david hayward. artist. cartoonist. teacher.

Some people find it very frustrating to be a part of our community. Some have been so frustrated over it that they’ve actually left, never to come back. One of the biggest frustrations is that there are no real programs to speak of. So when someone comes to our community and wants to get involved, they have no idea what to do. Many people come with many skills and they want to apply them, but often end up frustrated because they don’t quite know how to go about it. They come to me, but not only am I not very helpful, but I refuse to create programs just to keep them busy. I point them back to themselves. We generally don’t like that. This process has happened to everyone in this community, including myself. And this is the kind of human nature that finds fullest expression in religious contexts.
Generally, people feel more valuable, or feel their worth, only when they are doing something. I reject that. Grace means to me that my value or worth has more to do with who I am than with what I do. God loved me while I was a sinner, dead. It is not about what I do. It is about something deeper. I am convinced that out of this revelation of my value and worth to God emerges gratitude, from which ought to emerge true good works. I’ve seen it a few times where someone is frustrated with the seeming inactivity of our church, but after a while they start realizing that the church isn’t the problem, but their own incessant obsession with the need for approval based on their compulsive activity. This not only has to do with their relationship with themselves and their community, but everything to do with their relationship with God. Some say just being isn’t enough. I agree. But I say: truly being leads to true compassion.

Take it a bit further: churches fall into the same trap of measuring their value and worth by how much they are doing. Is it possible for a church community to go through weeks, months or even years of ceasing activity in order to come to a place of a deeper understanding of love? Is there room for stillness, rest, contemplation, self-analysis and humility in the church? Generally we don’t think so.

This doesn’t mean that good works will cease. In fact, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. The opposite is true. A more significant kind of activity is created. There is a yoke, but it is light. And I will write about this maybe another time.

The photo is the creation of my friend Jorgen Klausen. I chose it because it evokes, for me, a sense of authenticity and being comfortable in your skin.

After our community suffered from a terrible church-split 10 years ago, I had to learn quickly that it was going to be important for me and the church to be flexible. Before the split we had nearly 400 members with a very lively schedule and robust budget. After the split, for the next two years, we watched our attendance fall to below half and our budget get cut to about a quarter of what it was. Many who left were strong financial supporters. When I had become the pastor the church, I looked forward to the church experiencing a steadily increasing attendance, income and reputation. I counted on a healthy and dependable salary for as long as I stayed there. The split shook that to pieces. To pieces.

Within weeks I realized I had to let predictability and the security that comes with it go. Like my young daughter says, “Let it go like a balloon!” I did let it go, but only after it popped. Since then, my salary has gone up and down. No, not up except once. Usually down. Sometimes I don’t get paid right away. Our offerings are sporadic. I’ve been on full time and part time and no time. The managers of the church know that I will allow my salary to be cut and even eliminated before the church goes under. I’m prepared to pastor the community without an income. I’ll have to receive my income from my art and maybe some construction work. (I prefer art, Lord, if you don’t mind.)

The unpredictability is reflected in the way we do church too. I never know what’s going to happen during our worship time or even during the teaching time. Last week I had a lesson all prepared when something else came up: there’s lots of tragedy happening right now with many people in our community and we thought it would be more appropriate to address that stuff. Yesterday, I taught a little, but a discussion got started that kept us occupied for the remainder of our time together.

Come to think of it, I like the unpredictability. I think I’d get bored otherwise. It adds a sense of adventure and risk that I think is more life-like, authentic and real. It allows us to do things as we see fit rather than doing things to meet the pre-planned goals. It allows us to be spontaneous, attentive and appreciative.

The pic is a self-portrait of my very spontaneous daughter Casile jumping off our coffee table.

I really don’t know what to say. I appreciate your comments, but we are still not seeing it. I’m still in a season of speechlessness. I’m at a place where I feel like my whole continent is shaking at the roots. The whole world is crashing in. The paradigm I have been comfortably operating in is imploding, and I can’t presently see where else to go. I am a man in a house that is fully ablaze. There is no time to decide anything. It is only time to run. Run away from the flame. Get out of the house. NOW!

I don’t think it is helpful to simply tweak the system. I don’t think it is important anymore to upgrade our theology. I don’t think it does a bit of good to provide a new edition to our doctrine. I think it is a waste of time to solidify a new position. Not another dogmatic theology?! Not another denomination?! Not another congregation with a new vision?! Not another religious blog?! Not another spirituality?! Not another strategy?! Not another program?! I’m sick of these. They are lukewarm. I spew them out of my mouth! They are tasteless, unhealthy, lack any nutrition, and are in fact toxic.

I want to make it clear that I am not unhappy with the community I am a part of. I have no problem with the communities of people out there. It is something else. It is the boat we sail in. It is the overarching paradigm which constantly tries to confine us by conforming us to itself. I think our community is quite free in many ways, and I appreciate it. It has been grueling but rewarding because of that. But we are still under the yoke of bondage because we all come to the community with visions of what it should be rather than seeing what it actually is. We are still not entirely free of expectations and the resulting judgments. Which means we still have not come to a place of love. We have yet to die to all that came before. The cross is still before us, and we are not yet nailed to it.

The fine art photograph is the creation of my friend Mark Hemmings, and is from his Mannequin series. I thought it was appropriate that this mannequin is in a posture of prayer. It reminds me of us: it is only a posture, but there is no substance. We are not yet real. We are not yet alive because we refuse to die.

I usually get up very early in the morning and sit by my window overlooking the river while I have my coffee. I use that time to meditate before I start my first lap of painting early in the day before anyone else gets up. However, I detected movement in my backyard and noticed these two fawns grazing and relaxing there. They are beautiful and graceful creatures. It gave me a sense of peace and serenity. I watched them for a long time. One even lied down to rest for a while as the other one kept grazing.

Sure, there seems to be so much to get riled over. There is lots to concern us and tons to be anxious about. Somehow this all misses the point, doesn’t it? Even my frustrations over the church fade in the light of simple beauty. There is a place of peace. There is a profound simplicity to be found and in which to abide. All the storms and assaults of life continue. But isn’t there a deep place of sanctuary where all the conflicting currents ultimately can’t affect us? Isn’t there a vast geography of profound blessing that is full of benediction and peace? Yes, I believe there is, but we must discover it! And it is at once desert and oasis, both terrible and serene.