About Rachel

Celebrating her life and legacy

On Saturday morning, Rachel Held Evans—someone who has felt like such a ubiquitous presence in so many of our lives—died.

I was not super close with Rachel, but we were friendly. I respected her work, even when we disagreed. She was effusive over Saoirse, which showed that she had some good sense. She was capable of extravagant expressions of generosity, as we’ve read over the past few days. She was one heck of a writer.

I want to accomplish three things with this post: I want to share a few of the articles and expressions that struck me; I want to share one thought I’ve had since she passed; and I want to refer you to her GoFundMe page.

Worthwhile Reflections

First, the articles. Emma Green at The Atlantic, Sarah Pulliam at The Washington Post, Elizabeth Dias and Sam Roberts at The New York Times and Ruth Graham at Slate all had worthwhile reflections.

Jonathan Merritt is up at USA Today referring to Rachel as a “prophet with a pen.”

Sharon Hodde Miller considers why her grief is so striking for her “internet friend.”

Ed Stetzer writes about Rachel’s gifts to evangelicalism.

Kate Shellnutt explores how Rachel changed the media landscape for women.

I also really appreciated what Austin Channing Brown has shared over the past few days about Rachel, and Richard Clark’s thread hit me as particularly poignant as well.

This is obviously not a comprehensive list, and I’d encourage you to spend time on Twitter with the hashtag #BecauseofRHE to hear from others.

What I’ve been thinking

I am hesitant to share at length here out of a sense of propriety, and a feeling that to reflect too much is an unworthy intrusion into the deeper sorrows and memories of others. When I heard Rachel passed, I shared one post on Twitter, and then tried to read and learn what she meant to others.

Other than Saoirse, my most memorable recent exchanges with Rachel had been around the idea of doubt, and the role of doubt in the life of a Christian. It is because of that I’ve been thinking quite a bit about 1 Corinthians 13:12. Here’s the verse in context:

Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away. When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.

1 Corinthians 13:8-12

Rachel was unafraid to share her opinion on issues that meant a great deal to her, and to take the potentially disorienting praise and unkind attacks that come from that kind of public engagement. She was in the fray.

What I have not been able to get out of my head is the fact that she now knows more about the ultimate things than any of us. She now holds the only identity that truly grants incontrovertible, irrefutable insight into the most fundamental questions: she has died. Literally all of us, those who agreed with her every utterance, and those who disparaged her mercilessly, know almost nothing in comparison. And that which we do know, we do not yet really know that we know it.

These debates that we have, these convictions that we hold, are important so far as they go. We live our lives by these convictions: we try to, at least, and fail to do so. What we believe now really does count for something. What we do now really matters.

And yet, perhaps our disagreements should be tinged with a recognition of our limitations in light of our hope. Everyone we disagree with will someday know far more about the most important things than we do. Or, should fate have it, we will become aware of all of the ways in which we were wrong in a way that would leave us embarrassed and awe-stricken if we knew now what we will know then.

We see through a glass darkly, even at our most reflective, our most thoughtful. Not to mention the state of our vision on Twitter.

Maybe you are heading in a different direction theologically than your interlocutor, whoever they may be. Perhaps you were heading in a different direction than Rachel seemed to be heading the last time you spoke, or the last time you read one of her books. We are all heading towards her now.

I think Rachel understood what Paul meant when he said we “know in part,” and I have to believe she understands now what it means to “know fully.” When I imagine seeing her again, this woman who insisted that true faith was no stranger to doubt, I imagine arriving where she has been in the reality of knowing fully, my eyes adjusting as she comes into view, as she greets me, exclaiming wondrously, “can you believe this!?”

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Rachel Held Evans was a loving wife and mother to two children. Her family could use financial support at this time, and a GoFundMe account has been set up for this purpose. I would encourage you to give what you can.