The Set Up

A couple of years ago, someone very dear to me accusingly pointed out that I have a tendency toward closer friendships with pastors than most people have.

And sure, he was sort of  right.

At my first church, my pastor got me a job working for him. He was a radiologist who read the nighttime E.R. images for most of Tucson. He worked out of his house, and he needed a reading room assistant to deal with faxes and phone calls. It was a sweet gig, because E.R.s aren’t always busy at night, so there were nights when I didn’t do much of anything. I’d read or nap, and there were quite a few times when Mr. Bossman Radiologist would come and talk with me while we waited for work to come in.

Then, there was my second pastor, who I’ve written about quite a lot because he has become a dad to me.

Then, there was my third pastor who became one of my closest friends.

So… now that I’ve moved on to a newer church, I find myself hesitating. With Pastor Pete, he’s got quite a lot going on with a newish church plant that’s growing, so I’ve been able to fade into the background pretty well. However, we’ve now got an interning pastor who is also my Bible study leader, and he’s taking a special interest in me that I’m irrationally fighting.

And yes – it’s stupid. My friend should not have so carelessly passed judgment. Without thinking much about it, he implied an impropriety that didn’t exist, a warped ambition in my heart, and any number of other unfounded and hurtful judgments. I believe that if he knew how much his comment tortured me, he would rescind it immediately and tell me that each of the relationships I’ve had with a pastor was a gift from God. But a broken heart isn’t easily mended, and discovering his true opinion of me certainly broke my heart.

And yet, broken heart or no, Andy, my interning pastor has been kind and generous with me, in using me as an example when advising others, in pushing my name forward as someone who might be perfect for this or that, and now, by going out on a limb to set me up with one of his friends. So it seems that regardless of my attempts at anonymity with church leadership, Andy and I will be friends, unless…

Well, the blind date set up thing is one of the more awkward obstacles that can happen to any friendship, because there are terrible pitfalls that could lead to any number of bitter regrets by everyone or anyone involved. What if it doesn’t work out? What if it does? What if I have to stop going to the only Bible study my church offers that I really like? What if it gets awkward and ruins my friendship with Andy’s wife? What if… what if… what IF…?

So there we are, at church, and Andy walks up to me and offers an exaggeratedly tentative, “Hiiiiiiiii.”

“You’re going to ask me to do something,” I say.

And he launches in to a highly prepared speech about someone named Ethan (I think that’s his name). Andy has mentioned Ethan to me a few times before, because when Andy and I met, he immediately identified me as a good match for Ethan. He goes to ComiCon and is a delightful, God-fearing nerd… as am I, evidently.

So… in spite of my awkward prediction that the set up would ruin all friendships involved, Andy will be giving Ethan my number, so wish me good luck with Ethan and Andy. I pray that I will be a blessing to both regardless of what the future holds.

And Question: How close should the shepherd/sheep relationship really be? I tend to believe that pastors should have personal relationships with everyone they lead, but then there’s the whole mega-church thing that makes pastors into inaccessible celebrities, and I don’t believe there’s anything inherently wrong with that. Thoughts?

 

The Death of Martin Luther

“Kate’s anxious foreboding had been realized; the tragedy had reached its climax. Her concern for her ailing, distant husband had not been without reason. The dear man, the grand reformer, the brilliant teacher and preacher, the loving father and faithful husband was no more. Although Luther’s death was not unexpected, it was to early. Too early for the church and for those who longed for her renewal. Too early for the family he had treasured. Too early for the world he had scolded so often. Luther’s death was too early for Kate, with whom he had argued and contradicted yet whom he loved and valued above all women,” (A Reformation Life Katharina Von Bora 173).

 

My So-called Life…

Look at me, posting THREE days in a row!

