Writer Kiri Jane Erb recounts her move from the UK to rural Canada, her experience of pastoral life, and the lingering impact of her father’s death. Through it all, she explores how wrestling with grief, calling and study led her to a deeper confidence in a theology that speaks honestly into suffering and hope.
In 2010, not long after my father passed away, I transposed my life to become a Brit fully submerged in North American “trad-mum” life. Based in rural Saskatchewan, Canada, I made my own kombucha, home-schooled, and embraced being “the pastor’s wife.”
I found prairie values and way of life fascinating; anthropology was always a favourite subject in my undergrad. At times it felt like stepping back in time. It had a wholesome air about it; a good contrast to the biting -50 degrees Celsius that came in the winter seasons when we’d boast being colder than the north pole.
You can change the outside, but you can’t escape the inside. At times I wondered if the stress of such an academic, competitive UK schooling system had wound me so tightly that I couldn’t fully embrace the simplicity of this beautiful life. Additionally, despite my father battling cancer for a couple of years before his passing, I found that the shock of the reality of death followed me, leaving me with an interminable existential itch.
The perennial question of women in ministry also came up
The perennial question of women in ministry also came up. Lots. While my husband and I pastored together, this was not the cultural norm. After wrestling deeply, I came to the conclusion that a good God who made me with a searching heart and mind, and in such a way that speaking and sharing of his goodness elicited joy, wouldn’t do so to torture me. I came to peace with the call, as part of the royal priesthood, to minister to the body in each and every place that he put me: official, visible “leadership,” and through the often more significant invisible type.
READ MORE: Grief can lead to growth
After COVID, my husband took a pastoral position in a new church body. We moved our family and gap-year ministry - Soul Edge - to British Columbia on the West Coast of Canada. This program challenges participants mentally, physically and spiritually; a holistic approach to lived discipleship that has borne much fruit over the last two decades.
My role in Soul Edge has always involved a strong teaching component and I felt drawn to more study. However, my father died young. He never got to retire and worked so hard for us to make it. If I’m honest, the reality of that still haunts me and affects my decision making. Wasn’t I too old? What if the same happens to me? Shouldn’t I just invest in my kids instead? I remember sobbing as I shared one day with a friend, a very gifted theologian, that I thought I had missed my chance to really do what I love. I can’t thank him enough for encouraging me that I could and should still do it. Nothing short of a series of miracles followed this, allowing me to begin my MA in Systematic and Philosophical Theology in my mid 30s.
READ MORE: ‘How grief reshaped my relationship with God.’
Grief and trauma have profoundly shaped my study and work.
Grief and trauma have profoundly shaped my study and work. If theology doesn’t speak to these, then what good is it for? Thankfully, it does. Scripture starts right into the problem; the created world, ripped at the seams. We are left with a world saturated with beauty, the delicate work of the fingertips of the creator on display, alongside heart wrenching pain and lack. I’m constantly struck by the aptness of David Bentley Hart’s description of the world as being subject to a “metaphysical wasting disease.” Scripture is bold, brave and unshaking in addressing these problems head on; not ignorant. The Logos: the son of God became flesh, Jesus, addresses this interruption of life, the pain and reign of death. Because of his great love, Jesus comes face-to-face with this on the cross. He responds by pouring out his life. And rejoice: death could not hold him!
READ MORE: Writing a book can deeply grow your relationship with God and yourself - it completely changed my life
We have a gospel that is powerful and relevant; that can break the siege of death and despair. I knew this confessionally, but in each unit of my MA, I strategically choose to “bore down” into this topic from another angle, culminating in my dissertation on Time, Trauma and Theology. However, while I knew that what I had encountered would also be helpful for others, the academic format seemed opaque. That’s why, for over 12 years, I also worked towards a book that could minister to these precious, deep places even when I’m praying and playing with my kids. By nesting the gospel within World War Two historical fiction, and a three-layered narrative, I hoped to echo the boldness of scripture by not avoiding the real issues.
The psycho-social climate after World War Two made for an interesting philosophical sounding board. Take, for example, the existentialists and atheists: Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, in addition to the playwright, Albert Camus. I don’t think as Christians we should be afraid of engaging with voices beyond the inner circles of, say, Lewis or Chesterton. I often find myself coming away further attuned to the unique hope of the gospel.
It is now fifteen years since I lost my father. I learned the brittle quality of my own strength in comparison to the sustaining depth of God’s. Be encouraged, friend. For Jesus is the Lord of life and he can resurrect from the inside out; Sunday is coming.
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