The Numbers Game

I’m still thinking about yesterday’s topic and realizing that there is a related topic that is just as frustrating to me. So hypothetically speaking, if you heard of two different churches, but all that you heard about them was that one had 30 members and one had 300, which one would you figure to be the successful church?

How many people immediately thought (even if you second guessed yourself) the answer was the one with 300 members? This mindset is one I’ve found to be increasingly common among church-goers. For some reason, people seem to feel that bigger is better and bigger is more effective and healthier when it comes to churches.

Don’t get me wrong. There are things about this I understand. If a church is bigger, it has more people to be involved in more ministries. It can have more irons in the fire without the members all becoming burned out. There is probably more cash flow so renovations can be made for accessibility and expansion. I get it. These things make sense. Churches want to be able to have enough money to keep their lights on, to keep up with repairs, to do effective ministry, etc.

What I don’t get, though, is the idea that we can always judge the health of a church by the number of people in attendance. How many, when they read the first question, had the response of “I need more information to be able to answer that question?” I think we really do. There seems to be a mindset that if a church has under 50 (sometimes even under 100) members that church is dying. That same mindset dictates that a church that had 300 people or more is thriving…just based on numbers alone.

Is this really a good mindset? Do we instantaneously know that a church that has hundreds of members is active in the community, has the income to regularly have a healthy budget, has a stable staff etc? Do we know how many of those members are just “on the books” vs. how many are currently active members? If a church only has 30 people, do we know that they don’t have enough money to keep the lights on where they are, do outreach, etc? Do we know that they aren’t active in the community? Do we know that they aren’t regularly reaching people (yeah some will surely say “well if they were, there would be more members”)?

I guess I just wonder if sometimes the focus is in the right place. What are you more inclined to be drawn to — a church that is regularly doing membership drives, handing out pencils and water bottles and tracts with the church info in the community, or one that is doing the right thing in the surrounding communities (and maybe further) not for the purpose of grabbing the attention of potential new members, but because it’s the right thing to do…because they are a church that strives to follow the mission Jesus laid forth? There may in fact be people (in fact I know there are or it wouldn’t be effective at all) who are most drawn to churches who advertise themselves a lot and actively try to draw people in. For me, personally, I know I’m more likely to be interested in a place that I find out about not through advertising and membership drives but through good things that church is doing in the community and the world. For me, I can’t gauge whether a church is doing that simply by knowing the size. One would hope/assume bigger=doing more, but that simply isn’t always the case.

So what can churches focus on more than numbers? Well, I don’t really feel like for Jesus it was ever a numbers game. I mean c’mon, he had twelve people with him. That’s about the size of a mid-week Bible study group, yet those twelve people in many ways did more effective ministry in the areas where they went than many of today’s mega-churches. They stayed true to their mission. They went out with the purpose of bringing love, healing and life to those around them. Is the only gauge of whether a church is reaching people effectively the number of members it has? I can’t believe it is. Maybe the smaller groups of people in society, not just churches, but community groups of all types shouldn’t be so quickly discounted. I’d swear somewhere in Bible we are told God looks not at the things man looks at but at the…numbers? No, no, heart. It’s definitely heart. Yep.

Wondering about priorities on the quest.

Whose Church Is It Anyway?

Sheep stealing…it’s baaaad news if you’re a pastor of a church, eh? I didn’t understand this concept of sheep stealing until I was a young adult. Apparently, the thought behind it is that you shouldn’t invite people who are already grounded in other churches to your church events, services, etc. because you will be stealing someone else’s “sheep”…I guess.

This has never made a lot of sense to me for a pastor or church to be concerned about (along with steeple envy but, for a variety of reasons, let’s not even go there.) I’m in a leadership class right now. Overall, I’m really enjoying it. The topics we cover are interesting, I love the discussion and our teacher regularly participates in the class, which is a welcome change from other recent classes.

Someone in the class (hmm it may have been me) made a quip about sheep stealing last week and the teacher responded with “well-fed sheep can’t be stolen.” Well, as I may have mentioned before, I have never liked the analogy of Christians (or any humans) being sheep, but ok for the sake of argument let’s go with this analogy.

So there are different sheep in different churches. Each church has different gifts, different strengths and different weaknesses. Each church has different ministry highlights, buildings with different architecture (some accessible to all, others not so much). They’re all different. Whose churches are these? Well, from what I learned growing up, the head of the church is not supposed to be the pastor or the council. It’s not their church. The head of the church is supposed to be Jesus.

How does this factor in with the whole concept of sheep stealing? Well, if the head of the church is Jesus, and someone goes from one church to another then they’re being stolen from Jesus by…Jesus? Yes, I know churches have different theologies and some churches teach they are the only ones who are “saved.” Even many churches that teach they aren’t the only ones who will experience eternal life still feel they somehow have the upper hand over other groups. So, to some, it might seem like a different or lesser group is taking away their members.

I guess the problem I’m having, though, came to a head when the class was talking about doing joint services and joint projects with other churches. Our teacher made the point that, unless it was our church who was hosting, doing such things would actually be harmful to our church because the church people in the community would remember and gravitate toward was the one who hosted.