It’s been awhile since I’ve written about what’s going on with me, so for those of you who read STILL GROWING because you know and care about me, here’s what’s going on in my so-called life…

• I stand amazed at the blessing my job has been this year. I’ve grown closer with my colleagues, and been amazed at their proficiencies in one of the most challenging professions in existence. I’ve also been blessed by students who are trying. In the five years I’ve spent as an educator, I’ve come to expect classrooms full of apathy and nonchalance… and not just about scholastic achievement, but also in regards to character. More often than not, students seek cheap thrills that distort and corrupt their person, rather than toiling through the obstacles blocking us all from being more than we are. However, this is the first year in which I’ve felt a distinct effort from the majority of my students to improve. They want to be kinder, more loyal, more eloquent, better prepared, and overall, excellent human beings. I’ve been flabbergasted to already have seen several students grow several sizes (just like the Grinch’s heart). I’ve taught well, and they’ve learned well, and the classroom has been what it ought to be. I’ve been close to tears as the relationships grow, and students genuinely want me in attendance at their inductions into National Honors Society, football games, and performances in the school musical. I don’t think I’ve ever had quite so many students genuinely want me to know them… and of course I’ve also never had quite so many students, period, but this year is still somehow different.
• My church has moved into its own building, and things are moving towards the really wonderful. I wish I could say that I helped make it happen, but, in truth, I struggled with my church and my expectations, often wondering if Holy Cross was where I wanted to be. I had several talks with Pastor Pete, trying to figure out where I fit, how I should serve, whether I’m being sinful in attending another church’s Bible study, and none of that was very helpful to anyone, but I’m starting to settle in now and appreciate Holy Cross for what she is. It’s really nice to see God blessing our church and to witness her coming into her own. I’m not sure why the building has made such a difference, but it really has.
• I’ve lost 6 pounds! It’s running season again, and my body responds impressively well when I train. Maybe I’ll drop another pants size and even beat my personal best of 2 hrs and 18 mins for a half-marathon. Also, I’m very excited to be running Ragnar Southern California next year. Each runner evidently gets to run next to the ocean for at least one leg of the race, which sounds spectacular.
• I haven’t heard any definitive news about the house I’ve put an offer on, but the seller’s bank has made some changes to the contract, which I went ahead and signed… the best change they made was to give us 60 days for closing. Since my lease isn’t up until March, that’s perfect for me. That means the earliest date I could be a homeowner is in early December, and I’m hoping it’ll be more like February, so feel free to join me in praying that the bank will drag its feet just a little bit.
• My uncle David died. Unfortunately, he and I weren’t close, but I’m still struck by his story. He died of a heart attack, and his body stayed at the hospital for longer than two days because no one could reach his next-of-kin. The sad reason for this is a valley that existed between him and my father, but of all the things my dad has done for me, I’m proudest of him for his decisions about his brother. My uncle wasn’t particularly good or careful in his relationships with my mom, sister, or me, and my dad chose distance from him because he wanted to protect his girls. So my uncle was separate. I don’t know if I’d say that he was alone, but I certainly hope my body won’t sit in a hospital morgue for any longer than it has to.
• I managed to make it through my earliest years of adulthood without the common frustration many experience that all of their friends are getting married. However, I’ve now seemingly entered the Spring season in which Thumper and Flower become twitterpated… and let’s hope I, like Bambi, am not too far behind them, and also that they all throw spectacular parties.
• Earlier this year at Phoenix Comicon, Ashly and I discovered the amazing art of pumpkin chucking, and the annual festival in Tucson will be happening at the end of this month. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt a sense of anticipation that was quite as strong as what I’m currently feeling.

I think that’s the important stuff that’s going on with me. I’d love to hear about the major events in your lives, and I’ll probably be checking in at all of your blogs this week since I’m off of work (Woohoo for Fall Break), but also feel free to let me know anything major down in the comments section. I’d love to know how I can pray for you all this week.

Much Love!

 

Is Relinquished Passion a Sign of Maturity?

As a Christian, there are four things that I’m uncommonly passionate about:

1. The Word
2. The Tithe
3. Predestination
4. The Church

I don’t know why I’m passionate about these particular things. Everyone has her calling, I suppose, and I can safely assert that my love of story and literature is God-given and divinely-knitted into my heart, and I doubt I could ever achieve a casual relationship with the written word or scripture. It seems silly to even consider purposely squelching a passion like that, but I wouldn’t put it past God to require that I relinquish a passion that He planted in me. After all, He requires everything.

