Broken but Healing; Waiting but Envisioned

In January of this year (2011), the pastors of the church I  attend, invited the congregation to join them in a forty day fast.  While I have done extended fast in the past,  I did not feel particularly called to fast this year.  I have had some medical problems during past  fasts, and had concluded that I would not do another extended fast.  As January approach, I felt the nudge of God  to fast with the church simply out of obedience to my pastors, and so I did.

For the first time, I was able to give myself more fully to prayer and reflection and the presence of the Lord was sweet and at times overwhelming.  Midway through the forty days one of the pastors asked me if I was hearing anything from God.  “No”, I responded.  In fact, I hadn’t been listening and didn’t have an expectation that God was going to be speak.  When I got home, I asked God if there was anything He want to say.  For the
remainder of the fast, I listened.

Within a day or two, I got a clear word that the fast signaled the end of a season of life and the beginning of a new season.  God did not draw a clear picture of this new season of life, and that has been ok with me. I have lost my need to for a detailed map of my future.  I no longer desire a big or important ministry.  Over the last two years I have come to a place of peace about my life. Since September of 2009 when I last wrote, God has transformed me through His love and a renewed and deepened understanding of His Kingdom in this world.  Those segments of my journey
will require their own post.

As the time of fasting finished, God ask me several questions.  First, would l be willing to serve him even if I did not have a title or position to minister from.  Second, would I see it as significant and worth my time if God wanted to use me to minister to any person He brings to
me.  Third, would I be willing to do any task, no matter how small, simply to serve Him.  And, fourth, would I let go of my personal ambitions for opportunities and influence, and live the rest of my life out in simple service for His Kingdom.  With each question, my heart softened—and stung because He even had to ask me.

February began with a settled peace about the future and a steady stream of individuals who have graciously allowed me to walk a short distance
with them as they face questions, struggles and sometime profound pain.  It has been a great honor to be a place where heaven and earth touch—a little taste of the coming Kingdom.

The year is half over, and with it increasing places to minister.  It is truly beautiful to minister under the leading of God.  In the past, ambition drove me to seek opportunities that were not good fits, and fueled my striving for importance.  God has opened a door for ministry that is a perfect fit, and my heart is full of peace and eager anticipation.  I am stunned by His presence in my life.

Unknown Journey

I live in Northern Arizona at the base of the San Francisco Peaks.  The peaks are all that remain of the rim of an ancient volcano.  The highest is Humphreys Peak, 12,633 feet (3,851 m).  For eight years I have lived against the backdrop of these majestic sentinels watching over Flagstaff, but I knew little more than my gleanings from casual conversations.  For example, they are considered sacred by the Hopi, Navaho, and other local first nations.  Another time, two friends recounted the harrowing story of being catch above the tree line during a lightning storm.  With hair charged with static electricity, they crawled through the boulders to the tree line while static electricity snap at their dog’s tail.  Still others reported about the incredible view from the summit.  After years of second-hand stories, I thought I had a pretty good understanding the mountain.

In the fall of 2006, I felt that God wanted me to climb Humphreys and pray over Flagstaff.  I set a day and prepared for the hike.  Fortunately, I asked for some pointers from Jeremy who had previously made the climb.  He looked at me with care and concern.  “Are you sure you want to do this?  It’s pretty strenuous hike.”  I assured him that I was sure and continued to press him for any advice he could offer.  “You need plenty of water, a coat, food, flashlight…”  As I listened, I was embarrassed by my ill conceived plan.  With forged confidence I thanked Jeremy for his suggestions, and scrambled to gather my neglected supplies.   Then with new confidence I anticipated the journey.

I drove up to the trail head at Snowbowl, parked and headed across the meadow toward the trees.   I look up at what I thought was Humphreys Peak trying to convince myself that it wasn’t that high or far.  Unfortunately, when walking a new trail, the pictures we form and cling to can be more fantasy that reality. 

