Sirens trigger memories

This story took place on June 4, 1996.

...

[We] were gathered in a living room when we heard a siren approaching on the highway and then sudden silence. That was strange. What does it mean?  It was so unusual that we stepped outside to get a better look. The ambulance had turned down the almost-deserted dead-end dirt road - which explained why the siren was no longer needed. But why would they be going down there?

We watched the ambulance disappear at the end of the gravel road and wondered which neighbors might be affected by this emergency.  Hardly anyone lived on that road.

We heard ourselves talking about what it means to "love my neighbor as myself." We remembered how a mutual friend liked to stir up that topic to make us all think.  You know how if you are coming home and see smoke billowing from your neighborhood...?  The panic and the fear... and then the relief when you discover it's not your house. Whew!  But wait; it's my neighbor's house... Hmmm...  This it tricky. Worth pondering.

...

... we would discover that the neighbor with the emergency was my own dear dad who had been planting beans in the huge field at the end of that dead-end road. And now he was gone. Suddenly.

As I was saying, sirens can be triggering for me...

...

* The above excerpt is from my book, Beyond these Walls - Book by Book, which features wisdom from several authors and books that impacted me on my unexpected journey from being embedded in church culture most of my life until suddenly being launched outside the walls of organized religion.

Life and love

I celebrated Easter as an "insider" for nearly 6 decades.
I have now celebrated a dozen more Easters as an outsider.  
Landing outside those religious walls came as a total shock to me and a source of great sadness. But then I began sorting and soul-searching and seeking for truth and figuring out what I really believe and which things are worth building my life on... 

Jesus ends up at the top of my list.  

I want to follow his words and his example. 

I want to love like he loved.  
I want to be a person of grace.

I had just been pondering something I wrote during those years in exile…  about the fact that I often find myself stuck "in the middle" between friends at opposite ends of the spectrum.  Sure enough this pandemic where we currently find ourselves is one of those times when lines have been drawn and I find myself with friends on both extremes.  

In some ways and at some times, the middle is a good place to be, but there are other times when I might need to lean one way or the other.  Sometimes it's tough to know which way to lean.

Naturally I tend to err on the side of caution.  

But I hope that I also err on the side of love and compassion and kindness and grace.  The side of life and love and health and healing.  That's the direction I want to lean.

I guess you could say that is my religion.

That's how I want to live my life.

No need to pray

She asked for prayer because her roof was leaking.

She didn’t have the $700 to repair it.

Church leader promises to put it on the prayer list.

Young man stands to say: 

I don’t think we need to pray about that.

I think we can put that much together right now in this room.

And we did.

Who were my champions?

 I just discovered these lines that I wrote awhile ago after having been asked about the things or the people who may have discouraged or restricted me through the years.  I was also asked about the people who were champions of my self-worth.  People who encouraged my creativity and my leadership skills.  I chose to focus mostly on the second question.

It wasn't hard to think of several who had discouraged me or restricted my options.  This was a good opportunity to remind myself that I no longer need to pay attention to those voices.

More importantly, as I look back over the years of my various ministries and think about those questions, others come to my mind who have been my champions.  It is too late to thank some of them but I want to express how very grateful I am for their support.

Topping that list are my dear partner Bob, my big brother Dave, my other brother Jerry, my father-in-law, and my long-time pastor Gary.

When others were saying that women couldn't be leaders, these guys were sending me articles about women who were. They were inviting me to speak from their pulpits.  They encouraged me to follow my calling and to use my voice and my words to influence people. They took me seriously when others chose to ignore or discourage my contribution.

Many women have been restricted and deeply discouraged if not downright prohibited from serving in leadership.  I have had a taste of that restriction and rejection - which makes me all the more thankful for those who have stood with me in support as I explored ways to fulfill my God-given potential.

I am so grateful for each of you and your partnership in the good work.

Amazing Day #15: Rest

Rest

A day of rest

No work

No shoulds

No obligations

...

Began this habit during my church days

But back then it was hardly a day of rest.

Usually it was a day of ministry.

Lots of work

Lots of obligation

Lots of shoulds

Lots of stress

Funny how that worked

The idea of Sabbath

A time of rest

But too often it became a time of rules

Things we couldn’t do on Sunday.

Things that we must do on Sunday

…

But now it feels like I’m finally figuring it out.

Hopefully getting it right

A time of rest

Refreshment

Nourishment

Renewal

No work

No shoulds

No rules

No obligations

Sabbath rest

Amazing.

...

Read about more amazing days here.

