Skipping Sundays

In my submitted photo series, Skipping Sundays, I explore my Methodist upbringing in a rural North Carolina town and the way a steadfast belief has always remained just out of reach.

“How many of you have been saved?” the preacher shouted at a church event. The congregation promptly raised their hands. Not wanting to be the sole individual with my hand down, I slowly raised mine to join theirs. Why had this magical experience not happened to me? I desired to comprehend why faith held a deeper meaning for them beyond attending Sunday services, for that was the extent of its significance for me.

As a young adult, I ventured out on my own, skipping Sundays, yet the questions persisted. One evening, I found myself in the living room of one of my spiritual friends. “How do you believe?”, I asked. She responded with unwavering confidence, “You simply must pray for it. You just gotta have faith. That’s all.” Following her advice, I prayed earnestly, hoping for a transformative experience. However, nothing seemed to change. Over time, these inquiries faded into the background, but they never completely disappeared. They would resurface during significant life events, such as the birth of a child or the loss of a parent. Despite my efforts, I still felt as though I was merely going through the motions, lacking this profound connection that others seemed to possess.

Often, doubters choose to keep their thoughts hidden. This decision can lead to a profound sense of isolation, especially when surrounded by individuals steadfast in their beliefs. These images delve into the memories of those bygone Sundays and my lifelong pursuit of finding answers. How is it that some can wholeheartedly embrace traditional faith while the rest of us are left questioning?