The trail was well groomed, but random roots and rocks were rude reminders to watch my step.  The steep descent softened by switchbacks inviting me to settle into the journey.  The sounds of town life, iPods and cell phones gave way to wind blowing through pines, an occasional jay warning of about my intrusion,  and twigs snapping under feet of escaping creatures.  For an hour or more, I enjoyed the solitude.  At eleven thousand feet a sign was posted informing hikers they were at the tree line. Encouraged by my progress and feeling that I had enough strength to complete the trip, I quickened my pace.

Breaking out of the trees I saw my destination above me and to the right.  As I climbed, I studied the mountain.  I was baffled.  I could see the place where the ski lift stopped at the base of the peak, but no clear trail past the lift.  I passed it off, figuring the trail would emerge when I got to the base of the peak.  I continued to climb.  Soon, an older man passing me as I lost energy and my pace slowed.  I don’t remember how long I scaled the treeless mountain, but I do remember that the internal dialogue changed from peaceful reflection to an argument about whether God had really told me to make the trip, and whether I needed to go all the way to the top to pray.  Wouldn’t God hear my prayers from any place on the mountain?  But I just kept climbing.

Finally, I reached the saddle.  At the saddle, I could see the familiar peak off to my right, and a smaller peak to my left.  In front of me was the volcano’s crater reclaimed by pines and aspens.  Behind me was Flagstaff, Williams and the descent to the desert floor—it was truly an amazing view.  It seemed like a good place to pray; fueling the debate about the need to go all the way to the top.  Especially, since I still could not see a trail to the peak on my right.  As I pondered what to do, the energetic man from earlier appear from behind the peak on my left.  While I did not want to show my inexperience, I seriously needed some advice and directs.  “How do I get to Humphreys from here,” I asked.  He told me that it was about 45 minutes from where we were.  Pointing to the left he said, “Follow this trail around this peak you see.  Humphreys is the third peak from here.”  “Third peak… to the left,” I was stunned.  Truly a paradigm shifting moment if there ever was one!  Still trying to hold onto some dignity as a hiker, I asked him what the name of the peak to our right was.  “Agassiz.”  Years of assumed knowledge evaporated… I had been totally wrong!  My guide said his good-byes and wished me well on the final leg of my journey.  Pushing off my embarrassment, I decide to finish the trip.  45 minutes wasn’t that bad.  Little did I know what lay ahead of me!   With renewed hope that I could complete my pilgrimage, I headed off with new directions and a new picture of my journey forming in my mind.

 For several hours I had climbed a trail cut, carved and groomed by skilled human hands, but now the trail was shaped and determined by the whims of the mountain.  Boulders refused to allow any human built trail.  Rather, a thin boot trod ribbon worn its way between the boulders and then would disappear when the rocks covered the dirt.  The best that those who had gone before me could offer was to place rustic poles eye distant apart showing the general direction of the path.  Even with these markers, several times I found myself totally off the path and having to retrace my steps looking for the trail markers.

In addition to struggling with the rugged trail, I was beginning to feel the effects of the altitude.  I could only walk a few hundred feet before having to stop and gasp for air—time was running out.  If I was going to complete my journey by dark, I needed to quicken my pace.  Difficult trail, unsure goal, gasping for air, and fear about my time table gave power to the voices calling me to turn back.  Besides, how did I really know if God spoke to me!  Spiritual promptings and eagerness gave way to plodding—one step after another, mind numb, duty not passion moving me on.  The promised 45 minutes passed and then an hour before I saw Humphreys ahead.  It wasn’t more than 1000 feet ahead, but my pace had slowed to a few feet before stopping for air.  It took me five hours from car to summit—no record. 

I refigured my time and decided I had 45 minutes before starting down the hill.  I settled in to listen for the Lord.  I took a few pictures, sign the log recording my achievement, and found a place overlooking Flagstaff.  With no one else at the summit, I read several Psalms of worship and interceded for the area.  The solitude engulfed me and I believe that God talked to me about the area and the spiritual battle that raged over it.  But just like my naive ignorance about the climb, I was equally surprised by what the Lord told me.  I had come to the mountain with a preconceived idea of the conversation I would have with Him.  I was sure that I knew the enemies and the issues that needed addressing.  I was wrong.  In silence, I walked down the mountain:  stunned by my journey, embarrassed by my ignorance, and overwhelmed by my faithful God.