Sunday morning musings

I wonder whether there will be pro-life teaching from the pulpits of America today.

I wonder if there will be reference to Good News.

I wonder if there will be messages of peace on earth and good will toward all men.

I wonder whether there will be any preaching about loving our neighbors as ourselves. Or will there be talk about protecting ourselves against them?

I wonder if there will be discussion about the words of Jesus when he said to turn the other cheek. Specifically in Missionary Churches where I grew up, I wonder whether there is still any consideration for our Mennonite roots.  For a call to non-violence.

I wonder if anyone will ask what Jesus would do.

I wonder.

Two lives, two stories

Life A was my life as an insider.
A life of always striving...
To do right and to be right.
Of needing to impress.
A life of rules.
A life of effort.
A life of diligence and discipline.
A life of restriction.

...

Life B is my life outside the walls.
A life where it's okay to ask questions.
Where it is safe to express doubt.
Or wonderings.
A life where I don't have to always be right - nor have all the answers.
A life where people make mistakes and aren't afraid to admit them - even the leaders.
A life of grace.
A life of adventure.
A life of trust.
A life of freedom.

...

I never want to go back to Life A.
Unfortunately I catch myself once in awhile...
Still clinging to that life.
Still fearing condemnation.
Still following the rules.
Still needing to be right.
Still wanting to impress.
Still pretending to have all the answers.


Fortunately that happens only rarely.
Most of the time I am thrilled to be breathing the air of freedom.
Most of the time I can't imagine going back inside.

Church

Following Jesus does not mean going to church.
Does it?
...

 

We are told that they are not the same.

But then,
 we are told that we must prove one
 by doing the other.

...

We are also told that church

 is not something you go to.

Church is something we ARE.

And then we are told that we must go to church.

...

But church might not have stained glass windows.

Or a steeple.

Church might not have pews
 or even chairs.

Church might not even have walls.

Missing church - or not

             "Do you miss church?"

That's what she asked me - and then must have remembered all the things I had said about being so grateful to be free...

So she rephrased the question:  I mean, like... Do you miss worship?

That's when I knew that she was a church-goer. An insider. ... Because an outsider or casual attender would probably not use the term "worship" - which is the insider label for the music at the beginning of a church service.

Do I miss church?

What a strange question.

No, I don't mean that it is a strange question to ask, but I mean that it feels strange to try to answer it. After being an insider myself for SIX DECADES, I never would have imagined being on the outside. If someone had asked me that question then, whether I would miss church if I didn't attend... Well, of course, I would. I mean, it was my life! My social network, my ministry, my job - for Pete's sake! I would not have been able to imagine life without church.

But now, six years out... Now it's hard to think of something I miss.

Do I miss the music?

Let's see; sometimes I miss playing in the band. Sometimes. But not often. But the music in general? Nope. In fact, and this will sound really harsh to some, but I can barely stand to listen to some Christian music now. This is not the time or place to go into detail, but let's just say it reminds me of some of the very things with which I can no longer agree.

Do I miss the mentoring opportunities?

Not really, because I still have them. More than ever. More opportunities than I can find the time to keep up with. Turns out you don't have to be inside a church to love people and walk together with Jesus.  Imagine that.

Do I miss the social structure?
Fellowship events?

If you mean church potlucks, well, then, nope, I do not.

If you mean relationships, well, not really - because relationships do not depend on social events. Sure, there is the ease of staying connected, but it does not guarantee real relationship. And yes, we have to work harder at relationships when we are not automatically and regularly bumping into each other in that context. But I seem to remember hearing that the best things in life are worth working for.

Do I miss the sermons?

Actually, I have only just begun going through my piles and piles of notebooks that are full of sermon notes that I have not yet put into practice. I realized long ago that our sermon system was not a terribly effective way of fostering spiritual growth.

On that note, there IS something I miss. I miss the times of discussion after a sermon where we plopped down on the front pews and hammered out what it all really meant and how to apply it to our lives that week. You know; that handful of times when a bunch of us hung out for hours and really talked. And we said we should do it more often. Now that I think about it, I guess I've been in more of those discussions in these past six years outside than in the sixty on the inside. So, nope, I don't have to miss that.

...

Oh, I know something else I don't miss. I don't miss being interrogated about why we didn't attend a certain event - especially when we were actively involved in a half-dozen other "services" or church meetings that very same week. Nor do I miss being "scolded" for not measuring up to someone's expectations.

...

So do I miss church?

If you mean dressing up in my Sunday best to attend worship service at the sacred hour of 11 a.m., I have to say I don't miss it.

