On Being Carried



I often tell people “I left evangelicalism a couple years ago” and when you think about it, it’s a pretty weird thing to say. Evangelicalism is not a place one can leave, but a cultural identity, a worldview, a state of mind… and honestly, I couldn’t leave it if I tried.


Believe me, I tried.


It was in March of 2014 when I made the divorce official right here on this blog. World Vision had happened and I was insane with anger. I had said: I’m done. These aren’t my people. This place is terrible. Then I started my migration out into “wilderness”, that metaphorical place where I was told my God would come and find me.


I was allergic to the images, the language, the music, and in the end, the people of evangelicalism. When my friends confided in me that they were being led towards something by God, I had to catch the loud objection rising in my throat. When the Praise and Worship band came on before services, I had to leave to go to the bathroom and stay there, because those were the songs of before. Those were the songs not written for me. In my mind, I recorded a mental shit-list of evangelical leaders and their endorsement on the back cover ofany book I happened upon immediately had me putting it down. I set firm boundaries. I set a steel grid. When I left, I really left.


I had no idea where I was going.


A year and a half later I sit across from a therapist, saying words like “anchorless” and “untethered” and “free-floating.” Words that seem to touch on the nameless thing we’re trying to uncover. These several months of inner unrest and overall paralysis. It’s not depression or anxiety, the usual suspects. But something has been off since January and now it’s July, so I decided to surrender to the couch once again.


At one point in our third session, she said: Tell me about who You are… And I just stared at the wall above her head for a long time, waiting for the right words to bubble up in my brain. Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?


In the silence, I felt the pierce of epiphany.


I have spent the last year or so unlearning. Or at least what I called unlearning. Mostly it was criticizing, pushing back against, claiming that so-and-so’s version of God was cruel and so-and-so’s interpretation of scripture was stupid, without once considering what my view of God is, how I experience him daily. I spent so much time erasing everything I didn’t believe to be true anymore about God, that one day I came back to the page and found him gone completely.


And it was this erasing that I called reforming. It was the letting go of the hold without grabbing onto the new that led me to drifting away, far out to nowhere.


You don’t reach this place until you reach it, until you hit the rocks and know you’re lost, and the other morning, I arrived. I woke up with a call to the quiet. A subtle call. It was easily dismissed, so I cleaned the house and watched Netflix, and then headed out to the coffee shop to work on some work things, but when I drove down the street to Dunn Brothers coffee, I suddenly swerved down an old familiar street. The one that leads to the lake.


I parked and walked out to the picnic table near the water and tall reeds, in the shade of a large oak tree and I asked myself: What are you even doing here? And I answered myself: I’m here to be “led.” And I cringed at the sound of that word.


Then I thought of the young girl, Lila, from Marilynne Robinson’s latest novel. In one scene, she’s unsure of what she thinks about God and Christianity, all of it looks dubious and dangerous, and yet, intriguing. When the Reverend Ames asks to baptize her, she hedges for a moment and then thinks: I’ll do this now and think about it later.



So I set a timer for five minutes and shut my eyes. I stilled until I was thoughtless, brought down to the sensations of the moment: the wind and sun on my skin. The mesh plastic and metal on my fingertips. The sounds of geese landing and skidding across the water’s surface. Then I heard, faintly, subtly, maybe a voice that was wholly my own, say: Read Isaiah 46.


Now listen. I hold this moment with obvious skepticism. I have a loud mind. My mind submits thoughts to my consciousness all the time, all sorts of things, random things, strange things, true things, false things, and it’s absolutely right that if I am sitting somewhere waiting to be led, waiting to hear from God, I’m likely to start drawing scripture out of hat, willingly or not.


But also Listen. I read the words of Isaiah and something opened up above me, like a parachute, like the breaking of the sun. And it seized me and save me and found me. It felt like a fresh start. It felt holy.


“Listen to me, family of Jacob,

everyone that’s left of the family of Israel.

I’ve been carrying you on my back

from the day you were born,

And I’ll keep on carrying you when you’re old.

I’ll be there, bearing you when you’re old and gray.

I’ve done it and will keep on doing it,

carrying you on my back, saving you.

I was reminded of why people long for the presence of God. You hear (maybe) God speak and your spinning-out-of-control heart aligns to the voice. Locks onto it. Holds onto it. And for a moment, you feel that wall of separation soften into a veil. You feel like there is more and you can have it.



I was reminded that my mediocre faith in God does not change God’s deep faith in me. Even when I walk away or lose sight or lose my mind, God doesn’t go. The tether, the anchor, the lifeline that I have been slowly sawing away with my cynicism and fear, my need to break free, that has sent me free-floating out into nowhere, isn’t the whole truth of what’s happened, what’s happening.


