Spiritual Nomad

Nomads of the Noetic

"Beloved, I beg you as sojourners and pilgrims, abstain from fleshly lusts which war against the soul." - 1 Peter 2:11 (NKJV)

The philosophical wanderings in the coffee shop, typically on Mondays through Thursdays, continued from 2001 to 2003. We were as consistent as "Nomads of the Noetic" in the coffee shop as we were "Blind Squirrels" on the golf course. We grappled with life's sand traps, slicing and hooking our way across God's green universe. Some days we hit straight and celebrated with a burger and a beer; other days we threw clubs in the water hazard.But God had a new Divine Appointment for Randy and me as we continued pondering the mysteries of the universe—in the coffee shop and on the golf course—as Nomads of the Noetic.

No one, whether coffee shop regulars, golf course buddies, or university colleagues, had any idea what we were talking about. We were straddling two worlds: one of intellectual curiosity, the other of spiritual emptiness. Outliers on the fringe of reality, we asked questions but had no clear direction. One foot firmly planted in the "known" while the other precariously dangled over the abyss of the "unknown." Perhaps we should have been more concerned about what was over the edge?

My wife decided we needed to go to church, and as I hopped from one denomination to the next, we landed briefly at a Presbyterian church. Pastor Dale was different from other pastors I had met because he could engage in the art of philosophical wondering without being offended. He became a welcome addition to our coffee shop duo. Now we were a trio. My ever-supportive wife never questioned my heart for God, but must have wondered about my blown and scattered mind with all things Christianity. I was a focused and dedicated counselor educator, but a fragmented and disoriented "man of God." Perhaps Pastor Dale was God's way of nudging me in the direction of Christian faith, but it must have been a painful process for God to watch. And Randy—let me call him Randy B to distinguish him from another Randy who enters the story later—had already left behind a faith that I was just beginning to encounter. In fact, Randy B gave me his worn-out New American Standard Bible from his youth. Over two decades later, I still use this Bible for additional research and reference.

The Great Adventure of Wandering Minds

Our conversations during this time extended our discussion of existential philosophy in psychology with questions such as: What is the meaning and purpose of life? What about notions of death and non-being? We kept returning to those questions of why we are here, which we covered in chapter one. It was also common to dabble in questions of Eastern religions with topics such as reincarnation, gurus, enlightenment, and whether or not all paths up the mountain lead to God.

On Mondays, we might talk about Mormonism, on Tuesdays Taoism, on Wednesdays John Wesley, on Thursdays Thessalonians. The point is, it was one great adventure—we were all speed and no direction. If the wind was blowing from the East one day, we went with it as easily as a Western wind. The Old Testament and the New Age were fair game for our ponderings.

I realize now that we were classic examples of what happens when intellectually curious people encounter the mystery of existence without a framework to contain it. We had questions, but lacked a methodology to find answers. We had passion but no direction. We were like archaeologists who had found fascinating artifacts but had no cultural context to interpret them. Everything was equally interesting, equally valid, equally worth pursuing—which meant nothing was truly foundational.

Where Typical Pastors Drew Lines

Quantum physics was frequently on the coffee shop table, and this is where conversations with "typical" pastors often broke down. For example, one of my favorite questions for pastors was: What if Jesus was not using hyperbole when He said we could tell this mountain to move from here to there and it will move? "Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you" (Matthew 17:20).

Most pastors would immediately shut down this line of inquiry. "That's not how faith works," they'd say, or "You're taking Scripture too literally." But their discomfort revealed something troubling to me—if they weren't willing to wrestle with the implications of their sacred text, how could I trust them with the more profound mysteries I was grappling with?

Only Pastor Dale would sit with that question and discuss it from both Scripture and quantum physics, the latter as a possible bridge to the former. It was refreshing for a man of God to be open to possibilities beyond the confines of traditional Christianity. None of us had the answers—none of us were God or quantum physicists. However, some of us had read God's Word more than others (me least of the three), and others had read more about quantum physics and quantum mechanics than the others. It was less about being correct in the response and more about being right in our approach to it and to each other.

The Ambassador Difference

I was discovering that a Presbyterian pastor could show compassion for these Nomads of the Noetic because he was an ambassador of Christ. Pastor Dale was meeting me on His narrow path at the precise moment my broad path was crossing the narrow path. This is when "magic" meets "Divine Appointments," and I see this introduction as a pivotal moment in my awakening to Jesus and not just God.

