It seems to me that church leaders today, whether consciously or unconsciously, choose to lead on a scale somewhere between the Old Testament model of Patriarch or the New Testament model of Father. I’ve been in so many churches over the past 3+ decades and seen so many variations on a theme, but it does seem to boil down to whether the leader in questions has more of an OT or a NT mentality which determines which leadership style he chooses. (I use the term “he” inclusively of “he or she” for ease of writing style. Clearly, the OT allowed only men to be patriarchs, but women leaders today can sometimes show a similar mentality in their chosen leadership style.)
Patriarch:
The male head of a family or tribe; an older man who is powerful within an organization; the male founder of something. (Oxford Dictionary)
Father:
A man in relation to his child or children; an important male figure in the origin and early history of something; a man who provides care and protection. (Oxford Dictionary)
These definitions are similar, yet in some crucial ways disparate. Both are important figures; each could have been the founder or originator of a community, but the mentality behind the function (reflected in the definition) makes all the difference.
What can we learn from how the Old Testament portrays patriarchs?
A patriarch
1. was the unquestioned leader of the tribe, answerable to nobody but God (and thus to the prophets through whom He spoke)
2. was responsible for designating an heir to rule in his stead (today known as nepotism)
3. was responsible to God for the spiritual state of his tribe
4. in practice, often did not have good relationships with his sons, nor train them well to follow in his footsteps
5. ruled until he died
How does the New Testament portray fathers, physical or spiritual? (The same principles apply to mothers. Patriarchy does not allow for this)
A father
1. loves his children and rejoices in their progress, is not threatened by their success
2. is responsible to God to train them to love Him (primarily by example)
3. releases children as they grow into responsibility, balanced with concomitant authority, into the family business
4. trusts Holy Spirit’s working in them, calls them forth
5. leads by serving
In Austria, where I lived 30 years, there was a common but unhealthy dynamic that had existed for hundreds of years on family farms. The book “Herbstmilch” (Autumn Milk), written by an old woman recalling her youthful years on such a farm, really opened my eyes and I saw this dynamic still in place everywhere I looked. I call it the Altbauer/Neubauer dynamic.
The Altbauer (old farmer) was the patriarch of the family and ran the farm. His sons, when they married, brought their wives to come live and work on the family farm. The eldest son’s wife had to defer to her mother-in-law in all things, did not own anything, and was functionally often little more than a slave. As the Altbauer aged, she and her husband, the Neubauer, (new farmer) ended up running the farm and taking all the responsibility, but were not given the authority to make any actual decisions regarding the farm, as the Altbauer reserved this for himself. Often he retained control by simply not making any decision at all, abdicating the responsibility he refused to delegate by not acting when necessary. Legally, this also meant he kept the farm in his name rather than passing it on to his son, even when he could no longer work it himself.
Responsibility without appropriate, concomitant authority is not only wildly unfair, it is a very bad idea. It leads to frustration, ineffectiveness and eventually to despair. But the Altbauer often would not let go of his last shreds of rulership until shortly before (or even after) his death, by which time the Neubauer and his wife would be well into middle age, embittered and had run out of impetus to actually change anything on the farm. But finally they could rule, and by God now they would! --usurping their own young, strong sons in the process. Thus the cycle would begin all over again with the next generation. Many sons said “I’m not having this” and left the farm entirely.
Ideally, if the father rather than the patriarch model had been followed, the Altbauer would have seen his primary role as training the Neubauer to run a farm, and gradually increased the level of authority given to his son along with the level of responsibility placed upon his shoulders. This would eventually have ensured for himself a bit of rest, an old age with a family that actually still got on together, and a farm more likely to thrive because it was run by somebody young enough to shoulder the hard work and make decisions from first-hand experience rather than from outdated habit.
This dynamic is true for churches as well. Hope deferred makes the heart sick, and heartsick sons and daughters do not thrive. People up through their mid-40s have the necessary drive to lead well; if they are never allowed to, a church stagnates. Yes, they need to benefit from the wisdom of their elders, but they need to be the ones making the decisions, because in most cases they are already “running the farm”, as it were.
I remember a church back in Milwaukee which technically believed in plurality of leadership, but in actuality one “elder” ruled them all with an iron fist. This was a community church and said elder was not answerable to anyone. By the time I encountered this fellowship, he had been the head elder for decades and everyone was simply waiting for him to die. But because he lasted into a ripe old age (probably out of sheer spite), by the time he did die those who had become elders under him had lost their fire for positive change and things went on precisely as before, with the elephant still in the room and all the old dysfunctions carrying on into the next generations. Most of the children who had observed all this had no desire at all to follow the faith of their elders.
This is a chilling scenario. If we choose the patriarch role, we run the very real risk of (as many of them did) losing the very sons and daughters into whom we have invested.
The Apostle Paul considered himself a father to the churches he founded and the “sons” he put in charge of them. He certainly anguished over them and wrote with love and caring to them. But he was never interested in founding a dynasty. Quite in contrast, he seemed almost reckless in the speed with which he recognized and designated leaders of a new community of faith, and then went off to found some more, leaving them to it! Although St Paul communicated by letter and visited when he could, he clearly did not consider himself answerable to God for their walk of faith. His job was to train them as well as he could in the time allotted him, and then trust Holy Spirit in them to lead them into all truth.
We live under the New, not the Old, Covenant/Testament. But even if we wish to reference, say, the priesthood in the OT (which --though also problematic theologically --perhaps corresponds a little more to modern-day church leadership than does patriarchy), priests were relieved of active duty at age 50. Yes, they still served in the temple, but no longer in the roles reserved for younger, stronger men.
Can we not learn from these principles? Certainly at the latest by the time we start having biological grandchildren ourselves, we need to be thinking about what that means. As a grandparent, we are undoubtedly related and have a place of honour in the life of the grandchild. But we certainly do not have the same decision-making role in their lives as do their own parents. If asked, we may give our input, but then we need to shut up and let them do what they decide to do! We need to trust that whatever we were able to teach those parents, by example and by word, in the years we had that role in their lives, was enough; and that whatever we messed up (and we did), God is able to help and heal and teach them something better.