But if you mean gathering with believers to talk about what Jesus said and how we can live it out... I guess I 'd have to say that I don't miss that either - BECAUSE we can still do that. And we do.

AND we can meet with all brands of other "outsiders" and can have deep discussion about what we do and don't know to be true about God. Where we can reason together about faith and science and grace and all kinds of issues. The type of discussions that would never happen inside the four walls.

That sermon? Not for you.

That's what my pastor told me.

"Sister, that sermon was not for you."

We were sitting in his office discussing his most recent sermon. I probably mentioned being discouraged about not living up to the admonitions included therein. He knew that I had tried my darnedest because I so much wanted to please God. Maybe he felt badly that his sermon unnecessarily added to my burden of guilt and obligation. To my striving. So he said, "Sister Kaye, that sermon was not for you."

Some of us are such sensitive souls. Call it a tender heart. Call it a pleaser personality. Call it compliant. Call it conditioning. Call it what you will, but some of us have the tendency to trip all over ourselves trying to please other people.

And for some of us that translates into a deep longing to please God in everything we do. So every sermon on commitment makes us want to be more committed. Who am I kidding? Pretty much EVERY SERMON we ever hear makes us want to do better at SOMETHING! So we can please God.

DISCLAIMER:

Lest I give the wrong impression let me quickly admit that I didn't always have the most pure of motives nor do I always choose to do the thing that pleased God. I don't always choose to do the right thing. There are plenty of times that I am downright selfish. But there have been those tender moments, those sensitive seasons, in my life. The fact remains that my personality type tends to take on an undue sense of burden when presented with certain kinds of sermons.

By the way, sermons don't always come from a pulpit. You may be bombarded with a sermon at a family gathering or during a commercial. For the purpose of this discussion, we could define a sermon as any time when someone preaches at you about something you should do.  

Not every admonition you hear - whether from a preacher or a relative or a well-meaning friend or a financial consultant or some health expert... Not every single piece of advice is necessarily one that you must internalize or submit to.

But what are we to do? Should I never try to please others? Are there ways that I can protect myself from this sense of obligation and still be kind and compassionate?

At the risk of oversimplifying, let me say that there's nothing wrong with wanting to please God or to please people for that matter. But the danger comes when our compulsion to please others paralyzes us and keeps us from making mature or healthy decisions. So we DO need to learn to protect ourselves. And we do need to find balance.

My favorite counselor who also happens to be one of my favorite bloggers says:

...if you have a tendency to be compassionate already, there is NOTHING wrong with guarding your heart and taking care of yourself. Sometimes you have to say no. There is nothing selfish about that; you are merely being responsible to protect your soul first. If you burn out completely you won't be able to help others anyway.

It seems so obvious to me now - and maybe to my readers - but maybe there is someone still stuck there in that overwhelming place where you still feel pressure to obey whatever admonition you hear. Where you still have to please people. Or God. Or both. Let me remind you that you need not obey everyone who preaches at you about what you should do. Maybe that sermon is not for you.


 Conclusion:

I realize not everybody has this pleaser tendency and therefore is not so susceptible to these struggles. Maybe you're reading and just don't understand how someone could feel so pressured to please others like this. If you happen to NOT be one of us hyper-sensitive ones, well, then...

Honey, this sermon's not for you!

When is church?

 

 

"A joyful noise we will make."

Kids rocking out to that sentiment as they sing it.

Those kids have some moves!

...

Sitting around the campfire enjoying a yummy multi-course Sunday morning brunch. Sipping a second (or maybe third) cup of cappuccino to ward off the chilly wind moving through the trees. Good conversation. Fun music. And yes, kids dancing and making joyful sounds. A duet of strong beautiful voices blending on an old hymn. Lyrics prompted on iPhones via Google - rather than hymnals or PowerPoint. Stimulating discussion about faith and orthodoxy. Freedom to ask questions as well as freedom to not have to have all the answers. Freedom to get up and find another cup of coffee. Love shared and love received.

Now THAT is church.

It was not lost on me that this was indeed Sunday morning. In fact, it was even somewhere around 11 a.m. on Sunday morning - the magical hour for "real" church according to some Christians. The time to be in church if one is to be certain and secure about one's spiritual condition.

I sat there remembering friends who have made it known to me that they were concerned about us because our house church met on Tuesday night instead of Sunday morning. There was a certainty implied that Sunday morning is THE time to be in church or else. I'm not exactly sure what the "or-else" is but certainly the idea that something is lacking in my spiritual growth and maybe something to be feared for my eternal salvation.

