No Going Back

 I originally posted this on Facebook on October 5, 2020. 

I keep seeing posts about "getting back" to something that supposedly was "better." Back to an America that was "better." Back to an economy that was "better." Back to a discourse that was "better." Back to .....

The reality is that there is nothing worth going back to. The longing for a return to something that was familiar and that we enjoyed is nostalgia; it doesn't mean it was "better."

The God I serve is a God who calls for a continual unfolding. Things will not ultimately be "better" until God makes it so. And the fact that it has yet to be made so means that nothing that was before is the type of "better" that I want to return to, or am called to return to, or believe in returning to. It doesn't mean it wasn't good; it's just not the ultimate good.

In the meantime, what we must aspire to is a new future in which humanity both intrinsically and extrinsically demonstrates that we recognize the uniquely powerful responsibility that we've been given for one another and for the world which we inhabit.

So far we've done a pretty lousy job with that responsibility. Neither democrat nor republican is the savior we seek. We each must take action toward a more responsible future. We must care for one another and care for our environment. Our care will never be perfect, but we can do better, so much better. We need leaders, too, who care and will empower us to care.

We can start by centering not on ourselves, but on the other.

What will improve the lives of those around me?

What can I do to make life better for someone else?

What is needed from me to care for God's whole creation?

What habits, attitudes, prejudices, insecurities, and fears do I hold that I must confront and repent of in order to serve the well-being of those around me?

Pursue these things. Then perhaps we'll experience those better days that we so long for, not by returning to some nostalgic past but rather by living into our responsible, hopeful future, together.

On Vocation, Gifts, and Calling: Part 1

Recently I've been thinking a lot about vocation, the deepest invitation to participate in God's mission in the world in meaningful and faithful ways.

The pursuit of vocational clarity has actually been lifelong. From the first inklings of a call to ministry while portraying the prodigal son in a fourth grade musical through a change in college major to more recent retooling for nonprofit and nursing home administration, I've sought to align my employment with God's blessing of who I am (vocation). 

Vocation still remains somewhat elusive, and I was compelled to explore the question further during the recent five year ordination renewal process in our denomination. Ordination in our tradition is understood as vocation tied to employment; to be ordained one must be personally called by God, affirmed by the church, and have a functional position through which to live out that call.

For some ministers the requirement to link vocation with employment can prove distressing. At this point in my life, my call to ministry is inherent in my work, but not explicitly linked to ordination. As a development and fundraising officer in a Christian retirement community, my work is about raising money. As a minister, that same work is about tending people's soul journey. It always is. 

The need to once again affirm my calling to ministry, show my continuing education, demonstrate vocation linked to employment, and renew the covenants which I originally made with the church over 27 years ago might have seemed like a no-brainer to many. In fact, many pastors and ministers treat the renewal process as just one more hoop to jump through in order to maintain their status. I know, because in the past I have, too.

This renewal period, however, led to harder discernment on my part. What is my vocation? How is God calling me to be of use in this world? What are the deeper passions of my life? Where might I best live out my faith, and under what circumstances?

In addition to those somewhat esoteric questions, I also was confronted with some more specific, contextual dilemmas. Is the Church of the Brethren as it's currently focused a tradition that I can continue to align with? Given my experiences in and treatment by leadership in the church, is this a body that I can safely continue to be accountable to? Have I failed God and the church in ways which would preclude the continuation of my leadership?

These questions, coupled with ongoing efforts to expand my skill set and employability, compelled me to reflect intensely on the ordination review process. The unsettledness in my spirit needed to be addressed before responding to the rote inquiries of the renewal process. It would have been easier to simply check the boxes, but it wouldn't have been faithful.

After a long period of procrastination and discernment, I did complete the required documents. I also included an unsolicited letter detailing some of my wrestling. Over the next few blog posts, I will share the essence of that letter and further explore questions of vocation, gifts, and calling. 

Faith for me is about surrender and alignment. I surrender to the will of God and seek, to the best of my ability, to align my life with that will. Sometimes I fail completely, or fall short in part. Sometimes those shortcomings are a result of sin. Sometimes those shortcomings are a lack of adequate discernment. Sometimes those shortcomings are simply the hidden mysteries of God, into which I move even without absolute clarity, so not shortcomings as much as faithful stumbles. 