Randy B and I both welcomed Pastor Dale to the circle. Randy B would have welcomed Genghis Khan if he had materialized. As I mentioned before, Randy B loves everyone, a quality I'm still working on and certainly hadn't mastered in the early 2000s. I'm not proud to say this, but I didn't really trust anyone until they proved trustworthy. I had seen too much incongruence in people on both personal and professional levels—people who said one thing and lived another, who preached love but practiced judgment, who claimed certainty about mysteries they'd never seriously examined.

But Pastor Dale was proving himself trustworthy in discussions that were taboo for many of his pastoral colleagues. He didn't flinch when we questioned traditional interpretations. He didn't deflect with easy answers. He sat in the questions with us, modeling what I would later understand as incarnational ministry—meeting people exactly where they are rather than demanding they come to where you think they should be.

When Science Meets Scripture

One interesting conversation that related to the moving mountains question was about quantum superposition—that at the subatomic level, everything exists as a potential, a probability of one state or another. The experiments that demonstrated particle-wave duality seemed to suggest that God really can be omnipresent. He exists everywhere, all the time, and it is when we look for Him that the "wave" of His possible locations collapses to our "here and now." Thus, I suggested, God allows the seeker to find Him in quantum models of possibilities. This is especially helpful for those of us who were not raised in the church or are just naturally hard-headed.

Pastor Dale's eyes lit up at this connection. "What if," he mused, "Jesus wasn't describing a mechanical process when he talked about moving mountains, but revealing something about the nature of reality itself? What if faith is about aligning ourselves with possibilities that already exist in God's quantum field of potential?"

We were venturing into territory that would make systematic theologians nervous, but it felt more alive, more real, than any Sunday school lesson I'd ever encountered. Here was a man of God who wasn't threatened by mystery but invited by it.

Following Breadcrumbs

I started to believe that perhaps Pastor Dale was there to leave breadcrumbs for me to follow. He wasn't "pushing" like some psychodynamic drive that pushes one into conformity. It didn't even feel like a "pulling" that suggests you are in a deep hole and need a rope to pull you out. No, it was much more "follow if you want to."

This approach honored my agency in a way I'd never experienced from religious people. Most Christians I'd encountered seemed desperate to convert me, as if my eternal destiny depended on their sales ability. But Pastor Dale trusted the Holy Spirit to do the work of conviction and conversion. His job was simply to be present, to be authentic, to model what it looked like when intellectual honesty and spiritual surrender walked hand in hand.

I was beginning to want to follow those breadcrumbs. For the first time in my adult life, I was encountering Christianity that didn't require me to check my brain at the door. Here was faith that could handle my questions, engage with my doubts, and still point toward something transcendent and true.

The nomadic season was beginning to give way to something else—not answers exactly, but a sense of direction. The wandering wasn't over, but it was starting to have a destination.

"But now God has set the members, each one of them, in the body just as He pleased." - (1 Corinthians 12:18, NKJV).

The Pilgrim Walks

The Invitation

In one of our wandering coffee shop discussions about "faith," Pastor Dale began to ask some difficult questions. His questions were less theoretical, less philosophical, and more tangible. I didn't realize it at the time, but he was taking the first steps with me in the direction of being a "doer of the Word" rather than a hearer of the Word. Since our conversations never lasted more than a couple of minutes on the topic of Jesus Christ, Pastor Dale knew I needed to distance myself from the distractions of university life, the coffee shop, and other aspects of my life. He mentioned a retreat that was coming up in a few weeks and wondered if I'd like to go. He said it was called the Walk to Emmaus and would be held at the Omega Retreat Center in Boerne, Texas.

"Retreat center?" I said. "You mean a retreat center like Esalen Institute in Big Sur, California? Back in the day, Fritz Perls and other Gestalt practitioners would have naked hot tub therapy sessions. Is that the kind of retreat we're talking about? If so, no thank you!" He knew I was joking and took my having fun at his expense in stride. Randy B likewise agreed that those were the days. But Pastor Dale was undeterred. Apparently, he sensed his own Divine Wind saying, "Trace needs to attend this retreat as the beginning leg of his Christian walk—he needs to stop thinking so much and get moving."

