On Saturday, the world lost one of its greatest prophetic voices in Rachel Held Evans. She influenced the faith of so many people, keeping them from losing Jesus in the midst of doubt (the #PrayForRHE and #BecauseOfRHE hashtags are a testament to that). Personally, she is the leading reason why I'm even going to church anymore, and the sole reason I am attending an Episcopal church now.
I've spent time over the last couple of days trying to figure out my grief over this whole ordeal. I've only read one of her books, Searching for Sunday, and even that was only three weeks ago. I had only been on her blog from time to time over the many years. I followed her on twitter. That's it.
She left behind a husband and two little children. I've been aching for them and how massive their grief must be. I think of Sarah Bessey and Jeff Chu and Nadia Bolz-Weber and the many other people she was so close to and did so much good with, and I can't imagine the pain they are fighting. I read countless stories of women who became pastors because of her, people that gained platforms because of her, people who were given random encouragement of her, people who interacted with her on her blog. These are all people whose lives she directly touched because of her heart and her presence. These are people who deserve to mourn.
Me? I was just a twitter acolyte and occasional blog visitor. I didn't even know what Searching for Sunday was really about until my wife bought it for me. I've never met her, never been to hear her speak, never had any personal connection with her. Realistically, my day-to-day life isn't going to be any different than it was before she died. What right do I have to mourn? Why has her death affected me so deeply? This is what I've been pondering over the last few days, and I think I finally found an answer.
When I was young, I was a very lonely kid. I had a personality that drove people away. I had a temper, I had a loud, high voice, I had opinions, and I had the need to correct people. I had very few friends growing up because of this (and those that stuck around were saints in retrospect). I hated this loneliness, so as I grew up, I developed this shell. I wanted to stifle everything that pushed people away, and in response I outwardly became what I term "Generic Guy #2". I did nothing to push people away, but I was just a shell of a person, and didn't draw anyone in. I became a background character.
When I was a young adult and was looking for a wife, I felt stuck in an impossibility. I needed someone who could at least put up with my "crazy" ways of thinking, who wouldn't condemn me for the unique ways I might approach scripture, or for my progressive views, but still was someone who took their faith seriously. Even though I held both positions, I thought that as a general rule, progressive thought and serious faith were at odds with each other. I was willing to settle for someone who could at least put up with me. (Fortunately, I didn't have to settle, and I now have an amazing wife that fits a similar mold as I, but that's a different story).
I may have only been a twitter follower, but Rachel was the one and only theologian or Christian voice I followed on twitter (this has changed in the last 3 weeks). That's because for me, Christian voices were not ones I wanted to hear or amplify. I didn't trust anyone who claimed Christianity, as the voices I have heard all my life were those that were conservative evangelical voices, and especially after the most recent presidential election and the aftermath of it, I wanted nothing to do with those voices. Those voices that didn't fall under the conservative evangelical paradigm seemed to me to not really care about faith at all (though that may be due to my short-sightedness due to my church experience). Rachel seemed to be the one voice that violated both of those expectations.
As is evident in this post, I'm not a gifted writer. Rachel was. I can't organize or articulate my thoughts well. In the last three weeks, I have read over years of Rachel's blog posts, and frequently I come across posts that tell me what I believe. Not because I don't know what I believe or I just blindly agree with her, but because she is able to put into words what I believe better than I've ever been able to.
What I've realized over the last few days is that beyond mourning for everyone who lost a family member or a friend in Rachel, I'm mourning the loss of my voice. The background character who didn't know how to synthesize his doubts, progressive views, and his faith found a voice who not only articulated his thoughts better than he could, but amplified them to a wide audience and allowed them to see they weren't alone. Now that voice is gone, and I'm not sure how to speak.
Throughout these last 3 weeks, I have come to follow and listen to a wide array of brilliant Christian minds that I've been introduced to through Rachel. I have rapidly grown to respect and listen to these amazing people. I am immensely grateful for them, but they don't and can't speak for me in the same way.
I have to find my own voice now. And this is my first whisper.
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