This journey has come back to me in the last several months as a metaphor for how I travel through life: confident about my destinations and then shocked when the future is not as I expected.  When we closed the Vineyard August 31, 2008, I felt I had a pretty clear picture of the future.  While I didn’t have another church to go to, or a new ministry to dive into, I was confident that a season of grieving and refreshment would prepare us for the next great adventure in ministry.  I have been very wrong.  The grieving has been long and agonizing, and refreshment has been minimal and quickly dissipated.  There have been some great sights along the way along with meaningful experiences.  I have even been able to minister to a few individuals.  But the peak was not where I thought it would be, and I plod through each day without a clear picture of my destination. 

This last week I made it to a saddle.  I actually thought it might be the summit I have been seeking for two years, but it wasn’t.  It appears that the next leg of the journey is through a boulder field to another unknown place.  My sinking heart has given way to a new plodding.  Someone might say, “why not turn around?”  There have been times I would have, if I knew what turning around on a metaphorical trail looks like.  Unlike my mountain trek, there are no u-turns in life.  I can wander around this place or take off in some random direction, but that doesn’t seem to be the best choice, so I gave myself a few days to experience this moment with its pain, confusion and frustration.  Now I am back on the trail heading toward a destination know only by my God.  I am motivated by a tenacious determination to trust my God.  I am a little numb and have given up forming pictures of my future:  A step at a time, one foot in front of the other, gasping for air, determined more than exuberant.

My Silence

My soul waits in silence for God only; from Him is my salvation.
                                                                                                            Psalms 62:1

If you have not noticed, I have imposed silence on myself for the last three months.   I am afraid that my words were hindering my healing and ability to hear God.  For me, words can distract from experience.  What I mean is that there is a difference between experiencing something (love, joy, pain or sorrow) and talking about it.  To find the right words to describe an experience, a person has to analyze the experience.  That makes her/him an observer rather than participant.  Sometimes when I blog, my words gushed out unfiltered pain, loss, confusions and sadness with little attempt to understand or interpret.  But, at other times blogging pulled me out of the terror or sadness I was experiencing.  It didn’t only happen when I blogged.  My conversations with friends and strangers became shallow, trite and dishonest.  I used my words, spoken or written, to construct a new world for myself; avoiding the one I lived in.  As I looked back on some of my posts, I cringe at my bold declarations about the future and arrogant claims that I understood what was happening to me.  I began to believe that I was an expert on pastoral suffering, but I was and still am simply a broken pastor.

I had also slipped into a dependency on you who read my ramblings.  I desperately wanted someone to understand and sympathize.  In my broken heart, I came to believe this was the only way the pain would go away.  If someone commented, I didn’t hurt as much.  If no one commented or visited the blog, my pain darkened into depression.  This was unfair and unreasonable and in my expectations of others, I hid from God and avoided facing my pain.  Still, I appreciate the kind words and knowing that I have fellow travelers on this journey; however, I needed, for a time at least, to find a place of solitude where I would bring myself face to face with my God.

For the past three months, Sharon and I have been on the road two to three weeks out of the month.  We are finished traveling and now turn to consider our future.  We do not regret or feel guilty about the traveling.  It has provided a much needed rest.  I feel like Elijah after the confrontation on Mount Carmel.  I have needed to sleep and eat angel bread for a season.  The rest has been good, but the travel has also been distractive: lack of routine, fun things to do and good friends to reconnect with has taken up most of our time and made it hard to spend extended time with God.  Now we are home, but the new routine does not include the delight of pastoral ministry.  Each morning I awake to a blank day.  I know, I know, why am I complaining?  Don’t most people dream of a responsibility-free life?  I miss going to the office, meeting and counseling people, planning meetings—the sense of Kingdom purpose for my day.  We are busy, but lacking the structure and definition of a job in ministry, I am a little aimless and easily drift into sadness. 