Let’s choose to love and train those we bring up in the Lord, and then release them to be all they can be. Let’s not micro-manage from behind the scenes. Let’s not assign responsibility without authority, leading to discouragement and bitterness. Let’s recognize who is doing the job, affirm them in it, release them to it, and rejoice in their success. Let’s imitate our Father in heaven-- let’s choose to be fathers and mothers, not patriarchs reflecting a covenant no longer in effect.
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Massage Musings
A friend of mine invited me to join her for a spa day last Monday. It included one of the best massages I’ve ever had. Though it was advertised as a back and shoulder massage (including facial), which often can be pretty minimal, this young woman really did it right. The room was warm and semi-darkened, tinkly music played softly in the background, aromatic oils perfumed the air, and the massage bed was covered in thick cushy blankets and very comfortable. Even the spot to put your face through was nicely padded and fit my head well.
After I was nude and under the fluffy blankets, the masseuse asked me how I like my massage: light, medium, firm? I replied that I would yell if she hurt me but otherwise I’d take all the pummeling she could offer (I like my muscles properly kneaded)-- and after warming me up, she did! It was pure heaven; and she massaged not only my full back right down to the top of my bum, but my neck up to the hairline, arms, hands and fingers, and the front of my shoulders too. Then she proceeded to do much the same thing (though gentler) to my face and neck, slathering me all the while with delicious-smelling and -feeling unguents.
As I lay there, my eyes closed, limply being pampered, I realized how completely and utterly relaxed I was whilst having my bare body manipulated by a person who was a complete stranger to me. I mean, really, the only other time I feel touch on my bare skin is when I am intimate with my husband! So why didn’t this bother me in the least?
Because this woman is a professional; and besides that, had quickly clearly shown she knew what she was doing. It never occurred to me to worry that she might be, for example, a lesbian looking for more than massage. It goes without saying that one should never have to worry that one’s doctor, dentist, masseuse or physical therapist will abuse their profession by having sexual thoughts, ogling your body, making overtures or entendres or, God forbid, touching you inappropriately during treatment.
And then it suddenly hit me that I was really, really angry that X had done precisely that when she was P’s physical therapist. I thought I’d done all the forgiving necessary, but I’d never realized the blinking obvious: that X actually abused the patient/therapist relationship when she flirted with my ex-husband, a clearly married man, while her hands roamed his bare skin in the course of prescribed treatment. (No wonder he signed up for more --very expensive-- treatments after his prescribed course was over!)
Of course I am not blaming X for everything. P clearly had to respond-- and respond he did. But she did give him something to respond to that he couldn’t have seen coming, and shouldn’t have had to worry about in that context. She got under his defenses when he was injured, had lost some self-confidence, and was in a vulnerable position. In a very real sense, she got under his skin. X acted highly unprofessionally and abused her position of trust as a physical therapist. And realizing that so clearly made me really, really furious.
I realize I am particularly upset because it was precisely this sort of abuse that we had to deal with a few times in the course of pastoring for over 20 years, and P was always especially angry with those people in our care who abused a position of authority or trust. Yet when it happened to him, he couldn’t see it at all and he consistently defended X if anyone questioned how their relationship came about.
Well, I know what to do now, I know the ropes of forgiveness. But I had to vent and get it out here in writing so I can deal with it appropriately. I suppose things like this will still come up periodically, even though it’s been six years now, and even though I have made every effort to deal with all that I know. Funny what can trigger a deeper level of knowledge --and response.
It was still a great massage experience, though!
After I was nude and under the fluffy blankets, the masseuse asked me how I like my massage: light, medium, firm? I replied that I would yell if she hurt me but otherwise I’d take all the pummeling she could offer (I like my muscles properly kneaded)-- and after warming me up, she did! It was pure heaven; and she massaged not only my full back right down to the top of my bum, but my neck up to the hairline, arms, hands and fingers, and the front of my shoulders too. Then she proceeded to do much the same thing (though gentler) to my face and neck, slathering me all the while with delicious-smelling and -feeling unguents.
As I lay there, my eyes closed, limply being pampered, I realized how completely and utterly relaxed I was whilst having my bare body manipulated by a person who was a complete stranger to me. I mean, really, the only other time I feel touch on my bare skin is when I am intimate with my husband! So why didn’t this bother me in the least?
Because this woman is a professional; and besides that, had quickly clearly shown she knew what she was doing. It never occurred to me to worry that she might be, for example, a lesbian looking for more than massage. It goes without saying that one should never have to worry that one’s doctor, dentist, masseuse or physical therapist will abuse their profession by having sexual thoughts, ogling your body, making overtures or entendres or, God forbid, touching you inappropriately during treatment.
And then it suddenly hit me that I was really, really angry that X had done precisely that when she was P’s physical therapist. I thought I’d done all the forgiving necessary, but I’d never realized the blinking obvious: that X actually abused the patient/therapist relationship when she flirted with my ex-husband, a clearly married man, while her hands roamed his bare skin in the course of prescribed treatment. (No wonder he signed up for more --very expensive-- treatments after his prescribed course was over!)
Of course I am not blaming X for everything. P clearly had to respond-- and respond he did. But she did give him something to respond to that he couldn’t have seen coming, and shouldn’t have had to worry about in that context. She got under his defenses when he was injured, had lost some self-confidence, and was in a vulnerable position. In a very real sense, she got under his skin. X acted highly unprofessionally and abused her position of trust as a physical therapist. And realizing that so clearly made me really, really furious.
I realize I am particularly upset because it was precisely this sort of abuse that we had to deal with a few times in the course of pastoring for over 20 years, and P was always especially angry with those people in our care who abused a position of authority or trust. Yet when it happened to him, he couldn’t see it at all and he consistently defended X if anyone questioned how their relationship came about.
Well, I know what to do now, I know the ropes of forgiveness. But I had to vent and get it out here in writing so I can deal with it appropriately. I suppose things like this will still come up periodically, even though it’s been six years now, and even though I have made every effort to deal with all that I know. Funny what can trigger a deeper level of knowledge --and response.
It was still a great massage experience, though!