I’m not at all saying that I believe God is currently requiring me to give up writing and reading, but I use them as an example because one of my other passions is currently in flux.

I want my church to be more than she is and I don’t know if that’s fair or not.

I love my church and am not suggesting that I’d like to find another. I want her to be what she desires to be. I like the people who attend and I’m not criticizing her at all.

Everyday, I struggle against cynicism that tells me to stop expecting so much because the bride is flawed and sinful, just as each of us is. And it’s not in my nature to idealize as I have with her; I’m usually that person who walks into the movie theater expecting to have wasted my eight or nine dollars… because if my expectations are low enough I won’t be disappointed. I’ve known plenty of people who take that attitude toward their churches and live godly lives of Sunday attendance and daily sanctification that’s as separate from the church as it’s possible to be. They listen to sermons and think, pray, study, and serve without the church, and I admire them for their steadfastness and will to follow the Lord.

Most churches I’ve encountered are just fine. They could be doing better of course, but they’re obviously doing their best, and my desire for more isn’t a reflection of an evil they’ve perpetrated. It’s a reflection of my passion… just like my passion for the word of God. Most people don’t read the Bible as I read mine, but that’s not a sign that they’re evil. I find myself lacking in the discipline of prayer, especially when I stand next to those who are passionate about it, but I don’t believe that’s evidence of an evil in my life either.

So, when it comes to the church, I don’t begrudge people who expect less of her than I expect. Perhaps it might even better honor the Almighty and His Bride for me to expect less because, like Bonhoeffer pointed out, it’s dishonoring to them both to love my vision of a community more than I love the community itself.

So maybe it’s a sign of maturity for me to be less involved for a bit. Maybe I ought to  settle into a casual relationship with the institution and relinquish my idealist passion. I can attend on Sundays and satisfy my own spiritual hunger with friendships and growth that transcend the institution. I can take the advice of those who’ve suggested I take a more realistic understanding of sin and the church… although what they’re saying is obviously the poorly-veiled, tactful and softened version of, “What you’re expecting isn’t possible.” And while I don’t agree with that statement at all, maybe there is a bit of wisdom in what they say.

I don’t know if I can ever accept that sort of lowering of the bar, and I struggle to see it as anything other than a faithless submission to the mediocre… a voluntary fade of hope and Emerson championing the five-paragraph essay and six-trait rubric. Of course no one would advise me to read less of the Bible and temper my passion for the Word.

So… I find it distasteful to dilute another of my passions for the sake of reality.

And yet, I no longer have the time or will to attend a Bible study at my church and another just to satisfy my conviction for commitment to the church and my hunger for depth of thought, relationships, and expression in regards to the word. My introverted batteries are running on empty because I’ve longed for and attempted to aid community at church, but found it more authentic, honest, and available elsewhere.

I find myself redirecting a passion I’d like to aim at my church, and I comfort myself with the thought that attending my church and passionately participating in the church might not be sinful or adulterous… it may, in fact, be the most righteous option available to me, because I cannot anymore squelch my idealism and hope in the bride of Christ than I can settle for reading my Bible once a month.

What do you think? Is it wrong to be  committed to the Lord and the church, but only attend my church casually? How much of our spiritual lives should be connected to a church?

 

What Should I Expect From a Sermon?

When I attended church the first time, the things I wanted were very different from what I want now.

I wanted to get in, get out, and move on. I only agreed to attend church in an effort to appease a bible-thumper I couldn’t seem to shake. Additionally, I was curious about Christians, because I didn’t really know any, and I wasn’t sure if they were anything like the picture I had of them.

