Staying awake

Rev. Tamara Lebak leans into faith

Where: 918 Coffee

An ordained Unitarian Universalist Minister, Tamara Lebak formerly served at All Souls Unitarian Church. She currently works as a speaker and consultant.

The Tulsa Voice: Were you religious as a kid?

Tamara Lebak: Yes. But I have sort of a “three strikes” story, and I knew early on that it was the church that was getting it wrong, not God.

The first strike was that I used to go to Shiloh Baptist Church in Oklahoma City with my African-American choir friends. And I was very moved, regularly; the singing and the music were very important to me.

One day, I go to give myself to Jesus in front of the sanctuary. I get whisked away into a private room with a male deacon—this would never happen today—and I said that I was ready to join the church. I was 10, maybe 11. And he said, “Oh no, honey,” and he asked me if my parents were there with me, which they weren’t, and then he told me, “There are plenty of other churches for you to join.” I was probably one of three white people at the church. So, it was partly about the fact that I was young and my parents weren’t there, but it was also about the fact that I was white.

In middle school, I dated someone who went to another Baptist church on the far northwest side of town. I went through their coming-of-age classes there, asked way too many questions and got into a lot of trouble. On the day you finish those classes, you get baptized at the front of the church. And immersion is a beautiful experience; it doesn’t matter who you are or what your religion, being immersed in water and having to surrender to someone else to dunk you and lift you is a very powerful thing.

So afterwards, I’m dancing down the hallway because I’m ecstatic. My youth pastor is walking toward me, and he grabs me by the arm and says, “We don’t dance in the house of God.” I never went back.

Finally, I’m 13 or 14. In the ‘80s, youth groups were all about ski trips. This was a Methodist church, and I wanted to go on a ski trip. This was also a time where there was a lot of circle worship, and I felt it was about things that mattered, and I was very inspired. So I start attending regularly.

And I had a Jewish friend, and it just didn’t make sense to me that based on what they were telling me at church, that friend was going to hell. I had a conversation with the pastor, and he was like, “Yeah, no, your friend needs to find Jesus.”

So one Sunday morning, we’re saying the Apostle’s Creed—I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker of Heaven and Earth. I started thinking, “Why would God want me to lie if I don’t believe that?” Subsequently, I left that church as well.

So, three strikes. I was disappointed in the church, but I wasn’t disappointed in God at that point. I hadn’t lost God.

TTV: Then what?

TL: Then a teacher introduced me to French existentialism, and I became a cigarette holder atheist/existentialist, and it launched me into a philosophy degree. My home life was really a wreck at that point. I had been sexually abused, and I had been abused in a lot of ways. I needed the clarity of academia, where they say, “Here are the rules, and if you follow the rules—”

I needed that structure. But I was an exchange student in Belgium, dating a boy—this is before I had come out. We go to Paris together. I had never seen Notre Dame, and we walk in, and everything kind of brings your eye up to the ceiling so you feel really small. And every one of your senses is just lit up. I’m looking around the room, and I read enough French to know that Saints are buried in the floor. And I remember thinking, “Who the hell are we to decide who is a sinner and who is a Saint?” And I fainted.

In that time of being out for maybe a minute, I felt like God came down and grabbed my soul and took me on this crazy journey where I went to see the origin of the universe. And then I was whisked through every terrible thing that has been done in the name of God—every war, every tragedy, every sacrifice, every murder—all the way up to present time. And what I was left with was how disappointed God is, and how misused and mistreated the concept of God has been. I was an atheist at the time, but I woke up with this clarity that I didn’t have to be angry with God anymore.

Because of that, I have the capacity to talk to people who don’t believe in God at all—to speak in agnosticism, in atheism, in scientific and philosophical language. That, to me, is bringing people to God in alignment with their own values.

A lot of people are like the walking dead—maybe that’s why the zombie themed stuff is so hot right now; people are not awake.

TTV: That reminds me of my interview with Tom Tobias, who said something to the effect of, “Instead of waking up, people are just trying to cultivate a better dream.”

TL: That’s beautiful. There is responsibility and accountability involved with claiming that you are a spiritually inspired human being. It’s just easier to be asleep.

One of my favorite stories in the Bible is when Jesus goes off to pray right before he’s crucified. This centers around Peter especially, who is the representation of the church. He plants them all down and he says to them, “Stay awake.” That’s all he asks is just for them to stay awake while he is in the middle of this trying time. He comes back, and they’re all sleeping.

I believe that everyone’s already forgiven. I’ve prayed with priests and murderers; we’re all forgiven. Everything else is just staying awake.

TTV: You touched on something earlier that has been pivotal in my life, and that is redefining surrender, or rather stripping that word of its negative and weak connotation. Surrender is the ultimate strength.

TL: For me, that’s Jesus. That’s trust, and that’s faith. There is a correlation to our grief and how much we loved. If you don’t feel grief, it’s because you didn’t open your heart up. I wanna love with my whole heart, and I have at times taken large pieces of my heart and buried it. But I can’t do that anymore.

The other day, I was at a memorial service. You can’t take communion in the Catholic service unless you are a member of the Catholic Church. You can join the line of those taking communion, and you can receive a blessing, but you just can’t take the communion. I felt strange just sitting there, so I got in line for a blessing. The way you let the priest know that you are not taking communion is that you literally cross your arms in front of you. You make an “X” shape across your heart. And the symbolism of that just knocked me out.

I’m angry that there are people in control of these religious movements that want to tell me which parts of Jesus I can and cannot have access to. And my anger is making me lean more into my Christianity.

My hope is to find my way to a position that lets me say, “Hey, I am a part of this, and you have to include me. Figure that out. Figure out how to deal with a bisexual, divorcing, Unitarian Universalist, Christian—and I’m not going anywhere.”

TTV: Why’s it so hard for humans to figure out, in your words, how to serve God?

TL: If I show you what I love, I am being super vulnerable. In order for you to get to a place where you can be vulnerable, you have to believe that you have value, and we are so shamed in this culture. For me, it is about surrendering to something larger than yourself. I have to be a part of a larger whole; I can’t be all of it. When you understand that you are a body part of God, then you don’t have to bear that shame.

If you’re grounded in what you love, and you are willing to risk being vulnerable, it’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. Even if you fail. I wish you failure. Because if you’re not failing, you’re not risking enough. 

For more Day Drinking with Beau Adams, check out his interviews with attorney Dan Smolen or filmmaker Matt Leach