Tonight I drove home from the gym looking up at the full moon. I thought I saw something appearing to dangle from it on a string. When I stopped I looked it up on my planet and Star locator, it was Saturn. It was appearing to dangle from the moon like a yo-yo. It was like the sky and planets were playing. When I think of it and look up at the night sky, I feel so small. Yet it feels so significant, and I know that for as long as humans have had consciousness and intelligence to wonder, they have looked at these same heavenly bodies and wondered just like me. Like the Psalmist wrote “when I consider the heavens and the work of your fingers, the moon and stars which you set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him?” 

The majesty of the cosmos is something I’ve always had a fascination with. Beginning with seeing a night sky as a wide-eyed 4-year-old atop my father’s shoulders on a walk, noticing 3 stars in a perfect straight line. I asked why the stars were all in line, and my father answered, “Because God put them that way just for us to look at.” We, of course, know this as Orion’s Belt, which is still the first thing I look for in the night sky every time it rises. Did God hang the stars there just for me, as my father said? I’m not sure. I know that generation after generation has looked up at the heavens and felt wonder and told stories to make meaning out of what we see. Because as a species, when we have made meaning out of what we see, we survive. The recognition of seasons meant survival to plant and harvest in due times, to have food and warmth and live. But sometimes, as I have found on my journey, we often make meaning and “truths” out of things that aren’t true out of that same pattern of recognition that has led us to survive. We have done this for generations. Indeed, in every country I have visited, there are temples and places of worship, and cultures and people everywhere ascribing meaning to many different things that aren’t universal truths or science, but “truths” in small niches, which the scientific world would barely label as “theory.” More superstitious theories are made of searches for meaning for the survival of our essence or soul.

For example, so many of us find patterns and meaning in our “astrological sign”. “Omg you’re such an aquarius…”. But did you know that due to the patterns of the stars and the expansion of the universe, your placement is not exact. If you run the stars back you’d be your neighboring sign. Some astrologists might argue that this is due to 

It being modern western as opposed to Vedic or Chinese or another form of astrology, but the expansion applies to all systems. Not only that, but due to the Earth’s atmosphere, the gravitational pull of Jupiter or any other planet can’t be scientifically proven to affect any of our day to day lives. But the placebo affect of going “yeah I am such a crazy Gemini” and “Mercury is in retrograde its so crazy right now” is a low hanging fruit to grab for explanation. We become what we believe because it is us who believe it and it is us who create our lives.

Because I was born in America, I was presented with a narrative my entire life of modern day post revival culture beliefs that came not out of Catholic or Orthodox historical tradition, but from tents of “revival”. Having researched and lived through “awakenings” and “revivals” I have read through everything I could to make sense of my experience. I have read books and newspaper clippings from those times looking for every viewpoint of the stories and seeing multiple year studies on the effects of these movements that are at the roots of nearly 45,000 denominations of “Christianity”. I see a different story. I see emotional outbursts and psychological manipulators that came to play on emotions to “prove” that your feelings provoked by music, motivational speaking and primal screaming “tongues” mean that God is real. “God moving” and the Bible being presented not as historical documentation, but as absolute truth and rules cover to cover. Except that the bible does not lend itself to be interpreted as such, so interpretation is left not to a pope or priest, but to the most charismatic person with stage and lights who heard from the “holy spirit”. This has lead to disastrous abuses of power and money and influence, which is basically all of church history and humanity in a nutshell.  It predates even these revivals and the denominations thereafter. Forget your sex drugs and rock and roll, forget your couches, pastries and prostitutes Plato-the church was OG on all these topics, and still hasn’t made her way out of investigative reports, cult shutdowns and abuses right and left.

I only speak of this because this is the only narrative I know inside and out from experience. In many cases I have found this narrative to be incorrect, unscientific and not proveable in light of archeological and scientific truths that are undisputed. But does this mean it is all wrong? No. Does this mean God isn’t or couldn’t be real? No. Even if a cultural narrative got it wrong, truth still remains. We simply have to find it in light of truth, and that means all truth. If new scientific findings “contradict” the bible as the man on the stage interpreted it-even for centuries being widely accepted, if that cultural interpretation doesn’t line up with truth, we must admit we got it wrong, and therefore do not know God as we supposed. We must start over in light of truth and look for God again, because we supposed to know God and indeed did not. Galileo was imprisoned for saying that the earth revolved around the Sun because the church had taught differently. This didn’t change the scientific truth though, and it was the church, not Galileo who was farther away from knowing God and truth because their cultural narrative from the men onstage were more important than the light of truth guiding and inviting them to find God in spirit and in truth. Their God- the God of the geocentric earth didn’t exist because the truth is that it is heliocentric. They didn’t look with the light they were given. The real God, if he could indeed be known, was one who created a heliocentric universe. But they didn’t want the truth, they wanted the way it had always been.