If you’re looking at the church as a business, I get it. You want all the members to come to your church. The members (ideally) have money which they will give to your church and your church will, in turn, be able to do bigger and better things. I know that this is some people’s approach to how church should be run.

It’s not mine.

Isn’t the church supposed to be about caring for people, about supporting one another, about challenging one another to grow toward a common “end” if you will? Isn’t it not supposed be a personality cult of sorts with a pastor or worship team at the head, but focused on following in the ministry of Jesus? If this is the case, then why is it such a threat if someone decides to go to another church? If they’re finding what they’re after, if they feel welcome, if they can get in the building (as someone who uses a wheelchair there are many churches I cannot enter), isn’t that most important? Shouldn’t it be some sort of moral responsibility of the pastors of churches to ensure that community members get what they need spiritually and, if they’re all working toward the same end anyway, why should it matter if someone is getting what they need at your church or the church down the road? Why can’t the churches work together rather than being in competition with one another?

No no no! That might cause MY church to close if enough people decide to go elsewhere!!!! Ok…and??? What exactly would be the problem with that? Yes, those who make a living in the church (it really shouldn’t be a lucrative career path, but many do) might be unemployed. Unemployment is serious business. I in no way mean to imply otherwise. Isn’t that the only real issue there’d be, though? Most churches won’t close their doors without helping people find another place to go so that wouldn’t be as likely to be a concern. If the reason for the closing is because people are finding what they need elsewhere, might it be a good idea to find out how you can help in what’s already going on that’s drawing people? Why re-invent the wheel? Churches I have seen thrive are thriving because they are doing something new and different that other churches are not.

I know my opinions aren’t always popular. Believe me, I hear it daily! I know if the church I attend did close (can’t see that happening, but hypothetically) it would be very disheartening. For people whose family has been in a church for generations, especially, it would be a really disorienting experience as well. What I challenge is the “why?” Why are so many church leaders seemingly of the mindset that their congregants are “their” people? Sure, the “their people” might be positive in the sense of “in my care so I need to care for them,” but why does it need to turn possessive to the point we want to keep what’s “ours” away from others? Is that really what the Church was intended to do?

I welcome everyone on the quest. Nobody has it all figured out. I sure don’t!

We Need Affliction!

“Great sermon, Pastor!” “I really feel such joy after today’s worship. It fed my soul!” “I really felt the love and peace of Christ in today’s Communion service!”

I bet we’ve all heard these sentiments from people coming out the doors of a church. Some may even have said them. It’s great if someone really feels moved by a worship service, but I’ve been wondering lately — are people feeling moved for the right reasons and in the right direction? What is the purpose of a church service? How should the way they feel leaving be different from the way they felt upon entering?

Think about if you’ve ever heard a sermon on the Prodigal Son. Chances are most people who have attended church have. Lemme guess? In the sermon illustration the audience were meant to be the son who wandered away and God was the father who welcomed back the child who had strayed with open arms, right? What about the story of the Good Samaritan? Did the pastor put the congregants in the frame that they were the person being assisted by someone they wouldn’t have expected or necessarily even welcomed being assisted by? And let’s talk about the parable of the two debtors. We read that the one of whom more has been forgiven will be more thankful. Isn’t the congregation usually put in the spot of the one of whom more has been forgiven and thus is the most thankful?

So let’s see…in the course of three sermons you’ve been forgiven for unfaithfulness and welcomed back with open arms and party, rescued by someone unexpected, been taken care of and had your debts paid, and then had a huge debt forgiven! Pretty sweet deal, right? No wonder you’re leaving church feeling like you’re walking on sunshine!

So, just because I can, let me flip the script. You’re not the Prodigal Son. You’re the older brother…the one who has been faithful to his family and hard working all his life, hasn’t rocked the boat and has been pretty ignored…then when the “wild child” returns you have to put up with him getting even more attention while you’re the invisible one. Or you’re the father…you’ve go two kids who couldn’t possibly be more different. You say you love them both equally and yet one requires a lot more of your time and attention. The other one stays out of the way, fades into the background, and is not given the same amount of attention. Do we talk about the story from the standpoint that maybe we aren’t always the son who has screwed up and is being forgiven? Maybe we’ve been forgotten. Maybe we’re forgetting or not paying enough attention to those near to us. Different story when you look at it that way, right?

Maybe…hold onto your hats…maybe you aren’t the one the Samaritan has saved and taken care of and made sure was nursed back to health. Maybe the lesson of that story isn’t always that sometimes help comes from unexpected places. Maybe, just maybe to someone YOU are the Samaritan. What would that be like…to put yourself in that role…as someone who is often reviled and avoided and to be someone out of whom people expect the worst? What is it like to be in a category for whom it would be a distinguishing feature for people to call you good? Getting uneasy yet?

So, just to make things even more uncomfortable, what if we aren’t the ones for whom much debt has been forgiven? What if we are the ones to whom the debt is owed and it is our job to forgive it? Or what if we are the ones who owed less and we see someone who owed more being forgiven? What do we do with those feelings of injustice?

