The Long Road...

For some time now I’ve thought that this path God has me on was leading me from one form of “church” to a newer version of the same thing. I don’t believe that anymore. I think it’s deeper; more an issue of calling than career.

Setting aside for a moment all the heady chatter about “cultural transformation” and “postmodern shift” I’m sensing a more intimate struggle. Week after week I perform my duties as a pastor and struggle to find encouragement and motivation to continue.

I’m still doing the things I’ve done for years, but it feels hollow; I feel hollow.

Down this long road I’ve become acquainted with bitterness and cynicism; two companions I’ve not known before. And I have a sick kind of attraction to them. Like the temptation to keep picking at a scab instead of letting it heal, I keep giving in to a desire to lash out. I’d like to think that I’m able to conceal this weakness; I am after all, rather good with words and a damn nice guy, so who would suspect me of having this struggle? Truth is, my words betray me and I’m really not that nice.

Down this long road, I’ve known pain…deep pain. Trusted friends have betrayed me, failed me, allowed my reputation to be tarnished and trashed my vision of what “church” could be. Half the time all hope is lost; I see no future for the Church. I know I’m wrong, my faith is weak, but I can’t get out from under my doubt.

But that’s only half the time.

The rest of the time, I’m stirred in my spirit with a vision of something new, something fluid and beautiful. I can see (in the distance) a new form of “church” that my children will embrace; one so different from the one that I grew up in that, at first glance, it doesn’t look like church at all. It lacks the external trappings I’ve become so accustomed to. The buildings, if they exist at all, are cheap and utilitarian. Programs, if you can call them that, are simple and short-term. In this new church, there is no talk of “production,” but instead we speak of listening, learning, weeping, serving…even suffering.

Something inside keeps leading me down this road.

For the first time since I-don’t-know-when I feel this burning sense of calling. I didn’t know what to call it until I began hearing the same longing from others; in song, in writing, in art. I feel an ever growing desire to orient my life around a simple mission: loving God and others in increasing measure. I know, I know. That’s nothing new; we should be doing this already. What’s different, at least for me, is that it means much less attention to managing spiritual activities and more devotion to “being.” God is calling me to be available; to His Spirit, to the relationships in my life. He’s calling me to be sensitive to the needs of others, to the needs of my community, the environment. And this “being” may not (for me at least) mean being a professional religious person. Am I still a pastor? Yes! And a better one I think because I’m able to offer that gift to a community freely, not because I need a paycheck.

But getting there from here will take a while.

Sometimes I wonder if the rest of my life will be spent simply leading others down this long road, but like Moses, I may not get there myself. I think I’m ok with that.

Its lonely out here.

And quiet too.

I feel like I’ve turned off the crowded freeway onto an unmarked dirt road. I can still hear (faintly) the sound of traffic, but mostly it’s the wind that fills my ears. “Wind,” isn’t that what they used to call the Spirit?

I’m drawn to this long road. Somewhere inside, it seems right for me to be here. I have no desire to spend the rest of my life as a vendor of spiritual goods and services.

Dirt roads always seemed to suit me better.