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Just Imagine
What if I had a Christian friend who was into a lifestyle of regular overeating and overconsumption-- say, 2 or 3 times the planet average? If I said to him pointedly that it was unhealthy for him, affects others who have less, and he should stop it, he may very well think me quite rude and that it was none of my business-- and he would be right. If I went so far as to tell him flat-out he was a sinner because he willfully and regularly indulged in the "biblical sin" of gluttony, and warned him of possible eternal consequences as well as almost certain temporal ones, I doubt he would care to have me as his friend any longer.
Most of us do have someone in our circle of friends who is greedy (of which gluttony is a form), whether we are personally aware of it or not. But because this is a culturally acceptable sin among Western Christians, we tolerate and tacitly support greed and gluttony, in others and in ourselves (sometimes even calling that fourth luxury limousine "the blessing of the Lord"!). If I choose to remain friends with such a person, I am not by doing so saying that what he is doing is not a sin. I am not supporting him in his sinful lifestyle choices, nor am I sinning myself by associating with him. I am simply being his friend.
Why is the "biblical sin" of homosexual practice treated so differently? If I personally believe, and even think I have good reason for doing so, that my friend is in error and is endangering himself and/or others by his lifestyle choices (whether overconsumption or homosexual practice), I have some choices to make about how valuable the friend is as a person, how valuable this friendship is to me, and the terms upon which I will retain his friendship. Almost all of us, in the case of greed, are willing to accept that whatever his choices, and whether I approve of them or not, they are HIS choices for which he is responsible, and as a friend my job is to love him whatever choices he makes.
If it is a close friendship, I may have the freedom (with sensitivity and when invited) to tell him how I feel about it-- once. But I certainly don't have the freedom to confront him out of "tough love", to nag him, to try and persuade him otherwise, to leave little news articles around for him to find clearly outlining the dangers of his choices, etc. Such actions would not be considered congruent with friendship in most cultures, and it wouldn't be surprising if my friend felt he no longer required such a "friend" as me in his life.
Making it more personal, think about the sins you commit every day-- those of commission (what you do) and those of omission (what you fail to do). Would you like someone following you around pointing out each incidence, and nagging you, under threat of withdrawing their friendship, until you cleaned up your act? Many Christians seem to have the warped concept of Holy Spirit as this sort of micro-managing sin-spoiler who uses a guilty conscience and a fear of consequences to shame us into better outward behaviour. Where did we get this strange idea? And why would we want to be "that guy" to our spouse, our children, our friends?
Just as I would not like my friend peering over my shoulder and saying, "Did you really need cream in that coffee? What about your waistline?" "Another day past, and you still didn't call your grieving friend", or "You know, what you just said was gossip", my friend does not need me doing the same to him, whatever his transgression. This is not "soft love", as some would have it; it's just love. It's just treating him with respect and honour, the way I would like to be treated. It's the Golden Rule. Just when did following the Golden Rule become unacceptable for Christians?
If we want to think biblically, we need to be aware that there are 5 to 6 times as many Bible verses condemning greed as opposed to the few which even mention homosexuality. The greed of the Western world, which has been part of forming the basis of modern evangelical theology, is certainly and demonstrably far more responsible for the current sorry state of the globe than is the success or failure of any feared "homosexual agenda". (The sins we consider "serious" are usually the ones we are not knowingly guilty of ourselves.)
Just imagine: what if we treated what we consider "fat people" (without even asking or knowing why they are the size they are: heredity? Diabetes or other disease of which weight gain is a corollary? Culturally desirable? A side effect of medication? Or overconsumption?) the way some Christians seem to want us to treat homosexual people? What if we assumed what their private lives looked like, judged them, shunned them, broke fellowship with them, refused to hire or to be served by them, kept them from schools and the medical profession, made rude remarks about them, blamed them for all ills in the world, and tried to get others to do the same? How long would this kind of patently unloving and non-Christian behaviour be tolerated if it were overweight people on the receiving end of it, and not homosexual people? (Have you ever noticed, by the way, that a great many of the vitriolic Christians ranting against homosexuality would fall into the overweight category themselves?)
After all, many of the verses that apply to sexual immorality also apply to greed. By all means, be biblical: but be consistent, too. So according to Ephesians 5:5 anyone who is greedy has no inheritance in the Kingdom of Christ and of God. Ephesians 5:3 tells us greed "must not even be mentioned among you as is proper among the saints", and 1 Corinthians 5:11 tells us we should not even associate with a brother or sister (a fellow believer) who is greedy; do not even eat with such a one! And it goes on; greed is, according to the weight the Bible lends it, apparently a much bigger deal in God's Kingdom than it is in our agenda, and sexual transgression a far smaller deal. I am embarrassed by and ashamed of my fellow believers who believe they are acting biblically and seem to think God is applauding their "stand for righteousness" when they hate on people God created and loves.
I can't help but think that either the Good News is genuinely good, or it's not; that Jesus paid for it all, or he did not. Either all our failings and sins, whether intentional or otherwise, are forgiven and covered by his once-for-all sacrifice, or they are not, and we are all toast. We like to pick and choose, and find some sins worse than others. I personally have great difficulty with the thought of unrepentant murderers or child molesters being offered the same clean slate I am. But there it is. It's either for all of us, or it's for none of us. And especially when my friend and I both know Christ and his redeeming love, I am not Holy Spirit (part of whose job it is to convict of sin, righteousness and judgement) in his life, nor is he in mine; that position is taken.
In this life, we will always meet and interact as imperfect, flawed, broken, yet beautiful and lovable, worthy-of-being-redeemed people. None of us live in the place where that process is complete, and none of us know the essential raw material of the other that God has to work with.
We as the Christian Church must, and I as an individual Christian must, learn a deeper measure of grace-- both to receive it for ourselves and extend it to others.
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Poignancy
Lying on the couch, I could hear A upstairs playing the first line to the Beatles' "Norwegian Wood". I'd always liked the tune of this song, but found the words senseless. The evening before, a girlfriend and I had been discussing our previous marriages and suddenly, into my head dropped these poignant lyrics:
(sung to the tune of "Norwegian Wood")
You may not have known
how what you said cut to the bone.
