How NOT To Fire An “Immoral” Employee

After college, I secured a job teaching in a Christian school on the east coast. As part of my contract, I signed the customary code of behavior. It was standard practice for churches and Christian schools to require their employees refrain from practices such as drinking, smoking, using drugs, and often more benign things like going to the movies or dressing immodestly. Of course, “immorality” such as fornication, adultery, and homosexuality were also forbidden in the contract. What differentiates these contracts from codes of ethics offered by other employers is that the employee is expected to follow them 24-7-365, not only at work, but also in their personal lives.

Though I was taking the job so I could live with my lesbian girlfriend Rita (all names have been changed), I signed. When you’re living a secret life, you do everything you must to protect yourself. The school was connected to a hyper-conservative Baptist church. My girlfriend was teaching at another school connected to her Baptist church and had signed a similar contract.

This was my first job — EVER. I was 23 and very naïve. I had just gotten my first driver’s license. You see, my parents, who were extremely controlling, had never allowed me to work outside the home or drive, even while I attended college thousands of miles from home. As if this background wasn’t limiting enough, I also found myself in a culture very unlike my own with a deep history and subtleties in communication I cannot to this day understand. Had I been living only one life I would have been in over my head, but with a secret life on the side, I was doomed before I even started.

Rita was one of the most tortured souls I have ever know. She abused alcohol and showed me how to as well (I had never had a drop before moving in with her). She introduced me to her rowdy lesbian friends who partied with drugs. Somehow I never tried them. At home, she abused me physically and emotionally, but I was used to that from my family of origin. I even put up with her affairs. She was corresponding with a man in prison, and we visited him once. I let her use this as a ruse to throw people off our clandestine relationship. Once she came home and confessed she had slept with one of our lesbian friends. I was deeply hurt, but forgave her. Only when I realized the friendship she had with another teacher at her school (a mother of 6) was actually another affair, did I begin to think of leaving her.

Then came my birthday. Rita and I were on the outs (though still living together) and had no plans to celebrate. And here we come to my tips on how NOT to fire an employee.

DON’T call them on their birthday and ask them to celebrate at your house only to ambush them when they arrive.

Kelly, my principle’s wife and someone I considered a good friend, did just that. It sounded like fun, so I packed a bag (she had invited me to stay the night) and drove to her house. When I walked in the door, she and her husband and the pastor of our church were waiting in the living room with stern faces. I wish I had turned around and left. They sat me down and told me they had figured out that Rita and I were more than just roommates. They had already grilled my friend Jenny in whom I had recently confided. They browbeat me into a confession.

DON’T forbid them to return home even to pack a bag or pick up mail, instead insisting they LIVE FOR A TIME WITH YOU.

You read that correctly. I was essentially under house arrest at the home of my employer. Over the next 24 hours I was forced to compose and sign a letter of resignation delineating my breach of contract and admitting I was guilty of homosexuality. I was humiliated at every turn, and all the while made to believe these abuses were for my own good.

DON’T forbid them to contact their friends and family.

These were the days before cell phones. To call my family in another state would cost money I didn’t have, and I was not allowed to call them on the phone where I was being held. I was told I should protect them from the truth of my “fall from grace.” I was also not allowed to talk to Jenny, or rather she was not allowed to talk to me as doing so would be considered “the appearance of evil.” In this nightmare, I felt completely alone.

DON’T be surprised when the only job they are able to get is door-to-door sales.

The school was my only employment history. They wouldn’t give me a good reference. I had no experience to draw from. After days of checking the help wanted ads, I settled for a “job” selling encyclopedias door-to-door. Terrible choice. The principal and his wife watched me as I spent hours memorizing a dozen-page script. Every day from 3 to about 9, I would go knocking on doors with a team of people. We were lucky if we made 2 sales in a day. After 3 weeks, I finally made a sale, earning about $100 to be paid out at the end of the month.

DON’T be surprised when under these circumstances they eat an entire batch of your homemade snickerdoodles.

Enough said.

DON’T accuse them of lying about getting a job as a ruse to go home to their lover.

Yes, I really was selling encyclopedias. No, I really hadn’t been continuing a relationship with Rita or going to the home which still held all my earthly belongings. But I hadn’t brought home any money, so they made up their minds that I had been doing exactly that. And they kicked me out.

DON’T after all this kick them out of your house with $20 to their name.

I spent the day driving around town trying to figure out what I was going to do. Would I sleep in my car? I didn’t have enough for a hotel room and barely enough for food for a couple days. But I was FREE. No one was holding me captive any more. No one was telling me what I could or could not do. I called home, collect.

