Who Knew?

My heart is so full, you guys. I just finished my second “intensive” for my grad school program. We meet each semester in person for several days to start the semester and this one was in my hood, Portland. What a joy to have all my people in town and to share in experiences and learning together. In the process of embracing my 2-ness, I did not pace myself in providing care for my people. I let my soul soak up the joy of hosting and driving and giving myself. I did not judge how far my care was willing to go and I did not hold back. It was fun. And I’m so sad everyone left! My body was ready for care and I have so many things I’m processing from the experience (hence, this writing) but it’s such a cool thing to go through this immersive experience in community. I learn relationally so the cohort structure was the only way I wanted to do grad school, especially if the material was going to be mainly online.

So many surprising things occurred over our time together but I’ll write today about the biggest one, which is that I went to a local church of Christ and the experience was healing! I was looking forward to going, though bummed I didn’t get to introduce everyone to my church community. I was expecting the fun of going to be about seeing people I love who I only really get to see on social media. That, of course, did happen. But I was not expecting was the onslaught of emotion I experienced throughout the service. I only go to the church of Christ when I visit my parents and it’s my childhood church. It’s by no means safe for me but it’s just not the same as interacting with people in my city with whom I spent many years working alongside. Besides preaching last year, I haven’t attended a local church of Christ in probably 6 years.

It was like a “this is your life” moment where as soon as the worship leader started (we used to put on events where he led worship), this movie reel of our youth ministry days started playing. And the memories were GOOD. There was joy. And there was a faith that felt personal and emotional. My faith experience as I’ve unpacked my stuff has been way less personal than my old faith. I used to have a sense of what “God was doing in my life” and talked about “feeling called to…” I don’t necessarily intend to pick up that kind of language again, but I kind of thought that faith ship had sailed. That my faith now was going to be done in practice but not necessarily with the same level of emotion or submission to a higher purpose, whatever that meant. I’ve learned how to set healthy boundaries, form my own identity outside of actions and to be more curious about God rather than certain. Those things still hold true. But singing those songs with those people, I felt things I hadn’t felt in a long time. It was like my spiritual imagination brought a personal, emotional faith process back into the realm of possibility. It was the first time I wanted to sing TO God rather than ABOUT God in years. What a surprise!

I think when trauma occurs, especially trauma within your identity, it’s natural for some of the joy and beauty from before the trauma to get lost. The trauma takes up all the space. And the work becomes about finding yourself and your life within a new paradigm. Things get placed either before or after the traumatic event occurred. Not that it needs to define you. But it starts out very large and pervasive. I think some of the joy from that time in my life, the years of youth ministry, got buried under the rubble of our firing. This is a disgusting and inappropriate example but it’s almost like 9/11, where they dug and dug for weeks and occasionally found something underneath all that rubble that was still alive, or at least something that brought peace and closure to families processing the trauma. That possibility, the possibility that something was waiting for us communally under that rubble was worth all the horror and risk of the digging process. This blog has been about that process. And I was filled with joy and shock that Sunday morning at East County Church of Christ, my soul was presented with something still breathing under that rubble. What a gift.

Needless to say, I cried. I cried and cried and cried. There were many tasks and activities waiting for me that day after church, but I approached them all with a rubbery heart, mind and body. I had just run a spiritual marathon I had not trained or signed up for and I was done for the day at noon. I still had to move through the rest of the day. Which was fine. It was a wonderful day. But I felt like I got hit by a truck. I wanted to curl onto my couch under a blanket and sleep while still crying. That’s something people do, right? I did get to have a lot of kind and meaningful conversations after church. My soul started to imagine possibilities that have not been accessible to me for a long time. Possibilities for the future, for my future and my children’s future. It’s so interesting to have been hurt by your people and to find your people again on the other side.

There’s something waiting for me over there. I’m staying present in the process I’m in right now. But I think it may end up including my people after all. Life with God is wild. It’s like he’s some sort of cosmic wily minx. And yet the crazy things he brings are always full of something shockingly kind, restorative and unexpected. Who knew?

Ministry - Friend or Foe?

As many of my readers know, I fell head over heels in love with ministry in my youth. It gave me a way to use my talents, honor God and give to the community in a way that fueled me. It compelled me to wake up and hop out of bed every morning. It defined me, in a lot of ways. I was addicted to helping others. It sounds weird and maybe unhealthy to you or maybe really cute and inspiring. It was all of those things. I meant everything I said and did in those days but I also had a real pride issue and an inability to receive what I was doling out. I also was not tuned into my voice and therefore, gave too much power to other people in my life. I lived out of a place that was without healthy boundaries.

I had a weird experience last weekend where I got to unpack our firing from professional ministry trauma a little bit more with someone who had an inside perspective. I have had many talks with people from all sides of that trauma over the years and it has been mostly helpful, though always triggering. This particular conversation centered around my ministry abilities and how that may have affected our firing. What was shared was somehow both infuriating and validating. I will not share the specifics of what was shared, but I do want to share how that information further helped me process how I feel about myself in ministry.

