My Endless Journey

I have confessed here before that I was in a career I often didn’t understand or felt suited for. I was a Baptist minister for more than 20 years. I met some loving, beautiful people in those years. I dedicated babies. I watched toddlers turn into teens and I loved them all. Some of them I married with spouses I thought were perfect for them. Many are still together with children of their own.

In my last congregation, I spent nearly 14 years with people I adored. Some of them are still my closest friends.

There were, of course, tough years, times when my own search for an authentic theology and philosophy of ministry clashed with the long-held traditional beliefs of some of our church members. By the time I arrived at my last congregation I no longer had any interest in building huge numbers, baptizing people in some kind of competition with other churches, and creating worship that was hyped, emotional, something similar to cheerleading and entertainment. That was not for me.

I wanted to give thoughtful sermons and make worship sacred, a place to think, contemplate life, be open to love, and find connections with others. I was not interested in salvation. Or getting people to rededicate their lives to Jesus because they had committed some sin the week before. In the Baptist tradition, the minister stands at the altar at the end of his sermon and invites people to the front to pray with him, to confess their sins, or to accept Christ as their Savior. I was never comfortable with any of that. Over the years people stood there and told me things that should have been shared in private, not with a crowd of people standing around waiting to go to lunch.

I was not an Evangelical. I did not believe in a literal interpretation of the Bible. I could not accept the reality of a hell where people are tormented forever. I really wasn’t even a Baptist. I grew up one. My father was a Baptist minister. I was a young, impressionable teen who didn’t think I was capable of much. The church was all I knew. So I felt compelled to give my life to God in service to…I wasn’t sure what. People? Jesus? Society? The Church?

After seminary, I found the courage to explore my faith. I wanted my beliefs about God and Jesus and Scripture to be mine. I no longer wanted to carry around the beliefs of others who expected me to follow their rigid doctrine of biblical interpretation and moral rules.

Seminary was a huge learning experience. As was my doctoral work where I studied with people of all faiths and backgrounds and religious ideas and questions. It was intellectually stimulating, spiritually challenging, and emotionally refreshing.

When I eventually left the ministry after a painful divorce and leaving a congregation I loved, I floundered about looking for work that provided some security and where I could use the skills I had developed over the years as a public speaker, a writer, and a leader of others. It was a dark and lonely time filled with self-doubts, and a sense that I had lost touch with myself.

Thankfully, my sons, who were boys at the time, were amazingly resilient, determined, and loving and have grown into men I am unable to adequately tell how proud I am of them. It sounds immodest, but they are extraordinary men. That they turned out so well helped me traverse my own difficult transition.

Eventually, I found my way to work I enjoy and that uses the skills and interests that are my own.

There is little I miss about career ministry and the institutional church. It all seems now so politicized, profane, and insensitive to real human needs or to any of the dynamic and challenging teachings of Jesus. In fact, so much of institutional church today is focused on all the opposite concerns of Jesus.

It was Horace Mann, the great education reformer, who said, “Doing nothing for others is the undoing of ourselves.” That seems to me to be the way our politics and religion are going these days. It saddens and disgusts me.

On the bright side, many are now weary of a totally corrupted political system and empty religion bewitched with indecent greed and cruel power. In time, perhaps the tables will turn, an apt metaphor of Jesus-anger, at both political and religious scams, and citizens and voters will demand transformation.

We are Made for Human Connection

There are words from Brandi Carlile’s song, “The Story,” that I might sing, and perhaps you, too. “All of these lines across my face Tell you the story of who I am So many stories of where I've been And how I got to where I am But these stories don't mean anything When you've got no one to tell them to” You don’t have to be single or alone to feel the depth of those words. Someone in a longtime marriage or relationship might feel them, too. The voyage through life takes each one of us through an assortment of experiences. Some of them ennoble us. Some crush us. Some lift us beyond ourselves and carry us into the lives of those who need us. And some carry us to those we need. Some experiences are burdens. Others ease and encourage us. Some leave us baffled and unsure. Some build confidence within us and are so affirming that we grow in substance, in courage, in tenderness, and sympathy. As we age, the lines in our faces can represent the hurts we have not yet resolved. Or t

If I had five minutes to evacuate--what would I take with me?

If I was told there was a bomb in my building and I had five minutes to evacuate my apartment I’d grab a grocery bag and quickly toss these items into it: 1. A photo of my grandparents, Mom and Pop and me, when I was 15 years old. I learned what love is made of from them. I learned what it is to be kissed on and hugged in arms so tender they felt like God’s arms. I discovered self worth from those two angels in human flesh. Of all the people in my life, they were the ones who made me feel I counted. Honestly, whatever capacity I have to love others came from them. 2. A sentimental, dog-eared, stars in the margin copy of Pat Conroy’s, “The Prince of Tides.” It is a book I have read three times and often return to for its wisdom. It is a harsh, profoundly tragic novel, the story of a family so broken and tortured by such flawed and wounded people that it is sometimes difficult to turn the next page. And yet it is the story of such Herculean courage and endurance that you want

Do we need a new country?

Have you seen the elaborate, stylish, opulent television commercial for Cartier? The original commercial seemed to go on forever, a full three minutes. They have shortened it now, but it still drips with ostentatiousness. It is conspicuously pretentious in spite of the beautiful music and the sleek panther and the stunning scenery and the elegant model dressed in a striking red gown. The commercial takes the viewer through an amazing montage of dreamy landscapes and famous cities and spectacular stunts while moving past a giant expensive watch and finally to a glittering diamond bracelet modeled by the woman in red. Each time I see it I keep wondering who the target audience is. It seems to be such an over the top expression of unbridled greed and materialism gone ape. In a time when much of the world is starving and millions are still out of work here at home it seems bizarre that Cartier would spend what has to be millions on a television commercial celebrating 165 years in

The Unclad Soul

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