Henri Nouwen challenges his readers to not run from or suppress their pain, but rather, bring it into the presence of God who loves us whether we sense it or not.  For him, the tools use to accomplish this are silence, solitude and waiting.  They sound so spiritual… peaceful…, but just try sitting for 10 minutes waiting for God to show up.  My mind explodes with voices while God seems quiet and absent.  The pain I so want to escape grips my heart.  My ADD is ready to bolt after 20 seconds.  The accusing voices form a ridiculing choir mocks me for thinking that God would show up, or that He even could love me.  Exhausted with waiting, I fall asleep only to awake to the accusers, “You couldn’t even wait for 5 minutes?”

Sounds hopeless… pathetic… depressing?  I guess it could, but it has been the path I have needed to take.  I have stayed in silence and continued to practice solitude.  It doesn’t look pretty or very spiritual, but I am honest in my fumbling before my God and I am staying put, pain and all.  There’s no glow around me, nor have I become a spiritual giant.  In fact, I have become smaller, weaker and simpler – and I am okay with that.  I am at peace in the presence of my God with all the stuff I have hidden, denied, avoided and run from.  I am not far past the point of simply being here, however, I am not troubled as much or as long by my accusing voices.  I have even heard a faint whisper, “I really do love you… son.”

Trust-Foundations (Part Four)

Madness

By now you may be asking the relevance of this four part blog to my trust of God.  Everything!  From conversion through three pastorates I changed, damaging my desire and ability to trust God.  I wanted more influence (i.e. bigger church and opportunities to speak), but He refused to grant my desires, consequently I slowly and quietly I limited my trust of God.  I stopped trusting God to intervene.  I would have to take control of my future.  If I was going to be successful it would be the result of becoming more skilled or finding the right program or becoming more skilled at motivating people.   After twenty eight years, I have to admit that it did not work—I failed.  I did not achieve the success I wanted.  My ambitions have been unfulfilled.  With the closing of the Vineyard in Flagstaff, I spiritually collapsed:  confused, angry and unwilling to trust God for my future.  No matter how hard I tried I could not find any place in my heart to trust that He had something for me.  Christian cliques about God intervening stung like salt on an open wound.  I had waited and worked for the revival that others promised was just around the corner, but it never came (at least not to my church).  On the other hand, I was too tired to look for another program that would finally give me my success.  Much of what I am describing happened without words.  Silent groans of trapped hopelessness.  During this time, I often had a vision was of being caught in a fishing net pulling me under the waves.  No matter how hard I struggled, the best I did was get my nose out of the water long enough to take a short breath—then I would be pulled under again.  Terrified at my angry unbelief and trapped by my hopeless perspective, I cried out one last time, “Oh God, is there any hope… any deliverance… for me?”

Confession, Repentance, Refinement, Return

Looking back, I can see the hand of God firmly and lovingly taking me back to the summer of 1966, Roy Hession and my promise to follow Him with my whole-heart.  “Will you keep your promise to Me,” He asks?  I have been confronted by God before, but this time, I am not running or distracting myself with ministry activities.  I’m still… waiting….  The Lord hasn’t insisted on an immediate answer, but neither has He removed the question.  For a solid month, I have sat in the presence of His question.  The first “yes” was empty, evaporating as it left my mouth.  Again, I tried to respond.  I wanted to give the expected answer, but….  Each time I open my mouth, memories rush to close it.  I’m not young and naive.  I know there is a cost… pain… loss attached to those bold promises.  Knowing what I now know, with my life time of experiences I again face the question, “will you keep your promise?”  “But…,” the word trails off into my shame.  I’m ashamed that I have not let go of my ambition.  It must be killed, swallowed up in what I know to be greater, but I wince remembering the pain obedience has inflicted.  I am trapped.  The pain of past saints was real pain… excruciating pain… head exploding pain.  Yet, how can I say no to what I know to be true?

The truth is so simple.  Here it is:  I was brought out of sin and death by the blood of Jesus.  I now owe Him a debt of love (2 Corinthians 5:14-15).  I now live to please Him (or should).  This is the biblical pattern.  God freed Israel so that they would become His people, revealing His glory to the nations around them.  God gave Hannah a son in response to her cries, and that son (Samuel) was to serve God when he grew up.  The same is true for all of God’s people.  “For me to live is Christ…,” Paul declares.  I affirm this, confessing that I have resisted and denied God’s claims on me—not always but still too often.   

