Saturday, April 13, 2013

Motivation and Hope



           I thought it important to share a bit more about myself, my motivation for, and hope in writing this blog.
            I’ve been a Christian for over 30 years. I gave my life to Christ when I was in high school because I met a group of committed Christians that made me want to know the Lord they knew. As I mentioned in “About Me,” I’m a preacher’s son. It’s not as if I hadn’t heard the gospel before meeting that group. My father was a great preacher and a good father. The youth group I belonged to had some wonderful youth in it. In fact, a number of ministers have come out of that youth group. But up to that time in my life, whether it was what I needed to see in others around me or my own lack of receptivity, there was very little about Christianity that interested me. The group that changed it all had a quiet witness about a God who gave them joy despite their difficult lives. That witness opened the door for me to hear the Spirit’s voice whisper, “In Me you’ll find meaning and purpose; life.” I surrendered my life in a very non-church setting, and began my journey with God.
            I really can’t pinpoint how long it was after my conversion before I headed down the path toward the ministry. The reason I can’t really nail it down is because I don’t remember having any type of mystical call. After having watched some of the tough stuff my father had to go through as a minister, I was pretty adamant that I didn’t want to have anything to do with the ministry; at least not pulpit ministry in the local church. However, despite my desire not to walk in my dad’s footprints, I couldn’t get away from the thought that this was what I was supposed to do.
            When I finally talked with my dad about it, he suggested I run away as fast as I could. Obviously, at that time in his life, he wasn’t terribly enthralled with the ministry either. The general gist of our conversation was, “You’re crazy if you go into ministry without a calling. You’re crazy if you walk away if you’re called.”
            Since I couldn’t get away from the inner voice that brought a sense of peace and excitement with the call, I decided that I would step out on faith and trust that it was the Spirit leading me.
            Looking back, and as I’m beginning to wonder about my own level of mental stability (just kidding…kind of), I find some comfort in the fact that the still-small-voice didn’t call me to be a male prostitute or a street sweeper in New Delhi.
            What finally sealed the deal was my prayer for open and closed doors. If you’re like me, it’s tough to separate emotions from major, life decisions. More often than I’d care to admit, I’ve simply thrown my hands up in despair and prayed, “God, if you’re there, you’re going to have to close doors You want closed and open ones You want open. I’m too stupid or deaf to hear You.”
The doors I perceived as openings toward the ministry were acceptance into and funds for college and seminary, not to mention a nice little country church to serve while I was in seminary. The road seemed clear and God was moving.
            Though I’ll deal sometime in the future with open and closed doors, as well as my tendency to prayer desperate prayers, the somewhat smooth transition and ongoing validation of my “call” into ministry has had a great deal to do with some of my later struggles and questions as to whether my time to step away from the ministry had come (or has come). More about that at another time.
            I’m not a wildly successful minister. I’ve been doing the “church-thing” for almost as long as I’ve been a Christian. I’ve had some enjoyable and “successful” situations—“success” being another topic we’ll discuss later.
I’ve had some very difficult ministry settings. I’ve seen growth both spiritually and numerically in some of the churches I’ve served. And I’ve seen numbers slide back, arguments erupt, and the blackness of men’s souls. I’ve found myself wondering how I could be so lucky as to be one of the ones God called into ministry, and I’ve wondered if God would strike me down if I found a job as far away from the church as possible.
            One thing you need to know is that I don’t claim to have all the answers. Personally, I thought I’d be a lot further down the road of faith than I am. In some ways, I was a stronger, bolder, and more passionate believer when I was in my 20’s than I am now. I probably have more questions than answers.
            But, and this is important: I’m looking for the answers. If there’s anything I’ve seen over the years, there’s a significant difference between the person who doubts in order to find true answers, and the person who doubts in order to avoid belief and commitment. I’m the former. I want to find answers. I want to grow closer to God. However, the road block to working through my doubts and struggles toward heart-felt answers and genuine relationship is three-fold.
            First, few people are terribly excited about you droning on incessantly about your doubts and struggles. Oh, they’ll listen for a bit. They’ll offer to pray for you. They’ll frequently suggest a good book or a speaker you need to listen to. But after three or four…or seven, or twelve times of you coming back to the same sticking point in faith, they reach a tipping point and go looking for other friends.
            It’s understandable. People have enough to wrestle with. They don’t need to hear my whining. But, not having someone who will stick in there without trying to “fix it,” (though the efforts to fix it are appreciated at times) makes for a lonely road.
            Second, despite the number of Christian books and speakers (& even blogs) out there offering hope and guidance, there’s little available that walks through or hangs out long enough in the mire with you. Though this is an over-simplification, the standard form of most Christian books is a brief background of the writer or the situation the writer is addressing. One to two chapters that address the struggle, and then an excited offering of the revelation, insight, or miracle that changed everything. The rest of the book typically consists of trying to convince the reader that the earlier stated revelation is of God, and if you’d follow it, your situation could be changed; your life could find meaning; your teeth would be whiter; and birds would sing in your presence.
            One of the reasons for this blog (and I’m acknowledging the fact that I may very well be emotionally unstable J) is that I find myself comforted by the chapters in the above mentioned books that deal with the struggle, and irrationally irritated by the chapters that deal with the resolution. For years, I’ve tried to discern why I respond that way. As far as my feeling comfort in the chapters about struggle, it may be that misery loves company. It may be that I feel like I’m not alone. It may be the fact that if some big-time author had this problem, then I may not be as messed up as I thought. It may be that I’m just messed up.
            The answer as to why I get irritated about the chapters on resolution is easy: I haven’t witnessed those nice, tied-up-in-a-bow resolutions all that often and I start beating myself up as to why God would work things out in the author’s life and not in mine. But that’s another blog entry to come. I can feel your growing excitement.
            The third road block toward finding answers is that as a minister, honestly articulating the depths of one’s struggles in a public forum is not terrible conducive toward building a thriving church. Let’s face it; people want leaders who have a clue as to where they’re going. I know I’m heading God-ward. I know I’ll never turn my back on Christ. As I’ve said to my wife on more than one occasion, “I have enough faith to hang on to my own Christian walk, but I don’t think I have enough to help someone else find theirs.” But as far as being someone who can stand boldly and triumphantly on the hill of the Christian journey and confidently call people to follow me, I’m a tad bit reluctant.
            So, there you go. That’s part of my story. I could keep going, but this blog is already too long.
            My hope for this blog is to offer a bit of comfort as we walk this path together. I have faith that God is bigger than our issues, and thankfully big enough to let us bring those issues to Him. I’ve seen enough light in the darkness to know that we’ll see the light again. But sometimes you just need to sit down with a friend and whine a little, cry a little, pour your heart out and find comfort that though you may be a little screwed up, at least you’re not alone.

