In my first post as Pilgrim, I mentioned that I used to be a pastor. I wouldn’t say that I have left the ministry, since all Christians are supposed to serve Christ in some way. I guess I would say that in February of 2010 I discovered that being a pastor is no longer what I am called to do and be.
I haven’t exactly settled on what kind of ministry I will do in the future. I haven’t even found a church to join yet. And it’s not that I haven’t tried. I go to church almost every Sunday. But I’m still in a state of confusion.
I walk into a church and feel rather lost. I see people rushing around, preparing things before worship starts. I know they are church insiders, because I used to be a church insider. I shuffle down a row and sink into a pew. I used to plan worship and be a part of making it happen on Sundays, but now I hardly understand what’s going on. It seems so incredibly busy. And I worry a bit about the ones in charge. I hope their souls have remained tender and open.
I’ve decided that I’m in a child-like season, where I’m supposed to forget that I went to seminary and allegedly know what’s going on in church. I have fallen backwards into the wide arms of the Church universal, trusting that she will catch me and hold me and accept me, a sinner and a wandering soul.
I have consequently entered a delightful state of innocence. I sit in the pews, watching what the big people are doing and learning simple lessons.
I have been to Orthodox churches – Russian, Greek, and Armenian. I have endured the grueling rigors of their uncompromising worship and done so as an outsider to their communion. The Orthodox hold their boundaries carefully; none but an Orthodox may take communion. I don’t begrudge them their integrity. Indeed, I delight in it and have been inspired to consider my own spiritual boundaries.
The pilgrims of a downtown Episcopal church reintroduced me to the joy of worship after about a year of drought. It was midnight, Christmas Eve of 2011. The lights dimmed and all the saints knelt before the Christ child. Last of all even the priests in their vestments knelt, and I felt a sense of wonder and awe at this moment. So deeply was I moved that I began sobbing and found it hard to stop.
I have sat in silence with the Quakers many Sunday mornings since 2010, waiting and listening with the Friends. Occasionally Spirit moves someone to speak. The Quakers are teaching me to love silence and enjoy the time of waiting. It seems amazing to me now, how much I used to talk when I was a pastor.
And then there is the beloved communion of saints connected to Laity Lodge. We are scattered in a delightful diaspora across the world. Steven Purcell is our pastor and shepherd, guiding us carefully through our weekends by both attending to our needs and leaving us alone. Tim Blanks is our deacon, setting the table and freeing us from mundane concerns of the body so that we might care for our widowed and orphaned souls.
And you who read my humble words. Whether or not you have joined us at Laity Lodge, I feel we share something that makes us a kind of virtual community. May the Spirit of God be with you in 2012. And should circumstances bring us together at the Lodge for a weekend retreat someday, I hope to break bread with you at Tim’s table and share the sacrament of conversation with you in the canyon.
Pilgrim.
So incredibly busy . . . I can’t wait to break bread again in the canyon.
I love thinking about Steven as Pastor and Tim as Deacon. And relish the thought of breaking bread there again.
Worshiping on our knees for Christmas Eve (or any time for that matter)… priceless.
Your post reminds me of that team bonding exercise where they make you fall backwards off a rock to the open arms of your team mates. I am glad you are finding soft places to land… and I’m smiling that one of the softest happens to be located in a rocky canyon of all places. =)
Parts of your story resonate with me as I’ve had some similar experiences in leaving a ministry. He is transitioning the venue and methods through which I minister… teaching me to wait. I keep trying not to overthink the process as I’m not sure the understanding of it is mine to have… which in effect is teaching me to trust him more. As he is transitioning you … he obviously (and thankfully) has not removed your gifts or your ability to minister to others. As much as you know when you were no longer called to do something, I think you will know when he calls you again. I know you know his voice. Blessings on the journey.
Laity is a place of Transcendence along the journey. Thank you for your fresh insights.
I can sense the childlike wonder of this season through what you’ve written here. Sharing communion around the table at Laity Lodge is one of my most treasured memories of 2011.
Pilgrim, you ministered to me with your conversation in that beautiful canyon. I will never forget the insight and sensitivity you showed to me. That NY retreat gave me a welcome glimpse of the body of Christ at work in the world. Thank you.
Claire, I enjoyed meeting you as well at the New Year’s Retreat. Especially liked the wisdom you shared with us in the small group time.
These words draw my tears.
That is all.
Pilgrim,
I really feel what you are saying here. I have not served in the ministry like you have, but I have tried to serve everyone I have known, loving them regardless of what my official capacity was. And now I am in a season where I do not feel called to attend organized church at all. If I did, I’d go to a Quaker meeting, more than likely, but I have four children, ages 9 mo to 10 y.o., and they’re not quiet people. Probably not worth the hour drive to go and shush them incessantly. My loving husband is a much more inherently kind person than he would ever attest to, and he’s one of those who was burned by a church, as a child, and he’s just not interested in it, anymore. Will I ever find a church home again? I don’t know. I don’t feel moved to even look right now. But I’m glad to find you still writing. My heart breaks for what you’ve gone through the past couple of years, but at the same time, I know that on the other side, you’ll be more content. I used to write a syndicated column on parenting, and I identify with your wonder of “Why would anyone listen to me?” I think having that humility is a gift. And you are as a child. And you will walk again. Take care, take your time, let God and the body of Christ hold you and love you, and be at peace.
“Not all who wander are lost.” – Tolkein
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing.
“The Quakers are teaching me to love silence and enjoy the time of waiting. It seems amazing to me now, how much I used to talk when I was a pastor.”… I’m a Pastor and this really got to me, we talk so much during our services, thinking that the only vessel of the Spirit is our words.
This is the second post of yours that I am reading. And I am still smiling. I deeply resonate with this authenticity.
The first few paragraphs reminded me of the first few pages of Darin Hufford’s ‘The Misunderstood God’. Consider reading it, if you haven’t yet.
PS: You are not a “sinner”. Sin actions does not make one sinner, just like righteous actions does not make a person righteous. Your core is brand new and is fused in Him. You have been *made righteous* and there is nothing you can do about it. : )
Thanks Dan.
Purcell and Blanks as de facto pastors. Yes.
Indeed.
Not to mention the diaconal ministries of the others out there as well.
“I have fallen backwards into the wide arms of the Church universal.” This reminds me of Walter Brueggemann saying that perhaps we have reached a point in Christian history when we can receive the particular gifts each faith tradition offers, and be made whole. Doug and I just came in from walking the border collies, and he was musing about precisely this kind of pilgrimage after retiring. Lovely timing to find Steven’s newsletter in my email, with the link to this post.