Dear Friends,
Every now and then, an episode of “Created in the Image of God” uncovers a dialogue so layered, honest, and thematically resonant that it can’t—or shouldn’t—be distilled into a single reflection. My recent conversation with Addison Hodges Hart is one such encounter. As we traced the arc of his remarkable journey—across continents, churches, and the deep waters of personal anguish—I found not only uncanny echoes of my own story but living proof that spiritual depth often means wandering bravely beyond the comfort of dogma and the promises of tidy answers. In these next two essays, I want to walk you through four takeaways from our exchange, each one a rung on the shared ladder of seeking.
Let’s begin today with the first two: Addison’s “faith beyond dogma,” and the gritty question of spiritual leadership and divorce—a territory we both know in the marrow.
1. Peeling Back the Layers: Faith Beyond Dogma
Both Addison and I grew up as questioners—his childhood curiosity about God and “the big picture” echoes the throbbing center of my first book, The People of the Sign. That memoir, written in the aftermath of a long journey through—and then away from—a tightly held tradition, is my effort to tell the truth about inherited certainty: its security, its beauty, and ultimately, its limits.
Addison’s own pilgrimage, unfolding first along the high liturgy and sacramental mystery of Anglicanism, then through Roman Catholicism, and now into the ancient embrace of Eastern Orthodoxy, is a living testament to what happens when dogma no longer suffices. He described it as “gravitation”—a steady, almost magnetic pull toward spiritual homes both old and new. He spoke honestly of transitioning out of systems where belief sometimes had to be forced or simulated for the sake of belonging (“I will believe it because they teach it!”), and how, in the end, the Spirit led him on beyond the safety of mere assent.
This process of peeling back each “layer”—the traditions, doctrines, and inherited concepts that offer both scaffolding and straightjacket—resonates deeply with my own. My exit from the WorldWide Church of God, and the years spent learning both radical empathy for those still “inside” and the cost (and liberty) of real questioning, formed me into someone who treasures the ongoing search more than any final, settled answer.
Addison’s journey, like mine, is proof: It is not abandonment or faithlessness to outgrow old categories or demand a more integrated life of the Spirit. When traditions we once called “home” no longer ring quite true, it’s okay—even holy—to linger at the margins, pursue the truth wherever it leads, and resist the pressure to choose between mere rebellion and numbed conformity.
Faith beyond dogma looks like wilderness, pilgrimage, sustained humility—and, perhaps most of all, the courage to keep seeking when easy answers have died.
2. The Hardness of Heart: Divorce, Leadership, and Humility
Addison’s candor on the terrain of divorce and ministry brought us into an even more personal zone—one that, for both of us, was never sought but had to be endured.
The Hardness of the Heart, my second book, is a confession: I was certain I’d never repeat my father’s mistakes. I was certain I’d never be part of a broken marriage. Circumstances, and my own flaws, delivered a powerful correction. These are the valleys no one plans; yet they are also, as Addison and I realized, where the authenticity of any spiritual leader is tested.
Addison’s account paralleled mine with surprising resonance. He entered marriage as a priest convinced that fidelity and resilience would be enough. Life—messier and more mysterious than our dogmas—had other plans. Forced by profound personal and relational breakdown to walk through divorce, Addison made the costly, countercultural decision to step back from priestly ministry. Out of respect for the office, and for the seriousness of broken covenant, he refused the mask of continued authority. The Catholic Church’s own counsel, the Orthodox tradition’s realism, and his beef-deep sense of moral gravity all pointed him to a new way of witnessing: offering honesty rather than pretending wholeness.
In this, we are kin. In both our stories, the leap from theory to lived experience is brutal: How do you continue to serve while inhabiting your own exile? When is the most faithful thing not endurance, but letting go? Where is God in “failures” we did not script but must honestly claim?
Here, too, the path forward is humility—not as a brand or a pose, but as a trembling admission that none of us—leaders least of all—can heal ourselves or fulfill our callings alone. True spiritual authority is less about expertise, and more about how willing we are to be unmasked, to keep listening, to let grace redefine us when we land, bruised, beyond the borders of our own plans.
Looking Ahead: Divergent Hearts and the Ghosts That Haunt Us
There’s a reason this episode needs a second act. My conversation with Addison didn’t just reveal points of contact; it exposed places where our journeys, for all their kinship, lead us to different conclusions about what faithfulness, tradition, and mystery mean. In tomorrow’s installment, I’ll follow Addison’s lead—as he does in Four Gospels, Four Hearts, One Lord—by examining how our distinct experiences shape both the tensions and unities possible among honest seekers. We’ll explore, too, his embrace of “ghost stories”: tales where the veil grows thin, and mysteries intrude upon the rational everyday. What are the ghosts that still haunt the church and its children? What can wonder, and even holy fear, teach us that systematized belief cannot?
Stay tuned—not just for more answers, but for the questions that have room to hold us all.
Where have you peeled back dogma only to find yourself still seeking? How has disappointment or loss reshaped your leadership or your sense of God’s presence? Share your reflections below—and come back tomorrow as Addison and I journey further into faith’s wide, haunted, and hope-filled territory.
With pilgrim gratitude,
—Wade Fransson