My parents listened and cried with me as I told them the sordid story. My dad called the airline and arranged for a ticket to be waiting for me in the morning. He told me to call Rita and ask if I could spend the night. She and I spent that night packing all of my stuff into my car. A couple of weeks after I came home, my dad caught a plane and drove my car back. A very dark chapter of my life was over, but it would take years to put it behind me.

DON’T ignore them when they try to make amends you don’t deserve.

After 24 years, I saw the principal’s name on facebook. I decided to message him, to clear the air. Here’s what I wrote.

Hi Dick, I want to say I’m so sorry. Thank you for the love you and your family showed me during the darkest hours of my life. I am forever grateful. The Lord has been so good to me. I spent 3 years teaching abroad in the 90s. A few years ago, I married the love of my life, and we have 2 beautiful daughters. My husband and I serve in our local church and are on a journey that brings us closer to him every day. Before my father died, I found myself sitting on the floor by his feet with my head on his lap. I told him I was so sorry for hurting him and mom, breaking their hearts as I did. He said all was forgiven and that he was so proud of me. How we wept together. I can only imagine what I put you and your family through. We all made a lot of mistakes in a very big mess of my making. I am truly sorry. I have never forgotten the joys we all knew together in better times — the long conversations about life and how to live it, Sunday School lessons that were life to me, and oh the music! Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

There was never a reply.

I have since realized that what I thought was love from them was really manipulation and control. They didn’t even know how to love someone like me. It would appear they still don’t.

Someone asked why on earth I ever thought I owed them an apology. Truthfully, I didn’t. I was still steeped in fundamentalism when I wrote it. Over the last three years I have broken free! I’m sharing more about that journey on my sister blog, Rhythms of Grace.

If you would like to read more of my story, you may do so in this post.

If you think this conversation is important, please share on social media.


Photo Credit: Jirsak,


It’s You I Like

This morning, I woke up with a song running through my head. During deconstruction, it grew to be one of my favorites. Listen to Fred Rogers as he sings it to Joan Rivers.

I watched Mr. Rogers as a child. My favorite part was the Neighborhood of Make Believe. But as I grew older, I began to feel the show was too “young” for me, and I stopped watching. I regret that now as I realize Mr. Rogers was the only person in my world at the time who liked me exactly the way I was.

I was surrounded by criticism. I was never good enough for my parents, and I often felt like a nuisance. Sunday we attended an “independent, fundamental, Bible-believing, Bible-preaching, KJV-only, Baptist church” morning and evening. Wednesday evening we were there again. Monday through Friday I went the same church for school. I was immersed in a culture that saw me as inherently sinful and doomed but for Jesus.

Even with Jesus, I wasn’t good enough. I was a child. I wasn’t smart enough, pretty enough, cool enough, poised enough, disciplined enough, or perfect enough. My childishness was treated as a sin, and for it I was spanked at home, at school, and at church.

But every afternoon, a man would come into my living room and ask me to be his neighbor. He talked to me like an equal. He asked me questions and seemed to be genuinely interested in my answers. And he told me he liked me exactly the way I was. He didn’t ask me to change or tell me that if I made a mistake I would be punished. He didn’t threaten me or gaslight me the way the other adults in my life did. He was my friend. When he put on his sweater, he made a warm, safe place for me.

Thank you, Mr. Rogers, for liking me, for loving me. You couldn’t see my face in your camera, but you saw me, the real me, more than anyone else in my life. You valued and validated me. I will be forever grateful.

Photo credit: Darin McClure, original image cropped,

All or Nothing

Recently, a friend of mine posted something like this on Facebook: “In a week I’ll be deleting my account, so please send me your contact info. I just can’t seem to stick to my own Facebook limits.” This was the third friend of mine this year to post something like this.

I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that all of these friends are Christians. All-or-nothing mentality thrives in the church. Rather than see struggle as an opportunity for growth, a way to practice moderation and self-control, many Christians see no solution but to completely avoid their sources of temptation. Things meant to be enjoyed become inherently evil.

This mindset is especially prevalent in legalistic Christian circles. To avoid drunkeness, legalists insist on temperance. They insist dating couples not touch or be alone together. Rather than helping men conquer lust, they impose ridiculous modesty rules on women. The list goes on.

The most insidious aspect of this all-or-nothing mentality is its ability to permeate every aspect of life and make it unlivable. I can never achieve my weight loss goals, so why try? My house is hopelessly cluttered. I’ve already screwed up today, so I might as well go back to bed. Panic and anxiety become the norm.