I, wounded inside, bled every time;
part of me died.
But nobody noticed my pain, because I carried on.
Yet slowly but surely, the love that had held me was gone.
I tried to explain how your abuse
caused me such pain.
You never could hear;
I had to conclude: you didn't care.
I drew back inside
where it was safe, where I could hide.
You thought me so hard;
you couldn't see all of my scars.
If "couldn't" or "wouldn't" was primary, I'll never know;
but you didn't love me in ways that would let my heart know.
If we had known sooner the anger that burned in your soul,
we might have been allies against what could only control.
And when we arise,
we will each see with clearer eyes.
No longer alone,
then we will know as we are known.
Then we will know as we are known.
I am (as always) aware that this is only my view and only a partial view, but as far as it goes it is truth, and I found it poignant. Perhaps it will speak to some other women, or men, out there who have experienced something similar in a relationship.
(sung to the tune of "Norwegian Wood")
You may not have known
how what you said cut to the bone.
I, wounded inside, bled every time;
part of me died.
But nobody noticed my pain, because I carried on.
Yet slowly but surely, the love that had held me was gone.
I tried to explain how your abuse
caused me such pain.
You never could hear;
I had to conclude: you didn't care.
I drew back inside
where it was safe, where I could hide.
You thought me so hard;
you couldn't see all of my scars.
If "couldn't" or "wouldn't" was primary, I'll never know;
but you didn't love me in ways that would let my heart know.
If we had known sooner the anger that burned in your soul,
we might have been allies against what could only control.
And when we arise,
we will each see with clearer eyes.
No longer alone,
then we will know as we are known.
Then we will know as we are known.
I am (as always) aware that this is only my view and only a partial view, but as far as it goes it is truth, and I found it poignant. Perhaps it will speak to some other women, or men, out there who have experienced something similar in a relationship.
Friday, May 30, 2014
Religion For The Strong?
I fear that we have made into a religion for the strong, what was always intended to be a safe place for the weak.
Personally, I remember renewal as being a safe place to open my heart to God, gradually learning how kind he is and learning to trust how gently he would lead me. Yes, I had power encounters too. And I believe in, and deal with, the power of the Kingdom. But what really changed my heart were the deep times. Is there any space left for that in today’s charismatic church? Even one that claims to have been shaped by renewal? (Note I do not use the term “revival”, because I do not think that has happened-- and certainly isn’t happening now. A subject for another time, perhaps.)
Don’t get me wrong. I believe in, have experienced and taught all this stuff myself. Power, faith, the prophetic, miracles-- it’s all part of the Kingdom, and I am a Kingdom person. I have greatly personally benefited (for example) from Bill Johnson’s teachings, from Bethel, from Randy Clark and Global Awakening. But the call to be “a world changer”, the demand that “we owe the world an encounter with Jesus”, the emphasis on a “supernatural lifestyle”, all promote an urgency and a weight of responsibility that seems at odds with Jesus’ call to take his light burden, and wear his easy yoke.
I have observed that these themes, though valid, have often been overly emphasized in reaction to many years of the opposite. And by now it’s almost all I am hearing. I fear that only the young and strong, the bold by nature, and those who have a Type-A personality in the first place can and will respond well for any length of time to such emphases. What about all the rest of humanity?
Often, we in charismatic circles are really inhumane in how we deal with human weakness and frailty. Are you sick? Have faith, get healed. Are you poor? Claim those biblical promises. Are you mentally ill, or emotionally drained? Just snap out of it, God is good, all the time! We demand “faith” in “God’s plan” and by that we seem to mean an emotional commitment and/or strong mental assent to certain propositions, or a desperate clinging to the hope of a particular outcome.
What happens when it all doesn’t work the way we are told it should? And we all know it often doesn’t.
Will we resort again to empty platitudes, or worse, to shame and blame?
Who will be kind to their brothers and sisters in the face of tragedy? Who will be there to carry and comfort me when the promises were not fulfilled, when he/she died (or left me) after all, when I simply didn’t have the strength to “believe” any more, in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary? Who in those times will stand by me without either feeling or transmitting shame, without a sense of failure, weeping with those who weep, humanity sharing the troubles of humanity?
Sadly, the non-charismatic church is often far more adept at this “carrying one another’s burdens” than we are. Those of us who claim to know the power of the Kingdom should be the ones who are most able to enter into another’s pain and bring the light of the presence of Christ (who has promised always to be with us, not always to fix our circumstances).
Jesus Christ: the same today, yesterday and forever; fully human, and fully God. May we not sacrifice either one for the other.
Personally, I remember renewal as being a safe place to open my heart to God, gradually learning how kind he is and learning to trust how gently he would lead me. Yes, I had power encounters too. And I believe in, and deal with, the power of the Kingdom. But what really changed my heart were the deep times. Is there any space left for that in today’s charismatic church? Even one that claims to have been shaped by renewal? (Note I do not use the term “revival”, because I do not think that has happened-- and certainly isn’t happening now. A subject for another time, perhaps.)
Don’t get me wrong. I believe in, have experienced and taught all this stuff myself. Power, faith, the prophetic, miracles-- it’s all part of the Kingdom, and I am a Kingdom person. I have greatly personally benefited (for example) from Bill Johnson’s teachings, from Bethel, from Randy Clark and Global Awakening. But the call to be “a world changer”, the demand that “we owe the world an encounter with Jesus”, the emphasis on a “supernatural lifestyle”, all promote an urgency and a weight of responsibility that seems at odds with Jesus’ call to take his light burden, and wear his easy yoke.
I have observed that these themes, though valid, have often been overly emphasized in reaction to many years of the opposite. And by now it’s almost all I am hearing. I fear that only the young and strong, the bold by nature, and those who have a Type-A personality in the first place can and will respond well for any length of time to such emphases. What about all the rest of humanity?
Often, we in charismatic circles are really inhumane in how we deal with human weakness and frailty. Are you sick? Have faith, get healed. Are you poor? Claim those biblical promises. Are you mentally ill, or emotionally drained? Just snap out of it, God is good, all the time! We demand “faith” in “God’s plan” and by that we seem to mean an emotional commitment and/or strong mental assent to certain propositions, or a desperate clinging to the hope of a particular outcome.