In the end, however, I constantly strive to know the call of God on my life, to recognize and cultivate the gifts God has blessed me with, and to pursue meaningful activities of work and ministry. Whether I can see clearly or not, God remains constant and clear. And so God gives me the faith, courage, and hope to carry on.

Tired.

Facebook wanted to know what's on my mind.

At the moment I'm just sitting here being verbally abused by a 25 yo son who has no genetic ability to reason and refuses to do the things he needs to do to be safe and well (you know, like not go outside in a thunderstorm during a severe heat warning).

Lately, though, I'm feeling an exhaustion like no other exhaustion I've ever felt, and not the good kind.

I'm not sharing this for sympathy. It's nothing new. Tired's been piling up for years. It's the daily life we have.

        But here's the thing.

If you think you "know" what other people's experiences are, like white folks knowing black folks' experiences, or single folks knowing parent-with-children folks' experiences, or urban folks knowing rural folks' experiences, or neurotypical parents knowing what it's like to be a special needs parent, or doctors and nurses caring for Covid patients when you're not even a medical professional, or ..... then you aren't really paying attention.

If your m.o. is to evaluate and judge people whose experiences are vastly different than your own based primarily on your own experiences, then you have a lot of growing up to do. If you think that you "know" something about someone's situation but you've never walked a mile in their shoes, let alone taken a stride nearby, then your privilege is definitely showing.

You may dismiss or mock me and my white male privilege for being tired, and I get it. Really I do. Plenty of people have told me to "get some rest," "take care of yourself," or just "suck it up." But before you do, maybe you could come lace on my shoes.

If your experience or ideas require you to invalidate another's, your understanding is wrong. And if your primary way of moving around in the world is with disdain and dismissiveness toward people and movements and principles that you don't even understand, your memes aren't worth the bytes they're lighting up.

 As for me, I am tired.

Tired.

    ... of Covid-19. Tired of people dying.

        ... of threats. Tired of self-righteous saviors.

            ... of incompetent leaders. Tired of politics.

                ... of self-interest. Tired of broken systems that refuse to go.

        

                    ... of being angry. Tired of being scared.

                           ... of my Christian faith being used as a weapon.

                                ... of patronizing do-gooders.

Tired of being tired.

And yet, my exhaustion pales next to how tired those whose very lives are always at risk must be. I can only imagine, and learn, and show compassion, because I will never know. I can contribute to what changes I can, and refuse to leave those who are weary to just make it on their own.

I may be exhausted, but there's still work to do. It will be easier if we do it together, especially in these days with physical distancing and unclear futures.

What's REALLY on my mind, Facebook? All these things, and more.

But right now I'm too tired to write another word.

It Has Been Far Too Long

JUNETEENTH

It has been far too long

since our soul's been at rest,

since we had peace built on the truth that our God makes us one.

Long the days since we've known

that our lives are entwined,

joined by our breath, fused in our blood, oh, yes, it's been far too long.

There's a pain to share

and a sorrow to carry;

a trust to build

and a love to grow.

How long? How long? How long?

