My husband gave me a cast iron pan for Christmas.  It's back-to-the-future at our home as this past winter we established our little urban farm.  We are trying to do as much as we can on our homestead which includes seven vegetable beds, six chickens, and making as much from scratch as we can (including body scrub and chicken stock).  As spring manifests itself I finally mustered up the courage to experiment with the new skillet. I figured that I can try to join the ranks of thousands of years of fabulous cooks.

We seasoned it (a process I will not detail here). We made bacon in it.  We roasted a chicken with maple syrup and balsamic vinegar. It was great.  However, I began to notice as we cleaned it that the seasoning (a coating) was coming off.  I frantically ran to my anxiety engine (I mean Google) and typed in various versions of "cast iron skillet coating coming off."  As I read through various sites' responses, I was caught off guard by the secret society I had unknowingly entered into.

(said skillet)

Everyone had opinions and ways of "doing" this cast iron thing. People said season it again, but then others said don't season it at all. Some wrote to cook bacon in it many, many times, others bread... Use a metal spatula, others said wood. Use soap, don't use soap.  I was in another world that was making my head spin.

I had a similar feeling two weeks ago when my column on Conversantlife.com lit up.  There were many dialogues, criticisms, outcries and judgments written after I wrote "The Issue of Caring for our Neighbor." Luckily, I was at my tri-annual spiritual direction program retreat surrounded by a team of spiritual directors.  So I had some time to process what all went down.

One of my spiritual directors said that the interesting part about the blog is that I never say there aren't any rules or standards. I never said moral relativism is a great thing.  In my own naivete' I thought we could have a starting point or rallying point around love. God's love no less, built on the foundation that God is love; to love our neighbors as ourselves; or even faith, hope and love, the greatest being love of course.

Jesus knew love, so did the fumbling disciples. Paul knew love and wrote the epistles to the churches he has relationships with in love and care.  He didn't just write to people he didn't know or have  context with.  When we read the Bible, we must understand that.

As I look at my cast iron pan, I have a choice, I can give it away and be done with it and go back to what I know which is that non-stick coatings are super easy. Or I can try to figure this thing out over time and lots and lots of tries. I can Google and read books, heck I could even go to school and get a degree in cooking, but the best way of learning to make it a part of my life, not just know it in my head, but understand the issues surrounding it is by getting to know my pan.  I talk (face to face) with cooks I know and trust.  "It takes time," they say. "Keep at it." But I'm frustrated and I want it to make sense right now.  I don't want to worry about rust spots and seasoning layers... I keep glancing at my pots hanging above my stove calling out to me.

(said pots)

But that's just it -- in this day and age we are forgetting to travel deep into the mystery of the love of Christ.  The fact that Jesus lives for all of us and his strength came in weakness not in war.  We are forgetting how to journey with each other and help one another, instead choosing to read a lot about that concept.  We need to journey with the marginalized, with humanity and humility.  I was reminded in church a couple weeks ago that the Bible was written for those in the margins.  It was and continues to be an instrument of hope, not bullying.  When we are the ones looking down on people and using the book to wage war, we have forgotten the message of the gospel truth.

As I continued to debrief with my spiritual director I realized that some of my writing is ambiguous on purpose. In doubting or dancing in the mystery, I find myself constantly at the feet and mercy of Jesus.  Certainty would limit my reliance on God, so I stay with Jesus in love.

David Benner writes, "A spiritual journey that seeks to eliminate all that is mysterious will never take us far enough from our comfort zone for genuine transformation." And that is why I am drawn and vocationally called to be a spiritual director.  There are enough people out there playing it safe from afar that "know" all of the answers.  I used to be one of them. As a perfectionist my life revolved around knowing a lot in my head -- or pretending to. When the "rules" that dictated my life suffocated me and drove me to destruction, my only way of recovery was to find grace. And grace abounds.

I found that I am deeply loved no matter what I do and that love is a driving force. Many people who shout louder or who are abusers do not know grace and love in their own hearts so they project their dark places onto others. That was me. Now that I know the dark night of my soul and that Jesus still cares -- I can't help but journey with the Spirit day in and day out from that place, not a place of judgment because I can't see a person's soul.

So I sit in the mystery offering more questions and "I don't knows" than answers. There needs to be space for that. There is a need for leaders who will take time to season and build layers of flavor, not just one dish.  They need to realize they will mess up and be willing to admit they are not perfect.

If I threw out my cast iron skillet, I would not know the joy of making the ultimate scone last week or the ideal bacon. Sure, I'm going to ruin something sometime, but that's not worth throwing the pan, throwing the book, or throwing a person out.

Peace and reconciliation do not come from shouting louder.  The perfect seasoning on cast iron won't come from sitting in front of my computer all day. Only through love, patience, trials, journeying, doubting, and lots of time will the proof come. And I will position myself as a learner, not a knower, to make that pudding.