As a result of my spiritually abusive upbringing, I fight the all-or-nothing mentality every day. This week, I have faced it regarding a major decision. Sometimes it’s hard to see the choice for what it is, to realize there may be more than two options. As I wiped my eyes and looked again, I saw not Robert Frost’s two roads, but an open vista waiting to be explored.

Photo Credit: Nicholas A. Tonelli,

Religious Addiction

A couple of years ago, in the midst of marriage and family problems, I began to question whether my nightly glass of wine, which had recently grown to two, might indicate I was developing an addiction to alcohol. I knew I was seeking relief from the pain of life (much of which I have now come to understand resulted from spiritual abuse). I decided to go to an AA meeting.

The meeting was held in a local church. I was the only woman there. We all drank coffee as the five men each shared their stories in turn. As they talked, they read from their copies of Alcoholics Anonymous (which they called “The Big Book”) with tattered covers and pages as worn and marked as many Bibles I’ve seen. A couple of the men had attended AA meetings daily for decades. Though I found their commitment to sobriety admirable and their stories inspiring, I couldn’t help but wonder if they hadn’t traded one addiction for another.

“Hi, I’m Grace Maginnis, and I’m an alcoholic.” Somehow that statement didn’t ring true within my soul. In fact, I wasn’t an alcoholic. What I didn’t understand then was that my addiction was not substantive, but behavioral. Just like the men around the table with their tattered books, I was addicted to meetings. Mine were called church.

People who study addiction have in recent decades increasingly recognized that behaviors can be as addictive as substances. Gambling, sex, computing, dieting, and even exercise have joined substances like alcohol, drugs, and food as commonly treated addictions.

Whether substantive or a behavioral, addictions have common characteristics.

  • The addict finds physical or emotional pleasure or relief from the substance or behavior.
  • The addict develops tolerance and must indulge in increasing amounts of the substance or behavior to experience the desired effect.
  • The addict cannot stop using without experiencing withdrawal.
  • The addict will go to extreme lengths to secure adequate supply.
  • The addict often engages in risky behavior in association with the addiction.
  • The addict is unwilling or unable to admit the addiction or change even in the face of dire consequences such as physical illness, loss of relationships, financial crisis, or even death.

This is certainly not an exhaustive list, but when we take a close look at it, we see how for many like myself, religious observance has become an addiction. Just listen to how some people talk.

“I have to get my Jesus fix every week”

“How do people live without church?”

“That worship service was awesome! Everyone was drunk in the spirit!”

“I had such a spiritual high after the conference, and now I’m just crashing.”

Just yesterday, a Christian friend of mine asked me for prayer and advice. She said she thought she was under spiritual attack because an ear infection she had treated with antibiotics seemed to be coming back. She felt discouraged and defeated because she was not receiving a miraculous healing.

I did pray for my friend, for about 30 seconds. I prayed that her ear infection would be healed. Then, I told her to call her doctor and make an appointment. This wasn’t a spiritual attack. She was just plain sick. But to her, it had to be spiritual. This way of thinking is typical with religiously addicted people.

For those of you who wish to learn more, here are some articles and books on religious addiction:

When Religion Goes Bad: Part 2 – Religious Addiction, by Dale S. Ryan and Jeff VanVoneren

Can Religion Be an Addiction?

When Religion is an Addiction, by Robert N. Minor

Toxic Faith: Experiencing Healing Over Painful Spiritual Abuse, by Stephen Arterburn and Jack Felton

Symptoms of Religious Addiction

Can Religion Become an Addiction?


My dad was the son of a preacher who abused his family. He was asthmatic and small — a full head shorter than his twin sister. With abuse at home and bullying at school, fear was his life-long companion. He compensated with control. Mom wasn’t prepared for marriage to such a man, and her coping mechanism was yelling at me.

Spiritual abuse was woven into the fabric of our family.

The fundamentalist church I grew up in justified the abuse my parents were enduring and perpetrating and solidified in me that I was unworthy and disappointing. I was a lonely, scared little girl who received regular “spankings” from my father that left deep bruises from my hips to my knees. When mom tried to intervene, dad threatened her and accused her of being “unsubmissive.”

Fourteen years of Christian school thoroughly indoctrinated me in fundamentalism. Naturally, I followed my father’s and grandfather’s advice (as I had learned from countless Bill Gothard seminars) and “chose” Pensacola Christian College.

