One afternoon, while in a photography museum gift shop, I noticed the title of a book so juicy I couldn’t not pick it up. Read This if You Want to Be Instagram Famous, the bold letters promised, perfectly aligned across the cover of the of-course-it’s-square book. Flicking through the glossy pages of pristine people and fabulous food, I skimmed sections covering topics such as choosing the right hashtags, using filters, and everything you’d ever want to know about taking the best selfie (I may or may not have lingered on this section). The final sentence of the introduction promised, “No matter what direction you want to take your feed in, this priceless advice means you can build a following fast, create something to be really proud of and, of course, give up your day job, travel the world and get shit for free.”[1]
The book you hold in your hands offers no such promises—unless you believe reduced anxiety, more freedom, and deeper love amount to getting shit for free, because I will offer that. Bookstores overflow with how-tos, but this book is not a guide for how to become a progressive Christian. There does not exist one single way to be a progressive Christian; therefore the following pages won’t tell you what you need to do (or worse, what you need to believe) in order to become one.
When I first came up with the idea for this book, and before I had a title worked out, I told people, “It’s kind of like a survival guide for becoming a progressive Christian.” I balked at outright calling it as such largely because I feared people conflating “survival guide” with “how to.” But I noticed people’s eyes light up at the term “survival guide,” because the movement away from conservative Christianity is no joke. It’s hard out there. The path toward progressive Christianity is loaded with obstacles, and surviving is often about the best we can hope for. Yes, I also hope to empower readers to thrive in their new spiritual lives, but I want to be clear from the get-go: this is not a how-to book.
Eventually, I landed on titling this book The Shift. This is my attempt to name the process of a person shifting from their conservative Christian communities toward an expression of spirituality that might still connect with some aspects of the Christian tradition but resides within a more progressively minded worldview. In other words, when you move from conservative to progressive Christianity, that’s the Shift.
Terms such as “progressive” and “Christian” are difficult to define—they carry about as many meanings as there are people who use these terms. I trust that you will use, edit, or ditch these labels depending on their utility and value for you.
But so you know where I’m coming from, when I say “progressive,” I am referring to someone who affirms and celebrates a diversity of sexual identities and orientations; holds egalitarian views regarding men and women; sees the existence of—and the need to dismantle—white supremacy; and accepts scientific inquiry as a companion, not a competitor, toward spiritual enlightenment. Progressivism certainly includes more than that, but for me it is at least that.
And when I say “Christian,” I do so in the broadest sense. My bars for what might render a person Christian are fairly low. For me, the term represents the person who (1) has decided that in Jesus—through his life and his teachings—there exists a trustworthy path for living life to the fullest and they are trying to live in that way, and (2) makes effort to identify with at least some aspects of the religious tradition and heritage that emerged in his name.
Ideally, this book will function like a survival guide. A survival guide is written by someone who has traversed treacherous territory, fallen down its pitfalls, survived its hardships, and then turned around to shout across the ravine, “Yeah, it’s no joke out here! But if you’d like, here’s what I learned. Perhaps it can make your excursion along similar territory slightly less cumbersome.”
In 2014, my wife and I started a progressive Christian church in San Diego called Sojourn Grace Collective. Since then, we’ve spent untold hours ministering to hundreds of people who have undergone the Shift. Each of their stories carries similar themes of pain, loss, confusion, and loneliness. This book emerges out of both my own experience with the Shift and as a result of shepherding many along the way. The following pages represent my attempts to guide people through the very unique experience of leaving conservative Christianity and attempting to make their way toward some version of faith within a more progressive context. Such a journey tends to leave people lonely, frustrated, confused, and angry (in addition, of course, to the uplifting moments of feeling freer, lighter, and more hopeful than ever). I hope this book normalizes that experience for you, while at the same time offers the occasional helping hand or useful insight as you navigate the obstacles ahead.