It has been far too long for us all.

~~~~~~~~~~

It has been far too long

since the dignity held deep in our hearts for one another

loosed unafraid;

when our courage would match

the injustice we see,

changing our world, dreaming a dream, oh, yes, it's been far too long.

There's a pain to share

and a sorrow to carry;

a trust to build

and a love to grow.

Too long. Too long. Too long.

It has been far too long...

It has been far too long...

It has been far too long for us all.

You don't understand, and I don't either

Today is day 2 of week 6 of me and our son Benjamin practicing physical distancing. My wife's not far behind, checking in at the start of week 5. Our two other young adult children have had to adjust, too, one moving home for web-based college courses and weekends as an "essential" worker, and our other a full-time "essential" worker. Both are retailers that happen to sell groceries.

This whole Covid-19 thing is hard for everyone. Many of you still have to risk your health and the health of those you love in the workplace. You do this in service to your fellow humanity, and we're grateful. Many of you have suddenly become work-from-home employees. Within your personal family space you're now expected to carve out protected turf and hours for your employer. Many of you are unemployed and are spending your days navigating systems that were not designed for the stress of this time: unemployment, health insurance, debt load, etc.

Many of you have become instant home-school parents. Coupled with the above realities, it's really too much to expect any reasonable human to manage. Some of you are suddenly alone, distanced because you are single, or sequestered because you live as part of a particularly vulnerable community. Too many of you are facing long days with partners who are uncaring at best, hurtful at worst.

Some of you have lost loved ones. We've all lost admired ones. Some have been ill and have recovered. Some are ill now and fighting, struggling. We all have reason to wonder.

We're in these strange and anxious times together. Whether you believe that Covid is "real" (and I still can't conceive of why anyone wouldn't) or are convicted that it's some great political scam being pulled on the globe (check your sources, please), we all share in the frustration, awkwardness, and tension of the time.

Most of us have some mental frameworks to apply to this crisis. Those frameworks may be inadequate. They may be unsatisfactory. They may not be the "right" ones. But as neurotypical folks, we have ways of making uncomfortable sense of what's going on. 

My son with Williams Syndrome does not have those mental frameworks. The foundation for those frameworks is literally missing from his gene array. His gapped-out seventh chromosome mind has nothing to hold these days together with, and the things that typically provide a substitute for that logical shape are essentially taken from him. Physical distancing has eliminated the few "tricks" we have to keep the peace and provide at least a limited amount of focus for each day.

What's that look like? Well, for the last three mornings it looks like 4:30 a.m. attempts to head outside in order to watch the workers renovating a nearby building, followed by repeated battles to keep him safe and redirected throughout the day. The battles are epic: he has a colorful vocabulary and somewhere along the line has learned effective insulting. He's threatening, and there's enough history to know that he's not just bluffing. His head-strong willpower is fueled by a very real inability to understand any logical argument. His frustration leads to anger leads to..... well, lots of things.

Three days ago the police met him on the street. Through a story told by Ben and an interpretation rendered by the officers, he ended up in the back of an ambulance and bay 14 in the local ER. None of it was remotely necessary, and with Covid 19 on the loose, fairly troubling. But this was the result of an anxious and confused adult who doesn't understand what's going on. You decide whether I'm referring to Ben or the officers.

The truth is, I don't understand what's going on either. I'd love to write like so many encouraging blogger-parents of kids with special needs that the joys far outweigh the trauma, that I have learned the intended lessons of grace, and that somehow I have discovered powers that I never would have known I had if it weren't for parenting Ben.

Sure, some days I feel that way. But not today.

Today I see that my mental and spiritual frameworks don't satisfy my need to make sense of our family in the midst of this crisis. I realize that pandemic distancing mostly reflects a daily reality for Ben and me and reflects many points in our family's social history. Uncovered within me is a level of frustration that has the potential for violence. Today my compassion and patience have very real limits.

I am angry. I am sad. I am overwhelmed. I am exhausted. And largely I am, like a lot of parents with developmentally disabled kids, lonely.

I'm not writing for sympathy or for "help." I'm writing so that you who have no idea what it's like to parent a developmentally inhibited adult child can hear the raw and painful truth. I'm writing so that those of you who are facing your own new challenges (and maybe even demons) during these days will have the courage to recognize your (ugly, confused) self and trust the truth of your situation. I'm writing so that we might consider how our own privilege and perspective is never definitive for someone else, but is imperviously representative of the truth we carry in our own lives.

For my fellow sisters and brothers in the Judeo-Christian faith story, this is a Psalm 22 moment. Please don't try to religious jargon it away. Yes, I have faith and a relationship with God through Jesus. It's a real one, and a lifelong one. But it's messy, and today that's the best I got.

Sometimes the hardest thing to admit is that we don't understand, that all the books we've read, lectures we've attended, sermons we've internalized, podcasts we've listened to, classes we've taken, and experiences we've had haven't actually prepared us for the physically distant space we're in. 

Right at this moment, that's exactly where we are.

Ben doesn't understand, and I don't either.  

And that is hard. 

And that's OK. It's all we've got today.