Perhaps one of the best distinctions I’ve ever heard made with regard to a church service is whether the intention of the service or message is to comfort the afflicted or to afflict the comfortable. Honestly, in my life I’ve seen far too much of the former in churches and not enough of the latter. Over and over, year after year I would hear the same interpretations of Jesus’ parables and other stories in Scripture. The points would always be the same. We (the congregants and presumably the pastor was included) were always the ones being forgiven, being sought after, being loved on). These were comforting messages that left attendees feeling uplifted. It’s great to be uplifted from time to time, but is that really the point of going to church? Sure it can be a part of it, but isn’t living life as a Christian supposed to be about making strides to be better, more Godly people who put Jesus and his teachings at the center of their lives? If that’s the case, then Christians are supposed to grow and, if Christians are supposed to grow, doesn’t that mean not always being comfortable?

People want to hear sermons with messages that they will be taken care of, provided for, that suffering will be short-lived. They want to get their warm fuzzies in for the week. What if what people need, though, is a little less comforting of the afflicted (who may not always be as afflicted as all that comforting may lead them to feel) and a little more afflicting the comfortable? In all the studying I’ve done over the years, Christianity isn’t supposed to be about being comfortable. It’s supposed to be about stretching yourself to do the right thing by others even when (or especially when) it’s really difficult to do so. It’s not all about how if you screw up and admit that you screw up you’ll be immediately forgiven and a party will be thrown in your honor. Sometimes it’s about how, no matter how hard you try to do the right thing, somebody who is really screwing up always seems to be getting the parties thrown for them and how do you, as a Christian, deal with that?

It’s not always about how we need to realize that help comes from unexpected places — that sometimes somebody we may have a negative perception of might actually be one of our best allies. Sometimes it’s about realizing that we might be that person someone has a negative perception of and we need to ask ourselves what we ought to do with that. Sometimes it’s not about having a debt forgiven but about having to forgive one not because we don’t really need the money (or whatever it was) but because we recognize there is something more important and, to make way for it, we need to just suck it up.

In the women’s book group I am a part of, we are going through a book called Short Stories By Jesus which is what sparked some of what I’m writing about today. The author makes so many good points about how we read the parables today vs. how they would have been taken in the context of the original time and place they were told. One though that particularly got to me was what if we’re not the lost coin or the lost sheep, but what if we’re the one that did the losing? I feel like sermons can get into ruts (I know mine did at times over the years) of seeing a passage and interpreting it the same old way year after year each time the passage pops up in the lectionary. I wonder what might happen if preachers start preaching on different angles of and different characters in stories. We might learn a whole lot more about who we are as the human race. We may be a whole lot less comfortable…and that may be just what people need!

Curious day today on the quest.

Does It Change You?

I know quite a few people who have said they won’t go to churches because they are filled with hypocrites. I know others who used to attend church but stopped going for the same reason. I’ve been a part of conversations between these people and others who do attend church and it usually doesn’t end with understanding. As a general rule, the conversation usually leads to the church-goers making the point that there is hypocrisy everywhere, not just in churches, and that avoiding church because of people being hypocritical is like avoiding going to the doctor because you might run into people who are sick.

I get both sides of this. Everyone is a bit hypocritical from time to time. It’s a not so nice part of human nature. Hypocrisy isn’t specific to just people in churches. It’s everywhere! If your aim is to avoid people who can be hypocritical, Earth isn’t your best bet (but I hear they did just discover water on Mars, so you probably have a few decades of hope there before humans take it over! 😉 )

At the same time, I see the point on the opposite side. People in churches talk a lot about being “in the world but not of the world” and about how Jesus’ love transforms them into new creations. So what does one do when they’re hearing this yet seeing creations who seem pretty “of this world” and just like the rest of the people they meet?

Social media is a place where I see a lot of this going on. I’ll be following someone’s feed and see a lot of Scripture verses posted and then suddenly a meme about how the Kardashians are such destructive people that now they have even turned Caitlyn into a woman (hint: previously named individual is dead-named in said meme). I’ll see friends who post pictures asking if God is welcome in your home and saying “1 like = 1 share” and yet, a little more scrolling and I see (blatant racism being quoted here, not something I’m endorsing at all) “No I do not have a ‘bae.’ I don’t speak section 8.”

I’m sure we’ve all said/written/posted things in the past that were harmful to someone, whether it was intentional or not. I know I have. In my life I’ve heard a lot of terms, jokes, etc that I had no idea were slams against people of different races. I was ignorant. In a lot of areas I still am. I have a lot to learn.

We are all ignorant in some areas. What seems to be the difference, though, is whether that ignorance is just ignorance or willful ignorance. In other words, if you’re called on something you say, write or post as being offensive to a person or group of people, how do you respond? Do you get angry and defensive, with the “it was just a joke, get a sense of humor” response? Do you lash back at the other person, calling them ignorant about the meaning of what you posted and saying they are just trying to find things to be upset about? Or do you really listen and try to understand the other person’s perspective, take the time to let them know your purpose was not to offend them and you hadn’t thought about that perspective?

