It’s been 18 months since I left the ministry. I have a new job that I’m getting used to, and that’s fine. But I’ve noticed something curious. I can’t seem to hear anything on Sunday mornings at church. Even the hymns I’ve loved since I was a boy sound flat and hollow. I go to church faithfully every week. I sit in a pew staring straight ahead until it’s over. Then I go home.
It’s really strange. One day I’m leading worship, and the next day I have no idea what the church people are talking about.
I came to some understanding of my situation three weeks ago at the Laity Lodge writer’s retreat. It was Friday morning and I was throwing bits of a sandwich to an enormous soft shell turtle from the balcony of the Great Hall. Suddenly I felt like Jesus was standing next to me. I didn’t dare look at him. I just kept watching the turtle.
“You owe me some serious penance for the sin of being a preacher for all those years. You know what I’m talking about, right?”
I didn’t say anything. I just nodded and threw a chunk of sandwich at the turtle. I did know what he was talking about.
Preaching is dancing with the devil. It’s a hazardous occupation. Maybe people get something out of your sermons – I will allow that possibility – but you are at considerable spiritual risk. For ministers I recommend reading James 3:1 a couple of times a year and regularly checking your dance card to make sure you’ve saved the last waltz for Jesus.
Because God knows who you’ve been dancing with to get the job done every week.
I have many preacher sins to atone for. I used to take enormous pride in my sermons. Perhaps I thought I could build a tower of words to the heavens. Maybe God has confused my speech.
For twenty years I was in charge of worship. It was an event to be planned and controlled and fretted over. The problem is, once you start trying to control worship, you take yourself out of the event. No wonder I can’t hear anything on Sundays. I’m out of practice.
Jesus leaned over the balcony and let a gob of spit drop. We watched the wind jerk it sideways, just before it hit the water.
“So anyway, yeah, that’s why you can’t hear anything in church. That’s your penance. It’s the price you must pay.”
“Okay. How long till I can hear stuff in worship again?”
No answer.
“I mean, it’s been 18 months, so it seems like a long time already. But I guess even longer, huh?”
No answer.
I threw another bit of sandwich into the water.
“Do you still like me?”
No answer. But Jesus reached over for a piece of sandwich and said, “Let me throw him some.” And something about the way he did that let me know that we’re okay.
The next morning we gathered for a time of devotion and worship. There were some prayers and some scriptures and people said some things. Then the musicians had us all stand up and sing “Nothing But the Blood of Jesus.”
“Great,” I thought. “One of the blood hymns.”
I haven’t been on particularly good terms with the blood hymns for quite some time. It’s all my problem. Lots of people like them. But me, not so much. Still, I was in a room full of nice people, and everyone was singing. I didn’t want to just stand there, so I opened my mouth and tried to sing along.
Couldn’t do it. Just couldn’t make myself say the words.
So I made this low-pitched kind of growling noise. “Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”
I kind of liked the way it sounded. So while everyone else sang the words, I just growled. After a few minutes my voice started sounding like a bagpipe to me. You know how a bagpipe makes that single, droning note as a kind of background to the music? That was me. Everyone else was singing, and I was just this little bagpipe boy over in the corner, kind of huffing and puffing and doing his best.
In that instant I realized that I wasn’t in charge of the meaning and the message and the structure of this worship service. I didn’t have to preach a sermon. I didn’t have to choose the hymns and understand their theology. Everyone else in the room was carrying that load. I didn’t even have to say the words.
I became like a child. The big people, they were taking care of everything. I was just blowing my bagpipe.
A rush of emotion hit me like a fist. Hard. The beauty of being a small boy in the Kingdom of God broke my heart. I started to cry.
As I left the room I heard Jesus say, “You know come Sunday it’s back to hearing nothing for you. You still have quite a bit of your debt to work off. But I thought you needed a little taste of what you may rediscover someday.”
Pilgrim.
The balcony
Frio Turtles
You and Jesus, tossing bits of sandwich down to the turtle.
And the bagpipe.
This one’s going to stay with me for a while.
Precious.
And witty along the way. Which is just so *you.*
I hope you hear again someday. Maybe all us experts lose the ability to hear in our area of expertise, huh?
Everyone else was singing, and I was just this little bagpipe boy over in the corner, kind of huffing and puffing and doing his best.
Sigh. Maybe I’ll get there someday. In the meantime, thanks for sharing your pilgrimage.
Satchel,
I’d love to see you at Laity sometime. Life is filled with far more than any of us can do. I’ve been to Laity Lodge but my list of desired places to visit is far longer.
Maybe next year in Jerusalem, eh?
The softening of tears is such a gift.
Pilgrim,
You have given me hope that maybe there is hope for me. I don’t know who God is anymore but I know Jesus comands so I rest in love God and love neighbor. Worship is meaningless to me. Not a great place to be. Hoping some day it all makes sense again.
“Everyone else in the room was carrying that load.” I love this line and am now savoring memories of moments I have known where everyone else is doing the carrying. When I am enveloped in thick padding, unable to engage, unable to swim in waters I once navigated easily, and not knowing where it will all end, what I’ve done or not, what I may need to repent of and what is not mine to own at all, to be surrounded by those able to carry the load, knowing God is getting me where I need to be, is a gift beyond words. But your words here today have been a treasure to read. Thank you for them.
Oh my. Seeing the words on the page raises a lump in my throat and brings tears to my eyes. This is so full and rich.
I’m sorry I laughed then, and missed the significance of it all. Really. Sorry. There was just something about “blood hounds” that caught me off guard.