It is all too fitting in my journey that I share the quote that those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it. What is more important to us regarding truth? The comfort of the man onstage and the narratives he continues to uphold, true or not, or the actual truth by burden of proof that could lead to an aspect of God, His mind, His identity that are yet unknown.

My own journey through this place to finding truth has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. When I”knew God” as the culture I grew up in “knew God” and were the sole possessors of the truth, I was so sure, and it was easy. I was accepted, I had a family, I was onstage, I had a scripture answer for every problem, I could “prophecy”, and I “had a calling”and I was “anointed”. I had spent seven years of my life praying midnight to six am singing endless hours praying and fasting before God. I was a virgin when I got married-i kissed dating goodbye, I read love and respect and attended the seminars, I did it all right. Then one day leading worship I was singing “Defender” from stage. As I sang “Hallelujah great defender-you are the defender of my heart” I realized I was dead, I didn’t believe the words coming out of my own mouth as everyone raised their hands and cried. I looked at my family and we were in poverty, barely getting by, my husband in ministry, me getting up at 3am to work a job with two kids under 4 at home to rush home and send him off to the ministry job and parent young kids all day after working half the day already, and despite it all barely getting by, the ministry job not paying him if the drug addicts didn’t show up for his help, while I watched the men on platforms go home to real houses, not rentals, and drive reliable cars and enjoy life. I had gotten here because this was who I had to become to be loved. I became this girl because she would be accepted and upheld as honorable. I realized this life I was in-this little church world was a stage, and the ones around me succeeding at it were just better actors and politicians and better players than I ever was.  Because I saw the men onstage in real life, and there’s no magic, there’s patriarchy, politics, influence and money. The”anointed” musicians are skilled, end of story. It’s hard to call a tone deaf baritone “anointed”, and you’d be hard pressed to find an “anointed” guitarist who didn’t practice until his fingers bled prior to stage life. 

Want the worship set magic list? Here it is-you start with an upbeat song to draw them in and warm them up like a workout, then a medium one, then one or two with minor chords to feel that emotion, then a serious/upbeat one to make sure it’s hyped for the sermon. You’re welcome, there’s the perfect set. 

I decided to see if there was love in this place for authenticity, for questioning, for seeking truth. At first my doubts were expressed and considered “normal”. I was encouraged to stay singing and ministering so that Satan couldn’t pull me offstage due to my “anointing” (I sang 20 hours a week for seven years, eventually you learn skills). But when I told them I couldn’t believe the bible because I “stood upon” biblical promises that weren’t true, they said I gave up too early, I didn’t have enough faith, there was always a reason God turned a blind eye to my needs and tears and prayers, and my family. It’s one thing if you’re in college and you want a cool sports car or designer purse-it’s another thing to look into the eyes of your children and know you gave “God” everything-not just money, your party days-never took them, never got drunk, never did anything, and did it ALL His way, to look in the eyes of your babies and barely be able to keep past due notices at bay while giving above your tithe and rigidly refusing government help and paying everything your own way because your old pastor (who turned out to be a cult leader) told you not to get on government help because it would look bad for the ministry. And it had nothing to do with the fact that they were tied in to Christian nationalist beliefs with the four great pillars of the church-politics, patriarchy, power and money. Sarcasm intended.

The collapse of my faith lead to the collapse of my marriage which was rooted in the faith. I had long left the stage, long left the ministry, long been in therapy trying to save these things, fought until I couldn’t fight anymore. I started focusing on my career, becoming a personal trainer, learning Jiu-Jitsu and how to fight and think. I traveled everywhere I could with the time I had. Often I took my kids with me. 

