to the hospital or some kind of help as it was determined that even the hospital was in ruin. We were not a medical team, we were there to teach and equip pastors, evangelize and work on the school sponsorship project. As I watched the horror around me it became apparent to me that this “call” on my life to help people in poverty wasn’t enough. We came to “help Haiti” and I had never felt so inadequate and unprepared as I did in that moment. The God inside of me wasn’t enough to save anyone. Prayer seemed ridiculous and the miracles were not coming, it wasn’t enough.

Our vehicle eventually carried us back to the compound where we were staying, and the guest house was still standing. This gave a false sense of security and assurance to many of the missionaries that were staying there. After much discussion and against my better judgement, everyone eventually decided to sleep inside the guest house when it grew dark. I was convinced another tremor would bring the building down and I tried to convince everyone to stay outside through the night with me. We all had seen the cracks in the walls, yet everyone seemed convinced that the worst of the shaking was over, and the building would stand.   I was not convinced; I was terrified we would become trapped beneath it with one quick shake of whatever unsteady hand was holding the earth and causing the world to tremble.

I sat awake all night in a lawn chair reading my Bible, clinging to the “power” of the Word of God. I believed at that time that I could speak peace into the chaos and that God was going to show up and save us. Jesus spoke to the storm; I was going to speak to the earth.  God was going to “be my ever-present help in times of trouble” because “God was within me, and I would not fall”.  I waited and waited for the presence of God to come in power and calm my storm. But all that came was more fear, and more aftershocks.  I wish I could tell you that God was absent that night. It would make the memory easier to digest and the story simple to tell. The truth is I had this overwhelming sense that God was with me, even though it seemed God was doing absolutely nothing at all.

As the night grew dark, I heard voices lifting up songs of praise and prayer. The sound was coming from the city outside of the compound walls.  A local church in the community gathered for an overnight prayer vigil that lasted until dawn. They cried out to God and their songs filled the streets alongside the cries of grief and desperation as people were being dug out from the rubble.  These beautiful Haitian songs of prayer would turn to cries and screams every time another aftershock shook the earth. The seconds of shaking felt like eternity, and I’d watch the pool water splash and wait for the buildings around me to come down. When the earth would become still and the screams would grow quiet, the voices of prayer and praise would fill the streets again and I imagined them covering the city like rain. Rain that flooded and filled every crack in the ground, creeping into the deepest, darkest, most desperate places where people were trapped and suffering. In my mind I imagined my faith joining with theirs as I read the psalms aloud in the courtyard until the dawn broke. I waited all night believing that somehow my rescuing God would come and save us all. Reality was nothing like my imagination.  The sun came up. The singing stopped. The rescue efforts continued, and the bodies of those lost began to pile up on the sides of the road.  

I took my first mission trip at 18 years of age in 2001.  I had just graduated high school and had dived deep into a charismatic experience at the invitation of a friend at school my junior year.  It was as though I had encountered an “amazing grace” experience in real time and God not only found my lost soul and “saved” me, but God was also active, alive, inspirational and in every corner of my reality.  I found what felt like a supernatural confidence in my connection to this God who loved me and accepted me and wiped away all my sin. This supernatural God who loved, provided, protected, and would never leave me was the connection and companionship I thought I had been missing my whole life.  Looking back, this idea was a thread that wove through my development both as an adult and as a person of faith. It influenced my call and growth into ministry for many years. I believed no bad thing could touch me if I was following God, because God would always provide a way out. I was untouchable because of God’s mighty protection. I had built my life around missions and ministry and traveled the world for over 10 years before Haiti.  The day that moved the earth beneath my feet also began the crumbling of these spiritual pillars of faith that I had built my entire life upon.  

I didn’t realize it at the time, but this belief and assurance of safety was the foundation to my faith. The crumbling of this spiritual pillar is what began my deconstruction process. I had wrapped my sense of worth, security and even identity around this false sense of safety and assurance that God was a protector, and I was somehow “chosen”.  This was the spiritual house that I lived in for many, many years as a person in ministry.  This spiritual home was destroyed in 2010. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this is when I became a spiritual refugee.  Looking back, it felt more like I had been orphaned than a victim of war or devastation. I wasn’t forced to leave my homeland. Rather I felt I was abandoned and left to navigate a world I no longer recognized.  God wasn’t who I thought he was. I was wrong, and I was alone.