Not to brag, but I’m pretty good at sleeping. Normally, it welcomes me like a freshly hired Walmart greeter. But one evening, just before finishing this book, it treated me more like the Costco exit guard who scans your receipt, glances with unprovoked judgment toward your cart, and won’t let you go until you acquire the Sharpie swipe of victory. Frustrated, I stared into the darkness, scanning the receipt of my brain for what held me back from passing to the void. I tossed and turned on my Casper mattress. I fluffed and re-fluffed my Tuft & Needle pillow. Maybe my issue is that I fall prey to too many Facebook ads? Nah, that’s ridiculous, I thought as I unclasped my MVMT watch.
Finally, after about thirty restless minutes, it hit me: I was anxious about this book. Not in terms of finishing it or meeting deadlines, but the thought of its content becoming public started to make me panic. That’s interesting, I mused. This is all stuff you’ve been preaching at your church for the past six years. Plus, in UnClobber[2]you took on one of the most volatile topics in Christianity: homosexuality and the Bible. You’re not unaccustomed to entering potentially treacherous territory or questioning dearly held beliefs, so why the anxiety now? The more I sat with this observation, the clearer it came into focus. It’s one thing to preach a sermon to 150 people who know and trust me, and who can engage in immediate feedback and dialogue if needed. But putting the same thoughts on paper for strangers to read, with no potential for dialogue? That’s different.
The ideas in this book represent almost an entire 180-degree shift from the belief system I grew up with and practiced for most of my life. The Colby from a dozen years ago wouldn’t put his name to even 5 percent of the following observations and insights. Anxiety denied me sleep that night because I knew that once this book releases, there would be no putting the toothpaste back in the tube.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of the work I’ve done and the journey I’ve traveled. But there’s still a vulnerability involved in so publicly recanting on what I used to think, while daring to suggest that I also might have some insight on how to survive (and thrive!) becoming a progressive Christian. Plus, I’m assuming the Colby a dozen years from now will likely cringe at parts of this book—because faith (as I’ll suggest) implies a dynamic evolving, not a static arriving.
I share this with you simply so that you know that I know this stuff is vulnerable. Trying to sort through the tangled mess of our spiritual heritages, religious identities, and evolving beliefs can get messy. That’s why I sense a survival guide like this might be of some use.
I looped one album as my soundtrack throughout the process of writing this book. The origin story for this album goes something like this: Legendary jazz pianist Keith Jarrett, on the evening of January 24, 1975, showed up at the Cologne Opera after an exhausting five-hour drive through Germany’s hillsides to perform for a sold-out crowd. Exhausted and suffering from an ailing back, Jarrett arrived only to discover that his request for a Bösendorfer 290 Imperial concert grand piano had gone unfulfilled, leaving him with nothing but an out-of-tune, rehearsal-grade baby grand whose sustain pedal didn’t work. Flustered by the conditions, the American perfectionist announced his intention to cancel the evening’s concert and fly home. However, Vera Brandes, the seventeen-year-old German student who organized the entire event, successfully pleaded with Jarrett to stay and play for the more than 1,300 anxious and avid jazz fans.
What transpired that night was nothing short of magic. In a back brace and with an instrument whose lowest and highest keys were unusable, Jarrett improvised his brains out for more than an hour, captivating the breathless audience. If you listen close to the recording, you can actually hear Jarrett moaning at times, while the piano responds with its own groans as he beats every last note out of it. ECM Records recorded the performance and released it later that year as The Köln Concert. To date, Jarrett’s solo masterpiece has sold more than four million copies, making it the bestselling piano album of all time.
I chose this album as the soundtrack for this book because, to me, Jarrett represents the way many of us feel on this journey toward becoming a progressive Christian: tired, alone, frustrated, and a little beat up. The piano feels a bit like Christianity, that clunky, out-of-tune, partially busted tool we have to work with. It’s not perfect, yet we’re still drawn to it for reasons we can’t always name. The improvised record (which I highly recommend, if that’s not obvious) points to the surprising magic that broken people might still make with even the most improbable instruments and in the most unlikely contexts—an apt description of many progressive Christian churches I know. And I’m kind of like Vera Brandes, the one insisting you don’t give up. The one in the wings cheering you on, believing in you even when you want to quit and walk away.
I don’t think we’ll sell four million of these things, but I do think that together, you and I can make a lasting impact for good.
So, to begin, I need to rewind the clock fifteen years to another night when sleep decided I did not merit its company.