When We Were on Fire: A Memoir of Consuming Faith, Tangled Love, and Starting Over Paperback – October 15, 2013

Last week, I sat on a plane and wept (Think ugly cry) as I finished Addie Zierman's When We Were on Fire . I'm sure my poor seat mate thought I was crazy but it couldn't be helped. Addie's words moved me deeply.Having followed her blog for quite some time, When We Were on Fire was the Christian book I most anticipated this year. It did not disappoint.When We Were on Fire traces Addie's journey through evangelicalism, first as a church kid, then as an on fire youth group kid, and finally into college, when everything faith-related began to fall apart. It also explores the rebuilding phase – the process through which Addie reformed her faith as an adult.I loved this book. Quite simply, the writing in it is stunning, simultaneously relatable as well as profound. I laughed one moment and cried the next.As strange as it is to say, I also loved this book structurally. Each chapter begins with Addie's definition of an evangelical cliché like Invite Jesus into one's heart or Saving oneself for marriage. Addie then uses her strong voice and narrative to explore the manifestation of that cliché in her life as well as how that manifestation impacted her faith journey. No doubt, this is where Addie's memoir is strongest. It's a rare thing for someone to be able to analyze their own culture with such profundity, accurately assessing both it's strengths and weaknesses.I especially appreciated this as a youth worker. Through this lens, I saw not just images of my own faith journey within Addie's book but also reflections of so many of the youth with whom I have worked. Though I fear some may take Addie's words as an indictment against youth ministry and the church, I saw in them hope that we can learn from our mistakes and impart in our students a stronger, more consequential faith.In Addie's words, I also found hope that even if we church workers do everything wrong, Jesus is stronger; Faith is stronger; And so, too, is the pull of church community. As such, though the process may be painful and wrought with difficulties, it is always possible to rebuild one's faith into something that gives meaning to all aspects of life.That, too, is something I appreciated about Addie's memoir. In it, she doesn't just explore the disillusionment of her faith but also it's rebuilding. Take, for example, her exploration of the three-minute testimony which, early on, she defines as a “short, polished account of one's conversion to Christianity. It covers only the highlights of one's faith story so that it can be memorized quickly, delivered simply, and pulled out at a moment's notice.” Like so many others in the evangelical world, Addie learned a formula for giving this kind of testimony: Life before Christ, how you came to know Christ, followed by life after you received Christ (particularly highlighting the changes He made and what He means to you now.)Near the end of her book, however, Addie confesses that just as it did for so many others, this formula for testimony fell short in her life. Her faith journey could not actually be summed up in three minutes because it was not neat and tidy. Among other things, she concludes, “Your life after Christ is not static or an end result. You are not suspended in grace above the fray of life. You are looking at God through a kaleidoscope. Your life moves, and the beads shift, and something new emerges. You are redefining, figuring it out all over again.”And this is perhaps my biggest takeaway from Addie's book: As youth workers, one of the greatest gifts we can give our youth is the knowledge that their faith will not stay the same.Certainly, I hope the faith we are helping teens form now will continue to be the foundation for their future faith. Nevertheless, I pray my teens – I pray our teens – will know it is OK and even good for their faith to change as they grow in wisdom, understanding, and experiences. I pray we will equip our teens to continue pursuing Christ in all facets of their lives, knowing that “life after Christ is not static or an end result” but a life “in motion, in transit, in flux” throughout which they are always, ever “beloved”.