I'm not sure if that's true, but I do know that Pastor Dale convinced me it would be a good experience to learn more about Christ and make my own decision about walking "The Way." But there were immediate red flags for me. I couldn't take my cell phone, I couldn't drive, and it was a shared communal living experience—the last time I had this was in the military. It was also three days out of my schedule that I didn't really have to "waste." But everyone in my closest circle, including my wife, thought it was a good idea. I thought it was a great idea, especially for those being indoctrinated into a cult or secret society with handshakes known only to the initiates.

I learned that even one of my university colleagues, Randy P—not to be confused with Randy B the Buddha Santa Claus—in another department was also going. Randy P was also a former military officer and a veteran brother. I could talk with Randy P about the Cold War days with the old Soviet Union, ICBM alert duty, and the disillusionment I experienced with limited nuclear options. He got it. No long explanations were needed. Besides, Randy P drove an orange 1971 Datsun 240Z. I had one myself before the military. If Randy P was going, I figured this Walk to Emmaus couldn't be that far from the norm. So I agreed.

The day came, and I rode with Pastor Dale and a few other "pilgrims" in his van to the retreat center.

The Awakening

Once there, the "indoctrination" began. I was on high alert. All these men were trying to be helpful as vans pulled in and dropped off the pilgrims. Guys carrying bags and suitcases, so no pilgrim would have to lift a finger. This was the first awakening I had of other men being "doers of the Word."

"De Colores! De Colores! Of the colors!" I heard the rainbow-colored flag flapping in the breeze. I wondered if I had been dropped off at a gay pride retreat instead of a Christian retreat. I was soon assured that this was, in fact, a retreat for new Christian believers—a place for men to experience the love of Christ and, prayerfully, give their lives to Him if they hadn't already done so.

Many life-changing events took place at my pilgrim Walk to Emmaus, but I'm sworn to secrecy so as not to spoil the "magic"—the Divine Appointment—for others who may be on a similar narrow path toward Jesus. But I will spill a couple of beans because, without this disclosure, other aspects of Narrow Path Pilgrim won't make as much sense. The first awakening happened during the retreat, and the second on our way home.

During the retreat, I experienced a multitude of lights in the darkness. The old me could not comprehend the love I was experiencing from those "Lights" of God, each shining my way. It was fascinating because the "old me" was reminded of a Native American church ceremony I attended while I lived and worked on a reservation in South Dakota. The "Medicine"—peyote—brought about a feeling of unity with all people around the circle inside the teepee. Colors were vivid as sparks popped off the fire in this "Cross Fire" ceremony. I even felt a connection to the ants I noticed scurrying around my feet on the dirt floor.

But the "new man" saw Lights and experienced connections with God and others that no "medicine" could ever replicate. The Light was Love. Pure Light. Pure Love. From that moment, God had captured my heart. He knocked and I opened the door. I believe that was the moment, in the flickering of distant lights, that I was authentically "saved," and the sanctification journey began. It was also time for the road trip back to Laredo to begin.

So those guys I rode with in the van, including my university colleague Randy P, were not pilgrims. They were veterans of Walk to Emmaus retreats and were responsible for ensuring the new pilgrims, like me, had as memorable an experience as they did when they "walked." "Brother, let me be your servant, let me be like Christ to you" was more than a song with a catchy tune to them. They were living examples of what a brother in Christ looks like—what he does as the reflection of a doer of the Word.

It was an insane experience in the best way. There were times of fellowship and contemplation, laughter and tears, learning and teaching. There was no time, or need, for phones or watches—I forgot to mention, no watches. I saw those brothers—the other pilgrims and those who worked Walk #71—in a new light, a new light of Christ. To some degree, I'm sure we all left some aspect of the old man behind as we boarded our vans to return home.

I had changed. God had changed me from the inside out, thanks to the love of Pastor Dale and so many others who provided more "agape" than I thought possible.

The Return

And on the drive from Boerne to Laredo, Texas, God showed up in the most spectacular rainbow that stretched across our front windshield. Even the veteran brothers were astonished at how "present" God was, reinforcing His De Colores in living color. I was on cloud nine for the rest of the trip.

The euphoria of the Walk to Emmaus retreat, however, was still just one step in the direction of a long and narrow path of sanctification. But it was the start of God stirring in my life in remarkable ways. I was no longer questioning whether or not Jesus was my Lord and Savior. What I was asking was how He was represented in the church buildings on Sundays.