Dear Friends,

Last week, we stood in the windswept courtyard of history with Pilate—caught between power, doubt, and the ineffable presence of Truth itself. His question, “What is truth?”, echoes not just through the Gospels but through every honest seeker’s sorrow and hope. It is a question that rarely receives an answer as neat as textbooks or creeds would have us believe.

“What Is Truth?”: Pilate’s Question, My Journey, and the Search We ShareWade Fransson·20 julRead full story

This week, I want to zoom out: to explore how tradition both shapes and, sometimes, constrains our search for truth, and how, in my own journey (as chronicled in The People of the Sign and onward), the collision between received wisdom and open inquiry was both a battleground and—gradually—a source of liberation.

The Allure—and Limits—of Tradition

There’s comfort in tradition’s embrace.

For much of human history, truth was as much inherited as discovered—a parent’s faith, a culture’s rites, an institution’s dogmas, all handed down: “This is what we know. This is who we are.”

In my early life—shaped in no small measure by my father’s steadfast faith—I learned that tradition can anchor a soul in stormy seas, providing purpose and grounding in a world quick to shift. Much of the time, we rely on those lighthouses.

But sometimes (and if my story is any indication, it’s inevitable), those anchors become driftwood. The sea rises, the old answers crack under the pressure of new experience. The very institutions that promise certainty reveal their limitations—not out of malice, but because the world, and we ourselves, are in motion.

My time in the Worldwide Church of God—a movement built on both suspicion of “tradition” (at least in the conventional Christian sense) and its own fiercely guarded interpretations was pivotal. There were doctrines handed down from on high: suspicion of the Trinity, confidence in prophecy, faith in the infallible logic of proof texts.

Yet even there—perhaps especially there—I discovered that “new truth” - especially if it is unearthed original truth (see my prior post on Josiah) quickly morphs into orthodoxy, and orthodoxy, unchecked, can turn into the very sort of unyielding system it claims to rebel against.

I found myself, again and again, in Pilate’s seat—not judging others, but uncertain how to judge my own inheritance.

Was it certainty, or simply comfort masquerading as conviction?

Upheaval as Catalyst: When Traditions Collide

True search often begins where tradition fails.

My trilogy is, in many ways, a long narrative of such failures—and what could (just barely) be salvaged in their aftermath.

Ambassador College, for instance, was meant to be the crucible of faith and knowledge—blending rigorous study with biblical foundations. But even there, cracks appeared. When I failed Dr. Stavrinidis’ Latin Literature course and found myself on academic probation, it was more than a transcript crisis. It was a personal reckoning: tradition could not shield me from the realities of my own limitations.

And yet, it was often precisely at the edge of failure—academic, spiritual, social—that new insight flickered. I recovered, and thrived, at Ambassador after that failure. Yet the verdict was delivered by one of my mentors, as I discussed my post-college plans. “Don’t go to Europe expecting to be picked up by “the Work” - a term our movement used to refer to our mission.

Even this I overcame, because I, in the tradition of Jacob, wrestled with God. I was not only “picked up by the Work” - I was embraced by it, and ordained as a Minister.

By the time a European ministerial conference was held in Colmar, I was no longer just trying to “pass.” I stood alone against the gathered consensus of a community, resisting the easy adoption of doctrine simply because it was expedient, expected, or traditional. My own spiritual lineage—a mishmash of inherited practices, personal trauma, and a stubborn streak of skepticism—meant I couldn’t sign off on a borrowed truth.

That harrowing, tense moment of dissent culminated 18 months later in my resignation—the climax of my own wilderness—I discovered that sometimes, the most sacred inheritance is simply the right (and responsibility) to ask: “But is it true?”

The Pain and Promise of Letting Go

If I have learned anything, it is that the search for truth is costly.

Traditions aren’t just beliefs—they’re bonds of family, community, belonging. To question them is to risk a kind of exile. My trilogy is littered with those exiles: the end of cherished friendships, the unraveling of a marriage, even the heartbreak of growing distant from spiritual “homes.” And in terms of cost, the journey above led to a necessary decision to separate my faith from my paycheck. And a more painful separation followed, when became an unwilling participation in a divorce, something I had vowed never to do.

But here’s the paradox: what feels, in the moment, like loss is often the only honest path to deeper unity and openness.

If the world, as I wrote elsewhere, is always “standing on the edge of an abyss”—threatened by the wrong kind of unity (the Tower of Babel, the golden calf, ideologies old and new)—then perhaps our only hope is the humility to keep testing, keep learning, keep being reshaped by what is real, not merely what is inherited.

The Bahá’í principle of the “independent investigation of truth” lands here with uncompromising force:

“Man is not intended to see through the eyes of another, hear through another’s ears nor comprehend with another’s brain... adhere to the outcome of your own investigation; otherwise you will be utterly submerged in the sea of ignorance.”
—‘Abdu’l-Bahá

It’s a painful road, but no honest seeker can avoid it forever.

A New Kind of Heirloom: Living Questions

So, what do we do with all this? How do we honor tradition as gift, but refuse its tyranny? How do we become, as I wrote, witnesses—stories not of certainty, but of courage in the face of uncertainty?

Perhaps the world needs fewer guardians of orthodoxy, and more conveners of questions.

In our current podcast and writing series, I see glimmers of such a posture. We gather tradition, science, testimony, prophecy—not to cement them in dogma, but to hold them gently, see what holds up to honest scrutiny, and let go of what doesn’t.

It is not easy, but I’ve learned (slowly, stubbornly) that truth, if true, is never the enemy of investigation.

This Week’s Invitation

  • What traditions have you inherited—spiritual, scientific, cultural—that shape the way you ask “What is truth?”?
  • When did you last feel the pain of letting go—or the relief of discovering something new, unexpected, liberating?
  • Are you, like me, caught between gratitude for your legacy and a hunger to test its foundations? Share your story, however raw or unfinished.
  • If you’ve lost something “orthodox” but gained a greater openness, what did that look like for you?

As before, I invite you:

  • Share your story or questions in the comments below, or by email (Wade@soopmedia.net).
  • Suggest topics for our Science and Revelation series—a specific tradition or tension you believe should go under the microscope.

No tradition—including this very project—should be above examination.

Looking Forward: Toward a Community of Seekers

Next week, in the final part of this series, I’ll explore how we can move beyond endless deconstruction and toward hope. How, amid broken traditions and new uncertainties, can we build something that lasts? How do diverse seekers—scientists, believers, skeptics, educators, elders—become more than just a “courtroom,” more than just a therapy group for exiles? How, in the end, do we LIVE truth together?

Until then—keep the search honest and, yes, even sacred.

With gratitude for your courage to keep questioning,

—Wade Fransson

Sometimes, the only tradition worth keeping is the one that invites the next question.

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