Nobody does this perfectly, because none of us are perfect. It’s really easy to jump to the “*eyeroll* you’re just being too sensitive” response. I know I’ve done it! This is the area where I can see the point in people saying they don’t go to churches because of hypocrisy. It’s not the ignorance that’s hypocrisy. Each and every one of us is ignorant about many things. Ignorance just means you don’t know something. When something is pointed out to you, though, and you still refuse to acknowledge it, that’s willful ignorance and, when it comes to that, I gotta say I kinda get the people who say they have a hard time stomaching that when they come to church. It’s one thing not to know. It’s another thing altogether to be told something and to dismiss or deny another person’s perspective; to downplay their being hurt or offended by something you have done because their response doesn’t make sense to you or match your intent.

I get not wanting to be around that. I don’t particularly like being around that, yet I recognize I have been that at times. It brings up an important point, though. If Jesus’ love transforms people and if the calling is to be “in the world but no of the world,” what difference is there really between someone who is a Christian and someone who isn’t if we are all acting much the same way? If it isn’t changing us and transforming our hearts, what’s the point? Is it just then a matter of the fact some of us believe something theologically that others do not? What’s the point of believing something if it doesn’t alter the way we interact with the world?

“We go to church for God, not for other people.” I’ve heard that a lot. There’s truth to it. It’s also true that going to church doesn’t make someone a Christian, and it seems throughout history that the purpose of the church is to be a community of people who believe all coming together for the whole iron sharpening iron thing. So if people come together as a church, sing, listen to the sermon, share prayer requests yet are still saying and doing much the same things as those who aren’t really concerned with matters of faith, religion or spirituality, what’s the point? I think faith is supposed to change who people are and change how people view and interact with the world around them. If it’s not doing that, I get get those who ask “then what’s the point?”

Tough quest this is.

Fake It ‘Til I Make It?

My name is Kat and I’m a follower of Questianity! (Insert exuberant “HI KAT” here) I’m on a quest of questions trying to find my place in the world and how everything works together. I have been an ordained pastor since 2005 and have worked in half a dozen churches in different capacities.

One of the most amazing experiences in my life has been hearing stories of church members recovering from addiction. I’ve attended several 12 step meetings with different people and, several times when I’ve heard people asked how they stopped drinking/doing drugs etc. their response was “It’s impossible at first, but you fake it til you make it.” I didn’t understand what this meant at first, but they explained that quitting whatever it was they were addicted to seemed impossible at first and the steps they were given to help them in the process didn’t seem like they would logically help. So what did they do? They just started going through the motions and eventually they started to see a change and it had become more than just going through the motions.

For them, in their circumstances this worked and I’m so glad for them that it did. They’re so much happier, more hopeful and full of life than when I met them. I gotta wonder, though, does this “fake it ’til you make it” idea work in all circumstances?

Last night Micah and I arrived in Blowing Rock, NC for our annual church retreat. This is the second time we’ve gone. I love it up here. The leaves are changing, the air is brisk, many of my favorite people are here and it’s just the kind of experience that leaves you feeling good. This year, we’ve had less scheduled programming than last year. I thought I wouldn’t like that, but it ends up that I have loved it! This morning we spent the morning writing poetry, telling stories and doing artwork. This afternoon we’ve played board games and talked.

A few hours ago I wrote an acrostic during our poetry portion of the morning:

Beautiful leaves
Lifting in the air
Our breath before our eyes
Whispered prayers
Incantations of praise
Never ceasing on our lips
Going forth into the rolling hills
Rich conversation
Ongoing joy and peacefulness
Clearly sensing the One who brought us here
Knowing we are loved

I like how it sounds. It’s…well…poetic! It’s the first time I’ve ever written an acrostic and had it not sound completely corny. Something about it bothers me, though. The obviously religious undertones (or is it overtones?) don’t really speak to me. It sounds nice, and it seems like the sort of thing one would be supposed to write at a church retreat, but I don’t feel anything about them. The only parts of the acrostic that evoke any emotions are the joy of being around people I love and the beauty of the mountains.

This “spiritual quest” I’ve been on is one I don’t actually know when started. I don’t think I just woke up one day questioning every religious belief I’d ever been taught. I’m pretty sure this has been a process that I didn’t even notice happening until about a year ago when I re-entered school and re-took several Bible classes. There were other things along the road pretty much since I started attending church as a child that were indicators I would one day find myself where I am today, but I viewed them differently than I’m starting to now. I viewed them as isolated issues, as short comings of individual people or individual groups of people. Never until this past year had it actually crystallized for me that so much of the whole belief system those around me have worked so hard to construct for me isn’t working for me anymore. Maybe it never did. Maybe I wasn’t mature enough to actually think deeply and was only going through the motions.

If I was “faking it” in the hopes of “making it,” I didn’t even realize it at the time. I didn’t question anything, because things were just “the way things were .” There was enough in my life as a child and teenager that didn’t make sense that I didn’t bother to look too deeply into other things that seemed to make sense.