After a few months of sneaking in and out of my mega church every Sunday, my desires changed. The sermons were usually titled something like, “How to Love Your Family Well” or “How to Make Time for the Important Stuff”… and even though it seems like I’m about to say that the pastor took verses out of context and pieced together a message of blasphemy, that wasn’t actually what he did. There were inevitably some verses taken out of context, but for the most part, the pastor was preaching through the Old Testament and its stories. Of course I heard about Mr. Nebuchadnezzar a time or two too many, because our Pastor Man was obsessed with the first appearance of swamp cooling in the desert (which he attributed to a certain Babylonian King), and I got really tired of that video clip from The Dead Poet’s Society that he showed every other Sunday, BUT that pastor of mine also did something pretty cool: he used biblical stories to build life principles. Okay, so you think that’s not all that special? I concede that I’ve probably done something similar to what he did in my subconscious ever since the first time I heard (and understood) a story… but I’d never seen a pastor draw such a clear connection between what happened in a story, and how I ought to be living.

So I came to expect that church and faith were really just about following the “how to” secret code of the Bible.

But I was a baby Christian; I can’t quite say that I wasn’t a Christian, but neither can I say that I truly knew God. Because I wasn’t trying to know Him.

A few years later, I’d read the Bible through-and-through, and was pretty sure I’d figured out how to do this weird life thing. I landed at a new church, and the sermons were really different, because none of them were “how tos” and when I asked my new pastor for advice, he’d rarely tell me what I should do as if he’d read it from a manual. I read Knowledge of the Holy and started listening to Matt Chandler sermons, and all of a sudden I wanted church to be about God. I wanted to know His behaviors, His motivations, His words, His affections… everything. And I thought sermons should be about describing Him.

So.. “Lafou, I’m afraid I’ve been thinking.”

“A dangerous pastime.”

“I Know.”

What do pastors try to do with their sermons?

Do they try to tell us how to live? Do they seek to describe God? Or do they set out to do something else entirely?

I’ve read blog posts before, written by pastors to pastors about the unfair expectations their congregations have of their sermons, and it makes me wonder what my expectations are and whether they’re fair or not. I like to think I expect pastors to do exactly the thing they’re trying to do: use words, emotion, body language, media, examples, and every other part of their existence to create a 30-50 minute vision of the Almighty.

That’s quite the assignment, you say? Well, sure. And we’d be fools to begrudge our pastors for falling short pretty regularly when they attempt to describe something they won’t experience fully until they’re dead, but the more I think on it, the more I’m haunted by that crazy mathematician-scientist who occasionally rode a bicycle, about whom Charles Misner wrote, “The design of the universe…is very magnificent and shouldn’t be taken for granted. In fact, I believe that is why Einstein had so little use for organized religion, although he strikes me as a basically religious man. He must have looked at what the preachers said about God and felt that they were blaspheming. He had seen much more majesty than they had ever imagined, and they were just not talking about the real thing. My guess is that he simply felt that religions he’d run across did not have proper respect for…the author of the universe.”*

Do you think Einstein had unfair expectations? And were his expectations those of everyman or were they the extraordinary thoughts of a brilliant mind?

Sermons that are heavily weighted with life instructions are my roots… and yet, I look upon them now knowing there’s better, and I question whether the true obstacle facing a teaching pastor is his congregation’s unfair expectations. I don’t require that my shepherd be entertaining, clever, or even practical, although I appreciate it when he is those things. I’d much rather he attempt the impossible and fail every time, because it is a far greater favor to his sheep when he stumbles over the vast magnificence of the Almighty with them watching.

I believe that my expectations of sermons have grown as my vision of God has grown, and maybe that’s true of others as well. Of course there are demoralizing meanies who critique pastors when they’re bored, but I think most of us yearn for sermons that prompt our visions of God to grow. We want to see that our pastors know and preach of a God who is infinitely greater than what we’ve seen of Him, and to feel confident that we haven’t outgrown our instructors.

Perhaps those things are unfair… I certainly can’t imagine anyone being up to the task, but neither have I ever known a good pastor who thought he was.

What do you think? Do we have unfair expectations of our pastors and their sermons? What does a good sermon even include?

*I took that quote from Let the Nations be Glad by John Piper.