Praying, Pilgrim, for fresh worship like never before. And sending love.
Sounds like you’re walking in freedom to me and I say this as one who just left the church I had served as an elder, so I empathize with much of what you’re feeling.
For fear of having you think I’m playing the “compare our sorrows” game… I know some of what you are going through. It’s been about 3 years since I stopped leading worship at my church after 18 years of planning, leading, singing, etc. I always wondered what it would look like to have God remove me from church ministry… now I know. This is the first time I’ve mentioned it on line. Maybe I will write about things I’ve learned someday. But for now I have a quietness in that regard. It didn’t really help that in the same last 3 years, I’ve lost both of my precious parents, my only brother and my sister in law to long term illnesses. There’s still a lot of dwelling on this … eye opening, soul cringing truths… that make me want to run as far as I can from any stage. I’m pretty sure I know who I was… I’m just not sure at all who I am becoming… kind of like those monarch caterpillars. =) I am certain God will bless you for being painfully vulnerable, authentic and truthful. Your testimony at communion during the retreat blessed me deeply in that regard. I trust him. We walk together quietly now and he knows I still love him deeply… worship him even… in this “coming up for air” stage I find myself in. Kind of like the turtles quietly coming up to feed from his hand.
Sounds like this has struck a beautiful chord in a lot of hearts, Pilgrim. Love this – love Pat’s comment above and those of others whom I do not know.
My own disconnect hasn’t come in public worship – I was not in charge of planning very often, usually filling the slots I was assigned by others – except when I preached. Not a weekly load at all, only a few times a year – but oh, do I get this feeling you are describing.
For me, the disconnect has come in my own devotional life. I do not feel abandoned. On the contrary, the shifts of this past year have brought me to a quieter, less frantic place and a more peaceful recognition of God’s presence in and around my life. Prayer is a very different thing now than it was a few years ago – more contemplative, lots fewer words.
But the sadness (perhaps the penance?) I feel just now is the dead space that seems to happen when I try to read scripture. Perhaps because studying/teaching/even preaching the word was my way ‘in’ to leadership, to affirmation, to recognition? Whatever its source, that lovely spark of recognition, that rueful acknowledgement – oh yeah – that is SO me, or that is SO true – it’s just gone. I feel like I need a break for some reason – a break from hunting secrets, from seeking insights, from reading and studying. I think I just need to be with God – without the ‘prop’ of the open book. Even lectio is tough for me right now…
I’ve said it here before and I’ll repeat it again – the worship experiences that have reached through the deadness most winsomely have been those with the charismatic Catholics I am studying with this year and next. Just sitting and listening to the word being read throughout the liturgy, getting up and circling the communion table, singing the Sanctus and the Gloria – sometimes ‘in the Spirit’ – well…it’s been rich and it’s been humbling. Things are slowly shifting inside. I don’t sense Jesus standing next to me on the deck – but I do see shadows of his footprints here and there. Thanks for shining a light on a few of those.
“You still have quite a bit of your debt to work off.”
Reminds me of “The Mission.” I think it’s De Niro who drags a bag of armor everywhere until he finally realizes he doesn’t need to.
Are you sure you have that dialog attributed to the right person in your story?
Bradford,
I’m in no way sure of whose voice I heard. I will say that this penance is not something I put on myself but a recognition of something that seems to be happening to me. But who knows? In our brokenness, we often don’t know whose voice we are following until many years have passed and we can look back with – one hopes – greater wisdom.
“A rush of emotion hit me like a fist. Hard. The beauty of being a small boy in the Kingdom of God broke my heart. I started to cry”. – Pilgrim
I guess that’s why the scriptures say come to me as a little child. In other words, come to me free of any care and worries. As a little child. With child like faith.
Ahhh..to be a child again.
I hope you find adequate patience this season. Thanks for sharing.
This is so powerful. So transparent.
You have led me to worship and brought me to tears right here in your words and as I remember back to that Sunday morning.
Umm, but…did Jesus really spit? Wait, I guess he did like to do that some. It brought healing if I remember right…
I love this — “I became like a child. The big people, they were taking care of everything. I was just blowing my bagpipe.” Beautiful.
Thanks Graceland Jenn.
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Thanks for sharing this. This is what I have been looking for on the High Calling site.
I have been visiting and skimming through the High Calling site on and off for the past several months and my initial impression was that this is a gathering of a bunch of nice Christians. But since I was born and bred in churchianity, nice won’t cut it for me.
I’m glad that this site embraces this kind of authenticity.
Thanks again, Pilgrim.
Thank you Dan, those are high words of praise. I pray that I’m worthy of them.
pilgrim
Your reference to “blood” hymns reveals that you do not understand how precious is the blood of Jesus. If we did not have His blood shed for us to cover our sins, there would be no connection with God the Father who is righteous. Because we have no right to stand before God, we must claim the blood of Jesus to be in God’s presence and experience His life. Many Christians do not understand the necessity of the blood of Jesus and thus are put off by its mention. I celebrate His life in communion by taking the wine which represents His blood and the bread representing His broken body, all of which were sacrificed for us because of His great love for sinners like me. I hope you have discerned how the “blood hymns” are the basis of our faith. We should praise our God in hymns honoring our Lord for shedding His blood to make us righteous in the sight of God.
‘Oh, precious is the flow
That makes me white as snow…
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.’
It is because He shed His Life blood for me that I live, a sinner saved by grace. Never take this lightly or for granted.