In 2006, I was packing my car for a bittersweet move from Atlanta, Georgia to Texas. My friend Sam came to see me off. We had gotten off to a rough start because I worked for a church. That brought back some pretty tough memories for Sam. Finally, after months of ignoring each other at parties, he asked if we could be friends.

Over the next year, we would get together to down coffee, sling dumbells and pour out our hearts. We were both going through that overwhelming process of individuation that happens right after college. We found ourselves overwhelmed with the task of peeling back the layers of childhood drama, religious dogma and relational disappointment so we could decide what kind of men we were going to be.

Sam drove up to my overpacked car, shook my hand and then gave me a CD-R with the words “Come on Feel the Illinoise” written in blue ink.

“I’m done with church,” he said. “But Sufjan has become church for me.”

The next few years were awash in false starts and a constant sense of emergency. Jobs and relationships didn’t work out. Fear and loneliness became my replacements for dreams.

During that time, I listened to Sufjan Stevens’ blend of traditional Americana sounds and gut-wrenchingly honest storytelling. His raw yet winsome approach to faith could be heard in songs like Casimir Pulaski Day.

All the glory that the Lord has made
And the complications you could do without
When I kissed you on the mouth

Tuesday night at the Bible study
We lift our hands and pray over your body
But nothing ever happens

Sufjan seemed to be trying to reconcile his need for God with a church tradition that did not seem to line up with the difficulties of life. So was I. Continue Reading…