I have a clearer picture of what my life is to be spent on: rescuing, healing, and restoring God’s rule over His rebellious and broken creation.  Like Jesus, it may include sign and wonders, but for sure it will cost my life.  The first step: affirm… trust that God loves me.  That’s the foundation I must invest my life on.  Step two: affirm… trust in His power (both creation power and resurrection power).  His power created all that is, raised a dead man in a way that He (Jesus) would never die again, and promises to raise me in the same way.  Step three:  affirm… trust in God’s wisdom, as well as, His love and power.  His wisdom figured out a way to undo the curse we humans brought on the earth.  His wisdom found a way to love me without condoning my sin or discarding me.  His wisdom has not surrendered to my whining, selfish ambitions and desires, but has continued to work for my healing and restoration.  The holiness that flows from God’s wisdom  is the beauty of what should be and will be again through His love and power.  How petty and foolish my ambition has been.  Yet, I fear that knowing these truths does not mean that I will embrace them and surrender my life to them.  There are reasons why I contaminated my youthful promises made in 1966 with a life time of accumulated desires.  Even now as I say “yes’ to God’s question, my mind recalls the many times I feared that the Sunday morning offering would not be enough to pay my salary.  I remember painting a doctor’s house because the church would not pay me enough for insurance or to cover medical bills.  I flinch at the memory of the angry church member who could get me fired, or those who criticized of my motives and teachings.  I remember the ache in my chest as I prayed for those who abused me, rather than getting revenge.  I remember the sorrow of being passed over, ignored, side-lined because I did not measure up to someone’s criteria of the perfect pastor.  I can set here at my computer reaffirming bold youthful promises, but will I allow myself to suffer again for the Kingdom?  I want to.  I plan to.  But, I can’t be sure until the time comes.

Trust-Foundations (Part Three)

Disillusionment and Abandonment

Undecided about my educational future, I returned to my childhood church as the youth pastor.  After a year my “call” to ministry was settled in my heart.  By the end of the year Sharon and I were married and prepared to return to Portland and to seminary.   Seminary was a mixed experience for me.  On the positive side, I buried myself in the study of Bible, Theology and History.  But, I also came face to face with Christian ambition and culturally shaped American Christianity.  I attended a middle-class seminary at the beginning of the rise of middle-class evangelicals.  In addition to teaching the basics–Bible, theology, history and pastoral care—our practical leadership skills were shaped by the new church growth movement.   As I think back four priorities stick out:  pastor became CEO, bottom line efficiency outweighs individual needs, marketing to self interest replaced calling people to kingdom citizenship and entertainment became the model for Sunday morning.  I fully bought into the basic motivation of church growth—we needed to present a relevant gospel to a new culture.  Looking back, I also see the down side of church growth priorities and programs.   These were:  the needs of the individual are ignored, consumerism keeps people from sacrifice and service ( unless it satisfies a selfish desire) and entertainment is superficial and self-centered by nature.  But, in addition, this new approach demanded a new kind of pastor.  The “best” were needed for this task; therefore, the “best” were cultivated, given opportunity and placed in career making pastorates.  As for me, I was never seen as one of the best.  From seminary to the present, I failed to find a place in the new church growth organization.  But, I tenaciously believed that God would give a place of influence and ministry in His Church even though I was not the best example of the CEO Pastor, and He has.  Simply put, seminary and the church have presented me with two pictures of ministry.  One rooted in my youthful commitments built ministry on calling and the maxim that God always has a place for the righteous person.  The other equated God’s call and gifting with a person’s skills to compete in the marketplace church: best speaker (most entertaining), slickest programming (and lots of them) and plenty of eye candy (coffee shops, newest building, state of the art media, creative cyber presence, etc.).  Before you get the wrong impression, I like eye candy and an entertaining speaker, but bound to these innocent and well intended priorities are serious errors that have disheartened many God called good pastors, resulting in their abandoning the ministry, believing they failed. 

