On Faith
So, over the past month I decided to go back to church. To be honest, it’s been a while in coming. While I lost my religion in college to a point, over the past year or two, I’ve been feeling the need to get back into the swing of things. The funny thing is that I haven’t really changed my views on a whole lot of things. Specifically, while I am now going back to church, I go primary for the purposes of community, interaction with others, and a feeling of participation in something greater. This has not actually resulted in any particular changes in what I believe, however, and as such, is not so much as a shift in theological positions but rather a confirmation of what I’ve always rather felt.
The funny thing is that for a person who has gone to church throughout much of his life, I’m not even entirely sure that there is a God. If he exists (I’m using “he” as shorthand here), I’m not even entirely sure that he cares enough about us to really get involved, or for that matter even really notice. Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to think that there is an all-knowing, all-loving, all-powerful being who cares about me when I’m sitting in the dentist’s chair or taking an exam. I’d even be ok with the idea that there is nevertheless evil and suffering in the world and that it can be reconciled with such a greater consciousness/divinity while still affirming that divinity’s perfect, parental goodness, but that I simply lack the capacity to understand it. But, truth be told, I kind of doubt it. I have always paid great heed to the principles of sound reasoning and logical deduction. And while I’d like to think such things as an overpowering divine goodness are able to coexist with evils like cancer and earthquakes, I simply don’t see how that is possible and don’t think I will ever be able to see it. But who knows? Maybe that will change with time.
My religious beliefs have always been rather fluid and something to which I have devoted a fair amount of thought and time. I was born and baptized Roman Catholic, but never went through the communion process or even really attended church as a Catholic. Around the time I turned 10, my family converted to Presbyterianism on the grounds that they simply could no longer in good faith belong to a church which consistently took what they felt to be retrograde views on sexuality, gender equality, and teachings which contradicted scripture and biblical authority. This is not to say that my family became conservative, evangelical Protestants, on the contrary. My family’s personal piety has always been rather subdued and in joining a mainline Protestant denomination which was conveniently close to our house in the United States, they simply made official what they believed and had believed for some time. While initially reluctant to switch over, I eventually made my peace with it and came to call myself a Presbyterian willingly.
By the time I got to high school, I was attending a boarding school in Hudson, Ohio. Due to the lack of transportation for my 14 year old self, I began walking to the nearest church which was not Catholic. Due to the whims of chance, it was an Episcopalian church. I spent the next four years attending Christ Church Episcopal, a church in the thoroughly broad-church mold. While there was kneeling and genuflection, it wasn’t mandatory, and only about half the congregation did either. Services were pretty straight-forward, but at the same time maintained a slightly higher degree of formality and solemnity than that which I experienced in the Presbyterian church (or for that matter, the Catholic church at which I worshipped when on long weekends with my relatives near Dayton, OH. The rest of them were thoroughly Catholic through and through). Those years at Christ Church proved to be highly formative in my religious views. I participated in the choir and services every Sunday, walking from school to the church and back. I got to know the staff and clergy of the church, and by the time I had finished by education in the spring of 2001, I was considering the ministry as a career and had been officially confirmed as a member of the Episcopal Church, USA.
Attending college at William and Mary gave me the opportunity to return to my Presbyterian roots, due to the presence of a nearby church of my childhood denomination. For the four years I attended the college, I participated in Williamsburg Presbyterian’s youth group, Wesfel, and attended services pretty regularly through my freshman and sophomore years. It was at that church that I feel my formation in Christian preferences was firmly molded. While part of PCUSA, Williamsburg Presbyterian maintained a very traditional, old-style protestant service. Most of the hymns were 17th and 18th century classics, the church was old red brick in keeping with the 18th century architecture of the college on whose grounds it bordered, and the clergy preached in black Geneva gowns with white preaching bands. Despite being part of what is often seen as a ho-hum, pedestrian Protestant denomination, the church at Williamsburg fired me with an enthusiasm for 17th century-style protestant worship of the high church variety. Not necessarily for the kind of beauty found in stained-glass windows and incense, but in the kind of traditional worship of our forefathers who felt as though they had a direct relationship to god while at the same time maintaining the sort of academic solemnity and honesty of worship characterizing the first great awakening.