What happens when it all doesn’t work the way we are told it should? And we all know it often doesn’t.
Will we resort again to empty platitudes, or worse, to shame and blame?
Who will be kind to their brothers and sisters in the face of tragedy? Who will be there to carry and comfort me when the promises were not fulfilled, when he/she died (or left me) after all, when I simply didn’t have the strength to “believe” any more, in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary? Who in those times will stand by me without either feeling or transmitting shame, without a sense of failure, weeping with those who weep, humanity sharing the troubles of humanity?
Sadly, the non-charismatic church is often far more adept at this “carrying one another’s burdens” than we are. Those of us who claim to know the power of the Kingdom should be the ones who are most able to enter into another’s pain and bring the light of the presence of Christ (who has promised always to be with us, not always to fix our circumstances).
Jesus Christ: the same today, yesterday and forever; fully human, and fully God. May we not sacrifice either one for the other.
Who was that woman?
The longer I am away from my first marriage, the more I wonder how I put up with so many aspects of it. Over the years, I had gotten to where I simply let P’s self-centeredness slide off my back. It was sometimes embarrassing in front of others, true, and it often annoyed me; but I knew pointing it out or challenging it would only punish me, and not change him. So as it increased, I gradually said less, not more. Looking back, I think we probably could not have continued so long any other way. It was only the supremely self-centered handling of his love affair that brought to light, even to him, that something had to give.
But this time, it wasn’t me.
I still marvel how he never went the 2nd logical step, never went beyond learning how his brokenness through early and extended abuse affected himself, to how it affected others, most especially his wife. He always did have great difficulty facing the fact that he was the problem, even when everything he learned pointed to that. The family knew it for years. It was our unspoken secret.
When P finally, after over half a year of being in love and months of counseling, did admit to a degree of culpability to me (weeping, saying he was busted and he was sorry I married such poor material; much self-pity), his consequent behavior seemed far more to say “Okay, I've admitted I am broken, therefore you must accommodate me” rather than “I see now I am the one who is most broken, I am the problem here, therefore I should now try to accommodate YOU.” And his counselor was impatient with me because I was no longer willing to do what I had been doing for all of our married life: enable this nonsense. I had known how broken he was many years before he faced it. I think by then I had reached my breaking point; there was no longer a willingness in me to have less than the whole deal.
The abusive mindset is most clearly seen in how P reacted to the truths he learned. The logical and healthy outcome of learning that all these years one really had been largely the one in the wrong would normally be a repentant attitude, a “Oh no, what have I done to you, how can I make it up to you?” heart. His reaction was, instead, anger and offense when I agreed with all that he now claimed to know about himself. This is not repentance. Self-defense has no place in genuine repentance.
The attitude that came from him was: “I’ve been so messed up, and that’s not my fault, so you have to excuse everything I’ve ever done/said/ways I’ve hurt you because of it. And you can’t hold me accountable for any way in which I am now acting hurtfully toward you, because I’ve been far more hurt than you have, so you must support me even when you are being victimized by me.” He turned the tables and made himself the victim; there was no room for ME to be a victim, his victim. What he had learned about how the abuse damaged him was used as a buffer against holding himself accountable, rather than as a tool for doing so. And that’s what never changed, no matter what words he spoke to his counselor.
I am aware I am well out of that relationship, and relieved and glad to have the blessed chance I have been given to start a new life without emotional abuse at home. But I do wonder about the person I was, who put up with this for so long. I guess believing I didn’t have any other option was a large part of it. I married without a back door, without the thought of divorce being an option.
But when that option was extended to me, it was still very hard to actually take it. For all of our initial talk about not holding it against each other, P did not keep his word; it was a rather messy divorce, with lack of genuine communication, ridiculous quibbling and unfair treatment of me. I ended up far more materially impoverished than I would have been had we not gone the "mutual agreement" route. But as I always said when we had plenty of my inheritance left: “It’s only money.”
And so it is. What I have now, even with the pain of leaving my money, my country, my children and 30 years of my life behind, is worth far more than a dollar amount.
I still do care how P gets on in life, but it is a very distant caring. I would like to know him to be happy, but I don’t want to be involved in it in any way. It would be nice, since our children live nearby and still have regular communication with him, if he could someday wake up and comprehend the truth of certain things; but his parents (in spite of being told and shown) never did, and it’s highly unlikely he will be able to get very far if he hasn’t been able to by now.
I suppose it’s one of those bittersweet things in life: being so very thankful for my second chance while at the same time rather sad, and sometimes a bit resentful, that I so needed one.
But this time, it wasn’t me.
I still marvel how he never went the 2nd logical step, never went beyond learning how his brokenness through early and extended abuse affected himself, to how it affected others, most especially his wife. He always did have great difficulty facing the fact that he was the problem, even when everything he learned pointed to that. The family knew it for years. It was our unspoken secret.
When P finally, after over half a year of being in love and months of counseling, did admit to a degree of culpability to me (weeping, saying he was busted and he was sorry I married such poor material; much self-pity), his consequent behavior seemed far more to say “Okay, I've admitted I am broken, therefore you must accommodate me” rather than “I see now I am the one who is most broken, I am the problem here, therefore I should now try to accommodate YOU.” And his counselor was impatient with me because I was no longer willing to do what I had been doing for all of our married life: enable this nonsense. I had known how broken he was many years before he faced it. I think by then I had reached my breaking point; there was no longer a willingness in me to have less than the whole deal.
The abusive mindset is most clearly seen in how P reacted to the truths he learned. The logical and healthy outcome of learning that all these years one really had been largely the one in the wrong would normally be a repentant attitude, a “Oh no, what have I done to you, how can I make it up to you?” heart. His reaction was, instead, anger and offense when I agreed with all that he now claimed to know about himself. This is not repentance. Self-defense has no place in genuine repentance.