PCC was a big lake to my small-pond upbringing, and I had no idea how to navigate. The culture was permeated with fear – fear of failure, fear of the administration’s power, fear of being known, fear of God. Naïve, lonely, and afraid, I was in no way prepared for what lay ahead.

Rita (not her real name) asked for help with a class assignment. She made me feel smart, important, even loved. She told me no one loved me like she did. Though time would prove her a user of the worst kind, I believed her. When the principal from a Christian school in her home town across the country offered me a job, I accepted.

Monday through Friday, we taught fundamentalist children. On the weekends we went across the bay to party with our lesbian friends in anonymity. To my surprise, these friends seemed more genuine than the hyper-religious community of my childhood.

I began to question everything I had ever known, even God. No God, no consequences, I thought. Then Rita slept with one of our friends, and then a stranger, and then another teacher from her school with 6 children of her own. Our secret got out and we lost our jobs.

I was amazed when my parents embraced me and let me move back home to pick up the pieces of my life. The scared little girl was back in her small pond, but not for long.

Three years later, I jumped into the biggest sea of people on the planet – China. It was a chance for a new beginning. At the time, I was “going to the mission field.” In retrospect, I’m sure I was trying to regain the favor of God I was sure I’d lost. That was probably also the reason I had left fundamentalism for charismatic circles. The charismatic church offered energy and hope, until I discovered it was even more fraught with abuse than the church of my youth.

I taught English, fighting illness and injury for a year and a half. I prayed. I talked to people about Jesus, and some put their faith in Him. Then, a newbie supervisor more hungry for power than truth grilled me for an hour about my relationships with school officials. I had no idea what he was driving at until he finally told me they had not invited me back and that he would not recommend me for language school. He assumed I knew something. I didn’t. He treated me like a criminal.

“Don’t speak to anyone about this,” he ended.

I was crushed and confused when I returned to my school for my final semester. I had not regained God’s favor; I believed I had lost it forever. People kept asking what was wrong. I kept quiet as I had been told.

Three months later, I was suicidal. I called our Hong Kong office and begged them to let me out of the rest of my contract. Within days I found myself on a plane to America.

I was completely shut down and would probably never have gotten help if my hair hadn’t started falling out. A doctor from my church prescribed medication. I went into three years of church-supported counseling at the charismatic church.

Ten years after China, and after a year teaching in Japan and what seemed like interminable singleness, I met my husband. We married within six months. Dad reminded me to be a submissive wife. My pastor’s wife advised me against marrying someone who wasn’t “Spirit-filled.”

I chose not to listen to her.

Something changed the day we got married. He was now my husband, my spiritual leader, my head. He would provide, and I would have babies. I would homeschool and keep a perfect house and be everything my husband always hoped for in a wife. I had yet another chance at a new beginning.

But I was still depressed and broken on the inside. I found myself unable to keep house or be the wife I wanted to be. We lost three babies. My father died. We decided to adopt. Five months after we returned from China with our first daughter, I gave birth to another. Our already-strained marriage began to crumble. For years we were in and out of marriage and family counseling.

As my husband and I began to embrace the Hebrew roots of our faith, I began to see God in a new light. I took a class on listening prayer and began to hear him. Through everything, God had been there — unseen, unknown, but always there.

One morning, I woke up with the words “spiritual abuse’ repeating in my mind. Spiritual abuse? I thought. What’s that? I ended up on Soulation watching videos of a fellow PCC alum I’d never heard of talk about experiences that struck a chord in my soul. I wept through the videos about his PCC experience and began to see the true source of my lifetime depression – spiritual abuse.

I immersed myself in articles, videos, and books on fundamentalism and abuse. I listened to podcasts and talked with old friends who had begun to emerge from spiritual prison. I heard God say He was reaching down and gently pulling me out of the deep, dark hole where I had lived so long.

At first, the light was so bright I could barely stand to look at it. The world began to open up, and I saw truth in the most unexpected places. I found God’s voice not condemning, but consistently encouraging and loving and good. And deep inside of me, where no one but he could see, a very old, festering wound began to heal.

My husband noticed the difference first. As I shared what I was learning, his eyes began to open too. We defied our church tradition and embraced egalitarian marriage. The shackles I had been laboring under fell off. I found out my husband had more grace for me than I did for myself. Together, we are pursuing a brand new way of loving each other and parenting our children.

I don’t know what the future holds, but for once I’m not looking for a fresh start. I’m beginning to see my life and myself as wholly valuable. God continues to show me how He is weaving the threads of my life, even the dark ones that were not part of His original plan, into something truly beautiful. The fear and shame and abuse that has thrived in my heart for so long is being crowded out by God’s unconditional, unfathomable, and unending love.