However, my spiritual growth eventually slowed and my interest in religion cooled. In 2003 and 2004 the Iraq war was raging, George W. Bush was in office, and I was dismayed to find that as I grew more liberal with time and education, more critical in my though processes, and generally more open minded, I saw violence, greed, and intolerance preached in the name of Christianity. I felt as though my religion was being hijacked by extremists and that the meanest, greediest, and most intolerant positions were being proffered by those who spoke in prophetic religions terms: that God had anointed America to bring “freedom” to the world and that things such as environmental destruction, torture, homophobia, and bigotry could not only be supported by scripture, but in fact that those positions were the sole positions scripture and God endorsed! As a result, time slipped past and my attendance at church became more erratic, my participation in Wesfel less frequent, and my general enthusiasm for religion generally absent. By senior year I hardly ever attended church and only went to the final Wesfel meeting in order to say good bye to the people I had once known well enough to consider my friends. By the time I graduated from college, I was more or less an atheist.
For the next few years I wandered about aimlessly in a spiritual sense. I attended some meetings with the Society of Friends, but the lack of structure in their service and general lack of clergy or any real firm set of beliefs made them difficult for me to become emotionally invested in. By the mid-to-late 2000s, I had more or less become-if not exactly an atheist-at least atheistic. I was contemptuous of those for whom religion appeared to be a litmus test of social acceptability. I had very little time for the Sarah Palins and Ann Coulters of the world who wore their religion on their sleeves and proclaimed that the world was ours to, quite literally, “rape” if we saw fit, because it was given to us by God with which to do as we pleased. Or those who claimed that Christianity was locked in an eternal struggle with Islam. Or those for whom religion was primarily a vehicle through which to decry abortion, evolution, and homosexuality. As such, faced with a lack of any real, vocal alternative to such viewpoints, I felt as though religion was something which was at very best benign, and at worst, a vehicle by which injustices became codified and arrogant people became rulers over others.
However, I have at the same time been reluctant to embrace the label of “atheist.” It’s not because I was afraid of the label, on the contrary. It really just has more to do with the fact that in my mind, the term “atheist” indicates an active disbelief in something, rather than a passive skepticism. And while I do believe some atheists have a lot to offer when it comes to dialogues about morality, life, and death, the wild-eyed insistence many atheists hold when actively promoting their non-belief rather irritates me. Just as I do not wish to be told I am a sinner going to tell by a Christian, I do not wish to be old that prayer is simply talking to oneself or mumbling to the “great sky fairy.” One of the deciding moments for me, I think, was when I was reading an atheistic blog about Thanksgiving, and the author wrote (rather contemptuously) that he had no need to give thanks and that he was rather irritated by the idea that he should be expected to give thanks for anything. Note that this was not him saying that he opposed hearing grace over meals, or that he didn’t like the Christian component of Thanksgiving services or meals, but that he rejected the entire concept of “giving thanks” altogether, except when it was targeting a specific person. At that point, I stopped following his blog.
So, here I am. I have so far enjoyed returning to church and feel that I have made a good decision in general. For me, part of the struggle has been to find a church in which I 1) feel comfortable, 2) feel welcome, and 3) enjoy the service. Part of what guided my choice were the following considerations.
Things which are important to me in my chosen religious experience:
While the Roman Catholic Church does have some kick-ass liberation theologians, the overall stance of the church has been staunchly conservative on social matters involving human sexuality and relations. Furthermore, the Roman church has shown itself to continuously meddle in government affairs and claim authority which in my mind, it has no business claiming. It has historically taken a reactionary political position, been opposed to ecumenicalism except to where it feels it can use ecumenicalism as a tool to pressure other churches to surrender to its authority. It has and continues to exercise the arrogance and haughtiness which has historically characterized it, and has manifested itself with tragic consequences, such as the widespread and systematic covering up of the crimes of its clergy and faithful, with tragic consequences, as demonstrated in Ireland and the United States, as well as around the globe. This, when coupled with its aggressive attitude towards converts, its theological conservatism, its top-down approach towards governance, and its actual beliefs means that I have never looked back to my Catholic baptism with fondness and never felt a call to return to it as a church. Not to mention the fact that modern Catholic services are actually pretty pedestrian and low-key, thereby not appealing to me in the slightest. High-church Catholicism is interesting, but there is nothing which the Catholic church offers in terms of liturgy or ritual which cannot be found in other churches, except things like the adoration of Mary and use of Latin, both of which I find objectionable.
