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Charlie and the Kardashians

Twitter is a wonderful tool.  I keep up with dozens of journals, news sources, and artists who interest me through it.  Of course, if you lack a trash filter, you can easily get distracted onto thousands of useless spiritual cul-de-sacs.  They are hard to resist.  For some reason, two stories caught my momentary attention.  One said, “Taylor Swift may never marry.”  The other said, “Teen Mom photographed in bikini.  Makes sex tape with porn star.”  My reponse to the first is, “Uh, Taylor Swift is free to not marry.  Think I’ll survive.”  The second?  “Someone needs to help that child before she makes another stupid mess out of her life.”

What’s the deal with us?  People ruining themselves is momentarily interesting, of course, but it’s the spiritual equivalent of eating only French fries for the rest of your life.  You’ll pay for it eventually.

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Charlie and me on a good day.

My day was not nearly so glam.  I conducted a funeral for one of my dearest friends in the world.  He was the chair of the committee that brought me to my present church twenty years ago.  He was always the one who was working behind the scenes to lead through others without a spotlight on himself.  Today, after the service, the stories poured out of things he accomplished, family members he helped with finances or trouble, lives changed because Charlie said, “I think you ought to do it.”

I had a copy of his autobiography written years ago, just so his family might know about his life.  I read back through it before I did the eulogy.  It was a story like many from his generation—love of family, friends, faith, and helping others.  He rose to a Vice Presidency in the Bell system before he finished, but you would never know it.  Everyone felt like his best friend, although if you fought him, he was tough.  He had a way, said one friend, of being determined and once he set his mind on what was right, there was no way you would stop him.  But he was never mean about it. Read the rest of this entry

Disappointing Others for God: A Reply to Elizabeth

the One whom we follow disappointed every false expectation

placed on Him, and purposefully,

for the larger call of what God wanted of Him. 

That is and always will be enough.

Associated Baptist Press carried a piece Monday by Elizabeth Hagan entitled,“I Left the Church.  Don’t Hate Me.”  I recognized all the responses she received when she left the pulpit that five years before had become hers with such celebration.  I do think in the Baptist world that women in senior pastorates must face some pressures that a man in his 50s can’t comprehend.  Then again, I think we live in a time when expectations, opinions and reactions travel so fast and far.

I would like to offer a little perspective and help to all young ministers in this time.  In a religious world that is so fast-changing and tumultuous, and in an information age in which every event feels global, I do not think these reactions are new at all, nor are they unique.

A chaplain once said in my hearing, “Jesus just kept defining himself and letting others bump up against that.”  I have found this to be true, again and again.  Everyone in your life has an opinion about what you ought to do with it.  Many are good opinions, most are rooted in their own perspectives and interests.  Expectations of us aren’t necessarily bad, but finally only God can tell us what to do with our lives and be 100% correct.

Pastoral ministry is not a “cause,” it is a call.  The call to go there is the call to do what ministers always have done.  When you are led to another place and work, then we should bless you in that.  I cannot know what it feels like as a woman in the work, but disappointment with us somewhere along the way is pretty much par for the course.  Yours seems to be a little more high profile, but don’t worry about it too much.  It will pass.

Gary Publicity 2012

Gary Furr

Anger is also pretty well par for the course when you leave anything like pastoral work, even to go to another church.  The euphoria of a new calling, messiness of leaving and the grief and rage stirred up in people is pretty amazing to see the first few times.  Eventually you come to expect it will be there.  The hurt when people think, “Oh, no, what will happen to us?” is always there.  I will never forget being told by a beloved deacon when I tried to help the church I had just resigned to get organized for the interim, “Now, Preacher, you’ve done resigned and left.  Why don’t you just let us tend to the church?”  I was hurt.  Now I get it.

In another church, my young chair of deacons made me resign on a Wednesday instead of Sunday.  He was obviously angry, but under it, deeply hurt, feeling somehow that I had rejected him and the church by leaving.  I hadn’t.  He felt differently in time, and so did I.  I was hurt, too.

Everyone has something they need from us, but only letting that go brings freedom, and it is hard to let go, for sure.  Maybe it takes a lifetime.  So, if you’re telling me that you have met the public disappointment of those who once lauded you, don’t worry with it too much.  There will be plenty of other agendas and other people you will be privileged to disappoint before it’s over.  Sometimes you just need to do what you need to do and let the rest of them deal with it.  They’ll survive.  And so will you.  Those of us who get it don’t need an explanation and those who need an explanation will never get it.

So listen within.  Be clear.  Turn it loose.  The kingdom has survived worse than even us.  But I want to encourage women pastors out there—disappointment isn’t just about the cause of women in ministry.  It’s always part of being a minister, and you never get free of it.  You just live with it and move on.  Good Friday isn’t far, and it’s a good time to remember, that the One whom we follow disappointed every false expectation placed on Him, and purposefully, for the larger call of what God wanted of Him.  That is and always will be enough.