Photo Credit: Rajesh_India,

The Self

In my last post, I quoted the Buddha and the Apostle Paul on evil. In case you missed it, they said,

“Desire is the root cause of all evil.” — Siddhartha Gautama

“The love of money is the root of all evil.” — The Apostle Paul

So which is it? If you read my last post, you know I tend to side with Paul. But I think there’s more to his statement than meets the eye.

The Greek word translated “love of money” is philaguria. A more modern term would be avarice, or extreme greed for wealth or material gain.

But we miss something if we forget that Paul was Jewish. He thought like a first-century Jewish teacher because he was one. Another first-century Jewish teacher spoke of evil too. Jesus said,

“The eye is the lamp of the body. So if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eye is evil, your whole body will be full of darkness.” Matthew 6:22, ISV.

It may surprise you to learn that Jesus and Paul were speaking about the same thing. In fact, Jesus’ Jewish audience would have understood his reference to the evil eye idiomatically to refer to greed.

So we shouldn’t be greedy. That doesn’t sound like new information, really. But wasn’t it greed that caused the first sin? Of course, Adam and Eve wanted knowledge, not money. But don’t we still say “Knowledge is power,” and even “Money is power?” And isn’t that what they really wanted?

If you could sit in a room with Jesus and Paul and have an good midrash, I think the conversation would at some point hit on selfishness as the root problem.

The Buddha spoke a lot about the concept of self. “Very basically, the Buddha taught that ‘you’ are not an integral, autonomous entity.” According to Buddhist teaching, it should be your goal to see yourself not as an individual person, but as merely a part of the vast universe. One who does so escapes desire (greed?) and the evil that results from it.

Maybe these writers agreed after all. What do you think?

Whatever its cause or results, I think we can all agree selfishness is a bad thing. Buddhism tells us to abandon the concept of self entirely. But Christianity holds the individual as infinitely valuable, so much so that for the salvation of the individual (and at the same time, everyone) Jesus gave his life.

The Buddhist practice of seeing one’s self as part of the vast universe has great value. It enables the follower to gain a rich perspective on himself and others. It causes him to see the bigger picture and his part in it. But something very valuable is lost in the process — the concept of self-worth.

Only in Christianity does the individual regain the true value of his soul. If the God of the universe would sacrifice his own Son for my sake, for your sake, what then is our worth?

In my mindfulness meditation practice, I also focus on my place in the universe, as the beloved of God whom he rescued from a world of evil and brought into the kingdom of his beloved Son. And I see you too, whatever your background, lifestyle, race, or religion, as equally valuable to him. To harm you for my gain is to sin against God’s beloved. That’s what makes spiritual abuse one of the worst manifestations of evil.

In my next post, I will share my story.

Photo Credit: laura6,


As I pursue mindfulness practice, I stumble on the concept of acceptance. I can be aware of the present moment, but I cannot accept everything I find in it. Some things are worth desiring, fighting for, even dying for.

Mothers suffer in childbirth to bring forth new life. Police officers and firefighters place themselves in harm’s way to protect others. People join the military knowing they may be asked to give the last full measure of devotion. Even within Buddhism, altruism is valued. What is altruism but desire for the good of others?

According to the Second Noble Truth of Buddhism, desire causes suffering. When the Buddha observed suffering for the first time, he was motivated to end it. His quest led him through years of discovery culminating in the conclusion that the cause of suffering “is the deep-seated desire that all living beings have for the pleasures of the senses, and for life itself.” Life itself causing suffering.

Is it any wonder that the ultimate goal of Buddhist adherents is the termination of the cycle of birth, death, and rebirth? They see the end of life as the end of suffering.

But what if life didn’t have to include suffering? What if the goal IS life, eternal life, life WITHOUT suffering? Wouldn’t a future life free of suffering be worth the suffering of this life? The Apostle Paul thought so.

“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” Romans 8:18, NIV.

Remember Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, suffering greatly as he anticipated the torture and death he was about to experience? Why did he come to a place of acceptance? Because he wanted something else MORE than he wanted to escape his own suffering. His desire to free mankind from the power and consequences of evil overpowered his desire for escape. Put simply, He LOVED us!

“During the days of Jesus’ life on earth, he offered up prayers and petitions with fervent cries and tears to the one who could save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered and, once made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him and was designated by God to be high priest in the order of Melchizedek.” Hebrew 5:7-10, NIV.

