Jesus was in the garden facing torture and death. He asked God to let the cup pass from him. But he finally conceded that it was not what he willed, but what God wills. What his vocation cost him seemed more than he could bear. I identify with that. The extent of my struggle fades in comparison. But I understand what it means to do something difficult reluctantly, to do what I must rather than what I prefer. Especially when things don’t make sense.
I struggle with my call to pastor. I find it very difficult, not because I don’t love the people or the church, but because it hurts. There have been a couple of times in my life when a prophecy has come to pass for me. Once in a blue moon there has been confidence that things made sense. But almost all the time I walk in darkness. Only my next step is illuminated, and that only sometimes, and pale. I can’t find meaning.
I was talking with a friend today who had moved here with his family to be a part of our community. Just after they arrived and made friends, we went through a crisis at the church and much of what they came for disintegrated before their eyes. This has happened so many times and applies to so many people I love. When people move here to be a part of our church, I want them to be happy. I want things to go according to their hopes. I need to provide them meaning, especially when things get rough. But I can’t. I can only love them. I can care. I can be tender. I can be there. That’s all.
The main theme in Job is meaning. He was offensively transparent in his insistence that there was no meaning in his suffering. His friends claimed to have meaning. Who did God exonerate in the end? The one who was blind to meaning. And the ones who claimed to have meaning repented. I can’t find meaning for myself, for my friends or for my community. But, like Job, I have to trust that God has the meaning. The meaning is God’s. Occasionally, like once or twice in a lifetime, we get glimpses of meaning. But in the end we must simply trust that the story we are in is written with a compassionate hand. And all we can do in the midst of this is love one another. That is the best meaning I can give. For now.
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Almost every day I hear about people who have left our community, how they are doing, how happy they are, and how they, with the sincerest of intentions, invite others to go with them. I am happy that they are happy. I really am. I’m trying to have a large heart about this. It is not easy.
I have decided to be free, releasing and open toward all people and their relationships to me and to our community. I believe that Love is that way. And I want to love all living beings without partiality. The gospels portray Jesus as a liberating person. He allowed others to determine how they would relate to him. If they wanted to be close and intimate, he received that with an open heart. Like the woman who kissed his feet and washed them with her perfume and tears. But he also allowed people to follow him from a distance, or to follow him just to get their next meal. It doesn’t mean he didn’t speak his mind about it. He expressed his disappointment when his friends fell asleep when he was in anguish in the garden. He wept over Jerusalem when they would not receive him. And while he was completely liberating by letting others determine how close they would be to him, he informed them of what the costs or benefits were to the positions they chose in relation to him. Like, if you want to sit at my right hand, can you drink this cup? Or if you want to follow me, it will mean taking up your cross. Or, if you choose to be distracted by your possessions, you might miss the banquet. Or, if you drink from me, rivers of living water will flow out of you. So, while he was releasing toward others, he was not naïve as to what their choices would mean for them.
I will be liberating. I will be entirely releasing toward others. Others can set the boundaries and distances between themselves and me and our community. They are free to come in and go out and find pasture. If they want to call our church their church and never come, that’s fine. If they want to go to different churches, that’s fine. If they want to come every week and not involve themselves in any other way, that’s fine. If they want to give, that’s fine. If not, that’s fine too. If they want to come to everything and get totally involved, that’s fine. If they want to see me personally one on one every week on top of all their involvement, that’s fine. I will be open, liberating and releasing. I will love fully, no matter how they respond or relate to that. My heart will not grow calloused, bitter, resentful, ambitious or jealous. I will love all without partiality and without self-interest.
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Two things I’ve been thinking deeply about lately:
- The gospels say that Jesus ate with sinners. That was it! That was the manifestation of God’s love for all people. He just ate with them. His act of eating with sinners was everything, said everything.
- I have committed myself to having compassion for all living things without partiality.
So last night I had a very vivid dream:
(I’ll call the character in this dream Sam. I knew Sam years ago. He was married to a good friend of mine. He had a gruff and tough exterior. Over time he and my friend separated and eventually divorced. He was mean about it. I found him hard to get to know and hard to like. I was personally glad he was no longer in my life. I preferred him out of my life.)
I am in a restaurant with a friend of mine. I notice Sam sitting with another man, a co-worker, at another table. I just ignore him and hope he doesn’t notice me. He does however, and comes over to my table. He asks me why I ignored him. Why would I do that to him? I come up with some lame excuses but he doesn’t buy them. He then stands behind me and wraps his arms around my shoulders, gently. He keeps asking why I didn’t pay him any attention and that I hurt his feelings. I feel like he is trying to embarrass me in this crowded restaurant. After a while he leans his head on my shoulder and still complains that I didn’t have any regard for him. I realize now that he is serious. I really did hurt his feelings. He goes on and on and I grow more and more disappointed in myself and embarrassed by his openly affectionate behavior. I make eye contact with his friend and motion for him to come get his friend. His friend nods in agreement and comes over and gets Sam, suggesting to him that they go get a beer or something. Sam sadly lets go of me. There is hurt in his eyes as he leaves me.
I woke up feeling very sad. I realize that I had withheld my love from Sam. I had allowed offense to separate me from another human being. I let barriers and walls rise between Sam and I, and distance came between us. I did not love him. I let his exterior presentation, his coolness, his abruptness, his own issues, and my preference for my other friend, to cause me to not love him. I am sorry Sam.
I recommit to having and showing compassion for all living things without partiality.
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Sometimes I get so discouraged. This shouldn’t surprise you if you’ve been following my blog at all. And it’s not just because it is Monday either. My discouragement is timeless. But this is what is getting me down today: we are stuck in a performer/audience mentality in the church. It seems impossible to break. One day a few weeks ago someone told me that I was really deep and intellectual and that I preached way over their heads. The same day someone told me that they weren’t learning anything from my teaching. It was too shallow and boring. I conclude that usually compliments and criticisms are two sides of the same coin. I am being judged and scored according to my performance.*
Let’s say a husband looks at a sexual self-help book with graphic instructional pictures. He loves his wife and they have sex. But in his mind he imagines what he’d like the sex they have to be like. He does everything he can to match his fantasy and constantly pressures her to do this and do that. Afterward, when they are lying next to each other, he says, “Well, that was about a 4 out of 10!” Or another time he smiles and says, “That was definitely a 10!” Guaranteed, sooner or later his wife is going to express her unhappiness. She’s being measured. She has expectations placed upon her. She is under the pressure to match a fantasy in his head. It won’t work because it is not love.
Same with church. If I am constantly being measured, expected to fulfill peoples’ fantasy of what a pastor or public speaker should be like, or what a great church should be like, I am going to be unhappy very fast. Same with the people. If I continually give them the impression that they are being scored week to week, that they are components I am trying to properly align to a fantasy I have for them, if they have any sense at all, they will grow unhappy too. The whole paradigm needs to be tossed. Criticism and flattery are two sides of the same coin.
Didn’t Luther say that if you put two lovers in a bedroom alone, they won’t have to be told what to do. They’ll figure it out. If we learned how to love each other, first and foremost, we’ll figure it out. And it will be completely outside the scoring paradigm.
*I admit this isn’t always the case. Sometimes someone criticizes what I said because they really disagree with it. Or someone thanks me for what I said because they realized something new. They really learned something. This is a different thing altogether.
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David Hayward is a pastor artistically stripping to the essential.
