Stages of Life and Faith Development (Part 2)
Lessons at the Wall: Growing in Faith in Times of Uncertainty
By Elaine T
Elaine continues the theme of life and faith growth over a lifetime which she wrote for 2HC in her previous blog, In A Single Breath. In this portion of her blog, she focuses on the stage known as The Wall. Elaine’s journey at the Wall is unique to her, as it will be for others. Nevertheless, many describe their wall time with similar themes: a period of disorientation, uncertainty, confusion, as well as a deep and growing thirst for God.
The Wall is an unsettling, uncomfortable encounter. Those who make the choice to journey inward discover this decision is easily misunderstood by others who are in the early stages of their faith journey. There is a risk of being judged and even ostracized for “not trying harder.” To those still in the first half, this turn toward a more contemplative faith may look passive rather than mature.
Encountering the Wall, for many, will divulge a deep sense of vulnerability. Many stand at this crossroads, and look back wondering if it is safe to move into the unknown territory of the second half of this journey. The certainty that has offered security in the first half seems to waiver, or worse, dissolve at the Wall.
Many people feel they are alone or the only one taking this risk. It seems treacherous after the disciplines of the first half. For others, the beckoning invitation to take a risk and follow the deep pathway of questions is enough. They move away from self-assured faith and dive into an abyss of the unknown—hoping that if they don’t find answers they might find Presence.
According to St. John of the Cross, finding Presence is the purpose of this part of the journey. Here in our darkness of not-knowing—in shedding our confidence and maybe our ego and probably our stature… Here we make a choice to follow what can’t be seen and we wait, possibly suffering deep distress. If we persist and move through the Wall we grow into an intimacy with the Presence of God. This is a gift we could not experience while we were sure we could understand Him [6].
When Richard Rohr refers to the first half as the development of our “inner soldier” he makes a powerful statement about the importance of moving into the second half [7]. The inner soldier may have provided an inner voice that kept us on a safe path, but this will not serve us in the second half. In fact the voice of the inner soldier may prevent us from hearing “the real voice of God.” Rohr makes a case for embracing the second half as the only way to truly know God deeply, as the still small voice within.
In my journey, I started out with the absolutes of a fundamentalist, evangelical, missional faith—quite a load for a child to carry. Early on I shifted from a theology of such absolute terms, but I remained in the evangelical world of black and white thinking. Although I couldn’t see it, I needed that stability to nurture my “inner soldier.” I kept quiet about my differences even while I was in Bible College learning more about the absolutes of Christianity.
My first encounter with the Wall came through my failure to live up to my own standards as a parent. Recognizing my brokenness and anger as failure, I pushed through to find healing from the long-buried pain of losing my mom. By grieving that loss, I made space for pain to surface. Grief was a significant part of my second half journey, as it may be for many.
I also examined some theological tenets I had managed to overlook or ignore. One of those was the meaning and extent of the gift of free will. My understanding and relationship with the Bible changed as I slowed my pace. The gift of free will reshaped how I understood God’s relationship with humans.
My awareness of the presence of Christ as the “Word” became more alive. I began to recognize this presence and voice in the faces and words of my companions. I began to see these gifts in a new light—a new depth of the dignity of the human soul and spirit.
This stage of growth, encountering the Wall and growing through a season of grief and reflection, wasn’t a “destination” for me; I could not say I had arrived or “achieved it.” Hagberg and Guelich explain the stages as a cycle. We work our way around the beginning stages and then hit the Wall. If we pursue the inner journey, we enter the second half. But then we cycle back to the beginning stages and work our way through them once more, at a different level. We don’t just hit the Wall once. The cycle continues; we may find ourselves at the Wall many times in our second half of life.
As I came to understand this I gained much needed humility. Just as a tree adds new rings with each season, relying on the resilience built into the core of the tree, so we also grow in our faith through the times of uncertainty, not in spite of them. For me, the second half of life was about knowing myself more deeply—reflecting on my identity with God as a presence of grace and power, a friend along the journey. As John O’Donohue points out in his book, Anam Cara, “We cannot continue to seek outside ourselves for things we need from within” [8]. Or in the words of Joseph Campbell, “The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are” [9].
Through these lenses, it seems that the second half journey is a little less driven, and a whole lot more personal. We trade our gifts of certitude and action for a deeper exploration of essence. We discover more deeply our unique faith pathway—take emotional risks that we were not ready for in the first half. The space we make for questions eventually leads to growth in significance, intimacy and trust in God— who delights in our exploration of the nooks and crannies of our soul.
In his book, Daily Prayer, Pádraig Ó Tuama talks about making soup as a metaphor for how we live [10]. At first we make soup with a recipe, but in this second half of life, as we encounter who we really are, we make soup from our soul—tasting, adding and seasoning until the soup reflects our own personal flavour. It’s so much more than just a recipe when we live this way—making soup from and for the soul.
As I spoke with my spiritual director last week, I told her about a visit I made to my dad recently. At age 92 he played his oboe in three performances, with 3 lengthy rehearsals, all in the space of 8 days. He also played the organ in church—prelude, postlude and 7 hymns. Dad’s capacity to live well in his 90s inspires me. He gave up playing flute to start playing the oboe in his 50s and is perfecting his technique in playing and reed-making more and more with each decade.
My spiritual director, Robin, compared the risk-taking of learning a new instrument in mid-life to the second half journey. My dad had the knowledge and discipline he needed to tackle one of the hardest instruments, far too late in life to become fully professional—but it inspired him. Every time he plays, there is a risk a reed will not work well, that a note or many notes, will be missed. But he is passionate about this instrument with its beautiful, pure sound—adding so much to any ensemble.
Dad has stuck purposefully to his oboe playing…and as I have watched him, I find myself guessing that this is what keeps him so alive—bright and active in his 90s. Robin says his oboe is a metaphor for the second half. He plays for love and joy, not for making a living or keeping up with the goals and values that got him started in his youth.
Second half of life decisions are not always as obvious as this—they may be subtly hidden—they may be purely inside ourselves, in our inner journey of reflection. But they are just as much a treasure as this gift of enjoying my dad play his oboe in an orchestra performance.
And just as this creates vitality for my dad, so, I think, the essence of what keeps us alive into our later years is the space we make to linger at the Wall. As we face our darker questions, and live with uncertainty we create room for the largeness of the Divine. As the source of the universe, God is much bigger than our thoughts can contain. In the second half, we come to expect that the journey of discovery will unfold with newness for much longer than our span of years on this complex, beautiful, spinning planet we call home.
Elaine’s father at 92 years old, joyfully and purposefully playing his “second half life” musical instrument.
6 Gerald G. May, The Dark Night of the Soul: A Psychiatrist Explores the Connection Between Darkness and Spiritual Growth, HarperOne, 2005
7 Richard Rohr, Falling Upward, p. 47.
8 John O’Donohue, Anam Cara: A Book of Celtic Wisdom, Harper Collins, 2022, p 99.
9 Often erroneously attributed to Carl Jung, this comes from Joseph Campbell, Reflections on the Art of Living: A Joseph Campbell Companion, ed. Diane Osborn, Harper Collins, 1991, p 9.
10 Pádraig Ó Tuama, Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community, Canterbury Press, 2017, p. Xxiii.