If those friends could see me now... You know? I sort of wish they could - so they wouldn't have to worry about my spiritual condition. See. I got the time right this week. Church on Sunday morning rather than Tuesday night. Maybe they wouldn't worry about me now. At least maybe not this week.

Well, except for the location...

Can it be "real" church if it happens out in the great outdoors? Under towering trees and ever-changing clouds...

 

...

 

A joyful noise we will make.

On Sunday morning.

On Tuesday evening.

Whenever.

Wherever.

 

 

Sunday sermon - always welcome, no matter what

Even delicate subjects could be introduced and discussed in this home. No heated discussions. An environment was cultivated in the home that assured openness and honesty.

The father waits for God to do what he cannot do. Dad was the magnet.

You're always welcome at home.

No matter what your condition.

No matter what others think of you.

The father became a model of authentic Christianity.
...

I came across these lines from a sermon preached by Mark Bolender at Brown City camp many many years ago - about the welcoming father in Luke 15.

What a contrast to some of the stories I've heard recently of Christian parents who make unrealistic demands on their kids and refuse to welcome them.

These modern day stories remind me more of the older brother - about whom Mark Bolender said this: The older brother lives by the clipboard. He was keeping a record. Older brothers are always around, keeping track of you. They are harder to please than the father, because they don't understand grace.
Ouch! I have been that older brother. Clipboard living is my natural tendency and it breaks my heart to recognize it in myself.

But I also know how it feels to be judged by the older brother. To try to please those who live by the clipboard. Those who keep records. Those who express their displeasure at attitudes, actions, beliefs or routines different from their own. Those who resent the father's love for the wanderer.
...

These lines are the few I chose to save from pages and pages of sermon notes in that one particular notebook. And there are yet more and more boxes of notebooks filled with sermon notes and all kinds of stuff from my years as a religious insider. Those piles of boxes seem somehow symbolic of all the things I was taught during those decades - and the things I taught to others. They were the foundation of my weltanschauung - my worldview.

Since being catapulted from that world of organized religion, and since beginning to understand what it feels like to be an outsider, I have a new perspective. A very different viewpoint.

It is important to note that as I have been processing all that I was taught to believe, I have tried to be careful not to throw out the baby with the bath water. That is an interesting process, by the way, because it requires first figuring out which is the baby - that which is precious, that which really matters and should be cherished. Identifying which is the really important makes it easier to let go of the rest - because it is simply dirty water.

So yes, it is interesting to be sorting through the bins and boxes from a lifetime lived in the same house while simultaneously sorting through the layers and layers of truths and Truth that I have willingly consumed over a lifetime of being a good kid. A rule-keeper. A pleaser who feared God and tried to please everybody. A fixer. An older brother - or an older sister anyway - who wanted to set a good example for others, but who also tended to impose my expectations on them. Someone who often struggled to sort through all the good trying to discern what is best.
...

This story in Luke 15 has always amazed me. I am attracted by the love shown by the father. I am saddened by the attitude of the older brother - whether seen in myself or in others around me.

Living by the clipboard is NOT the model of authentic Christianity. I don't want to live like that anymore. And you know what? I don't have to. We don't have to. We can choose to be critical clipboard-carrying older brothers. Or we can choose to be welcoming and loving. And that is one of the things that really matter.

God help us make the right choice. People's lives depend on it.

Freedom and independence

A day to celebrate freedom and independence.

They are to be celebrated; right?

I wonder.

I seem to remember some sort of mixed messages about those two concepts. For some reason, throughout my history in the church those words seemed to evoke conflicting opinions.


Freedom
On the one hand we sang songs about glorious freedom and heard sermons and admonitions to live in the freedom that was offered through Jesus. On the other hand if someone claimed to be enjoying freedom, that claim was often met with skepticism and judgment and the implication that said person must actually be rebelling against something.


Independence
So then I wonder about independence - where there was also some sort of negative association - as if it were synonymous with rebellion - at least in terms of thinking and believing. If we were talking about financial independence, that was to be lauded. But spiritual independence? Not so much.

Or maybe call it intellectual independence. Sermons were preached and lessons were taught about how vital it is to learn to think for yourself as an antidote for bowing to peer pressure. That kind of independence was considered good, wise, commendable, noble, admirable. But when it came to questioning the things you had been taught, not so much. Nope, it was NOT commendable to question the rules that were handed down nor the elders who handed them.

...