Now, though, I feel like I’m being disingenuous so much of the time. I mean yes, people know I’m pansexual. Yes, people know I have questions about faith (those who read my blog at least) but I feel like to many people I’m the “good little Christian girl.” That’s just not who I am. I’m not at the point where I’m going to call myself an atheist. I’m not even comfortable with agnostic. Yet, for some reason “Christian” doesn’t feel honest. It’s not that I’m actively not wanting to call myself a Christian, but I keep asking the question “how much of this can deconstruct in my mind and heart while I still am able to honestly call myself a Christian? When is it dishonest to use that label? I know a few people who share the questions I have and the beliefs I have who call themselves progressive Christians or liberal Christians. The “what makes a Christian a Christian” question has a different answer for everyone. Some people say “look at the Bible. It tells you.” Some people say “well, for me…”

So I really don’t know what to do with this. I’m still heavily involved in my church. I love the people tremendously and I love the social justice emphasis in our congregation. It’s almost like the emphasis is on doing justice with the backbone being #because Jesus. I can do that! Whatever I believe about Jesus, I firmly believe in the lessons he taught. He was/is amazing. I have some friends who are Christians who say that if, to me, Jesus is just “an amazing teacher” then Christianity is totally disregarded. For me, I don’t know. Hence the questianity.

What to do? Do I just keep going down the path I am? That’s the plan. I’ve already determined that, at this point, I have no desire to pastor another church. I enjoy preaching and teaching (so long as I’m not expected to espouse things I don’t believe which, thankfully in the area of UCC churches where we are doesn’t usually happen). I just really don’t feel “called,” “led” or what have you (is there non Christianese language for this?) to continue to pastor a church. I’m in the starting stages of a 501C3 as many people know, Faithfully Accessible, which will work to help churches across the USA across demoninational lines to become more accessible to people with disabilities. That is something I feel like I can do. I’m passionate about that and I don’t have to really know where I stand, so to speak, on the “other stuff” in order to do that.

Do I just “fake it til I make it?” Is that even honest? It doesn’t seem, in this context, that it is. I guess I just continue as I’ve been going, asking questions, being honest about the fact that I have those questions and see where life leads me. It’s terrifying. People from my past (and some in my present) have expressed a lot of disappointment in me because of my changing views, my evolving understandings, etc. It’s been a scarier, more painful experience by far than coming out as a member of the LGBTQ community. I can only hope some of the pain of it goes away or is at least helped by the knowledge that so far I’m being as true to myself as I know how to be, even at the risk of losing people’s respect, trust, etc.

This is the underlying quest itself and it can feel quite dark some days. Glad to be among people who love me for me.

What Is Love?

Aaaaaaaaaallrighty then! Now that we all have that out of our systems…

So i got a message from a friend that other day that’s really had me thinking. He was talking about how ways that God and salvation are portrayed in the Church can really come off differently than I think (I hope) the Church intends. One thing in particular he mentioned was this concept that God loves everyone no matter what — unless of course you reject God.

Put that way, it’s really scary. After all, God is supposed to be the picture of unconditional love, right? Yet it seems the picture we’re given is of “I love you unless you reject me and then you’re gonna suffer forever.” Now I already know the “flip side” discussion on this — at least one of them. Years ago I was told that what is actually the case is that God loves us so much that God will not force God’s self on us. Rather, we are free to choose whatever we want and, whatever our fate in life or death, it is a natural consequence of our decisions, not God punishing us. I get that concept. Really, I do! Yet, I’m confused. The thought process behind that seems to be “God won’t force us to do anything because love doesn’t force.”

I agree that love is not about forcing someone to do something, fit an ideal, be something, etc. Real love, unconditional love is about accepting and honoring the other person for who they are…loving them without the motive of trying to change them.

Is that really the picture that is often portrayed of God, though? We’re told that God’s love for us is perfect and unconditional, so why does it seem that God’s love for us only extends so far and God’s protection/provision only extends so far if we don’t make the decision to follow God? There’s this tension with which I can’t quite make peace. I get that some people make the point that God doesn’t force “heaven” or “eternal life” on people because God wants us to choose for ourselves and love isn’t about force. Isn’t it still kinda being about force, though, if we only get a blessed afterlife if we follow God, believing God to be the only God and renouncing all other belief systems? I get that there are consequences to actions. If you put you hand on a hot stove, you’re gonna get burned. If you murder someone, chances are you’re going to prison. That makes sense to me. Negative actions having negative consequences and vice versa seems to follow. This afterlife thing, though — I’m not following the logic of how this is unconditional love.

I was taught in church that even people who murder someone, rape someone, steal, lie, cheat, etc…they could all still have a wonderful eternal life if only they would repent of their wrongdoing. So people who are actually actively harming people might still be in some sort of eternal paradise, and yet someone else who has spent their whole life helping people in need, doing for others, loving others in the best way humanly possible still would not join in this eternal celebration simply because they follow a different belief system? I’m failing to see the unconditional love.

