I have met several young adults who became witches as an act of rebellion against Christianity. I am not one of them. In fact, I would have become a pagan years earlier if it hadn't met so many pagans who hated Christianity. I have no interest in a religion that exists primarily as a negation of another.
I didn't rebel against Christianity. I discovered paganism as a wholesome religion, on its own terms. The draw to paganism has been a part of my life as long as I can remember. I used to interpret it as a calling to bring Christ to the pagans, i.e. the light to the darkness. But looking back now I know that the richness of mythology and the magic of nature has always beckoned to my spirit.
I loved Jesus with all of my heart and saw his creative force in every budding sunflower and flicker of flame. When I was 19 I had his name tattooed on my foot. I was certain that I would never turn from that love, that I would never break our relationship. And yet I was tempted to walk away in anger and bitterness and turn my back on Christianity. But I couldn't do it. Despite the abuse I endured, I had also experienced too much love and too many wonders in the name of Jesus.
I was caught in limbo for years, not wanting to rebel against Christianity, not able to be a Christian, and desperately dissatisfied with trying to live a nonspiritual life. I suppose I could have stayed in what Kahlil describes as
the seasonless world where you
shall laugh, but not all of your laughter,
and weep, but not all of your tears.
Instead I started working in the office of a Christian church, terrified of facing judgment and afraid of encountering spiritual abuse, once again. Instead I was met with love and acceptance and a work environment more positive than I could have imagined. Old wounds began to heal and I regained trust. I discovered the Jesus of old, not the condemning judge with his oppressive father, but the rebel who loved when religion insisted he shouldn't. I let go of bitterness and reconciled with Christianity.
It was a year ago at Pentecost that we gathered around a fire on a cold May morning before processing into the church. As I rose and sang with the congregation, I felt myself shifting in and out of worship, feeling connected and then estranged and then connected again. I paid close attention to the shifts and saw a pattern emerge. Every time we focused on the elements, the fire, the water of anointing, the earth, the breath of the spirit, I felt connected in worship. Whenever we talked about distinctly Christian elements, I felt like a stranger in the wrong place.
This patterns was disturbing to me. I wanted to be a Christian with a strong appreciation for the earth. I wanted to stay with the faith in which I was raised and fought to suppress the experience of being an imposter. A few weeks later I went to participate in my first pagan sabbat, the summer solstice. Although I didn't know a single person there, I felt an overwhelming sense of having come home. Surrounded by strangers and not understanding many parts of the ritual I felt as if I had always belonged here.
I had often heard Christian friends talk of how they felt at home in their churches, but somehow I always felt like the odd one out. I thought this was my destiny and after years of trying to make various churches home I thought there must be something wrong with me. I was always going to be the freak. But over the past year of walking a pagan path I have become more connected to this new community than I had ever thought possible.
And yet I love my church. I really, really love my church! I enjoy my work and I deeply appreciate the community. And miraculously they love me back. They know that I identify as pagan. Of course they do, I request the solstices off and show up to the office with camping gear on the full moon.
I have had long conversations with my co-workers. They have seen me heal and reconcile and come back to life. They know I hold no grudges and am not acting out of rebellion. But even though I am following my true calling, I sometimes feel guilty, wondering if I am betraying the church. I told my co-worker about these feelings and he nodded knowingly and smiled and then spoke with the wisdom of a new generation of Christians:
"Honey, you don't owe us anything. You come here and get healed, so what, if you end up finding God on a different path? We consider that a total success. That's the love of God, that's grace."