I’ve been having this extremely vivid, recurring dream.
It’s revisited me half a dozen times over the past 3 years, with subtle variations.
I’m standing inside the front doorway of a mountain cabin, facing inside with the door opened behind me. To my left is a small galley kitchen, open to the main living space before me. To my right is a hallway that goes who knows where. Directly in front of me is an expansive living room, which steals my focus.
The living room wall directly ahead is almost entirely consumed by a massive window. It’s looking out over a tree-covered mountain range that seems to lie across a wide, steep canyon.
Situated around the window is a sitting area with a long sofa directly facing it and a sort of loveseat resting perpendicular to the right of the sofa. The room is full of people—seemingly too many for the seating, but everyone is comfortable. The central character is a tall, put-together man standing at the left end of the sofa, engaged in jovial conversation with the rest of the group.
This is a gathering of people I know. They are very dear friends of mine—although no single person is identifiable, I know who they are.
Behind me, outside, the light is somewhat dimmed because we seem to be in a densely forested area and the sun is filtered. I can feel a cool breeze moving and hear the wind occasionally rustling the trees. Birds are making cheery noises nearby and I hear faint water flowing in the distance. I can smell the air—it fills my head; fresh, cool and somewhat intoxicating.
But I am completely immobilized. On one hand, I feel an anxious tingling in my bones with an urge to bolt outside and investigate. But I’m reluctant to go alone. I desperately want my friends—these friends—to come with me. And so I stand there, feet glued to the entryway, my heart aching and wanting.
In the early installments of this dream, I’m pleading—imploring, really—with these friends to join me outside. I’m trying to describe what I sense behind me. I’m filled with unbridled curiosity, excitement and a deep certainty there is something outside that is more compelling—or at least more real and dynamic and alive—than the static view through the window. I acknowledge the window scene is stunning, but it’s a bit filtered by foggy or dirty glass—I find it somewhat revolting, but not sure why.
I’m pleading with urgency. I’m calling for my friends as loudly as I can, but it’s as though I have a pillow over my mouth and my shrill begging is virtually inaudible.
There’s always a weird, painful moment when the Standing Man will look over at me. He knows I’m there. He maintains the smile painted on his face for everyone else, but doesn’t say a word or step out of character for me. He looks me directly in the eyes but regards me as though I’m an apparition worthy of little more than pity.
He holds a glass of wine in his right hand that reveals he’s part of some party gathered in the main room of this cabin. After an uncomfortably long, indifferent gaze at me, he returns his attention toward the window, taking in the serene view and, then, just like that, he’s ignored any idea of me and reengaged in conversation and laughter with the rest of the company.
Every time I’ve had this dream, it’s clear and precise. The cabin hasn’t changed a bit. But at each iteration, my vocal pleas have become fewer and quieter. I feel tired; nearing exhaustion. A sort of, “shit, I’m still here?” washes over me now. I feel depleted, along with some combination of rejection and patronizing dismissal. And, during my last “visit” I noticed that I’ve inched backward, into the doorframe itself, standing on the threshold, rocking on the balls of my feet.
This dream takes little expertise to psycho-analyze.
The whole gathering of friends are people I know from my former church. Specifically, the ones I considered most dear and shared the deepest friendship with. The ones who trusted me most when, mid-business career, I served as one of their two fulltime pastors for 10 years.
At the end of those 10 years, these were the friends who supported me leaving vocational ministry and returning to the professional marketplace to field-test the things we were learning together; to come back and report and teach. Since our partnership began, I have never ventured anywhere spiritually significant without them.
But I have been standing at this doorway for a very long time and am not accustomed to remining idle. It all feels consequential.
Even though I withdrew from the church “organization” several years ago, I’ve yet to venture any further. I know I need to explore something bigger and more alive than what often seem to be tired, stale confines of some of the practices and beliefs of evangelical Christianity.
But I am sad. My heart breaks as I marvel that not one from this gathering is willing to go with me—even to nose around. The familiar seat from which to gaze out the window is perfectly sufficient for them, and I understand.
It’s so bland to me.
These dreams are but a part of a bigger story.
