Rachel Held Evans died on Saturday, May 4th. She was only 37 years old.
If you didn’t know of Rachel, she was one of the good ones. She was a progressive Christian author, writer and speaker who challenged the evangelical culture so vocally that the Washington Post once called her, the most polarizing woman in evangelicalism.” She left evangelicalism herself in 2014, and started attending an Episcopalian church.
I share that little bit of history for some background, but that’s not what I’m thinking about right now.
Rachel was honest about her own walk with God. About her struggles, about her doubts, and about her revelations. For someone I never knew personally, she was about as real as you could get. She wrote beautifully, with grace and with humor. She wrote like she was your girl friend, sitting next to you sipping tea, and not some untouchable leader from behind an ivory pulpit.
She provided a much needed bridge for people like myself… people, particularly women, who’ve left evangelical Christianity, and didn’t know what to do next. She asked the hard questions, she challenged the big topics, and her courage? My word, if she was ever afraid she certainly didn’t let it stop her. She just kept on going.
She gracefully took on conservatives. She wrote about racism, abortion, evolution, women’s roles, LGBTQ rights, Donald Trump. She shied away from nothing. She had a heart for truth, and love, and justice, and she wasn’t afraid to use it.
I didn’t know Rachel Held Evans, but I admired the hell out of her. She had that rare gift to be able to speak with truth and passion and authority…. and still be so kind, and humble, and lovable. She was adored by everyone from evangelicals to atheists alike.
And sure, she had her few detractors, like anyone in the public eye, but she didn’t let it stop her. She kept going. She just kept on going, right up until her death.
I’ve been hiding lately. Someone I have to see in 3D life told me I wrote as though I thought I was better than everyone else. For some reason, that comment hurt me more than just about any other unkind comment I’ve ever received (and there’s a large pool from which to choose from). I retreated into my introvert-writer-turtle-shell, and vowed to stay there.
But Rachel wouldn’t have let it stop her. She would have had a response that was likely both witty and gracious at the same time, and she would have moved on.
I don’t know what I’m doing with my writing. Hell, 99.7% of the time, I don’t know what I’m doing with my life in general.
But I know this.
Life is precious. Life is fleeting. Life is too damn short to be afraid to speak your truth. Rachel spoke her truth. Over and over and over again.
So until I’m ready to write for myself again, I’ll write in her honor. It just feels like the right thing to do.
Thank you Jen. I feel the same about Rachel, and I am always grateful for your words on this blog. I hope my sadness at her passing gives way to courage, drawn from her example.
I hadn’t heard of Rachel before this post but it sounds like you admired her the way I admire you. Your writing has been important in my life for the last decade or so. Thank you!
Please, don’t stop writing because of one voice. You are giving them too much power. Take it back.
Writers like us know we’re not perfect, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have truths to share. Sometimes it is that very struggle that someone “out there” needs to hear.
You write from your heart, from your experience. NO ONE has the right to discount that. From my experience, someone who attacks you the way that person did is defensive; something you said hit too close to home and they don’t want to acknowledge that.
So give them space — but not power. They don’t have to read you. But you need to write. The bruises and warts make the flowers and stars that much brighter, more colorful, more precious.
Feel free to email me and share some commiseration over a cup of virtual tea if you want. But please, take up your pen and write — of pain, victory and the simple joy of creating to reflect the Creator.
I have been up all night, every night, with a toddler who has decided that she is now a Child of the Moon, and that being awake during the day will no longer work for her.
I am tired. Bedraggled. And surfing the web in the wee hours of the morning to keep myself awake. I have probably read every article on your blog out of relief. At the very least your writing has been a precious light to a weary mama in Iowa. Please don’t stop. I need new material to read at 2am! 🙂
Welcome back.