Now the whole system quickly falls apart if you follow the trail too far. Ok, so if it doesn’t make sense that you don’t attain paradise if you don’t believe right, then is it about what kind of person you are? Well, Scripture tells us it’s about grace through faith and not works. If it was about works, how would a person know when they were “good enough?” So maybe it’s about our hearts — that God knows if we have good hearts or bad hearts and those with good hearts inherit eternal life and those with bad hearts do not. Still…not seemingly like unconditional love. I know families who have members who are very damaged. Some have done very terrible things and don’t seem to recognize them as terrible. Some say they would do them again. Do these people’s parents still love them? Of course! Their mothers gave birth to them!! They are their children. They don’t love their children based on what they do or don’t do (sadly some do, but that’s the exception). Plus — good hearts/bad hearts…that all sounds a bit arbitrary. How does one gauge that?

So what do we do with this? It’s looked at as force by some if God just says “eternal life for all,” thus making it so that everyone is “brought into the fold” whether they want to be or not. Yet it’s also seemingly not unconditional love if someone is denied eternal life because of their belief system. How do we reconcile these two sides? How do people make the belief that Universalism is wrong and that only certain people are granted eternal life make sense when held up against the image of a God whose love is perfect and unconditional?

My mind is reeling on the quest today.

Our Ransom Note?

Yesterday I read a passage in the Bible that caught my eye. Mark 10:45 says “For even the son of man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

Now the first part of this is cool; serving rather than being served. That’s important. Its important not to be greedy and selfish and to do for other people. I’m good with that. That last part, though, I keep looking back at and not being sure how to feel about. “…and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

Now maybe I’ve just seen too many crime movies and weird TV show, but the image this conjures up for me is that of the ransom note I created above. It sounds like it’s saying that Satan (though Satan isn’t specifically named here) has “many” hostage in some way and has had some sort of communication with God that, in order for these “many” to be spared, Jesus will have to come and die in their place.

I’ll just go ahead and get one thing out of the way. At this point on my quest I do not believe in substitutionary atonement. What I wish I knew what to think about, though, is why there always has to be a ransom note. Why does someone always have to die for others to be spared?

Those who believe in substitutionary atonement believe that Jesus had to be crucified and die “according to God’s will” so that the sins of humankind could be forgiven. Who else in history has had to die so that other people might “get it” and millions of other lives could be spared? By whose decree did they “have to die” for this to happen, or is it simply be decree of society as a whole working the way it does?

How many people had to be enslaved, tortured, even killed before society finally started to get the message that thinking we could “own” people and treat them worse than animals was wrong? We haven’t completely changed the mindset, though we’ve come a long way. There is still way too much of the thinking that led to these atrocities in the world today. Why did so many people have to suffer and die before things began to change?

Why do we have to lose so many people in the LGBTQ community to suicide or hate crimes before laws get enacted to change how people are and aren’t allowed to relate to one another? Why does it take someone’s child dying by their own hand before they really start to realize that maybe what they’ve always been taught about what God thought of their child wasn’t right?

I read so many suicide letters each month from people (mostly youth) who say things like “hopefully my death and my story will make it so nobody else has to go through this.” They feel the only way for things to possibly get better is for them to die so that attention will be brought to what they went through and people will start to see. It both does and doesn’t work. For a while, there’s outrage. Funds are started in people’s names, laws are enacted, communities come together. Then what, though? How long does that last before it’s the same thing all over again?

How long did it take after Jesus’ death before someone else was killed? Who did they think they were the ransom for? What can we do to move things in a direction where it no longer takes death to make a change? What would Christianity look like without the concept of substitutionary atonement being there at all? What if Jesus just died because society is somewhat horrible and can’t find constructive ways to work through difference? Lots of people die every day for that very reason. Would it really change things? For me, personally, it changes things in a positive way. I don’t feel any guilt (as I did as a child) in thinking that Jesus was tortured and killed so that I might have eternal life (that’s a big burden for an eight year old to carry). I feel horrible that Jesus was treated as he was and died as he did. I feel horrible for anyone to be tortured and killed for being who they are. What I feel now isn’t guilt, though, it’s a sense of responsibility for the future. People have died horrible, unjust deaths. I’m still alive. What can I do with my life both to honor those who aren’t hear and to cherish those who are? I don’t believe in a ransom note for the “many.” I do believe nobody should have to die with the sense of responsibility that their death will be what improves things for others.

Tough day on the quest.

God First — Everyone Else…Where?!

Growing up, I had a friend who was always quick to tell me I was her absolute best friend — after God. She explained to me that the list went “God first, then family, then friends, then everyone else.” Over the years I’ve seen similar sentiments expressed by many people. There are memes on my Facebook feed daily making sure God is “first” in people’s lives. I’ve heard sermons saying that if God isn’t first in our lives our priorities are out of whack. “Put God first,” I’ve been told,” and everything else will fall into place.”