The truth is, my curiosity quest has been percolating for many years. The more I studied faith, religion and spirituality, the more I pressed into hard questions, new possibilities and outdated answers—all fueled by seminary and other gloves-off study. This fresh thinking was a welcome influence on the way I imagined and co-led our church until I began to question the efficacy and veracity of the current institution itself.
But I believed it was vital to question every part of our faith tradition in order to tune into how God and the universe are calling us forward—to change, move and grow. To me, that type of dynamism respects any tradition enough to appreciate the particular historical contexts it originated—and be committed to the tradition of periodic refreshes of our human interpretations.
As I’ve shared my open-ended musings with others, I find most people have a list of their own questions. Some thoughts they share openly, others very reluctantly—even to themselves. Here are several things I’ve grappled with; maybe some will resonate with you:
What is the Bible? Treating the Bible as a singular history textbook misses the vast styles of literature and deeper messages of its many authors.
Can God and Science Co-Exist? Christianity often regards science as a threat to old beliefs rather than breakthroughs to help frame new ones.
Why do Christians Often Seem Judgmental? Christians, like other religious adherents, have at times used their beliefs to judge and vilify others—straining the love narrative that sums Jesus’s life.
Does Church Work? We are so steeped in western consumerism that it’s nearly impossible to measure the effectiveness of church beyond its “popularity” (attendance and donations).
Do You Need Religion to be Good? Christians sometimes behave as though they have a corner on the “goodness market,” even though many with no faith background consistently embody Jesus’s teachings better.
Can Christianity Withstand Hard Questions? Through history, humans have never abandoned their spiritual pursuit, but instead rebooted their religious conceptions countless times.
Is Any of it Useful? In the depths of my faith quest, I discovered four precious, concrete markers that help me orient the way I live. Whenever I share them, they always ring true for others—even at cocktail parties. Indeed, I look forward to sharing these, since they mark the trailhead where my deeper exploration begins.
I know that questioning one’s religious beliefs can be unsettling. To keep our personal worlds stable, we intuitively dismiss challenges to them—it’s literally human nature. Subjecting our convictions to reevaluation and rigorous discourse is hard, unpredictable work. We almost always prefer the status quo until something forces our hand.
For me, initiating the hard, unpredictable work has afforded heightened intellectual honesty, liberation from the machinations of religion and seeded a more expansive view of spiritual pursuit. I have not jettisoned the entirety of my faith, but with a more relaxed grip on old interpretations, I’m not afraid to turn over stones I’d long left undisturbed. I feel more hopeful.
Yes, I’m ready for it. I believe the expansive window in the mountain cabin is an important but limited view; I’m certain there’s more. And I’ve made peace knowing the next leg of my journey feels too risky and undefined for my faithful friends. It animates my feet to finally admit out loud: they will not be joining me.
Yet I’m certain I won’t be alone.
When I listen to others from my or different spiritual backgrounds (or spiritual curiosity), they seem eager. They describe the “view from their window” and it seems like we’re all looking at very similar, compelling vistas—only from slightly different locations and perspectives. Doesn’t it all feel more connected than not?
And if you, too, are considering a bold venturing out, I urge you to try what I am attempting: track down others who are willing to leave most answers in the attic and pack only questions for the journey. As I’m preparing, I can tell you this: the load already feels lighter and freer!
Vado io! (“I’m going”)
Over the course of subsequent posts, I will share a framework that serves as my starting point in this fresh pursuit. Maybe they’ll be helpful to you, in some small way. My thinking all comes from a mashup of study and experiences in ministry, business, leadership, executive coaching and nonprofit work, as well as countless books and articles ranging from neuroscience to theology.
Some future posts:
Questions: The Slippery Slope
Answering Questions: Religious Dead Ends
Questioning Answers: Wading Spiritual Waters
Not That Thing, The Other Thing: Church
Faith Reimagined: A New Trailhead
Dan Parodi is a badge-carrying executive coach. This series on spirituality is consistent with his other topics that urge reflection on the more meaningful parts of life. It’s easy to get distracted from the life-path we want, so hopefully these trigger deeper, personalized consideration…and maybe action?