I was committed to being the best pastor, so I learned the principles of church growth, business models for leadership and worked the latest plan for success—seeker targeted, sensitive, purpose driven, servant leadership, power, kindness evangelism and the list goes on.  In hindsight, I now see that as I developed my secular ministry skill, I was also becoming diseased with secular ambition, a competitive spirit, envy and jealousy—not a pretty picture.  I believed that if I was faith to God, He would give me a place in the church—a place defined by my ambition.  In the mid-eighties, I turned in my love beads and bellbottoms for kakis pants and polo shirts.  I blended my youthful commitments with my mid-thirties desire for a middle class lifestyle and successful career as a pastor.  I still used the same words:  sacrifice, servant hood, and surrender to the will of God.  But, anger, bitterness and depression were taking hold in my heart because the success of others eluded me.  I tried every program that might grow the church, but without results.  I could chronicle my decent, but trust me I went to an evil place of unbelief and blaming God for not giving me what I wanted—no, what I deserved!  Let me add at this point, that on the surface, and to some degree in my heart, I was affirming my youthful commitments.  The result was a divided heart that comes from serving two masters.

Trust-Foundations (Part Two)

As the summer of 1966 ended, idealism met reality as I entered high school and reentered the church.  The summer youth pastor, Rex Smith, had loved me back to Jesus.  The church had not.  Because of Rex, I gladly returned to Jesus—but grudgingly returned to the church.  My parents were deeply involved in church (i.e. we were present every time the doors were open, dad was a deacon and mother taught Sunday School and sang in the choir).  But, it also exposed me to gossip, criticism, bickering and rancorous business meetings.  The result was that I never saw the church as more than a group of people claiming the title of Christian, but little different for non-church attendees.  That’s not entirely true.  They did not smoke, drink alcohol, go to movies or gamble.  But even with this minimal expectation of church, I was surprised by their reception of my prodigal son returned.  Three people cut deep into my new faith and its seedling commitments: a girlfriend and my parents.  During the summer I had “fallen in love” with a girl in the youth group.  She was a Christian and I was sure she shared my new found zeal and commitment—not really.  Patty (girlfriend) didn’t want me too spiritual.  She tried to teach me the acceptable behavior for young Christians: go to church, attend youth group and obey parents.  But don’t be too extreme.  The other two early bubble busters were my mom and dad.  I am sure they slept at night now that I had forsaken my junior high prodigal ways: shop-lifting, vandalism, “long hair”, bellbottom jeans, love beads, and a generally rebellious lifestyle.  What they had not bargained for was a Jesus freak who kept his long hair, continued to wear bellbottoms jeans and added radical obedience to Jesus and criticism of church hypocrisy.  All in all, I was a confusing and difficult child for those around me.  This was the first challenge to my radical (and I admit immature) commitment to Jesus.  I am not defending my immaturity.  But, their reaction to my attempt to follow Jesus with my whole heart confused me.

My desire to serve Jesus survived high school and the church.  I went to Oregon State University.  The whole culture was in turmoil, culminating in the shootings at Kent State.  For the first time, I saw Christians in the middle of a real and important social moment, standing for the message of Jesus.  I officially became a Jesus People person.  For the next several years my commitment was lived out at Oregon State University and then at Portland State University.  I loved sharing the good news about Jesus, and I was surrounded by opportunities.  For the most part, this was time outside of the church.  While I attended several local churches in my denomination, I just attended.  It was clear that they did not see me as a person of promise nor did they have a place for me, but I was convinced that God had given me a ministry and it was okay if others did not see it or honor it—God did.