Is it possible that independence is noble at times, but rebellious at other times? Am I the only one who wonders about this? Did anyone else receive mixed messages? Confusing "lessons" about freedom and independence?

...

I should learn to be independent, so that if my friends ever pressure me to do something dangerous or unwise, I can think for myself and be able to say "no" and to stand up to said peer pressure.

BUT if it was a church leader who was pressuring me to do something dangerous or destructive, then I must humbly submit to that pressure. To question traditional and legalistic rules and restrictions or to dare to stand up to someone in authority was deemed to be rebellious and dangerous.

So which is it? Is independence good or is it rebellious? Is freedom desirable or dangerous? When is it right to be free? When is it appropriate to be independent and when should we submit?

What about American independence? What about those founding fathers? Were they "right" in standing up to oppression and demanding to be free? What about other revolutions? Where is the line between independence and anarchy?

How about now? What does freedom mean in modern America? When conservatives complain that we are losing our freedoms, they certainly seem to mean something different than when a gay couple cries out for equality regarding their child's medical care. Can both sides be right? Can they even get along?

But those questions can't be answered in one blog post. And they may well be above my pay-grade. Whatever that means. I do not feel capable of solving the world's complex problems and I certainly am not smart enough to have the answers to how others should answer these questions.

But then I don't have to, do I? I am not responsible for the decisions of others. It's complex enough for me to figure out my own response and my own responsibility.

So what about it? What about me? How will I define freedom and independence? More importantly how will I choose when to be independent and when/where to fight for freedom?

...

A few conclusions at this moment in my journey of freedom:

• I am thankful for freedom and I celebrate it.
• I soberly accept the responsibility that comes with freedom and independence.
• I am wary of anyone who sets himself up as my authority and demands my submission.
• I realize that I am ultimately responsible to choose the authority figures and structures to whom I will submit; therefore, I seek to choose them wisely.
• I hope for wisdom to recognize injustice and oppression in my world and I pray for the courage to stand against them.
• I try to be alert to ways that I can provide and/or protect spaces of freedom for others.

...

I still wonder about many questions, but I can proceed with the things I know to do.

You say you love us...

The battle lines have been drawn and there is so much bad feeling in the air between gays and Christians. I admit being fearful to say almost anything because of the likely backlash. But my heart breaks. When I hear the awful things said about gays, part of me wants to ask the person speaking, "What if it were your son? Your daughter?" I want to ask if they have given any thought to how it would feel in that case. Or "If it were true that your son or daughter were gay, how would it feel for them to hear what you are saying?"

Unfortunately I know that there are sons and daughters hiding in fear because they have heard what dad or mom or grandpa or grandma or some other relative is saying. They have heard the rants and know that they are not welcome - as long as they are gay. They have tried everything they know to "pray away the gay" or to "be healed" or whatever it takes. They have read the books that have been pushed on them and heard the testimonials of gays who "are better now." Unfortunately they also know the vast number of people who can't brag about stories like that because their prayers were not answered so happily. If they want to be accepted, they dare not be honest; their only option is to hide in fear.

Why does this have to be a battle? Why do we Christians like to turn it into something that we have to win? Why can't we love gays just the way they are? You know, sort of like we love other people just the way they are. Well, at least we are supposed to.

I rarely hear Christians ranting about divorced people and their evil agenda - and I'm glad it is rare. I can't remember the last time I heard someone calling out an obese friend for their gluttony and remind them that they are going to hell because of it. I'm really glad about the grace that covers that sin. So why in the world do we treat gay people the way we do? It breaks my heart and yes, I believe it breaks the heart of God. There I said it. So go ahead and judge me for being an ally or a liberal.

I wasn't always an ally - and could barely be called one now because I really don't like to make my conservative friends mad at me. In fact I have been heard saying some of those conservative lines. I'm embarrassed now by how unloving I must have sounded. My "love" was not what you could call unconditional. That was before I really knew a gay person well enough to just love him. Just plain love him.  You know, like I loved other people, faults and all. Before I hung out long enough to know what my precious lesbian friend is really going through and before I felt her pain in my gut.

Sometimes when I talk about this, people reply, "I don't hate gays; I just want them to understand the consequences of their sin." That leaves me confused - because I don't see them following that same logic with other people. I mean we are talking about nice people who don't make it a practice of going around pointing out the faults and sins in other people. They don't demand their friends to be free from sin before they'll stand alongside them. They don't have a habit of lecturing and preaching at people about their sin. Except gay people.

I suppose that's why this post by Justin Lee hit me so hard.

If you love gay people, why doesn't it seem like it?