On the surface, if I don’t think about this to deeply, I see a lot of good. After all, God is supposedly love, right? Putting love first in your life seems it naturally would make everything fall into place. Love is arguably the most important force in the universe.

Here’s the problem, though. That’s not what I most often see happen when it comes to this “God first” philosophy. Here are a few things I have seen.

A man who worked 60 hour work weeks and, when he could have been home with his wife and children, told them he first needed to make sure he was volunteering at the church whenever he could because he put “God first.”
A family who disowned their child when they came out as gay, because that child being gay went against their religious beliefs and they had to put “God first.”
A woman whose husband abused her for many years, yet she refused to divorce him because, as she put it, God hates divorce, so she had to put “God first.”
A couple whose ten year marriage ended in the wife filing for a divorce because the husband began to have doubts about Christianity and the wife said being married to him if he wasn’t sure he was a Christian would “damage her witness” and she had to put “God first.”
A family whose child died from a disease that could have easily been treated but the parents refused to take the child to the doctor because they believed God would heal her, and they had to put their faith in medicine far behind their number one priority — “God first”

In these instances and many more I could list, the concept of “God first” ends up being not about putting love as the highest priority but about using God as a sort of abusive tool. If “God first” were about love here, wouldn’t the family have seen that God loved them and their child enough to allow them to be in each others’ lives, so they could show love and gratitude to God by doing all they could to save their child? If “God first” were being expressed in terms of love, wouldn’t the husband who was working such long hours have seen that he could honor God by honoring the gifts God gave him — his family?

Do people just not see that putting everyone in a sort of ranking with “God first” really can be a type of spiritual abuse? Might it be more in line with what we learn of God in Scripture to, rather than “God first” say “God in the center?” Rather than having God at the top of some priority list and everything and everyone ranking under God, what if God was in the center of all people said and did? What if God wasn’t just a mark to check off a list as “ok I’ve done my devotional or gone to church, so now I can have family time,” but was central to every relationship people invested in and every activity they engaged in. What if they spent time with their loved ones not instead of putting God first but as a way of putting God first? What if they respected and loved themselves enough to remove themselves from abusive situations because they realized that God in the center meant God loving them enough to not want them in harm’s way. What if they recognized that, by putting God in the center, they could value the gift of their child as one to be cherished and fought for, not disregarded?

Now I know what some people are thinking — “yes, that’s what we really mean when we’re saying God first. We mean that God needs to be first in everything, not before everything! Why can’t the framework be changed, then? There’s a lot of power in how we word things. When I hear “first” I think of phrases like “first things first” — in other words, “let’s get this taken care of and then we’ll get to everything else.” I don’t hear “this will be at the center of everything else we’re doing.” If we change the way we frame this concept, what else might it change about our lives.

Seeking to understand that which is at the center of my quest.

Scared Of Silence???

Some of you know that I’ve been taking classes to transfer my ordination to UCC. Though I’ve been an ordained pastor since 2005, I really feel like UCC resonates with me more than any denomination I’ve known so far and I like that it’s a place where I can be myself. Not all congregations are the same, of course, but I feel like I have a place.

So the last class I took (which I just finished up today) was Pastoral Care. It was a really practical class. We talked about a lot of different pastoral care situations we might face (in my case, I already had faced most of them). We covered everything from natural disasters to acts of violence on small and large scales to death of loved ones, to anniversaries of tough days, to suicide and more. One of my favorite points in the class was a discussion on things we’ve heard people say in church that, while often well-meaning, are very harmful. In other words, we were asked to created a list of “Sh*t Pastors Say in Pastoral Care” (though it’s not only pastors who say these things.)

Though I know I won’t be able to recall every statement that made the cut, a few were noteworthy enough to stick out.

“God needed another angel” — aside from the questionable theology of it (the concept of changing species at death), this is really an empty statement and is dismissive of the fact that one’s loved ones feel they needed them as well.

“God never gives you more than you can handle.” — In other words, shape up! You’re stronger than to let this get to you…don’t feel scared, hopeless, helpless etc

“It’s all a part of God’s plan.” — No, just…no. So God planned out for a child to die, buildings to blow up, a bad car accident, etc? Can something positive come out of a bad situation? Sure!! Does that mean that when someone is in the middle of grieving is the time to try to hyper speed them through the grief to see the positive? No!

“You’re going to have such a strong testimony when you get through this.” — Great, so I have go through what feels like a living hell just so I’ll have a great story to tell to encourage others? Again, it’s likely true something good will come out of a bad situation, but framing it in such a way that God is giving you something so that you’ll have a good story to tell is a bit scary.

“They wouldn’t want you to be sad.” — It may be true that a loved one who has passed on wouldn’t want their loved ones left on Earth to be sad. We never want people we love to be sad. That said, the message that gets sent by this statement is “you’re not grieving right. This isn’t how you’re supposed to do it.”

There were quite a few more things, but these were among the most notable. We talked a lot in class about why people say these things. Often, it’s because they feel they need to say something so they say the first thing that they think sounds sympathetic and encouraging. We’ve all done it. I know I have. I’m much more aware of it now as I see how much damage it can cause.