Trust-Foundations (part One)

In 1966, somebody gave me the book, The Calvary Road, by Roy Hession.  I was sixteen and a new believer.  The Calvary Road formed my foundational picture of the Christian life.  The message was simple and common church of the 60’s: surrender, dedication, consecration and sanctification.  These are big words which simply mean we belong to God and we are to live our lives to please Him.  While the Christian freely receives forgiveness and a place in the family of God, the follower of Jesus also needs to give total control of his/her life to God.  We have been bought with a price (the blood of Jesus) and as a result we are not our own, but now belong to the one who died for us (1 Cor. 5:14).  I believed this at sixteen and I believe it now.  Hession tells the story of how it took eleven years to bend his will to the will of God.  At sixteen, I was determined to surrender immediately and so I made several commitments.  Three of those commitments were:

• I would give my life to God in full-time service.  In the 60’s, if you really loved God that meant you had been called to be a pastor or missionary.
• I determined that when I became a pastor I would serve without ambitious motives. I had watched pastors come and go through our small Baptist church, using it as a stepping stone to bigger ministry opportunities.  Their ambition did not go unnoticed by the church. 
• Finally, I naively told God that He could use me in any way He needed to advance His cause.  I would be His servant in life or death (I had been raised with the story of missionary martyrs in Ecuador).  Noble, naive, bold, ignorant, but sincere.  What would you expect?  I had no life experience.  I believed that even martyrdom would be painless because it was for God.   I had Hollywood pictures of serene saints going to their death in painless peace.

I still believe in these commitments.  I was not wrong in making them then or reaffirming them today.  But, what happened between sixteen and fifty-eight is a story of disillusionment, confusion, lost trust, repentance and renewing trust.  I never rescinded my promise, but there were many times I failed to be faithful to them.

Transition

I am in transition.  For those of you have been following my journey, be encouraged.  I no longer experience the raw grief that consumed me for months.  I still experience sadness, but it is a cloud that momentarily obscures the sun as it moves through the  summer sky.  Very different from the tempest that settled on my soul month after month, tearing limbs from trees, flooding fragile roads and covering everything with midnight darkness where the only light comes from lighting tearing through the dark night of the soul followed by bone jarring thunder.  But, even though the emotions of grief have subsided, my journey is not over.  I have not reached a destination.  I am still on the road.  The sun is out, allowing me to move on, but there is still much ground to cover.  Its time for evaluation–not an attempt to answer why we closed the church.  But, rather, basic questions about God’s love, trust and identity. 

For me, these three questions have to be worked through: what does it mean to trust God and will I; how do I understand the love of God in my loss and unraveled world; and how has my understanding of self been effected by the events of the last year?  While all three are interrelated, I have been drawn to the question of trust.  For several weeks I have been pondering my trust of God: what do I trust God for, why would I trust Him, why have I struggled to trust Him, and will I trust Him in the future?  It has  become an article that I will break up into several posts.

The Healing Presence of Friends

Brian walked up and gave me a big hug, smiling as the five year separation disappeared.  For two weeks, over breakfast, lunch and dinner, walks on the beach, truck rides up the coast and a BBQ in the park, friends refreshed my whole being (and I hope I refreshed theirs).  “You look just the same…,” and a few words of catch up renewed the relationship.  Then on to being friends: sharing of stories, laughter (lots of laughter), smiles, hugs and some tears.  Separation had not broken our ties.  Years apart did not lesson our love for each other.  New histories were written alongside of, rather than over, old ones.  I sat with Brian at peace, content and full.  The sorrow that has smothered me for nine month could not overcome what I felt surrounded by friends in a park on a Saturday afternoon.  Nearly a week has passed and I am back home, surrounded by the familiar reminders of loss and an unsure future; yet, two weeks with friends still makes me smile.  I am stunned by the power of my friends.  Thanks to each of you and thank You, Lord.

It was comfortable.  I was safe.  They were open armed and I did not have to protect my heart against judgment and criticism.  I did not have to prove myself and even if they did not understand what I was saying, it was okay.  They love and accept me tired, broken and confused.  Most people are usually quick with counsel, advice and correction, but these friends were content to listen, embrace and love.  I was challenged and counseled, but I always felt safe in their love.

For two weeks I experienced joy and peace.  In my sorrow, I had pulled back.  I didn’t want to infect anyone else with my depression and I couldn’t believe anyone cared or would listen.   But I was wrong.  I needed my friends.  With a smile and a hug my great sadness was touched and lessened.  In their words, I found support that pulled me out of my darkness.  In their friendship, I found encouragement, joy and peace.