My problems with the Orthodox Church also follow similar lines. While I appreciate that the Orthodox Church is ancient, typically has a high level of liturgy, and has some very cool history, several characteristics prevent me from embracing it. First of all, the Orthodox Church is indelibly tied to the lands which have historically been its purview. While Catholic and Protestant Christianity may be found around the globe and have to a greater or lesser degree adapted themselves to the local environment, the Orthodox church is in my mind more or less inseparable from Eastern Europe and the Balkans. This has lead to problematic behavior with regards to its attitude regarding ongoing conflicts in the world, specifically during the Balkan wars and the conflict in Chechnya. Given its also-conservative attitude towards social conventions, its refusal to ordinate women or allow married clergymen to progress beyond the role of simple priest, I find it difficult to be overly interested in the faith. Also, the Orthodox Church has, in my experience, generally had an unwelcoming attitude with regards to newcomers. It’s almost as if you wish to convert, you may do so, but you will have to publically recognize and renounce the errors of your previously-held beliefs and reject your previous sinful heterodoxy.
“Main-line” protestant churches, while closest to me theologically and politically, do have the down side of being rather bland in my eyes. Boring 20th century hymns, ministers in plain clothes or in a simple tunic with whatever colorful or “ethnic” stole they feel like wearing that day, and the general absence of a Eucharistic service except on special occasions makes church feel like a bit of tedium and drudgery and do not, in my mind, excite the senses or provide the foundations for a strong worship service. I think we all know where this is going...
Fortunately, the church I have found and begun attending appears to meet all of the above requirements. The church itself is a medieval-style building. The ministers include a recently ordained woman priest; the bumper stickers are mostly liberal. The congregation is friendly without being pushy about it. While the service is a tad higher than I usually like (I’m not overly fond of Stations of the Cross or statues of the Virgin), no one has bothered me about failing to kneel or genuflect, and while the church is certainly high in its inclinations, it avoids the excesses of Anglo-Catholicism. In fact, I’m not sure my broad-church preferences are even noticed. And Anglican/Episcopal nature of the church is well reflected in the decorations of the church, and the stained glass windows display (among others) Archbishop Laud, Bishop Seabury, and C.S. Lewis (complete with Lion, Witch, and Wardrobe).
While my journey in faith has been a life-long experience and nothing is set in stone, I hope to be worshipping there for quite some time.
The funny thing is that for a person who has gone to church throughout much of his life, I’m not even entirely sure that there is a God. If he exists (I’m using “he” as shorthand here), I’m not even entirely sure that he cares enough about us to really get involved, or for that matter even really notice. Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to think that there is an all-knowing, all-loving, all-powerful being who cares about me when I’m sitting in the dentist’s chair or taking an exam. I’d even be ok with the idea that there is nevertheless evil and suffering in the world and that it can be reconciled with such a greater consciousness/divinity while still affirming that divinity’s perfect, parental goodness, but that I simply lack the capacity to understand it. But, truth be told, I kind of doubt it. I have always paid great heed to the principles of sound reasoning and logical deduction. And while I’d like to think such things as an overpowering divine goodness are able to coexist with evils like cancer and earthquakes, I simply don’t see how that is possible and don’t think I will ever be able to see it. But who knows? Maybe that will change with time.
My religious beliefs have always been rather fluid and something to which I have devoted a fair amount of thought and time. I was born and baptized Roman Catholic, but never went through the communion process or even really attended church as a Catholic. Around the time I turned 10, my family converted to Presbyterianism on the grounds that they simply could no longer in good faith belong to a church which consistently took what they felt to be retrograde views on sexuality, gender equality, and teachings which contradicted scripture and biblical authority. This is not to say that my family became conservative, evangelical Protestants, on the contrary. My family’s personal piety has always been rather subdued and in joining a mainline Protestant denomination which was conveniently close to our house in the United States, they simply made official what they believed and had believed for some time. While initially reluctant to switch over, I eventually made my peace with it and came to call myself a Presbyterian willingly.