This was an honest but tough read. Firstly, there were portions that literally mimicked my exact experience. This was, of course, creepy. But it is not surprising once you delve into an evangelical church culture which, despite excellent and loving intent, does have certain cultish approaches and behaviors. Secondly, it captures much of the emotional turmoil and confusion found amidst that unwavering young fire and faith that so many of us felt but were never allowed to reference.The book is well written as it begins, really fleshing out the struggles the young woman faces, painting them in a way that she knows are present, even at the time, although she can not pinpoint exactly what the disturbance is. It does lose steam however, once the descent into depression really continues. Like the experience with Kim, it is angst driven by angst, and then the angst suddenly disperses with the arrival of her first son. And although this is a memoir, I feel a little lost, or as though the author played it safe, as her forays into depravity were so safe. The cheek kiss. The long walks. The chaste arrival at marriage. There is no mention of the marital struggle to adapt outside of her experience as it pertains to her faith struggle, and this is probably not realistic. Although maybe it was her reality.I would probably give it a 4 1/2 star rating if that option was there, because I liked the voice, the history, and the honesty. I would have liked to see Rachel's role fleshed out more. I would liked to have seen her understanding develop deeper, instead of just the anger. Why? Because I have my own. And I understand it now, and surely there are others in the same place who would like to read the same, and feel normal.

Although l was a product of the 70s, l got caught up in the Jesus Movement during my high school years. Through the influence of Campus Life, l not only became a "believer" in Christ, l also carried my "The Way" bible from class to class, showing solidarity with my set-apart-from-the-world Christian peers. Growing up in a mainline denomination, this was radical stuff!It wasn't until l married and had two young children that we began the search for a smaller, more conservative church experience. At that time, l found myself becoming more disillusioned with this church l grew up in, the church where my husband and l first met through the college singles group--it didn't even cross my mind that a "true believer" wouldn't be caught dead at ChiChi's on a Friday afternoon, gleefully sipping Happy Hour margaritas--and the church where we were married 30 years ago.We gave eighteen years of our lives to the fellowship and teachings of the Evangelical church, where we began attending in 1990. Wherever l saw a need (or became aware of my own unfulfilled ones), l started a new ministry--moms of preschoolers, teaching third grade Sunday School, heading up the women's Bible-study ministry, taking meals to new moms or those who had been hospitalized. Whatever the need, l would try to fill it. Except.....that of teaching men and ushering on Sunday mornings. These were rules l had difficulty understanding. Where in the Bible does it say that women are not to usher?? My husband led a couples' Bible study group while l sat submissively next to him, longing to express myself and my God-given leadership skills.In 2006, l was diagnosed with a brain tumor and was quickly whisked into surgery. The women at church were in awe that God had answered their prayers-- the brain tumor was benign and l recovered fully, with none of the surgeon's dire pronouncements of disability or death following surgery coming true. Get-well cards filled our mailbox each day, meals were brought to our home, and several came by to get me out of the house once l was able to do so. I had never felt so loved by my church family.A year later, a different story unfolded. Following a particularly difficult year--selling our home of 18 years, building a new one, moving twice (spending three months in a rental until our new home was finished), and our daughter's fiancé breaking the engagement just six weeks before their Hawaii wedding--I found myself sliding into the depths of major depression.Like Addie, l didn't understand this Strange Beast until my husband and l met with a psychiatrist. On his advice, l started on an antidepressant medication, waiting several long, agonizing weeks before l noticed any improvement. I could not get off the couch, with no energy or motivation to do so, nor did l want to see anyone. Desire to care for our home, plan meals, or shop for groceries was non-existent. My husband was confused and felt abandoned.I did not feel the presence of God, like a wall had come between us. Not only that, but my church family abandoned me as well. I came to the conclusion that when there is a physical cause for one's pain, there's no debate or stigma involved in pursuing treatment. One's spiritual condition is a non-issue. That person is considered "worthy" in the eyes of the Church to receive outpourings of love and prayer. A psychological diagnosis on the other hand--usually identified as a disorder of the brain chemicals responsible for one's mood, motivation and energy level--is met with disapproval within the Church community. One's faith is scrutinized; it is assumed that the sufferer must have unconfessed sin, is not praying or being faithful enough.The result? Disregard by one's church family. Duwere no cards, calls, meals or offers of prayer during my depression. My husband continued to lead our couples' Bible study in my absence, though all l received from them was a restaurant gift card and admonishments to "buck up" and get back into the flow of church.