I am being carried. I am being carried when I stop praying or forget how to. I am being carried when I skip church for several weeks in a row. I am being carried when I’m still running loose, looking for how to make faith organic and new. I am being carried when I collapse in the cold. When the days are too long. When I fear God isn’t good. When I fear life won’t turn out. When the questions lead me to asking if I could ever actually believe again, when life knocks me flat on my back, I am still being carried. I am always being carried.

  • Francis Perry

    I think you are right in your move to find the positives, the proactive…. it’s not what you dislike, what you are against, what you want to leave behind. Look for what you like, what you believe, what can be positive in your life. It’s not anti the rest of them, it’s promoting God’s spirit in you. To your own self be true… Find your own way…. all the clichés apply, I guess. Take the Love of God as the foundation positive, and build on that. Forget the house next door, build your own.

  • Jen Hamilton

    Have you read “Faith Shift” by Kathy Escobar? A lot of what you said is pretty much straight from that book…I read it last year and found it revolutionary, mostly because I was shocked to find so many things that seemed like they had been pulled straight from my own brain. It’s a great way to process/think about your journey in, out, and around faith. I think you’ll be encouraged reading it, it is such a relief to know you’re not alone!! Myself, I’m not ready to “get back in” to any one religion at this point, but I think that’s ok. I think God is big enough, period.

  • Chelsie Frank

    yes and amen.

  • Megan Neill

    “It was the letting go of the hold without grabbing onto the new that led me to drifting away, far out to nowhere”
    Your post came from inside me. You put into words almost exactly where I am at. Thank you for reminding me that even though I have been walking away, God doesn’t! Those are precious and encouraging words to me today.

  • http://neyhart.blogspot.com/ Jennifer Neyhart

    This really resonates with me. Thank you for writing it.

  • Sheila Warner

    I’m still in the free floating. No church family right now. I left the Catholic Church because its exclusion of gays will probably never change in my lifetime. I still follow the daily Bible readings, and I follow Progressive sites. Still, I feel so helpless that so many people refuse to open their hearts to others. Very sad at the divisions in my country. I feel like I have no real voice or no real way to impact this nation. It’s hard to ignore the religious rhetoric against gays that circulates. I, too, cringe and run away from evangelicals all around me.

  • http://www.sarahbessey.com/ Sarah Bessey

    Beautiful, Ben.

  • Briana Meade

    Yes. Yes. Yes.

  • admiralspock

    This is where I am, or maybe I am just slightly behind. Are there groups out there where people who have been abused by fundamentalism can go to sort it out?

  • http://gracerules.wordpress.com/ Liz Dyer

    I love you Ben Moberg.

  • http://www.leighkramer.com/ Leigh Kramer

    Oh, Ben. I relate to so much of this. When I decided to take my church sabbatical a few years back, I knew what I didn’t want in a church but I hadn’t stopped to consider the conditions in which my faith could flourish. Answering that question changed everything. It didn’t lead me back to a church every week but it did lead me to some good and profound places and to sermons right when I needed them and the Body of Christ when I least expected it. To know we are carried is everything. xo

  • Hannah

    THANK you.

  • http://upsidedowngrace.com/ Carol Vinson

    Ben, you know that through your words I feel such a connection to you. Even though we have traveled different roads for very different reasons I find myself where you are. Thank you for the reminder that he is always there. Always carrying me.

  • http://www.doalittlegood.com/ Chelsea Hudson

    I think this is the single most helpful, hope-full thing I have read on the internet in a long, long, long time. thank you. I can relate to almost every word. I hope I am being carried. It feels like no, but I hope.

  • Elisa marie

    This is so close to my own experiences over the past year or two or four…I can’t remember how long it’s been. But the small details like Dunn bros., having to stop and wait to feel the wind, which once felt so familiar to me…the boundaries……thank you for writing this. Thank you for your vulnerability and courage.

  • Michelle

    Thank you Ben! I have missed seeing you in the bookstore. Come say hello!

  • Tamara G. Suttle, M.Ed., LPC

    Ben, when I came out I struggled, too, to align my faith with my reality.

    The day I chose to give up on frantically trying to rectify the two and to simply step into what I knew that I knew that I knew . . . that God love me . . . that I am a child of God . . . and that there is a God-given reason and purpose for my journey . . . . that is the day that I stepped into peace and the strife simply went away.

    This Thanksgiving season I am sending up thanks for my niece’s Facebook page that led me to Jen Hamilton’s voice and for Jen’s writing that, in a circuitous way has led me to you and your blog, Ben.

    I look forward to following your work.

    Blessing to you on your journey!