Trust and Self-interest

The morning chill is warming with the rising sun, while an ocean breeze cools the air.  Sitting outside a borrowed trailer on the central coast of California, I am full, satisfied, at ease.  We have reconnected with friends, rehearsing the past and writing new history.  What a gift!  It makes it hard to connect with struggles of trust that were so vivid a week ago.  Last weeks’ gloom evaporates with the morning mist.  I am surprised that the present can cut off feelings that so recently seemed inescapable.    The pain of the now easily erases the joys and blessings of yesterday and blinds me from the possibility of future blessing.  Today it is the opposite; the beauty of this moment has erased the emotional memory of month-long confusion and pain.  It seems to me that one element of trust is to see the goodness of God whether the day is stormy or sunny.

While the sun warms my day and I’m free from gloom, confusion and threats, I want to reflect on trust—biblical trust.  I know that soon I will face renewed storms and also confused and risky paths.   Therefore, I want to study the map (Scripture) while I can think and analyze them in relative safety. 

To trust God, I must determine whether I will trust who He is, what He does and how He accomplishes His goals.  The Bible claims that God is loving, powerful, holy, etc.—will I put my trust in Him?  The Bible reveals that God is healing, rescuing and restoring His creation—will I sacrifice my kingdom for His?  God sacrificed Jesus for His Kingdom; will I be a living sacrifice for His Kingdom?  What motivates me will determine my answer to these questions and reveal why I trust God.

So . . . what motivates me? (What motivates you?)  I have to confess that I am driven by self-interest much of the time.  My self-interest affects my desire to trust God and determines what I trust God to do.  I ask, “Why should I trust God?” as though I was negotiating a deal with Him.  Directly, or by implication, I tell God I will trust Him if He will grant my personal desires.  I have been careful to mask my desires in Kingdom terms (unconsciously hiding my self-interest).  Sadly, I am not alone.  Obligating God to fulfill our desires is foundational to American Christianity and not just those who preach a prosperity message.  In the 70’s, the evangelist sales pitch was, “Accept Jesus and He will give you an abundant life,” but abundant life was left undefined.  The emerging me-generation was willing and eager to fill in the blank check with their personal desires.  With the advent of the church growth model, we were told that we needed to make the Gospel more accessible to a radically changing post-Christian culture.  But, in the end we have forfeited the foundational Christian values of sacrifice, service and God-centeredness for the values and beliefs of American self-centeredness.  There are exceptions to these broad brush strokes.  There are both individual believers and churches who passionately and sacrificially serve the Kingdom with little reward in this life.  There are, however, many of us trapped in me-thinking consumerism.  For us, trust has been complicated by centering our lives on self-interest.  For example, even service has to make me feel good and reward me.  Entertainment has replaced worship; felt need groups have replaced discipleship classes; Christian counseling offers happiness rather than calling to service. 

Lest you think I stand on a lofty peak of godliness condemning the church, I confess I have been deceived by the same lie.  My struggle with trust has been rooted in my self-interest. I bartered obedience for success, a middle-class lifestyle and a list of specific desires.  I have responded with bitterness, anger and constant complaining when God failed to fulfill His end of my deal.  Forgive me, Lord!  The point of Jesus’ parable about soil condition and seed growth warns that self-interest chokes out the message of the Kingdom.  Fear of persecution elevates personal safety over all other considerations.  Self-interest based trust demands safety and can’t entertain the idea that God might ask us to forgo temporal safety for the advancement of His Kingdom.  The weeds of temporal concern can become crass self-interest controlling the person.  Fruit grows where self-interest is abandoned for the sake of God’s Kingdom.  Trust is based on this radical abandonment to the King and His Kingdom. 

Three months ago I was confronted with this truth and I pulled back, continuing to accuse God of failing to meet my demands.  I am ashamed and now repentant of my self-absorption.  I know better and God deserves better from me.  I am in the process of weeding out the selfish demands I have tried to hold God captive to.  It seems that each demand holds onto my heart with promises of safety and provision while at the same time threatening me with impending failure, pain and more loss.  Fear and promise are powerful hooks in my heart, but the needs of the Kingdom must outweigh the desires of my self-interest.  What is the power self-interest has over your ability to trust God?