The attitude that came from him was: “I’ve been so messed up, and that’s not my fault, so you have to excuse everything I’ve ever done/said/ways I’ve hurt you because of it. And you can’t hold me accountable for any way in which I am now acting hurtfully toward you, because I’ve been far more hurt than you have, so you must support me even when you are being victimized by me.” He turned the tables and made himself the victim; there was no room for ME to be a victim, his victim. What he had learned about how the abuse damaged him was used as a buffer against holding himself accountable, rather than as a tool for doing so. And that’s what never changed, no matter what words he spoke to his counselor.
I am aware I am well out of that relationship, and relieved and glad to have the blessed chance I have been given to start a new life without emotional abuse at home. But I do wonder about the person I was, who put up with this for so long. I guess believing I didn’t have any other option was a large part of it. I married without a back door, without the thought of divorce being an option.
But when that option was extended to me, it was still very hard to actually take it. For all of our initial talk about not holding it against each other, P did not keep his word; it was a rather messy divorce, with lack of genuine communication, ridiculous quibbling and unfair treatment of me. I ended up far more materially impoverished than I would have been had we not gone the "mutual agreement" route. But as I always said when we had plenty of my inheritance left: “It’s only money.”
And so it is. What I have now, even with the pain of leaving my money, my country, my children and 30 years of my life behind, is worth far more than a dollar amount.
I still do care how P gets on in life, but it is a very distant caring. I would like to know him to be happy, but I don’t want to be involved in it in any way. It would be nice, since our children live nearby and still have regular communication with him, if he could someday wake up and comprehend the truth of certain things; but his parents (in spite of being told and shown) never did, and it’s highly unlikely he will be able to get very far if he hasn’t been able to by now.
I suppose it’s one of those bittersweet things in life: being so very thankful for my second chance while at the same time rather sad, and sometimes a bit resentful, that I so needed one.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Rant Of A Foodie
Dear friends of all dietary persuasions,
If you happen to be vegetarian, vegan, gluten/lactose/sucrose intolerant, or simply choose to follow the latest fads of grain-free, paleo, organic-only or whatever it is this month/year, please listen to -- and forgive-- my rant.
All of the above, whether by personal health choice, moral persuasion, or medical condition, are restricted diets. That means: of the vast array of ingestible substances known to mankind, you have decided it is best for you not to eat some of them. In this sense, if unrestricted access to all foodstuffs is considered "normal", you eat an "abnormal" diet. Can we be agreed on this?
That is, of course, your free choice-- or, in the case of those who are genuinely allergic to or physically intolerant of a certain food, a medical necessity, and I stand by your right to make that personal choice. We all choose whether or not we even want to try eating, say, fermented Korean Kimchi or roasted grubs (both delicacies in certain cultures).
However, I would like to remind you, my fellow privileged friends (because really, only those of us in the affluent West can afford to be this choosy about the foods we eat), that this is a personal lifestyle choice, not a universally applicable moral imperative. My apologies to those of my friends who are aware of this and do not force their food convictions on all comers.
Those of us who, thankfully, experience no dietary restrictions do not need your lecture about the evils of refined sugars as we try to enjoy our one cupcake of the week. We don’t need you to throw up your hands in horror when we order a steak at a restaurant. We are embarrassed for you when you drop such comments as “I didn’t know anybody ate that any more” or “Ugh--- flesh!” or “Haven’t you read the latest studies that prove X+Y=current dietary fad?”
Please understand that your dietary choices are your choices, and are valid for you for all the reasons you made them. But please grant the rest of us that freedom, too. We do not need to be educated by you on the evils of what we choose to put into our bodies. The Internet will do that daily, whether we want it to or not. And, as in the case of several foodstuffs I years ago refused to give up in favor of chemically-laden, “better-for-you” substitutes, often fashion will eventually come around to our side again and scientists will fall all over themselves disproving their previous claims.
I do understand there are genuine medical conditions which require dietary restriction, and have great sympathy for that. I spent many years married to a severe hypoglycemic with other food allergies as well. I cooked some crazy things in those years! I know what can happen when you genuinely cannot tolerate, say, butter, and someone neglects to inform you there is butter in the sauce they serve, even when you asked (asthma attack in the night). In this case, perhaps it would be wisest (and kindest) to sometimes, as in the case of a barbecue, consider bringing your own special food, rather than require that everyone around you bend to your special needs. And I understand that’s a pain in the rear.
But I don’t believe you want to be known as a pain in the rear, either. So please: I beg you to stop preaching at the rest of us, making universally applicable what you believe to be true for yourself in dietary matters. For example, “Cow milk is for baby cows, not for humans!” I hear you cry. Well, the vast majority of humans have been doing very well on it for countless centuries, so I think I will keep right on enjoying my milk, cheese, cream and butter (in moderation, of course *wink*) unless my body, or my personal physician, tells me otherwise.
I, like most of you reading this, have the great privilege of living in the affluent West, where I have access to foodstuffs from across the world; where I can buy cheap and processed or expensive and organic, or somewhere in the vast array in between; where I have lots of choices, every day. I happen to be one of those in the majority who may enjoy an unrestricted (i.e., normal) diet. I am aware of my blessing, and intend to enjoy it. I am happy to accommodate your dietary needs, but please forgive me if I have a little less sympathy for your unrequired choices, and no patience with your wholesale judgement of any other choice.
“Eat, drink, and be merry; for tomorrow we die.” You may believe that your food choices entitle you to a great deal more tomorrows than mine do-- well, bully for you! If it is still a concern for you then, we can discuss the merits of these convictions on the other side. Until such a time, let’s bless each other in our various choices and allow each other to make them freely.
Well. Rant over. I think it’s time for a glass of wine (oh! Alcohol!), some crackers (grains!!) and a bit of aged cheese (milk products! She’s gonna DIE!).
Well, so are we all. It’s just possible I might enjoy the journey a bit more than some of my friends may. :D
If you happen to be vegetarian, vegan, gluten/lactose/sucrose intolerant, or simply choose to follow the latest fads of grain-free, paleo, organic-only or whatever it is this month/year, please listen to -- and forgive-- my rant.
All of the above, whether by personal health choice, moral persuasion, or medical condition, are restricted diets. That means: of the vast array of ingestible substances known to mankind, you have decided it is best for you not to eat some of them. In this sense, if unrestricted access to all foodstuffs is considered "normal", you eat an "abnormal" diet. Can we be agreed on this?