My God, YHVH, the God of Israel, is a God of desire. The world began because He wanted it to. He created it all, created us, knowing we would fail, knowing we would bring suffering into His perfect world, knowing many would turn their backs on His love. Why? Because He had a much greater thing in mind. He wanted to create an eternity with people whom He loved and who would love Him in return.

It was the only way His infinite love could grow!

But what of evil? The Apostle Paul and the Buddha both weighed in on the subject.

“Desire is the root cause of all evil.” — Siddhartha Gautama

“The love of money is the root of all evil.” — The Apostle Paul

Did they agree? Do you? We’ll talk about this more in the next and final installment in this series.

Photo Credit: PyroDemi,


“Look at the Indians, Laura,” said Pa. “Look west, and then look east, and see what you see.” *

Laura Ingalls Wilder was watching the Native Americans leave the land on which her family had settled. The Osage chief who had just saved their lives by convincing other neighboring tribes to leave rather than kill the white people now led his own people away on horseback in a line that stretched from one horizon to the other. Young Laura saw a particular baby she wanted as her own. When her parents explained the mother wanted to keep her baby, Laura became increasingly upset. Her father broke in with this exhortation to “see” what she was seeing.

In this unlikely (and undeniably tragic) story, we find two major Buddhist concepts which have recently come to my attention — mindfulness and desire. According to Buddhist teaching one leads to insight, the other to suffering.


Professor Ronald D. Seigel defines mindfulness as “awareness of the present moment with acceptance.” Think about each part of that phrase.


of the present moment

with acceptance

When was the last time you were fully aware of the present moment with acceptance? Before I began to pursue mindfulness practice, I could not count many times I had been mindful. But the other day, I spent time with my two daughters, really listening to them, enjoying them, fully present in that priceless moment. No smart phone. No craft project. No consideration for the day’s agenda. I was fully present with them in that moment, accepting them and the moment exactly as they were. It was glorious.

This sort of mindfulness does not come easily. It requires constant effort and practice. Try it for 5 minutes. It’s a lot harder than it sounds. But when we practice mindfulness, we find ourselves increasingly aware and accepting of the present. In a culture where multitasking has gone from admirable to necessary to addictive, we long for a return to simplicity.

The incarnation was the ultimate act of mindfulness. The Son of God who exists outside of time, took on flesh and placed himself within the constraints of time. He lived moment to moment just as we do. There were times he talked about the past or the future, but he did so while being present with people, listening to them, meeting their needs, empathizing with them. And he encouraged them to be present in the moment too.

“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Matthew 6:34, NIV.

In the Garden of Gethsemane, we see Jesus in his humanity. He knows what is about to happen. He prays, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.” (Matthew 26:39) He sweats drops of blood. Yet even in this moment of utter terror, he finds acceptance. How? We’ll talk about that next.

Photo Credit: Luca Galuzzi,

* Wilder, Laura Ingalls. (1953) Little House on the Prairie. New York, NY: HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. p. 310.

Truth. We could spend hours debating its meaning or whether it exists at all. Many with better skills of reasoning and debate than I would leave with their opinions unchallenged. Nevertheless, I see truth as objective and eternal.

Churches call their view of truth doctrine. In every church I’ve attended, internal doctrine is embraced and external doctrine eschewed without question. In other words, each church believes it has the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. While I find the Bible to be true, we have not always interpreted it properly, nor does the Bible hold the monopoly on truth.

When I left my sheltered, fundamentalist world, I was amazed to find people who do not believe in God, who do not see Christian Scripture as authoritative, who have never entered a church but for a wedding or funeral, yet seem at peace. Some of the most well-adjusted people I know are not religious at all. Some belong to faiths so different from my own that they were never a topic of discussion in my circles. And yet these “pagans” had found something I hadn’t — inner peace.

I am not a universalist. I believe with all my heart that Jesus of Nazareth is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. But I also see a God who so longs for people to find the truth that he has hidden it everywhere. It can be found in the words of Billy Graham, Martin Luther King, Mahatma Gandhi, and the Dalai Lama. I have seen it in the spires of a cathedral and the strokes of a painting. I have heard it the lofty thoughts of Greek philosophers and the simple words of a child. I have found it in the lyrics of a hymn and in the lyrics of the Beatles.

Recently, I have felt compelled to look for truth in the teachings of Buddhism. Amazingly, I found that the Path and the Way intersect at some points, and from these new understandings, I have gained much. These will be the subject of my next post.

Photo Credit: Reinhard Klar,

Blog at

Up ↑