“Truth sees God, and wisdom contemplates God, and from these two comes a third, a holy and wonderful delight in God, who is love.”

Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love

It’s been almost one year since my departure from the world of evangelicalism. The type of faith I had known my whole life didn’t feel like anything at all anymore and hadn’t in a while, though it was in a better place than it had been 4 years prior. I didn’t really choose that path, at least not at first. I knew it was something I wanted, or needed, to do but I didn’t have the courage to take that step on my own.

Mercifully, I didn’t have to.

The faith I had known for so many years felt less like faith and more like rules; less like a wellspring of joy or life and more like a heavy yoke pressed upon my shoulders. I didn’t know what I was seeking, but I knew it wasn’t that. I found it just as I had relinquished the other . I felt as though I stumbled upon it, just as I had stumbled out.

I knew I wanted a faith that wrapped me up in divine love, like a clean blanket, straight from the dryer. Warm and comforting. I knew I wanted a faith that challenged me to think for myself, and ask questions, and wrestle with the truth. I knew I wanted a faith that made space for every single person regardless of gender, race, sexual orientation, or literally anything else. I knew I wanted a faith that affirmed and lifted up women, not just as support, but as leaders. I knew I wanted a faith that didn’t make me hustle for worthiness but instead lavished grace upon grace.

I wanted a faith that meets people where they are, makes a space at the table for them, and meets their doubts or fears or differences with love. Not the kind of love that pretends to be love, but the love that really is love. I can remember hearing people say that when you love someone you can “hold them accountable” or call them on the carpet for things that you think are wrong with them. But that isn’t love at all. A love like that takes time. It takes intention. And it takes an invitation from the other person to enter the journey with them. I knew I had spent my whole life hearing well intentioned people tell me all the things I “should” do if I loved God. And that God would be disappointed or sad or angry if I didn’t do them just right.

That just simply isn’t true.

God is not fragile enough to be perturbed at me if I drink wine or pepper my speech with colorful words on occasion or if I am loud or opinionated or have a rather large tattoo. God can handle my sarcasm or doubts or anger because God is so much bigger and more powerful than that. God’s grace is not something I have to chase after. It’s already there — wherever I am, it has gotten there before me. It is not a behavior modification program. It’s a shift in perspective and behavior as a response to the grace that is already here.

Most of us were taught that God would love us if and when we change. In fact, God loves you so that you can change. What empowers change, what makes you desirous of change is the experience of love. It is that inherent experience of love that becomes the engine of change.

Fr. Richard Rohr