Traci Rhoades - Not All Who Wander (Spiritually) Are Lost: A Story of Church

NOT ALL WHO

WANDER

(SPIRITUALLY)

ARE

LOST

NOT ALL WHO

WANDER

(SPIRITUALLY)

ARE

LOST

(A STORY OF CHURCH)

TRACI RHOADES

FOREWORD BY JERUSALEM GREER

Copyright 2020 by Traci Rhoades

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

Unless otherwise noted, the Scripture quotations are from New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright 1989 National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Church Publishing
19 East 34th Street
New York, NY 10016
www.churchpublishing.org

Cover design by Paul Soupiset
Typeset by PerfecType, Nashville, Tennessee

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Rhoades, Traci, author.

Title: Not all who wander (spiritually) are lost : a story of church / Traci Rhoades ; foreword by Jerusalem Greer.

Identifiers: LCCN 2019045501 (print) | LCCN 2019045502 (ebook) | ISBN 9781640652798 (paperback) | ISBN 9781640652804 (epub)

Subjects: LCSH: Spirituality--Christianity. | Church.

Classification: LCC BV4501.3 .R459 2020 (print) | LCC BV4501.3 (ebook) | DDC 248.4--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019045501

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019045502

To all the people who have gone to church with my mom,
my daughter, and me

A t the time that this book is being published, the United States, and the American experience of Christianity, is in a bit of an upheaval. Or a complete disintegration. Or a renewal. We arent sure just yet, as the battlescultural, political, religiousare still being waged. There are so many divisions and schisms that it is hard to keep track of who is for what or what is for who. All too often, discussions of Christian faith are held in terse exchanges over social media, with the goal being not to learn, not to listen, but to win.

Into this fray came Traci, with her simply stated questions on Facebook and Twitter, asked in her agenda-free tone. Questions such as For those of you who know, what does your church do with the leftover Communion elements? or Do you own a prayer book? and Did you attend a youth group? And if so, give me a memory. And, without drama or rancor, people shared their responses, they told their stories, they passed along memories and anecdotes, and they even asked their own questions. Civileven charmingdiscourse was the norm. By offering her own holy curiosity as a gift, Traci created a safe space for people, in all stages and expressions of Christian faith, to speak and to be heard.

This book is a lovely extension of that space. A gathering of stories and experiences from a wide variety of voices, all beautifully woven together, with Tracis own story of spiritual wandering and discovery as the binding thread. Her story is a story that can teach all of us a little bit more about what it meansand why it mattersto be curious about and open to how the Holy Spirit speaks and moves in the lives of all people. This book is for anyone on a faith exploration themselves, looking for encouragement and hope instead of battles and absolutes.

As someone whose own faith journey has been marked both by adventurous wandering and wondering, and who, when lost in the wilderness, looked for signs that not all was lost, I am so glad to share this book with you. May we all find our way home at last.

Jerusalem Jackson Greer
Preservation Acres
2020

Not all those who wander are lost.

J. R. R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

I pull into the church parking lot about ten minutes early, and it occurs to me if I go in now I might have to mingle with strangers. I decide to wait.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see another car pull up a few spaces down. A man hurriedly gets out, robe in hand, throwing a white collar around his neck. Approximately six minutes before the Ash Wednesday service will start, the priest arrives. I open my car door, and he gestures in my general direction, smiling ever so slightly.

The first thing a visitor notices in a Catholic church is its beauty. This particular church is only a few years old, so its stained-glass windows still sparkle like new, showing no sign of fading from the sun. The exposed wooden beams on the ceiling speak to the rustic northern town where the parish is in ministry.

Stepping into the nave, I dip my finger in the holy water because I can never resist it. Every time I reach for that water, I envision a siren going off at my touch: Protestant alert! Nevertheless, I keep going; the water holds such symbolic significance in the Bible, and I love feeling the moistness on my fingers, signaling to my heart that its time for worship. Quickly, I cross myself. Still no siren. Every time its worth the risk.

I take an aisle seat on the last row. There are about thirty faithful ones at the service: The beautiful older lady wearing a black mantilla; the gentleman who genuflects before accepting the communion elements. Not many children. Then I see Jeanne, a dear friend I know from the Reformed church I attend in the next town over. What a wonderful feeling to find a familiar face in the crowd.

Suddenly, I hear a voice behind me: Will you hold this for me just a second, please?

I turn to see the man I encountered in the parking lot. The priest. He needs to put on his wireless mic, so he hands me the small bowl filled with ashes. I am holding last years Palm Sunday branches, now burned up and ground into sacred bits. The ashes rest in my hands. I think to myself, What if I dropped these right now?

The service offers several moments of complete silence. Not an uncomfortable silence, but a prayer shawl of sorts you could slide over your head, blocking out the noise of our world and aiding the holiness of the moment. This sacred silence brings me to tears that morning. It feels like something I have been missing all my life without even knowing it.

It comes time to receive the ashes. The Catholics invite me to join them in this act of penance. Were all sinners who need to repent and recognize our great need for a Savior. EveryoneCatholics, Orthodox, and Protestants alikeagrees on that.

Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

More tears. The feeling of the priests fingers as he swiped the ash cross on my forehead. Id never received a blessing like this before. Although it reminded me of my need for penance, it felt every bit like a blessing. He made the sign of the cross on me; symbolizing the marking I already have because I belong to Jesus.

I sat silently in prayer as others (everyone else?) went forward for communion. This concluded the church service.

As I left, the priest stood at the door to greet those in attendance. I told him this was my first Ash Wednesday service. He said, Are you Catholic? I said, No. He smiled, and then assured me, Its OK. We can still be friends.

Growing up, Mom took us to church but Dad didnt go. The most important man in my life up to that point, but he didnt share my faith journey with me. Dad didnt get religion. Perhaps there was too much baggage in his life to let go and let God, as they say. I saw firsthand a life lived with God and church (my moms) and a life lived without God or church (my dads). I have never doubted which one seemed right and true to me.