Ministry, in some ways, has felt like the beloved pet who got rabies and became very threatening and unstable not unlike Old Yeller. And so for everyone's sake, you put down the beloved pet and you grieved the loss both of what was and what might have been. But here's the thing, what was a burning fire within me has not been fully snuffed out. I'm not going to lie to you; that scares the shit out of me. How much easier would it be if I could stamp out that little flickering light and walk away? Given a choice, that would be the easier option. And I have in no way fanned that flame. What I do have is a shit-ton of church baggage, confusion about what it means as this new person I've become to use my gifts and also to hold space for healthy boundaries and my pain, and a genuine resistance to risk. Church is a very scary place for me. Miraculously, my new church (I've been there over 2 years but I hesitate to put down roots) is very safe, though moments of triggering come up from time to time. Mostly, when anything is ever asked of me. I'm like a guy who can't commit though he's with a marrying-type of girl. I know what I have there is special but my propensity to run is definitely present. I want everything on my terms. And that's not living in community. I am totally proficient at building community outside of church now, which is an incredible byproduct of our traumatic firing. I didn't know who I was outside of church before and I now I have the opposite problem. How do I use my gifts in a church setting without risking further damage to my soul and fueling the fire that is my ego, the anti-thesis of who I want to be in the world? I DON'T KNOW.

And yet, that little flame keeps burning. An easy way around the official church stuff is to recognize that there is a lot of good I do in my personal life and relationships and if you're looking to label things, you could call that ministry. I don't like to because it feels cheap to me, but you could. Calling something in my personal life "ministry" now feels like I'm using that opportunity, need, relationship as a project. That it's not equal relationship, but some sort of gift I'm bestowing upon the receiver. I don't like it and I find the implications of that insulting to the people I've come to know and love. I don't like the above/below dynamic of ministry. I know there are many humble people in ministry, but I was of the mind that I had something to give others and that that was my purpose. To give. The problem with that is that it stems from a dirty place that I have something others don't. And that can turn into thinking I'm better than other people. Here's the thing - none of that is true. Giving has no value if you cannot recognize that at any point, the tables can and will turn and you will need people to give to you. I do not having anything more than anyone else. Yes, we all have different experiences, talents and personalities. And I do live out of a place that there is work to be done in life by me specifically that would benefit the world. But I also believe that's true of every, single human. Also, I don't own Jesus and I don't dispense him at will. I think he's awesome but I also think there are many people in the world doing good things, living loving lives who do not claim him. And I'm ok with that now. In some ways, their motives are more pure because they're not motivated by heaven. Their reward is doing good because they are compelled to do good. That should and has always been more than enough. And I am definitely not better than anyone else. I'm not more deserving, more kind or more gifted. I am not "other", "special", "set apart" or "different." Yes, I know we're all special in our own ways and I don't say these things to degrade myself. What I mean is, if any of these ideas cause me to think I am better than someone who doesn't believe or live in the way I do, I have lost everything. There is no value in work motivated by pride.

I know what you're thinking - why does it matter what you call it? Ministry? Living your values? Being a decent person? It doesn't matter. Not really. But I'm like a dog with a bone; I can't seem to pry that damn idea from my mind. Ministry is like the harpoon that scarred me irrevocably. I survived the injury, but the imprint it made on me won't release me to deny its potential. Who knows where this processing will lead me. I am confident that the flame will not go out and there is a reason for that. Thanks for walking with me as I experience this crazy thing unfold.  

When Trauma Comes to Visit

Don't you hate it when you've done all you can to process a trauma and it still comes to visit from time to time? I wish there was a way to not be shaped by our traumas. I know that's not possible and probably not even good as terrible things often shape us in somewhat positive ways, if you're in a frame of mind to see it. Though I must admit, that's hard to do in the middle of the night when you wake up from a nightmare sobbing. It's been 5 and a half years since we left professional ministry. We've been through other traumas since that time that were even more severe and yet that one still leaves a mark. I think I must admit to myself that it always will. My ultimate goal is to not let my traumas make me a bitter, hardened person. Unfortunately, sometimes in order to get to that place, you gotta work through a lot of pain and anger.  

I am still connected to our old church through a weekly MOMS group I attend. Most of the women there are unaware of my history and the church has been through a major overhaul in both style and leadership since we left. Yet, I'm still walking those halls, seeing many of the people from our "old life" and everyone acts like nothing ever happened. I guess that's the only way to move forward. It's not like I want to spend my 2 hours of weekly free childcare sussing out old pain with people I don't really trust. And I know I've already had the hard conversations I needed to have way back when. The group has been a great source of fun and friendship for me (I feel I need to justify my attendance since being in that environment is clearly still triggering).  

Perhaps it is the perfectionist in me that wants to check "professional church ministry trauma" off the list and move on. And I have moved on in ways I am really proud of and genuinely grateful for. I know if the trauma had not happened, we would not be the people we are today. And I think we are better people. I am so much more humble, gracious and honest than I was before. I was always a nice person but leaving professional ministry helped me embrace my humanity, give myself grace and become an all-around kinder person. I've found my voice, my values and my own footing having had that formerly precious security blanket ripped from me. And yet, it's still hard. It's still sad. And sometimes, that trauma comes to call. Maybe that's how you know something you lost really meant so much. When that pain knocks, perhaps the healthiest thing to do is open the door, embrace the pain and let the tears flow.