Here’s what I really don’t understand, though. Why do we always feel like we have to say something? What is it about silence that makes us so uncomfortable? What are we so afraid of? I see this even in silent prayer in church — within a few seconds people are clearing their throats and shuffling in their seats. Now, in my case I know why I’m uncomfortable with silence. Due to my PTSD, I am extremely reactive to noise and sometimes even movement I perceive as sudden. If it’s really quiet and suddenly someone sneezes or coughs or a cell phone goes off I may well jump a foot out of my seat. It’s more than a little embarrassing, so I get squirmy in silence.

I know that’s not what it is for everyone, though. Could it maybe be the same thing that makes us uncomfortable with open-ended questions? Could it be that we’re a society of fixers and, if we see someone hurting or struggling in some way we jump to trying to fix what’s “wrong” with them? It makes us uncomfortable to see people hurting. Do we want to fix things just because we want the other person’s circumstances to improve or might it also be partly because we want to stop feeling uncomfortable?

When I write, as I’ve said before, it’s for the purpose of putting into words the questions on my mind and in my heart. It’s for me. I publish my writing because I’ve found that there are others who ask some of the same questions I do, and it can be really helpful to know you’re not alone in the quest. I don’t write to find answers. If I feel I do, then great! If not, that’s great too. I like looking back at the questions I’ve asked in my life more than the answers I feel like I’ve come to because, for me, it’s in the types of questions being asked and how they evolve that I find myself.

This absolute discomfort people seem to have with silence (maybe it’s only certain cultures, maybe it’s distinct to the USA, who knows!) is something baffling to me as someone who feels it as well as someone who experiences it around me. Could we maybe be kinder to one another and think longer about our responses if we could learn to be content with quiet.

Another day of the quest at an end.

Whining About The Wine

Well, actually no, I’m not whining. There is something troubling me, though. When I first started going to church as a child, we had communion once a month or so. It was passed around in little cups with little pieces of bread. I can’t recall for sure, but I’m pretty sure there was a setup like what I’ve seen in other churches over the years where one ring in the circle had juice and the others had wine.

Now when you’re seven years old you kinda get excited at the prospect of “accidentally” getting the cup with the wine. Not that I particularly thought it tasted good at that age and not that such a small amount would have had any effect on me, but still! It was the principle of the matter!

What was exciting for me as a child has become increasingly troubling for me as an adult. Those who know me well know I don’t drink. I’ve had too much mess in my life associated with alcohol for me to honestly feel like it’s a good idea. I don’t have any issue being around people drinking (assuming they’re not incredibly drunk), but I choose for myself not to.

There are some churches, like the one where I’m a member, that use only juice at communion. I like that. I really appreciate that, actually. There are some people, though, that get really upset by that. Some churches refuse to use anything other than wine. They say that to use juice removes the authenticity and takes away from the sacredness of communion. They say that Jesus and his disciples drank wine and so should they.

Here’s what troubles me, though. Isn’t communion supposed to be about coming together as the body of Christ? Isn’t it supposed to be a time where it’s shown that Christ is welcoming all who wish to sit at his table and share a meal?

If so, why are we excluding people who want very much to take part — people who are fighting a tough battle and really could benefit from the fellowship and knowing that God still loves them?

Is it really Christ-like or loving to put people in a situation where, if they are living with alcoholism, they are forced to choose between not taking communion or taking it and having it add fuel to their addiction?

I’ve brought this up to some people before and received some interesting responses. I’ve had some people tell me that, as a result of the “mystery of faith” the communion wine would have no negative effect on people living with alcoholism. Well, I know that not to be true thanks to a Catholic priest I knew in high school who lived with alcoholism.

Still others would tell me “just that little sip won’t hurt anyone.” Evidently the people saying this don’t know a whole lot about alcoholism. It’s different for everyone, but it doesn’t take a full glass for someone to “fall off the wagon” if they were on it, and it can take only a sip for someone to begin craving it to the point where I’ve actually seen people get tremors as a result of it.

So what is the “Christian” thing to do? 1 Corinthians 8:13 says “Therefore, if what I eat causes someone to stumble, I will not eat i again so I will not cause them to fall.” Now I don’t personally think this is saying that, because there are people in the world who deal with alcoholism in the world, nobody should be allowed to drink. If we followed that logic, almost all food and drink would eventually be eliminated due to allergies alone and we’d all starve and dehydrate!

To me, though, this speaks to the heart of the Church. If the Church is supposed to be a place of safety, a place where people join together in fellowship and love, is it doing its job if its practices are excluding people? If having wine at communion instead of juice is making it so that some of the members and visitors are unable to safely partake, what is the truly loving response? Is it to say “sorry, Jesus drank wine and so shall we?” Or maybe is it to say “we want everyone who wants to come to the table to be able to join, and we will work to make that possible?” Where are the priorities? Over and over again in the Bible we see Jesus reaching out to people the rest of society either is scared of, repulsed by or just forgets. Church, if Jesus were in your midst, what would he think of your communion table?

All are welcome on this quest.