Entries in a Diary
Diary of Miriam L. – Curate, Somewhere in Sussex
March 3rd
The church was packed tonight. Youth band, smoke machine, a sermon about “taking territory for Jesus.” I smiled through it, but something in me recoiled. I used to love this energy. Now it feels like noise. I keep wondering: Is this really what faith sounds like?
March 10th
I met with Arwen today. She spoke of swimming in the deep end - of mystery, sacrament, silence. I felt something loosen in me. She asked, “How small is your God?” I didn’t answer. I just cried.
March 15th
Staff meeting. We’re launching a new series: “Unshakeable Truths.” Bullet points, memory verses, no room for questions. I suggested we include space for lament. The lead pastor smiled and said, “We’re not here to dwell in doubt.” I swallowed my reply.
March 22nd
I led Eucharist at the early service. No band. No slides. Just bread, wine, and silence. An older man lingered after, eyes wet. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’d forgotten what peace felt like.”
March 30th
A teenager asked me if being gay meant God couldn’t love her. I said no, of course not. She looked relieved, then scared. “That’s not what they said in youth group.” I wanted to scream. Instead, I told her about Jesus - how he touched the untouchable, welcomed the excluded. She smiled. I wept later.
April 5th
I’m reading Julian of Norwich again. All shall be well. It’s not certainty - it’s hope. A hope that holds space for grief, for ambiguity, for love that doesn’t fit the mold. I think I’m learning to breathe underwater.
April 12th
The senior team reviewed my sermon notes. Too much nuance, they said. Too much “gray.” They want clarity. I want truth. Sometimes truth is messy.
April 18th
Arwen sent me a draft of the Inclusive Evangelicals manifesto. It’s beautiful. A theology of depth, humility, and welcome. I feel less alone.
April 25th
I sat in the back pew during the evening service. The lights were dazzling, the message triumphant. But I watched a woman slip out quietly, unnoticed. I followed. She was crying. “I just wanted to feel God,” she said. “Not be told how to perform.”
May 1st
I’ve started a small group - unofficial, off the books. We meet in the chapel. We light candles. We read Scripture slowly. We ask questions. We don’t always find answers. But we find each other.
May 8th
I told the leadership I’m stepping down at the end of the month. They were gracious, confused. “You’re gifted,” they said. “You’re needed.” But I need to swim deeper. I need silence, sacrament, space.
May 15th
My last Sunday. I preached on the Emmaus road. How Jesus walked with them, unrecognized. How their hearts burned. I said, “Sometimes God is found not in the thunder, but in the breaking of bread.” Some nodded. Some looked away.
May 20th
I’m not sure what comes next. But I know this: I’m done with shallow waters. I’m swimming in the deep end now. And God is here - not in the noise, but in the quiet. Not in the certainty, but in the love that holds everything together.
March 3rd
The church was packed tonight. Youth band, smoke machine, a sermon about “taking territory for Jesus.” I smiled through it, but something in me recoiled. I used to love this energy. Now it feels like noise. I keep wondering: Is this really what faith sounds like?
March 10th
I met with Arwen today. She spoke of swimming in the deep end - of mystery, sacrament, silence. I felt something loosen in me. She asked, “How small is your God?” I didn’t answer. I just cried.
March 15th
Staff meeting. We’re launching a new series: “Unshakeable Truths.” Bullet points, memory verses, no room for questions. I suggested we include space for lament. The lead pastor smiled and said, “We’re not here to dwell in doubt.” I swallowed my reply.
March 22nd
I led Eucharist at the early service. No band. No slides. Just bread, wine, and silence. An older man lingered after, eyes wet. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’d forgotten what peace felt like.”
March 30th
A teenager asked me if being gay meant God couldn’t love her. I said no, of course not. She looked relieved, then scared. “That’s not what they said in youth group.” I wanted to scream. Instead, I told her about Jesus - how he touched the untouchable, welcomed the excluded. She smiled. I wept later.
April 5th
I’m reading Julian of Norwich again. All shall be well. It’s not certainty - it’s hope. A hope that holds space for grief, for ambiguity, for love that doesn’t fit the mold. I think I’m learning to breathe underwater.
April 12th
The senior team reviewed my sermon notes. Too much nuance, they said. Too much “gray.” They want clarity. I want truth. Sometimes truth is messy.
April 18th
Arwen sent me a draft of the Inclusive Evangelicals manifesto. It’s beautiful. A theology of depth, humility, and welcome. I feel less alone.
April 25th
I sat in the back pew during the evening service. The lights were dazzling, the message triumphant. But I watched a woman slip out quietly, unnoticed. I followed. She was crying. “I just wanted to feel God,” she said. “Not be told how to perform.”
May 1st
I’ve started a small group - unofficial, off the books. We meet in the chapel. We light candles. We read Scripture slowly. We ask questions. We don’t always find answers. But we find each other.
May 8th
I told the leadership I’m stepping down at the end of the month. They were gracious, confused. “You’re gifted,” they said. “You’re needed.” But I need to swim deeper. I need silence, sacrament, space.
May 15th
My last Sunday. I preached on the Emmaus road. How Jesus walked with them, unrecognized. How their hearts burned. I said, “Sometimes God is found not in the thunder, but in the breaking of bread.” Some nodded. Some looked away.
May 20th
I’m not sure what comes next. But I know this: I’m done with shallow waters. I’m swimming in the deep end now. And God is here - not in the noise, but in the quiet. Not in the certainty, but in the love that holds everything together.
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