By the time I got to high school, I was attending a boarding school in Hudson, Ohio. Due to the lack of transportation for my 14 year old self, I began walking to the nearest church which was not Catholic. Due to the whims of chance, it was an Episcopalian church. I spent the next four years attending Christ Church Episcopal, a church in the thoroughly broad-church mold. While there was kneeling and genuflection, it wasn’t mandatory, and only about half the congregation did either. Services were pretty straight-forward, but at the same time maintained a slightly higher degree of formality and solemnity than that which I experienced in the Presbyterian church (or for that matter, the Catholic church at which I worshipped when on long weekends with my relatives near Dayton, OH. The rest of them were thoroughly Catholic through and through). Those years at Christ Church proved to be highly formative in my religious views. I participated in the choir and services every Sunday, walking from school to the church and back. I got to know the staff and clergy of the church, and by the time I had finished by education in the spring of 2001, I was considering the ministry as a career and had been officially confirmed as a member of the Episcopal Church, USA.
Attending college at William and Mary gave me the opportunity to return to my Presbyterian roots, due to the presence of a nearby church of my childhood denomination. For the four years I attended the college, I participated in Williamsburg Presbyterian’s youth group, Wesfel, and attended services pretty regularly through my freshman and sophomore years. It was at that church that I feel my formation in Christian preferences was firmly molded. While part of PCUSA, Williamsburg Presbyterian maintained a very traditional, old-style protestant service. Most of the hymns were 17th and 18th century classics, the church was old red brick in keeping with the 18th century architecture of the college on whose grounds it bordered, and the clergy preached in black Geneva gowns with white preaching bands. Despite being part of what is often seen as a ho-hum, pedestrian Protestant denomination, the church at Williamsburg fired me with an enthusiasm for 17th century-style protestant worship of the high church variety. Not necessarily for the kind of beauty found in stained-glass windows and incense, but in the kind of traditional worship of our forefathers who felt as though they had a direct relationship to god while at the same time maintaining the sort of academic solemnity and honesty of worship characterizing the first great awakening.
However, my spiritual growth eventually slowed and my interest in religion cooled. In 2003 and 2004 the Iraq war was raging, George W. Bush was in office, and I was dismayed to find that as I grew more liberal with time and education, more critical in my though processes, and generally more open minded, I saw violence, greed, and intolerance preached in the name of Christianity. I felt as though my religion was being hijacked by extremists and that the meanest, greediest, and most intolerant positions were being proffered by those who spoke in prophetic religions terms: that God had anointed America to bring “freedom” to the world and that things such as environmental destruction, torture, homophobia, and bigotry could not only be supported by scripture, but in fact that those positions were the sole positions scripture and God endorsed! As a result, time slipped past and my attendance at church became more erratic, my participation in Wesfel less frequent, and my general enthusiasm for religion generally absent. By senior year I hardly ever attended church and only went to the final Wesfel meeting in order to say good bye to the people I had once known well enough to consider my friends. By the time I graduated from college, I was more or less an atheist.
For the next few years I wandered about aimlessly in a spiritual sense. I attended some meetings with the Society of Friends, but the lack of structure in their service and general lack of clergy or any real firm set of beliefs made them difficult for me to become emotionally invested in. By the mid-to-late 2000s, I had more or less become-if not exactly an atheist-at least atheistic. I was contemptuous of those for whom religion appeared to be a litmus test of social acceptability. I had very little time for the Sarah Palins and Ann Coulters of the world who wore their religion on their sleeves and proclaimed that the world was ours to, quite literally, “rape” if we saw fit, because it was given to us by God with which to do as we pleased. Or those who claimed that Christianity was locked in an eternal struggle with Islam. Or those for whom religion was primarily a vehicle through which to decry abortion, evolution, and homosexuality. As such, faced with a lack of any real, vocal alternative to such viewpoints, I felt as though religion was something which was at very best benign, and at worst, a vehicle by which injustices became codified and arrogant people became rulers over others.
However, I have at the same time been reluctant to embrace the label of “atheist.” It’s not because I was afraid of the label, on the contrary. It really just has more to do with the fact that in my mind, the term “atheist” indicates an active disbelief in something, rather than a passive skepticism. And while I do believe some atheists have a lot to offer when it comes to dialogues about morality, life, and death, the wild-eyed insistence many atheists hold when actively promoting their non-belief rather irritates me. Just as I do not wish to be told I am a sinner going to tell by a Christian, I do not wish to be old that prayer is simply talking to oneself or mumbling to the “great sky fairy.” One of the deciding moments for me, I think, was when I was reading an atheistic blog about Thanksgiving, and the author wrote (rather contemptuously) that he had no need to give thanks and that he was rather irritated by the idea that he should be expected to give thanks for anything. Note that this was not him saying that he opposed hearing grace over meals, or that he didn’t like the Christian component of Thanksgiving services or meals, but that he rejected the entire concept of “giving thanks” altogether, except when it was targeting a specific person. At that point, I stopped following his blog.