Why Rock the Boat - guest post

Why do you encourage missional thinking? Why do you bring in innovative thinkers with their radical and transformational ideas? Why do you invest so much time and energy getting pastors fired up to lead their churches into organic, refreshing, authentic ways of doing ministry? Why do you push these amazing, wonderful, life-changing concepts and encourage pastors to implement them? Why do you convince people that disciple-making is not a program, but that it is a radical way of thinking and living, a fresh but ancient wave of spiritual reproduction? Why do you challenge church leaders to dismantle their fortress mentality and to learn instead what it means to unleash the church - to BE the church outside the institutional walls?
...

(Read the rest of this post here.)

...

I wonder about so many things. Once in awhile I wish I could ask church leaders questions that I wonder about, but then I fear that nothing good would come of it. But if I could, if I thought it would matter, these are a few of the things I might ask.

I am excited to be invited to guest post on another blog, An Elbow in the Ribs. I thank my husband for encouraging me to keep wondering about things and to keep asking questions.

Missing the old days - Part Two

See Missing the old days - Part One here.
...

Once in awhile I miss the old days.  But not really...

...

I don't know that I have ever watched "Dancing with the Stars" and I don't know that I ever will. I have however seen a few episodes of other performance shows as well as the Olympics from time to time - enough to know there are two distinct sides to this brand of entertainment. There is the amazing talent, the emotion of the music, the personality of the performer, the beauty of the dance and the grace of the skaters - those are the wonders to behold and to celebrate.

Then there is the judging.   Oh, my, the judging - whether by the judges or the voting public.  The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. But also the harshness, the picky critiques, the heart-breaking put-downs. I suppose there is a place for performance judging in our world, but some of our worlds contain far too much judgment and pettiness and far too little celebration and grace.

...

Some of the oft-repeated rules in my old world were demanding and difficult.   

• If you are sick, you must not have enough faith. Maybe you're not praying enough. Maybe you should throw away your pills.
• You have to submit and be more surrendered.
• Try harder and believe more strongly.
• You must be willing to pay the price.
• We must live in victory - all the time.
• Perhaps you are being punished for not having consistent daily devotions.
• When God says "Jump" it is not your place to argue or to wonder why. It is simply yours to ask "How high?" (Yes, yes, that one was probably for my protection more than about my performance, but it didn't always sound that way.)

...

But in my new world, rather than a harsh raspy-voiced coach bellowing out orders to try harder, to jump higher, to throw farther, now I discover a loving father and I hear the new rules from his gentle voice. 

• Dance with me. Don't worry about stepping on my feet. In fact, some of the time, you can just stand on them and let me do the work - just like when you were little...
• It's not like DWTS. You will not be critiqued by judges. America will not vote on your performance.
• In fact, don't even think about an audience - because they don't matter. That's right; dance like no one is watching.
• Don't fret about how to keep the steps in order. Just relax and follow my lead. Lean in and feel the graceful rhythm.
• Let the music sink into your spirit and feel the breeze on your face.
• Enjoy the dance.
• Celebrate. 

...

I miss the old days like I miss having two left feet!  Being klutzy is no fun. Neither is always missing the mark.  Feeling like a failure gets really old.

Good-bye, Judgment.  Hello, Grace!

Missing the old days - Part One

Sometimes I miss the whole prayer thing. The program, the plan, the ritual. Ten steps to effective prayer. The rules and principles. At those times when I am terrified or wildly hoping for some amazing thing, yah, sometimes, I miss the formulas. The trying harder to muster up enough faith. The human effort thing.

When I'm feeling desperate and impatient, I guess maybe I like having something to do - some direction to channel my nervous energy. When I really, really hope that this thing is to be, but yet am afraid to hope, maybe I wish there was some way that I could tip the balance. Some prayer I could pray, some promise I could claim, some attribute of God that I could call upon to please, please, please do this for me. Some Scriptural principle I could follow. Some Biblical fast I could undertake. Some magic formula. Some guarantee.

But maybe I see things differently now. Instead of frantic petitioning, I sense a more peaceful trusting on my part. A quiet confidence in a loving Father. Perhaps a greater acceptance of the reality that I am not in charge of everything in my world, but I am responsible for my reaction to the things that come. Maybe there is a calmer contentment with what is.

After all, if I believe in a God who created me and knows me... A God who cares about me. A God who is good and kind and compassionate. A God who is all-powerful and all-wise. A God who works all things together for good to them who love Him and are called according to His purpose. If there is a God like that and if I trust Him, well then, maybe I don't have to get all worked up and make frantic demands, "Please, Papa, please!" or "Oh, dear God, what can I DO to get you to do what I want?"

