Whoooosh!

Well, it's time to get back at it, after a while off. I didn't intend for the writing break to be this long, but you probably know what path is paved with good intentions. I found this quote from author Douglas Adams, which I totally identify with: “I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.”

Yep, the time went WHOOSH. Now, onward.

I don't remember when I first heard or read the phrase "the willing suspension of disbelief" but I'm pretty sure it was used in reference to the theater and the audience's willingness to enter into the story and not sit in judgment, saying to themselves things like, "That's not a doorway." or, "There's no window there that she's pretending to look out."

We do that, most of us, anyway, quite often. We enter a storyteller's world found in a book, a movie, or maybe even a sermon.

(Above: The cast in Ford’s Theatre 2013 production of “Our Town,” directed by Stephen Rayne. Photo by T Charles Erickson.)

When I first started analyzing my beliefs and gradually peeling away the layers of what I had been fed as unquestionable truth, I was concerned about authenticity. I wanted my actions to reflect my evolving condition. One example was my resistance to singing songs that spoke of either cast aside theology or supernaturalism I had discarded.

Christmas and Easter were particularly difficult. I would say, mostly to myself, "How can I sing about angels and stuff like that?" Then, I came to the realization that I didn't apply that principle evenly at all. I resisted the angel lyrics, but had no trouble with "Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer" or "Frosty the Snowman." I chuckled at my "willing suspension of disbelief" when it came to secular fictional characters, while not being willing to suspend the same literal-mindedness when faced with "sacred" stories."

I do realize, however, that it can be difficult to hear certain phases when one has been abused by a church. When you've been traumatized by a pastor, a congregation, or even a "friend," the resulting wound can be barely scabbed over, and hearing language you've tried to leave behind can rip that scab off pretty easily.

I was very lucky that my faith evolution was without trauma, and while I did have people try to convince me I was mistaken or had gone astray, it was done in love, usually. Fortunately, I wasn't raised in an environment where I was consigned to hell for wandering.

We heretics do flourish more fully, I believe, where we can gather with like minds or at least tolerant ones. If you are struggling with an attempt to try other paths while others are trying to convince you to drop your questions, I encourage you to find a congregation that invites such wing-spreading. You don't have to stay there forever, just try it on for size and see what it's like. Live with your new language for a bit.

As for the "willing suspension of disbelief," I think we can all benefit from being aware of how or when we use it, and how or when we don't. The bottom line, though, is we get to choose what stories we want to enter and what stories we don't. And we can change our minds whenever we want. For what it's worth, I very firmly believe there is no hell to which you can be consigned.

Do you have something you can share about your evolution and what you've either discarded or picked up along the path? Comment, won't you?