again

times like these I get the Psalms

anguished pleas to a distant God

cries for justice, if not revenge

bargaining, begging

sleepless nights

and all too long days

no quick fixes, or simple explanations

only the waiting,

and the memory

that it was different

and the hope

that it may be different, again

the thirty-year itch

Memory says 1980 was the last time Connie and I went “church shopping.” We were a young married couple in our mid-twenties, new in town and working in a para-church camping ministry (my dream come true).

We’d grown up in (conservative) Baptist churches. Mine was small, blue-collar, something of a country church in a suburban setting full of salt of the earth type people. Our pastors were either at the end of their career or fresh from seminary. Hers was near the downtown core, white-collar, large and staffed with multiple pastors who were movers and shakers in the association (Baptists associated, they didn’t denominate).  Perhaps “conservative” is an understatement. Our congregations and lives were guided by strict theology and a seeming unending assortment of lifestyle expectations.

After moving to Bellingham, Washington, we tried a number of churches hoping to find something that “fit.” We’d stay a few weeks here or there, but somehow didn’t settle anywhere our first year. Eventually we followed the suggestions of some of our newer friends and checked out a local Presbyterian congregation. I had a not-too-subtle, negative prejudice toward anything mainline. I was convinced they were unwitting people with no real connection to God, and they certainly didn’t know Jesus.

We began by meeting with the pastor. The big hurdle for us was women in leadership. How could a church claim to be Biblical and ignore such clear, specific scriptures? He did his best to assure us that the church was focused on Jesus and faithful to scripture. Somehow we gave it a chance and soon found a new home.

In 1985 we left the camp ministry and I joined the church staff. By then I had realized my faith was in process. And that was okay. I was a member of a Presbyterian church and beyond that, a staff member. Fast forward to 1997 and I transitioned to a new role in another Presbyterian church. Once again we had blurred the lines between church and work.  We stayed for fourteen years, moving on this past summer.  (You can read about my transition in an essay I wrote for catapult earlier this fall.)  Now, after twenty-five plus years of having our church determined by my job, we are without a church home.

Much has changed since 1980. My perception of numerous “absolutes” has shifted. Surprisingly, the church has survived.  I’ve observed or participated in diverse elements shifting Christian culture including the Jesus People, the church growth movement, mega-churches and emergent efforts.  From where I stand today I can’t imagine being a part of a church that excludes women from leadership. Creation and evolution, divorce and remarriage, faith and politics and understanding of Scripture are a few of the areas in which my beliefs have shifted. In areas where I formerly had clear, specific beliefs, I now find I often have ideas, questions, hopes and doubts.

All of this makes the process of finding a new church more than a matter of doctrine or denomination. Since the last time we chose a church we have raised kids and become grandparents; my wife has survived cancer, we’ve lost friends and family members and so much more. I get that we are in something of a post-modern, post-Christian, post-church cultural moment. We are different, the world is different and the church landscape is different.

To be honest I’ve never been the best at sitting through a service. I don’t like ceremony and generally find church services more about enduring than enjoying. I no longer crave programs, activities, sermons or classes. At best, I am seeking soul space, conversations, presence, a glimpse of the holy and connections.  I’m drawn to being a part of a community. Yet I don’t want my belonging to be measured by the name on the building I sit in on Sunday mornings (or some creative new service time, you know like Saturday or Sunday evening).

Then there is the issue of this cultural moment. It seems that the primary identity of many churches, spoken or unspoken, is the claim to have the correct, Biblical, God-directed, view about matters related to gender/sexuality/orientation and membership/ordination and all that spills forward from there.  Since when has division, contentiousness and hubris become the mark of the church, the people of God, followers of Jesus? I detest the idea of associating with a church based upon a hot-button label. I am equally offended that I may be negatively labeled by my choice of a church home.

This leaves me uncertain how to find a church. Do I go with theology? Form of government?  My (current) view of said hot-button issue? Commitment to social justice? Appearance of being loving? The form of worship/services?  Do I want traditional (you know, music from the forties, fifties and sixties) or contemporary (that’s right, with my choice of stuff from the seventies, eighties or nineties)? How it feels? Where my friends go? Will my kids and grandkids like it? Who goes there? Who doesn’t go there? Let’s be honest, maybe I’m wondering where I might have the best shot at a new job, or at least connections? Something with established traditions and organizational structure or some organic start-up? How about the one I can walk to down the street? The most edgy or the one that cares less about cultural pressures? Do I look more at the pastor, the congregation, the denomination or lack there of?

As I consider the possibilities I don’t find a rush of energy to make a decision.

Connie and I have a great circle of friends that has long functioned as something like a “church” for us. Our roots of connection go back to the seventies, with some who have joined over the years and a few who are somewhat new to the family. We care for each other, encourage each other and challenge each other. Our commitments have held as we have lived through the stress of rough life stages. Interestingly, in my leaving occupational ministry I have been able to reconnect more fully with peers and specifically this group of friends.  We’ve shared holidays, vacations, family transitions, big events and lazy days. Births, baptisms, graduations, weddings and memorials have marked our years. Most of our connections date to the seventies and eighties at camp and church. Though we are now scattered from a singular church setting, we are still together.  

Connie and I have a short list of churches we plan to “check out.” Others appear to have their own lists for us. I have to admit, it’s easy to put it off. In the interim we have enjoyed a variety of Sunday morning alternatives; weekends away, overnights with grandkids, brunch with family and friends, biking in the islands or watching football in real time.

