To Wichita and back

On grief and "lostness" - and hope

I was packing for an early flight for a long-scheduled speaking engagement in Wichita, Kansas, when I saw the news: a plane coming from Wichita had crashed over the Potomac, just before it was supposed to land in Washington, D.C., after a military helicopter collided with it.

That horrific crash, just over 10 days ago, took 67 lives. As is so often the case, finger-pointing and misinformation began circulating online almost immediately. The crash is being investigated and families from Wichita to Washington are mourning.

I was headed to Wichita to discuss faith and politics for an annual speaker series at a Congregational church. But what to say at such a moment - on the heels of such a tragedy, in the early days of an unprecedented administration?

I was asked to give three talks that weekend. The first focused on my book, The Exvangelicals: Loving, Living, and Leaving the White Evangelical Church - out on paperback next week.

The second was a discussion of the 2024 campaign and the early days of the Trump administration 2.0, with a particular focus on how religious themes are intersecting with the current political moment. The audience, like the ones I met in Germany in December, had lots of questions about how Trump got re-elected and what happens next - and what’s going on at NPR.

But it was the final, Sunday morning, talk that made me the most nervous. I was asked to share a spiritual reflection - even a sermon, if I wanted to call it that. I told the pastor that I wasn’t sure if someone like me, with rather squishy and fluctuating religious views, should be giving a sermon. But she reassured me that this speakers’ series had featured authors and scholars with an expertise in religion but a wide range of personal religious views, from fervent believer to atheist and some in between.

So I talked about how uncomfortable it was for someone like me - taught that spiritual leadership should come from men - to even stand at the pulpit. And I didn’t pretend to offer much in the way of spiritual leadership, but instead, shared a few reflections drawn from thinkers who inspire me.

I talked about wandering in the wilderness - a big theme of my book. I talked about examples from the Bible of people who’ve wandered before us. I talked about the value that can be found there, even though it’s often frightening and isolating.

I quoted a favorite scene from Fleabag, Season 2, which I rewatched recently, on a long flight. Our protagonist is wrestling with how to be alive, even as she pours out her heart to the “hot priest”:

“I want someone to tell me what to wear in the morning…I want someone to tell me what to eat, what to like, what to hate, what to rage about, what to listen to, what band to like, what to buy tickets for, what to joke about what not to joke about.

I want someone to tell me what to believe in, who to vote for and who to love and how to – tell them. I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far I’ve been getting it wrong.”

~Fleabag, Season 2

Yep, I’ve definitely been there.

And I quoted Rami M. Shapiro, whose rendering of Psalm 23 I love, in its suggestion that there is value and meaning even in those painful places of uncertainty and lostness:

“When I walk with You and know it is You who walks as me, I leave only goodness and mercy in my wake, knowing every place is Your place, and every face is Your face. Blessed are You who leads me to walk with fierce and freeing faith the pathless land to which You summon me.”

~Rami M. Shapiro, Accidental Grace

But I’m returning to “normal” life this morning - such as it is - after two weeks away.

During that time, I chipped away at another book proposal (hopefully more on that eventually, but these things take time). I caught up with family in the Midwest, celebrated my birthday, and then flew South for a b’nai mitzvah - a beautiful reminder of the power of community and tradition. At a record store in Texas, I picked up Neko Case’s new memoir - which is as intense and riveting as you’d expect from a woman who writes and sings like that.

If you’re looking for something hopeful, I can’t recommend The Greatest Night in Pop highly enough - the documentary about the making of “We Are the World,” which came out late last year. When my husband suggested it, I expected something cheesy and a bit too kumbaya for my jaded journalist taste.

But it was not that, and I felt hopeful after watching it. A feeling we all need.