I listened to a podcast by Hank Hannegraff that affirmed my heart so deeply. He talked about how the modern church used faith like a magic wand, if it didn’t happen YOU didn’t have enough faith-you were to blame-it’s always your fault for not enough faith. But the truth is that the ancient church didn’t believe in magic wands, the ancient church didn’t seek to avoid suffering, but viewed the hardships of life like weights and exercise to strengthen their entire being. A natural experience that isn’t “the devil” it’s just life. It’s here for us to help us grow. Out of curiosity I attended an Orthodox church for a year. I ended up going to Greece and learning a lot about the ancient roots of the faith that had nothing to do with revival culture 45,000 denominational weirdness. I actually learned church history, walked through the ancient pagan temples where the Christians bashed in the faces of the idols to “take over” for God. Then I went to England, and while there visited the grave of C.S Lewis. I just wanted to honor a man who was so much a part of my childhood, but instead I ended up weeping at his grave. Maybe like a prayer, I told him that I didn’t know if there was a God, I hoped there was, I hoped that everything was true, and that if there was to help me see the real truth, not the political game I’d been taught. When I got home I pulled out a book I had been given in 2007 by Francis Collins called “the language of God”. Francis Collins sequenced the human genome, and it allowed my heart to breathe because fire the first time I could accept evidence and believe truth, and still believe it was possible for God to be behind the creation of the universe. Then I went to Paris, and as I walked through the streets anxious to see everything I could see, I wore the wrong shoes and ended up walking barefoot at 24,000 steps to see the whole city finishing that day at 32,000 steps. While at the Louvre I felt tiny arms around my leg and a little girl crying. A wedding had been going on and the girls parents had lost her. Despite language barriers we found them, and they had a tearful reunion. Then I ended up getting stuck in CDG airport (have you really visited Paris unless you’ve gotten stranded here?). In the lobby they have pianos in CDG. While I was playing the piano I felt someone sit next to me. I looked down and there was a little boy all alone. I was able to help him also find his parents with the help of security. Finally I flew home-or so I thought. So close and yet so far. At this time the entire state of Nebraska was covered in snow, I was in Denver and had two options. Stay stranded in Denver for a couple days until Nebraska thawed out, or fly somewhere warm. My friend from the Orthodox church had just been to San Francisco to visit St John in Shanghai. Supposedly it is said that he hasn’t decomposed since he passed away in 1966, he is on display at the Holy Virgin Cathedral in San Francisco. The Orthodox call this “incorrupt” and I had listened to a podcast about several saints who supposedly have never decomposed. It is believed that it is a way that God shows us that he keeps his promises, and that we too will live forever. Because I’m an insatiable researcher, if there’s a dead guy that didn’t decompose, I need to see that. Plus one of my favorite coffee places is right there, blue bottle coffee. I was on the next fight to San Francisco.

When I checked into my hotel, the homeless and addicted were lined down every street that I saw. It wasn’t a “bad” area, it was just San Francisco. In the morning I woke up to a knock and two little children, homeless with matted hair with security looking for their mother. The reality of that struck my heart as I realized their mother was likely drug addicted or prostituting herself to feed them. I wondered why on this trip were there so many lost children I was randomly helping find safety. This certainly never happened on any other trip. After a trip to blue bottle armed with coffee in hand, I took pubic transport past a Michael Jackson impersonator and the endless buildings and hustle of the city to the church. This moment felt full circle from Greece to Lewis’ grave to here, the largest collection of relics in the Orthodox church. I happened to be coming in after a wedding. The Russian church was abandoned and empty. Everyone who had visited told me there were crowds, but it was just me. Lined everywhere beside St John were prayers. I approached and don’t exactly have words for the experience. It’s something I don’t feel my words need to be added to, but rather something each person should experience for themselves. Much like at Lewis’ grave I pondered, I thought and wrote my own prayers. I wouldn’t say there isn’t any decay, but for someone who has been dead since 1966 and hasn’t been embalmed (the Orthodox don’t believe in that, or cremation etc) he looks pretty good. A priest came and spoke with me. I told him I’d come from Paris. He said “you know saint John Also came here from Paris, he walked barefoot around the city rescuing orphans and serving those in need”. I thought back to my own barefoot journey through Paris and all the lost children I met along the way. It’s such a peculiar thing. I learned a lot about his life. The church gifted me some bottles of oil to take home, and when I got home I borrowed a book from my friend and read about the life of St John. He was an extraordinary person who lived a life of service and love to all, especially children. The modern church would want to call him a revivalist and prophet. The ancient church calls him a saint. 45,000 denominations can’t agree. And I’m still left on the journey combing through ancient manuscripts, 800 page documentations on scientific evidence for the resurrection of Christ while trying to do life and be the best mom and example and person I can be.

Since visiting St John the place I spent seven years praying was revealed to be a cult, the leader a rapist of many women and the entire place shut down. Those on top once again turned out to be traitors, not the real deal serving the patriarchy, power, politics and money. 

Perhaps that’s why in that season the Orthodox church seemed safer. In that place there was no stage, we all prayed facing the same direction with traditions and history, not emotion and hype. But the stories and tradition, the relics, the romanticism. When you deep dive into it all, it all seems like a fairy tale. An ever virgin Mary, and her ascension and the belt thing, and lions burying saints. But like most things in history-it doesn’t mean something isn’t there. Just because Greek mythology and Orion isn’t real, it doesn’t mean the stars are a fairytale, it means we ascribed the wrong meaning to reality. 

The evangelical TBN watching side of me would want to simply take my experiences and emotions or the coincidence with St John and the orphans in Paris and San Francisco and believe it solely out of that place. But to me I need to continue to base it in a deep search for truth and reality. Eventually I hope that those experiences will be sweet realities to the truth I am searching for. Like a saying a saw in a windmill I stayed at in Buellton with my kids “what you’re searching for is searching for you”. I hope the truth is searching for me, as much as I’m searching for the truth. I don’t mind going everywhere and turning over books and experiences and rocks to search for truth. And in the meantime I’ll continue to look at the moon yo-yo ing Saturn and stare in awe and wonder at the beauty here on earth we are privileged to see.