...

Yes, I guess sometimes I miss the old prayer rituals, but mostly in a good way - like I miss being congested. Like after being sick for a week with a nasty head cold, and then waking up one morning feeling better. Like breathing in relief and breathing out gratitude. Like being excited that it feels so good to feel good again!

What if it is not about my performance, about me getting the steps in perfect order? What if it is not about claiming the right verses or saying the right prayers? What if it's not a check-list of rules and regulations and rituals?

What if it is simply a gift? Can I breathe in the quiet realization that I am loved? Exhale. Deep sigh. Grace. Joy. Delight. Gratitude. Trust. Relief. Feeling cherished. Humbled to know that I did not earn this. I could not have earned it - no matter how hard I tried.

Yes, sometimes I miss the old congestion - just before I notice that it feels so good to feel good. To be able to breathe freely.  Ah..........

...

...and now for Part Two of "Missing the old days"

Church Matters

Yes, church matters.

If the church is the "body" of Jesus, then it matters greatly.  The church can and should be a powerful force for good when it is in the business of love and grace and healing and forgiveness and delivering Good News.  However, at times throughout history the church has also been a powerful force for harm - and this ought not to be. This unbelievably sad reality damages and destroys people as well as the reputation of the church.

"Church matters" can also refer to the business of the Kingdom that so many of us have been caught up in.  These church matters can drain our energy and dominate our time and our thinking - especially if we are in a leadership role, but even if we are "just" lay people.  While it can be argued that any organization will need some kind of organizational structure, it is wise to remember that we are not called to bow down to the structure nor to people in positions of power.

During the decades that I invested my time and energy in church matters, I learned a lot about what matters to many in the church world.  I have sat through discussions about the four P's that church leaders need to discuss: purpose, people, program, property.  Some of the discussions were lively and fun while others were neither lively nor fun - discussions about how those four things should line up and about how they really land in each of our churches.  Then there are the rules to live by - the things by which we judge spiritual growth or personal holiness.  What a crazy long list that one is!

I do not blame any person(s) for the setting of external standards; indeed, I dared to "instruct" on the "standards of life and conduct" and to encourage steps of spiritual growth. What I mean to say here is that I have finally realized that many of those church matters are not what really matters.

Are there steps that lead to spiritual growth?  Quite probably, just like there are steps to other kinds of growth.  Will there be evidence of maturity in the lives of believers?  I certainly hope so. What I object to is the practice of measuring "spirituality" or "holiness" or even worth and value by outward appearance - things like church attendance, tithing, philosophy of ministry, preferred style of music, volunteerism, time management, Bible reading or memorization, diet, habits, political affiliation, or other external behavior.

...

Quite possibly the preceding paragraphs provide more detail about church matters than most of my readers would ever want to know.  Indeed.  But yes, church matters seem to really matter to church people.  My whole point is that we are missing the point if we obsess about these things. 

...

So what really does matter?

At this point, I can only answer for myself as part of the body of Christ.  To do that, I try to focus on Jesus, on His life and teachings as my example.  I know that love and grace are probably the things that matter most - as well as forgiveness and generosity and healing.

In fact, I just might come up with my own list of what I believe the church should be about: reconciliation, redemption, and restoration.

I believe these are things that really matter.

No Longer Home - Part Two

(Continued from Part One posted yesterday)

...

Eventually, gradually, finally, the girl began to understand that she did not have to live under the constant threat of displeasing someone – although it would take a very long time to fully embrace that truth.

As the girl continued to expand her intellectual ability, she learned some basic truth from the outside world – like about behavior patterns and healthy boundaries. Once she understood the wisdom in this kind of knowledge, she began to grieve that these principles had not been taught in the village. To the contrary, the walls that seemed to protect had also restricted the flow of much that would have been healthy – and had actually amplified the unhealthiness of other facets of community life.

The comfort zone no longer seemed idyllic. The safety and security came with high price tags – of restriction and manipulation. Freedom had been devalued, blind obedience exalted.

But it was still home. It was still the place to come back and be safe and secure. She knew the rules and spoke the language. There was even a bit of hope that things could change, that maybe, just maybe, restrictions and manipulation could diminish so that freedom and growth could flourish. In fact, there seemed to be times when that was so. More and more people began to experience moments of freedom and hope, but there always seemed to be a limit to freedom. It took awhile to realize that freedom is not the same as a longer leash.

