Why choose the wrestle?
At this time of year, life tends to get sparkled up and decorated. Some of that can be a relief and a balm to our weary souls. But sometimes, we need something more. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to choose. So, this Advent, Lisa and Steph are writing their answers to the question:
Why choose the wrestle?
From Lisa:
What I love about this question is that it assumes that there is a choice about the wrestling. What I really dislike about this question is that it reveals to me how often I used to choose not to.
I didn’t know how important wrestling would be to me until I chose to intentionally try it. It was during the season of leaving a career, a hard point in marriage, and general disappointment in what I thought faith was supposed to look like. I had a choice to make in that season; push ahead like everything was ok and start pouring myself into my next phase of work or choose to set aside some time and wrestle with God.
I chose to wrestle because I was exhausted at the other choice. It’s exhausting trying to keep showing up at church or in small groups when what you believe is shifting. It’s hard to betray your heart because obligations feel so damn weighty. And when you’re in that space, wrestling can seem like the last thing you want to do. But what I learned was that was the only way out.
Choosing to wrestle meant that I could leave that way of existing. It’s not that choosing to wrestle solved everything, because it didn’t. But it did change a lot of things. My career, my faith, my marriage, my parenting, my community, and more.
Choosing to wrestle taught me a skill that was missing from my toolbox. Choosing to carve out time and space so that I could wrestle took some work, but what happened because I did that was 100% percent worth it.
Before 40 Orchards, I didn’t wrestle with God or the Bible. Somewhere I had learned that was dangerous and could lead me straight to hell. I never dreamed of asking “what if” when I read the Bible. Now it comes up every time I read the Bible. It’s part of how I wrestle.
Wrestling for me is now a practice. It’s not as scary and I don’t worry about hell or heresy. It turns out that that wrestling led me to more freedom and less hell. And that is something I celebrate.
From Steph:
I haven’t always chosen to move towards the hard things. There have been plenty of times when I found peace in platitudes and comfort in easy answers. But as I walked through church wounds and faith shifts and broken relationships and justice conversations, the easy stopped working. I was pushed towards deconstructions and reconstructions that have moved me into the more nuanced and expansive faith I have today.
It is not uncommon during the holidays for me to pine with nostalgia for those days of simple faith. Sometimes I just want to decorate the tree and not ask any more questions, thank you very much. I long to revert back to what was simple because I know if I choose complexity, some traditions might not fit any more and some relationships might be more difficult. It’s hard to face that kind of loss and change, so in some years, I just haven’t, which is okay. There’s a place for rest and reprieve and grace towards ourselves.
But, in my stronger moments, I remember how my faith became more spacious in the first place and choose to engage differently. Some of the best fruit in my life, the kind that has brought me lasting peace and wholeness, was born from struggle. When I chose to fight for something wider and deeper in my sense of who God was and who I am, it changed my life for the better.
So, what might it look like to choose the wrestle alongside the twinkling lights during Advent? For me, it has meant re-writing the messages that go with our Advent tree on the one hand, and leaving room for things to just be fun and not have to have spiritual significance on the other hand. It has meant allowing myself to see nativity stories in a new light and ask questions about Jesus I never knew I was allowed to ask. It has meant getting rid of some old books and buying some new ones. It has meant smiling at the old version of me that loved a song I now skip when it comes up on a playlist. It has meant making room for circles where I can learn from the pain, questions, and experiences of others with a perspective different from my own.
I understand the human propensity to not move towards the wrestle. It’s exhausting and frustrating and a lot of work. And it changes traditions. It may mean giving up authors or songs or churches or relationships or decorations that once felt like home. But what if those losses are the way through to something more? What if it’s the wrestle that gives you the sense of God with you that you’ve been longing for all along?