It would be easy to let guilt, habit or the expectations of others drive our decisions and actions. From where I sit at this moment, it is difficult to predict how this will turn out.

May God have mercy on us all.

 http://www.catapultmagazine.com/church/article/the-thirty-year-itch

happy thanksgiving

have a great day of thanks and enjoy my grandpa goodson's pumpkin pie: http://bellingham.komonews.com/news/community-spirit/692883-let-feasting-begin-grandpas-pumpkin-pie

some say it’s easy

some say it’s easy,

natural, you can’t stop it

“involuntary” droned  

the science teacher

some days

effort overwhelms

crushes my ribs

and empties my lungs

some times it takes more

much more

an act of tenacious will

a choice to continue

too bad

seems it’s not true

lemmings don’t actually

spend their days waiting

to join the mass hysteria

and head for the nearest cliff

too bad

it’s a great image

helping describe, maybe explain

acts of humanity

that should never have been

another cover-up, (alleged) cover-up

story says it was years ago

people knew

important people

famous people

they looked away

thought it would be forgotten

hoped it would be forgotten

prayed it would be forgotten

really, forgotten?

kids molested

boys raped and abused

young boys

lost souls

throw aways

tossed into hell

for one man’s pleasure

in the showers

maybe a hotel

or a home, the safe place

could have been on the road

by that man

man of power

sorry,

allegedly by the man of power

there is nothing alleged

about the lives of the boys

struggling toward adulthood

with memories that none

should bear

lost trust

fears beyond reason

hope beyond reach

Lessons for a season as an outsider

Being an “outsider” is something I have identified with throughout my life. My mom was a bit of an emotional outsider, deeply lost and seeking affirmation as she poured her life into others hoping to rescue or protect them and thereby possibly find comfort for herself. My Dad was an outsider by choice. He wasn’t about to buy your load of… and didn’t need to be a part of your club.

As with most kids, I received some of each of their styles. Like my dad I’m skeptical and critical of movements and charismatic people (not the spiritually charismatic, the personality type). From mom I have a passion to include and care for those left out. I have channeled this into a career in education and ministry for 35-plus years.

But this reflection on being an “outsider” comes from a new perspective. In June I “voluntarily resigned” from my ministry job of almost fourteen years. It’s three-plus months since the official end and I am in a new, not altogether comfortable place, unemployed.

I learned to be a worker from my parents. Berry picking in the summer and delivering newspapers after school, I have been working since I was about 12. Until now. Until June 30, 2011. Oh, I have been looking at jobs and even started a business in an attempt to provide a new way forward. But there isn’t much happening.  After almost 32 years of full time professional ministry, I’m not “that” any longer. So what do I do with this new identity? How do I start again?  I’m older, in the midst of a larger economic crisis, over-qualified for many positions and with lifestyle expectation realities.

This season has a sense of personal death for me. Gone are the systems, schedule and relationships I lived in. My rhythm is off. I have a lot of flexible time, but it is hard to focus because I’m not sure what I am supposed to be doing. I hang around coffee shops meeting with people, working on my computer. Trying to get the next thing going.

But there is a whole world of friends and family in their routines. Working their jobs in an orb that I am not included in any longer.  To be cliché, I am out of my comfort zone. That which I thrived on, my work, is gone. I’m left in this awkward space of transition. From the known to the unknown. From the desert to the (hoped for) Promised Land, maybe from death to life.

Not that all I left was bad — indeed, much of it was great. But it appears that time to move on arrived. Whether my transition was an act of divine providence or human bumbling is for others to debate. Moving on requires an acceptance of the death of what has been left behind.

So I will live this season as an outsider. And being an outsider is different from being left out. I have my family and friends. Some are walking alongside me. But there are lessons to be learned that are for me. The question is: will I make the most of this unplanned, unusual time and situation? I need to remember that without death there is no resurrection. Seems I have (the privilege of) some choice in the matter.

Being an outsider is a bit of a wake-up call. Jesus was for outsiders: “the least of these,” “the sick need a doctor.” It seems Jesus was more about outsiders than the rest of us. How can that be? Jesus showing favorites? It’s more scandalous than parent-child discrimination. But he seems to be able to manage it.

The writers of the epistles went along. “Orphans and widows,” “…God chose the foolish… God chose the weak… God chose the lowly….” In ways we may not understand God meets the outsider. Being an outsider has a sense of being stripped bare, down to essentials. It provides for assessment of values. As an outsider I may again lose myself to find myself in God alone. Increased need may provide increased clarity.

I’ve had my seasons as an outsider — outside my norm, outside my comfort zones, outside my expectations, outside others’ expectations. In all such times I have had the opportunity to open my eyes of faith and see reality, which has always been there, somehow more clearly.  I need to acknowledge that though my times as an outsider have varied in intensity and length of season, so far, they have ended. I ache to understand and care for those who experience unending life as an outsider. If I learn anything along the way and I become any of what God has created me for and called me to, I better be putting it in action to care for them.

Although I may not say it in every situation or moment, and this one is still in process, I am thankful for the “outsider” seasons.

And, I have to admit. I’m thankful that they only last for a season.

May God have mercy on us all.

  http://www.catapultmagazine.com/outsider/article/lessons-for-a-season-as-an-outsider