And still she stayed. She submitted where she could without compromising her health and she tried to improve things wherever possible. After all, she was fluent in the language and understood the systems and the protocol very well. Surely she could have a positive influence. And she was not alone in her efforts. Many others also worked hard to make the village a place of life and health and vitality and freedom and growth. There were good days, fulfilling days, fun days, days of good old-fashioned hard work – as well as days that weren’t so fun or fulfilling.

And still she stayed – because it was home. Some of the time she felt welcome there – IF she worked hard to please – but not so much if she spoke up for freedom and health. She was still fluent in the language and still knew the protocol so she kept trying to walk the tightrope, to find some balance between fitting in and breaking free.

It had never occurred to her that she might someday no longer be welcome here, so it came as a great surprise to find herself outside of the walls and to realize quite suddenly that she would not be going back home. The girl would no longer live in the village; it was no longer home.

…

Sometime later the girl began to wonder if there was something that she could have done to stay, to continue to feel welcome in the village. She came to the conclusion that she probably did have a choice. She probably could have stayed and even been welcomed and cared for if, only if, she had chosen to submissively step back behind the rule line and if she were willing to start over in making sure to please the proper people, those who thought themselves to be leaders, and if she would stop making waves and rocking the boat and thinking for herself. She thought carefully about that choice and the accompanying price tag. She knew she could do it; after all, she was still fluent in the language and she still knew the protocol. But she also knew that it would mean setting aside freedom and growth and life and healing and health and vitality - and she knew without a doubt that price was too high. Besides, she had already discovered that there were wonderful places outside the walls that could provide a sense of home – that didn’t force her to sell her soul to pay the rent and where she was not required to commit emotional and intellectual suicide.

…

And the air is cleaner, fresher.
The horizon is broader.
The view is awesome.

She is still trying to understand the protocol and is not yet fluent in the language, but she is getting lots of practice. Yes, she is beginning to feel at home.

More importantly, the girl is learning what it feels like to be free.

No Longer Home - Part One

She had felt at home in this place as long as she could remember. It was her native land. She was fluent in the language. She knew the rules – the laws of the land. She understood every detail of the program, the schedule and the protocol. She knew which things were approved and which were not. She knew how to please people and what would invoke displeasure. She knew which topics were taboo and which were okay to discuss on a surface level. She knew the steps for HOW to look good even if she didn’t always succeed at it – and when success eluded her, she knew to be properly apologetic and meek and submissive. She felt secure behind these walls and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

At some point the girl ventured forth into the world beyond the walls to explore other cultures. She found the big world fascinating with its sights and sounds, its thoughts and ideas, its delights and its scariness, but she was smart enough to come back home to the safety and security and comfort and convenience of her own little world. During her several trips to the outside she learned to function out there somewhat successfully, but this is where she felt safe and secure. This was home.

After decades of living in this world but occasionally working on the outside, she began to realize that not everyone on the inside was pleased with her performance all of the time. Some were proud of her for venturing forth and others seemed to feel threatened by it. Most would still praise her for following the rules of the inside and would with-hold their praise if her rule-following lacked the vehemence they desired to see. Some were quick to point out the dangers of spending any unnecessary amount of time on the outside.

Eventually she began to wonder if she dared to actually think for herself. Some expressed their approval of her continuing development while others made it plain that it was totally inappropriate for her to think for herself. They reminded her that it was her responsibility to submit to the wishes of those who called themselves leaders. Being wise and mature as they were, these leaders were of course kind and gentle in their counsel. They would sit her down and patiently express their disappointment with her – because she had strayed from the rules. Even more often than those encounters were the ones where they calmly gave her their own personal opinions – explaining carefully that while these issues were not official rules, at the very least these matters were quite important to them personally. It got confusing at times to be told that there was no official rule about such and such, but that it would be much better for her to follow the wishes of these leaders. She had not yet encountered the term “passive-aggressive behavior” nor been educated about that concept – so she just kept trying to figure out how to best walk this line and not displease anyone.

Yes, these important leaders seemed generally kind and gentle and wise and diplomatic, rarely raising their voices over anything. However, there were a very few occasions when that was not the case, when she and the others were completely caught off-guard by a normally calm, dignified leader suddenly exploding in anger – causing people to tiptoe around nervously puzzled. Events like that would normally have encouraged the girl to make sure to get herself back in line – and certainly would have caused her to feel at least some measure of guilt – whether or not she had anything to do with the eruption. She had learned well to avoid that kind of scenario and not to make waves. Or had she?

...

(Continue reading - Part Two)