So, here I am. I have so far enjoyed returning to church and feel that I have made a good decision in general. For me, part of the struggle has been to find a church in which I 1) feel comfortable, 2) feel welcome, and 3) enjoy the service. Part of what guided my choice were the following considerations.
Things which are important to me in my chosen religious experience:
- Female clergy. This is non-negotiable. I believe that women deacons, ministers/priests, and bishops are not only supported by the scriptures, but are also just as capable as men of being good ministers and teachers. Limiting them to a role as nuns or laity is not only unfair to them but also drastically handicaps the richness and fullness of the Lord’s teaching by unfairly making it the sole prerogative of those lucky enough to be born with a Y chromosome.
- Gay-affirming. I am ok with a church which denies full marriage rituals to homosexual couples as I believe it to be contrary to church tradition and scripture. Yes, there are many other things contrary to church scripture which I do support. I do not have a problem with homosexuality, nor do I feel that it is inherently sinful. However, I do feel that a religious marriage represents a sacrament which I feel should be reserved for heterosexual couples. Marrying gay couples with the same level of ritual as heterosexual couples is a deeply divisive issue, and I do not feel any church should be REQUIRED to do so. And yes, I know. I’m torn on the issue myself and am open to having my mind changed, but at this point I prefer to err on the side of tradition. But, they must be at the very least willing to provide blessings to same-sex unions, as well as allow openly gay clergy. As an aside, however, I do support gay marriage in a legal context.
- Abortion. My church must at the very least take a hands-off approach to abortion and recognize that the issue is a deeply personal one which is made in very challenging circumstances. Coming up with a hard and fast rule regarding abortion and when it is permissible is, I think wrong. I feel that no matter what decision a woman comes to when it comes to terminating her pregnancy, she must make her decision without fear of rejection from her church or judgment of her coreligionists. It goes without saying that litigating against abortion is, in my view, a big no-no, which leads me to my next point…
- Separation of church and state. Just as I do not want the government or civil authorities to tell my church what it may and may not believe, I do not want my clergymen getting involved in politics, period. I don’t feel that religion should be used as a tool to pressure politicians to vote a certain way (ie. withhold communion if a politician supports gay marriage), nor do I feel that politicians should gain political clout by involvement with a certain church, sect, or denomination.
- Liturgy. The beauty of the traditional language and song of liturgy is important and should, I think, be emphasized. What does this mean?
- Liturgical/clerical garb worn during the services. I prefer more formal, but I’d settle for a happy medium. I don’t like my ministers in casual clothes, polo shirts, or suits. I’d rather not have the priest overdone either. My preference is for a moderate to high level of garb in church, and little to no garb when “off duty.” A Geneva gown with preaching bands or the like is perfect, along with a priest’s collar and dress casual clothes when not.
- Thee and Thou preferred as well as older styles of speech, but this is negotiable
- I prefer not to kneel and genuflect, but this is negotiable. I think it should be allowed, but not required. Bowing to the cross and the altar seems a little too idolatrous for me, but I suppose a nod of acknowledgement as the cross passes is fine. Like you would when passing a security guard in a lobby.
- Saints are ok, when used in moderation. I’m not entirely comfortable with statues of the saints, but icons and stained glass windows are ok. However, I prefer they not be addressed personally, and only be referred to on special occasions, like when a lesson is being taught, they appear in scripture, or it’s a very special occasion.
- The Virgin Mary. Important person, Jesus’ mom, cool lady, and that’s it. Praying to her, adoration of her, or anything of that sort is right out. And while you’re there, you can toss all that stuff about her immaculate conception and being the co-redeptress of humanity right out as well.
- Incense I’m ok with. The priest facing away from the congregation, less so.
- Transubstantiation is right out. I feel that the Eucharist is a holy mystery which is best left to the conscience of the individual worshiper. Do what Jesus did at the last supper, and let’s not sweat the details of how exactly the miracle takes place, or even what kind of miracle it is.
