Embers

One could say that my posts about the church and faith have been all over the map, often reflective of inner conflict and confusion. I started this blog in the Spring of 2017, when I was still a called, full-time pastor. I initially hoped it would be a place to display pictures and an occasional opinion piece, interspersed with light-hearted fare. I enjoyed the daily discipline of writing. But by that time, I was already feeling like I had reached the end of my effectiveness in the pastoral role. And Donald Trump had emerged from his fortress of chaos.

In any event, insecurity and doubt were ever-present, from ordination onwards, and I was growing more restless and convinced that I had nothing new to offer and was looking for another call, even contemplating walking away from the whole enterprise.

I had always been a reluctant servant, if “servant” is even the right word. I never felt like I had a handle on things—it was more like I was wading in water that was just below my nostrils. I could never contribute very much in any conversation with colleagues, and honestly, I didn’t really like hanging out with them, anyway. I felt like an odd duck, a fish out of water. Many a conversation at clergy breakfasts was a gripe session or cerebral exercise, occasionally interspersed with humor and lightheartedness.

I didn’t know much of the lingo, I wasn’t well versed in minutiae, and systematic theology– mostly because that never interested me and seemed more like Euclidean geometry and fodder for people who liked to sound smart and talk over everyone’s head (mostly untrue). I wasn’t ignorant- I grasped the theological fundamentals of my denomination well enough to function in a congregation of folks who were searching for meaning and relevance, for a connection between their faith and life in the real world. And I was personable enough to be pastoral.

Yet something always felt “off.” It was usually me—I could never allow myself to go all-in. I was writing sermons and newsletter articles that came from a place of skepticism. I was, more often than not, measuring my words, sounding more like someone from the secular world hedging his bets than an ordained minister of Word and Sacrament who was expected to secrete Jesus from his pores.

My head has always ruled my heart. I have had significant doubts all along the way. And, as has been revealed in many of the more recent posts, those doubts are occupying a more prominent place in my thinking.

It’s Easter morning, and for the second year in a row since retiring, we will probably not go to church. On Easter morning. This time around it’s mostly because my wife has a cold and she shouldn’t be out and about. We had actually intended to get up early and go to a local sunrise service, but that service started ten minutes ago. So, the twilight and quiet of this Easter morning seems as good a time as any to let feelings flow and share them with the two or three folks who might occasionally read this blog.

The posts that treat my faith journey, or whatever this has been, are the longest posts. I have a lot in my head, and my heart, and I need to see it on paper or a screen, try to work through it and come out on some other side where something clicks, where something meaningful gets revealed, where I feel like what I’ve written has touched on something significant, a fair and honest accounting for where I’m at as a person and, still—yet—a seeker.

I can’t give up on this Christian faith, even as I doubt it and wonder if it’s all been a chasing after wind. I still feel guilty for not being more like Jesus. I still say grace, I still offer thanks to God for safe travel, for making it home in one piece. I still pray for family and friends every day, never really sure who, if anyone, I’m praying to. I still have hymns and carols in my head, still remember all the years that someone in my family would often be the one closing up after worship on a Sunday morning, church rats that we were.

I can’t walk away from believing in someone I’ve never seen other than in a sacramental way. I can’t make the break, as much as it is tempting to do so. Logic and reason have gained a foothold, and too much time has passed with no reinforcement or affirmation. Promises oft repeated, assurances offered, insistence on being in it for the long haul because God works on a different timetable and in mysterious ways… that’s all getting old now.

Yet I’m still hanging on, still listening and wrestling. To walk away from whatever faith still smolders is something I still can’t do.