Hit me with your best shot (or question)

For reasons still unclear to me, I signed up for something called Boxfit last month. I had been searching for a new exercise routine when Boxfit sent a promotion for free classes for all families at my kid’s elementary school. I took it as a sign, even though the extent of my exercise regimen over the last five years has been meandering outdoor walks and an occasional Zumba class. 

I immediately recognized upon arriving at my first class that I was way out of my league. The class was a combination of boxing drills and weightlifting—two things I know nothing about. Beth, another attendee, extended incredible kindness and patience, helping me navigate the series of punches we were expected to practice. The instructor had to teach me almost every weightlifting exercise. The only one he didn’t walk me through was the kettlebell swing near the end of class because my ego had taken such a bruising that when he asked, “You’ve done a kettlebell swing before, right?” I simply lied. I shocked myself by answering, “Yes,” but truthfully, I was so stunned he assumed I had ever met a kettlebell that I couldn’t bring myself to correct him. 

I left the class overwhelmed and defeated. I seriously considered never stepping foot in the building again, even though I had four remaining free classes from the promo. Forget wanting to be strong. Forget that the class times work really well with my frenzied schedule. Forget how much I actually enjoyed throwing a punch. 

I didn’t want to go back. 

Then I took a good, hard look at why I didn’t want to return: the class pushed me far outside my comfort zone. I hated looking and feeling foolish. I didn’t want to attend another class requiring me to call the instructor over every few minutes for clarification. Worse, we paired up with other people, so I wasn’t only inconveniencing the instructor (who is at least supposed to tend to me), but other class participants as well. I was horrified at the thought of returning. 

I took a breath and slowly came to a dreadful realization. If I was afraid to try something new, to risk looking foolish in order to learn and grow, then I had to go back on principle. Where would I be in my evolution as a human if I simply didn’t permit any experiences to take me outside my comfort zone? Am I done learning at 45 years old? Will I never again try anything new? 

My comfort zone includes the Episcopal Church on Sunday mornings, a place where we hope and pray people will consider walking in the door and trying something new. Week in and week out, I stand before the congregation and tend to people. But the people who walk through the door are the brave ones. Sure, some folks who come have been doing so for a while. For them, finding their pew, saying the prayers, and extending their hands to receive communion are all parts of their routine; the ritual feels like home. But so many people walk through the door with the same fear and trepidation that I feel at every Boxfit class. 

What if I do it wrong? 

What if I look foolish? 

What if no one is kind to me? 

What if I inconvenience others? 

We recently launched a new formation program at my church that includes monthly “ask a priest” videos. Members of the congregation submit questions, and then one of the clergy records a video response that goes out in a monthly email. The children in our congregation have eagerly embraced this opportunity, shoving questions into the box I created and feeling zero embarrassment for not knowing the answers. Sometimes, children even approach me for an answer before they have even dropped their questions into the box. 

Is God and boy or a girl? 

How did the church get together?

Why do we think good people go to heaven and bad people go to hell?

Interestingly enough, once the video goes out with the answer, I don’t hear from the kids. I hear from the adults. They tell me they loved the video. They tell me they learned something new. They can’t wait for the next one. I have yet to see an adult drop a slip of paper in the “ask a priest” box, but I know they have questions. 

We all have questions. It’s just that so often, once we reach adulthood, we are afraid to ask. Even though we all have things we long to learn and experience, we curate our lives so we get to be the experts on everything we do, easily avoiding moments when we look or feel foolish. 

The danger in staying rooted within our comfort zone is that we never grow. We miss opportunities to deepen our faith. But we can look to our children, who offer incredible examples of asking questions with openness and curiosity and without shame.

This month I’m especially grateful for anyone who has ever dared to walk into a church and try something new. I think of brave new churchgoers when I wrap my hands and prepare to slide them into my new boxing gloves. I hope that they will be brave enough to keep coming. I pray that all of us will risk looking foolish and ask the questions they have about God. I long for us to keep learning—and growing—together.