It was a humbling experience coming back home to MN. Our luggage and personal items were left behind as we were evacuated days later on a cargo plane out of the US embassy. The baggage of emotional and spiritual trauma was more than we could carry and weighed us down and took up more space than any suitcase could. Our churches “praised God” for our return and we were greeted with hugs, tears and words of “thanking God for saving our lives” and awe at the “plans God had for us” since our lives were spared. People meant well, but all I really heard at the time was that God chose who lived and who died, that I should accept and be grateful that my life was somehow determined more worthy than the thousands of people piled up on the roads in Haiti.  God protected me.  I came home with a broken arm and an expectation to be grateful for the call of God in my life because “God had more for me to do. Praise the Lord!”  But what about them? God didn’t have more for them to do? What kind of God wipes thousands of people off the planet because they aren’t useful? Were they born to suffer and die? Who the hell is this guy, and how did I think God was good and a refuge if the people I thought he was trying to "save" were disposable?

Suddenly this safe, loving God became terrifying and unpredictable, and I had no idea what to do with that revelation. This new information began to unravel everything I had ever thought I knew about God.  If I couldn’t depend on a God who would protect me, who was this God really?  If God doesn’t rescue and isn’t in control, then what else doesn’t God do?  It was a house of cards, pull one card out and the rest come crashing down. The understanding of my faith and all the things I thought I knew about God began to come apart at the seams.

This was only the beginning of over a decade of exploring, grieving, asking hard questions.  I remember wishing more than once that I could just throw this whole “Christianity” thing out the window. That I could just choose not to believe anymore and start over completely.  The problem was that I had experienced too much to go back. Woven into all of these false, privileged beliefs I had clung to so tightly was my reality and personal relationship with the God of the Universe that I knew was real.  I had seen the love of God heal, rebuild and bring hope too many times. I knew the embrace of God’s almost tangible presence and the power of the cross had changed my life.   Even in the darkest nights of my life, God was there. I couldn’t throw that away, you couldn’t talk me out of it, God was real. So, what now?

Maybe it was my naivety, or the charismatic bubble I had lived in at the time, but I had sincerely expected God to show up as a knight in shining armor that first night in Haiti. I had all the faith in the world that if I could just pray or believe enough that God would show up. That didn’t happen. I expected the chaos to respond to the spoken word and the tangible presence of God to drive out the fear and terror I was experiencing.  That didn’t happen either.  Even though I didn’t feel God, or see God do anything, I still knew deep down that God was with me. 

It was a confusing experience, and living in that tension began to break up the ground of my spiritual foundation. I didn't know it at the time, but this was the process that needed to happen before I could let the roots of my authentic spirituality begin to dig deep again. It’s taken years to see life come up from the ground again in my own life and ministry.  

As I’ve journeyed through deconstructing my faith, I’ve evolved and reconstructed many of my core beliefs that crumbled.  My foundation is no longer built on a predictable God who promises provision, safety and answers.  My faith it is built on a God who is present with me, a God who brings life to the seeds of faith sown as I have taken small steps courageously to trust and try again.

Jesus came to earth. Emmanual; God with us. What we have read about him is that he was surrounded by people who were suffering or in need of miracles. We read in the Bible that Jesus healed, fed people, worked signs and miracles and even raised Lazarus from the dead. His message was one of love and acceptance, or seeing others as God sees them. He responded to the people and modeled for us a life of presence. We see the highlights, the miracles, the moments in time where Jesus was able to meet a need and touch a life.  God showed up in the lives of people in the Gospel stories in miraculous and incredible ways.  Then Jesus died, leaving the holy spirit and a great commission for the disciples to continue the work Jesus did.  The disciple took their place in history and carried the message of Jesus, commissioning others to continue the work of Jesus, and that rhythm has carried us all the way to present day. 

I love the Bible, but it can be deceptive if interpreted in the wrong light.  I had been living my life of faith and limiting my understanding of how God shows up to the highlight reels I read about in the Gospels and the Book of Acts.  What we read about healing and miracles was temporary.  Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead, which is incredible, but Lazarus still died sometime later.  His family had to say goodbye, again. For every person that Jesus healed, hundreds, maybe thousands of others suffered.  Jesus fed 5000, but millions were dying from poverty and went hungry.  How does that work? Did Jesus have favorites, or do we just simply only know in part what God was doing? Does it make the life and ministry of Jesus any less miraculous because it wasn’t predictable or logical?

I made the words of a book (the Bible) into a faith formula that I expected to work like a law of physics or a math equation.  A + B =C. God is not a math equation, God is not limited to my logic or understanding, God isn’t limited to the Bible or a measure of faith and expectation. The truth is we know in part, which is why faith is found in wonder, in curiosity, in potential. When we look at God through a lens of possibility instead of expectation, it leaves room for life and pain and beauty to grow us all up in the knowledge that God is with us.