- Nuns, monks, and confrarities. I am ok with these, although generally feel that we are called to participate in a wider community of worship and so discourage monastic-type organizations, but still feel that they have a place in the church for some people. In other words, I feel they should exist as a place of refuge for those who seek them out, but not be trotted out to make political points, or showered with special praise, responsibilities, or recognition.
- Charismatic worship. Different strokes for different folks. But I have no time for bluegrass, hard rock, or shout bands in church, nor speaking in tongues, laying of hands, or anything of that nature. Worship should, in my mind, be a formal and solemn-if also joyous-occasion.
- Finances. Tithing should be voluntary-never required. Also, the resurgence of usury and simony must be stopped. All that crap you hear on the radio about “as soon as you drop that pledge envelope in the mail, the miracles will start happening!” needs to stop.
While the Roman Catholic Church does have some kick-ass liberation theologians, the overall stance of the church has been staunchly conservative on social matters involving human sexuality and relations. Furthermore, the Roman church has shown itself to continuously meddle in government affairs and claim authority which in my mind, it has no business claiming. It has historically taken a reactionary political position, been opposed to ecumenicalism except to where it feels it can use ecumenicalism as a tool to pressure other churches to surrender to its authority. It has and continues to exercise the arrogance and haughtiness which has historically characterized it, and has manifested itself with tragic consequences, such as the widespread and systematic covering up of the crimes of its clergy and faithful, with tragic consequences, as demonstrated in Ireland and the United States, as well as around the globe. This, when coupled with its aggressive attitude towards converts, its theological conservatism, its top-down approach towards governance, and its actual beliefs means that I have never looked back to my Catholic baptism with fondness and never felt a call to return to it as a church. Not to mention the fact that modern Catholic services are actually pretty pedestrian and low-key, thereby not appealing to me in the slightest. High-church Catholicism is interesting, but there is nothing which the Catholic church offers in terms of liturgy or ritual which cannot be found in other churches, except things like the adoration of Mary and use of Latin, both of which I find objectionable.
My problems with the Orthodox Church also follow similar lines. While I appreciate that the Orthodox Church is ancient, typically has a high level of liturgy, and has some very cool history, several characteristics prevent me from embracing it. First of all, the Orthodox Church is indelibly tied to the lands which have historically been its purview. While Catholic and Protestant Christianity may be found around the globe and have to a greater or lesser degree adapted themselves to the local environment, the Orthodox church is in my mind more or less inseparable from Eastern Europe and the Balkans. This has lead to problematic behavior with regards to its attitude regarding ongoing conflicts in the world, specifically during the Balkan wars and the conflict in Chechnya. Given its also-conservative attitude towards social conventions, its refusal to ordinate women or allow married clergymen to progress beyond the role of simple priest, I find it difficult to be overly interested in the faith. Also, the Orthodox Church has, in my experience, generally had an unwelcoming attitude with regards to newcomers. It’s almost as if you wish to convert, you may do so, but you will have to publically recognize and renounce the errors of your previously-held beliefs and reject your previous sinful heterodoxy.
“Main-line” protestant churches, while closest to me theologically and politically, do have the down side of being rather bland in my eyes. Boring 20th century hymns, ministers in plain clothes or in a simple tunic with whatever colorful or “ethnic” stole they feel like wearing that day, and the general absence of a Eucharistic service except on special occasions makes church feel like a bit of tedium and drudgery and do not, in my mind, excite the senses or provide the foundations for a strong worship service. I think we all know where this is going...
Fortunately, the church I have found and begun attending appears to meet all of the above requirements. The church itself is a medieval-style building. The ministers include a recently ordained woman priest; the bumper stickers are mostly liberal. The congregation is friendly without being pushy about it. While the service is a tad higher than I usually like (I’m not overly fond of Stations of the Cross or statues of the Virgin), no one has bothered me about failing to kneel or genuflect, and while the church is certainly high in its inclinations, it avoids the excesses of Anglo-Catholicism. In fact, I’m not sure my broad-church preferences are even noticed. And Anglican/Episcopal nature of the church is well reflected in the decorations of the church, and the stained glass windows display (among others) Archbishop Laud, Bishop Seabury, and C.S. Lewis (complete with Lion, Witch, and Wardrobe).
While my journey in faith has been a life-long experience and nothing is set in stone, I hope to be worshipping there for quite some time.