Making a new home in the world.

About a month ago, I found myself in a small circle of women I didn’t know very well. As humans often do when getting to know each other, we were making small talk. The conversation moved along slowly, and I began looking for any small on-ramp that might take us just slightly below the surface. Small talk is a great way to engage, but in my experience, it is insufficient to keep people engaged for long. Then, quite unexpectedly, it happened. Someone asked a great question.

“So, Kristen, what are you reading right now?”

Just as a reminder, I was the one looking for the on-ramp. As in, I wanted to be the one to ask the question, not answer the question. But there it was, the on-ramp. In a split second, I had to decide how to answer.

On one hand, I hardly knew these women, so it was very likely that whatever book I mentioned would be largely forgotten. On the other hand, I had just shared a twenty-minute teaching that culminated in a story honoring the hard work of embracing vulnerability. In that same split second, I recognized that in that setting, I had some influence. How I responded mattered, at least a little bit.

So, I waded into the answer slowly. “I usually have several books going at a time, some fiction, some non-fiction, and some spiritual formation.” When they didn’t look away or redirect the conversation, I realized they wanted a little more. Crap.

I had spent the better part of the previous year trying really hard not to connect with new people, being largely unavailable, and resisting authentic vulnerability (outside of a few people). I wasn’t sure about this place fully, but my decision to be there at that precise moment was intentional. I had to remind myself that I was trying to connect. I wanted to be known, at least a little. I just wasn’t sure I was ready to answer that question.

This probably sounds so strange. I mean, they literally just wanted to know what I was reading.

The thing is, a lot has changed for me in my faith. I don’t hold the same beliefs or theologies I once held. I have released many certainties in exchange for mystery and tension. I’ve been behind the curtain of big churches. I studied in a seminary for three years and know how the Bible came to be. I now willingly embrace nuance and rarely align with the evangelical teachings commonly referenced in this circle. My book list reflected these shifts. They didn’t care what fiction I was into, they wanted to know what I was reading to grow spiritually.

In that split-second, fear reminded me that my book list might literally shock them.

The thing is, I wasn’t trying to be shocking. I was just trying to get to know people. What was probably a softball question for the woman who asked was coming at me like a 92mph curveball, and I didn’t know if I should swing. What if I missed? What if I struck out? What if they got to know me and decided, “nah”?

Wildly enough, I’m still in the same split second, and I hear, “There you are. Deep breath. Be brave.”

After five seconds of what felt like incredibly awkward silence, I answered, “I actually just finished reading a book called Leaving Church by Barbara Brown Taylor.” Phew. I did it. I answered the question. I gave myself an invisible high-five.

When I tell you five sets of eyebrows began an incredibly synchronized can-can, I am not joking. It was as if an invisible string connected each of their right eyebrows, and whoever was holding the string pulled up slightly so each of them was at a perfect forty-five-degree angle. Literally, the perfect Rockette lineup and my actual worst nightmare.

Maybe your eyebrow is also raised. Why am I reading about leaving church? Let me tell you what I told them, more or less.

Leaving Church is a sweet memoir in which BBT (as my seminary colleagues and I lovingly call her) reflects on, well, leaving church. It’s not so much about her leaving the church physically, although she does do that. It’s more about her story of leaving her role in the church in search of renewed faith.

BBT was an Episcopal priest who loved God, loved people, and loved her church, until she realized the life she’d built in ministry was quietly draining the life out of her. Leaving Church is BBT’s honest, tender, and beautifully written memoir about answering a sacred call, and later, hearing another call to let it go.

She tells the story of her rise as a beloved Episcopal priest, finding deep purpose in preaching and pastoral care, until the weight of expectations, busyness, and exhaustion began to dim her sense of God’s presence. Stepping away from the pulpit felt like failure at first, but it became an unexpected invitation to rediscover faith beyond the walls of the church.

In the quiet of ordinary life (gardening, teaching, walking the Georgia hills), BBT learns that holiness isn’t confined to altars and vestments. It’s found in the soil, in relationships, in being fully alive. Leaving Church is less about losing faith and more about finding it again, in a truer, freer form.

As I shared about the book, I watched their eyebrows soften and their shoulders and gaze relax. They leaned in just a little. Though they hadn’t read it, my brief synopsis of Leaving Church seemed to resonate. So many of us are searching for a path that deepens our faith and draws us closer to God and one another. Yet we often believe the lie that such a path is reserved for a select few, or that it can only be found within the walls of a church.

The conversation, though slightly uncomfortable, was good for me. I shared something personal, something I rarely reveal outside of my spouse and two closest friends. Letting myself be known is hard, especially when the person I’ve become through walking with Jesus and being transformed by the Spirit has been misunderstood or even rejected in some circles.

Still, in the midst of that, I’ve discovered a profound love and acceptance in God, the Spirit of whom dwells within me and reminds me daily of my belovedness. In times of solitude and prayer, compassion has begun to grow - first for myself, then for others. Transformation continues, and with it, I’m learning to see that there are people in the church who are truly apprenticing under Jesus, becoming people of love. As I endeavor to do the same, I find hope again.

There’s one passage in Leaving Church that I return to often:

“Although I never found a church where I felt completely at home again, I made a new home in the world. I renewed my membership in the priesthood of all believers, who may not have as much power as we would like, but whose consolation prize is the freedom to meet God wherever God shows up.”

Whenever I feel frustrated after a sermon, perplexed by a decision, or irritated by someone’s comment, I come back to this passage, which reminds me: I am not in charge. I’m not responsible for every decision, and I don’t have to share everyone’s beliefs. Even when these moments arise, they don’t change what’s most true.

One pastor’s perspective doesn’t have to be mine, nor does it rewrite my story of faith. It doesn’t change who God has been, or who God is to me today. It might, however, shape how God meets me down the road. If Leaving Church taught me anything, it’s that God will meet me wherever God decides is best, even if that’s in a circle of women I barely know, asking what I’m reading.

Wait until they find out I’m reading Hell Bent by Brian Recker alongside Hawai’i by James Michener, The Diamond Eye by Kate Quinn, and Between Two Kingdoms by Suleika Jaouad.

So, what are you reading right now?