That is, of course, your free choice-- or, in the case of those who are genuinely allergic to or physically intolerant of a certain food, a medical necessity, and I stand by your right to make that personal choice. We all choose whether or not we even want to try eating, say, fermented Korean Kimchi or roasted grubs (both delicacies in certain cultures).
However, I would like to remind you, my fellow privileged friends (because really, only those of us in the affluent West can afford to be this choosy about the foods we eat), that this is a personal lifestyle choice, not a universally applicable moral imperative. My apologies to those of my friends who are aware of this and do not force their food convictions on all comers.
Those of us who, thankfully, experience no dietary restrictions do not need your lecture about the evils of refined sugars as we try to enjoy our one cupcake of the week. We don’t need you to throw up your hands in horror when we order a steak at a restaurant. We are embarrassed for you when you drop such comments as “I didn’t know anybody ate that any more” or “Ugh--- flesh!” or “Haven’t you read the latest studies that prove X+Y=current dietary fad?”
Please understand that your dietary choices are your choices, and are valid for you for all the reasons you made them. But please grant the rest of us that freedom, too. We do not need to be educated by you on the evils of what we choose to put into our bodies. The Internet will do that daily, whether we want it to or not. And, as in the case of several foodstuffs I years ago refused to give up in favor of chemically-laden, “better-for-you” substitutes, often fashion will eventually come around to our side again and scientists will fall all over themselves disproving their previous claims.
I do understand there are genuine medical conditions which require dietary restriction, and have great sympathy for that. I spent many years married to a severe hypoglycemic with other food allergies as well. I cooked some crazy things in those years! I know what can happen when you genuinely cannot tolerate, say, butter, and someone neglects to inform you there is butter in the sauce they serve, even when you asked (asthma attack in the night). In this case, perhaps it would be wisest (and kindest) to sometimes, as in the case of a barbecue, consider bringing your own special food, rather than require that everyone around you bend to your special needs. And I understand that’s a pain in the rear.
But I don’t believe you want to be known as a pain in the rear, either. So please: I beg you to stop preaching at the rest of us, making universally applicable what you believe to be true for yourself in dietary matters. For example, “Cow milk is for baby cows, not for humans!” I hear you cry. Well, the vast majority of humans have been doing very well on it for countless centuries, so I think I will keep right on enjoying my milk, cheese, cream and butter (in moderation, of course *wink*) unless my body, or my personal physician, tells me otherwise.
I, like most of you reading this, have the great privilege of living in the affluent West, where I have access to foodstuffs from across the world; where I can buy cheap and processed or expensive and organic, or somewhere in the vast array in between; where I have lots of choices, every day. I happen to be one of those in the majority who may enjoy an unrestricted (i.e., normal) diet. I am aware of my blessing, and intend to enjoy it. I am happy to accommodate your dietary needs, but please forgive me if I have a little less sympathy for your unrequired choices, and no patience with your wholesale judgement of any other choice.
“Eat, drink, and be merry; for tomorrow we die.” You may believe that your food choices entitle you to a great deal more tomorrows than mine do-- well, bully for you! If it is still a concern for you then, we can discuss the merits of these convictions on the other side. Until such a time, let’s bless each other in our various choices and allow each other to make them freely.
Well. Rant over. I think it’s time for a glass of wine (oh! Alcohol!), some crackers (grains!!) and a bit of aged cheese (milk products! She’s gonna DIE!).
Well, so are we all. It’s just possible I might enjoy the journey a bit more than some of my friends may. :D
Thursday, May 1, 2014
Freedom
"There is nothing inherently liberating in showing skin; there is nothing inherently restrictive in covering up; the liberation lies in the choice."
I read this quote regarding body acceptance on Pinterest and it brought together a number of thoughts I have had in the past, which have surfaced again lately, about forms of worship. Yes, I know it sounds random; but that is how my mind works! Have patience and I hope you will eventually see how it fits together.
As background, I've been involved in some form or other of Christian musical worship (the whole span: from classic church choir to Christian traveling drama/music troupe, to pop-rock Christian singing group, to writing and arranging my own worship songs, to participating in, forming and leading contemporary worship bands, to training worship leaders) ever since I was about 12 years old. To me, in my culture and my generation, musical worship is an integral part of what it means for me to express my faith as a Christian.
I first entered a relationship with God in the Jesus People era, which was dominated by the beginnings of the CCM music scene, and through the years I've had many personal encounters with God through worship of varying sorts (music, drama, dance). I've participated in "worship services" of many Christian stripes, from Roman Catholic and High Anglican to closed Brethren and kinky Pentecostal. I've traveled to many different nations and cultures and experienced their forms of worship. In other words, as regards this subject, I've been around the block a few times.
Recently A finished a major module in his theological studies: worship. One of the books he had to read for it amused me by its title: "Worship By The Book". We discussed the various views on what constituted a "proper worship service" by writers from across the Evangelical perspective, some of which I found very insular, indeed. And it got us to re-examine our own cultural biases and our own current context.
We've both been involved in the musical worship sector of our local church for awhile now, and I am seeing some of the same scenarios playing out as I had done over and over in my years as a leader. I suppose these issues are universal. There are various worship agendas in operation depending on which leader has the floor. There are people with a good heart but little talent, or perhaps lacking in the ability to team-play, who are willing but not very able. There are doubtless some able but not willing, for various reasons. There are a few who are far more than able: genuinely talented artists who, however, need some heart alterations before one would feel safe inflicting them upon a congregation. And there are a lot of fairly competent people muddling along as best they can as volunteers with little time for rehearsal.
One of the fellows with whom I recently sang when he led congregational worship was really excited to be asked to lead again, since he "hadn't been allowed" (his words) for some time. When he went over the song list with us before the service, he said things like "We have to keep the religious people happy" and "This isn't where I want to go in worship, but it's an Easter song, so I suppose we'll have to sing it", et cetera. When I asked how much time we had been given, he looked rather bleakly at me and said "__ (the leader of the service) is just going to interrupt me."