Until next time,
Fellow Traveler

Friday, April 12, 2013

Introduction



            Before you sit down to write a blog, the experts strongly encourage you to ask the questions, “Who is your audience? To whom are you writing?” (in regular English that would be, "Who are you writing to?") and “What are you trying to accomplish?”
            The “Who am I writing to?” is easy. I’m writing to people who are just like me, men who have poured their heart into their faith, and yet feel abandoned; women who have been run over by life and wonder if anyone bothered to get the license plate; everyone who suspects there’s something to this thing called Christianity, but for a variety of reasons are hanging onto their faith by their fingernails.
            I’m writing to the person who has opened the pages of one inspiring Christian book after another, desperately looking for something to bolster his floundering faith, only to find himself wallowing in a pool of self-pity and incrimination because he doesn’t measure up to the bold declarations of the author, or he’s too spent to get back in the race.
            I’m writing to the young lady who is wandering in the desert and is wondering how much of the aridness of her life is her fault, God’s fault, or the world’s fault; the person who has grown tired of wondering and has simply concluded that she’s too messed up to ever find her way out of this barren land.
            I’m writing to the person who is afraid to name the despair deep within, unwilling to admit the struggles and doubts that eat at their soul, ashamed of his inability to pull himself up by his faith bootstraps and soldier on, to the one who hides her face in the crowd because she’s convinced herself she’s the only one who struggles like this, who doubts like that, who has let God down so monumentally.
I’m writing to the persons who fail to realize that the very crowd we try to avoid consists of people just like us, and just like us, they spend an inordinate amount of energy trying to hide their struggles instead of bringing them to light.
            I’m writing this blog for people just like me.