All of these statements gave me pause. There may be very good reasons why he hadn't been asked, though he is easily the most accomplished musician among us. A "worship service" is made of of many elements, all of which are a form of corporate worship. It is not an interruption of worship for the service to stop the music stage and continue on to the next stage. Nor is it an imposition --indeed, in my mind it is a requirement of the job-- for me as a worship leader to deliberately defer to the needs of the congregation (for example, to have a song or two related to Easter on Easter Sunday) above my own (when, for example, I am personally much more comfortable with a free-flowing, unplanned, spontaneous, "Holy-Spirit-led" session).
And this leads on to the above-mentioned quote. Here is my re-casting of it:
"There is nothing inherently liberating in dancing before the Lord; there is nothing inherently restrictive in kneeling quietly in reverence; the liberation lies in the choice."
I have noticed that those who emphasize "freedom in worship" usually have a very clear idea in their minds what they mean by that. To them, "bondage" means bowing heads in quiet prayer, sitting quietly in a seat or pew and singing hymns. They seem to equate silence, contemplation, or older forms of Christian worship with "dead religion". To these folks, "freedom" can only mean dancing! shouting! upbeat songs! the waving of flags! the blowing of shofars! laughter! holy abandon! So when they get up before the congregation (or if they are leading worship) and say things like: "I proclaim freedom in this house! Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom!" they will usually follow it up with some instruction like "So let's all shout to God with a voice of triumph!" or "Dance with all your might before the Lord!"
Well, I'm sorry, but to me this is just as religious as telling us we may NOT do these things in church. It places those members who actually would prefer to sit and revere quietly, to kneel or to lie down as their form of abandoned worship, in an awkward position. They are being given a subcultural definition of "freedom" which disallows their actual freedom to worship God as their nature would genuinely incline them to do. If by proclaiming "freedom" I really subtly mean "you must now dance or be judged as un-free", I am actually restricting the very value I espouse: that people should be able to worship God freely.
For some, freedom will mean never having dared to get up and dance when they felt like it, and now being able to do so. But for some, it will mean having the freedom to resist a subcultural norm with which they are uncomfortable, and to feel free to not participate in the "required" manner. Ideally, a genuinely "free" worship service would have people responding individually to the presence of God in whatever way is genuine for them in that moment; but doing it together, and comfortable with each others' expressions. This might mean some kneeling, some lying down in worship, some dancing, some singing… And this very form would make many people, comfortable with more structure than that, highly uncomfortable, so it's certainly not for everybody.
But if we are to insist upon such a high level of freedom, let's cover all bases, not just our personal preferences.
That said, personally my own preference is to have a plan --which I am perfectly willing to jettison should God indicate he has something else on the agenda. I speak from experience here. I have worked hours on talks I never gave, because at the last minute Dad said "Let's talk about something else." When I chose songs for a worship set, though, I prayed ahead of time about which ones to select. I rarely had to abandon them because for some odd reason they almost always fit beautifully with the rest of the service (though the preacher, service leader and I had not conferred beforehand). There are ways of being led by the Spirit that do not necessarily involve bedlam, and they are not necessarily bondage.
So, go ahead and wear your midriff-exposing T-shirt, or don't. Sing in tongues into the microphone, or don't. But don't call the one "freedom" or "liberating" and the other "uptight" or "bondage" without a little respect for where someone else may be coming from. And if your idea of freedom is to wave your flag in my face, dance upon my toes, or blow a shofar in my ear, remember:
It is to freedom that you have been called, my brothers. Only be careful that freedom does not become mere opportunity for your lower nature (including selfishness! my note). You should be free to serve each other in love. For after all, the whole Law toward others is summed up by this one command, ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself’.
Galatians 5:13-14, J.B. Phillips
I read this quote regarding body acceptance on Pinterest and it brought together a number of thoughts I have had in the past, which have surfaced again lately, about forms of worship. Yes, I know it sounds random; but that is how my mind works! Have patience and I hope you will eventually see how it fits together.
As background, I've been involved in some form or other of Christian musical worship (the whole span: from classic church choir to Christian traveling drama/music troupe, to pop-rock Christian singing group, to writing and arranging my own worship songs, to participating in, forming and leading contemporary worship bands, to training worship leaders) ever since I was about 12 years old. To me, in my culture and my generation, musical worship is an integral part of what it means for me to express my faith as a Christian.
I first entered a relationship with God in the Jesus People era, which was dominated by the beginnings of the CCM music scene, and through the years I've had many personal encounters with God through worship of varying sorts (music, drama, dance). I've participated in "worship services" of many Christian stripes, from Roman Catholic and High Anglican to closed Brethren and kinky Pentecostal. I've traveled to many different nations and cultures and experienced their forms of worship. In other words, as regards this subject, I've been around the block a few times.
Recently A finished a major module in his theological studies: worship. One of the books he had to read for it amused me by its title: "Worship By The Book". We discussed the various views on what constituted a "proper worship service" by writers from across the Evangelical perspective, some of which I found very insular, indeed. And it got us to re-examine our own cultural biases and our own current context.
We've both been involved in the musical worship sector of our local church for awhile now, and I am seeing some of the same scenarios playing out as I had done over and over in my years as a leader. I suppose these issues are universal. There are various worship agendas in operation depending on which leader has the floor. There are people with a good heart but little talent, or perhaps lacking in the ability to team-play, who are willing but not very able. There are doubtless some able but not willing, for various reasons. There are a few who are far more than able: genuinely talented artists who, however, need some heart alterations before one would feel safe inflicting them upon a congregation. And there are a lot of fairly competent people muddling along as best they can as volunteers with little time for rehearsal.
One of the fellows with whom I recently sang when he led congregational worship was really excited to be asked to lead again, since he "hadn't been allowed" (his words) for some time. When he went over the song list with us before the service, he said things like "We have to keep the religious people happy" and "This isn't where I want to go in worship, but it's an Easter song, so I suppose we'll have to sing it", et cetera. When I asked how much time we had been given, he looked rather bleakly at me and said "__ (the leader of the service) is just going to interrupt me."
All of these statements gave me pause. There may be very good reasons why he hadn't been asked, though he is easily the most accomplished musician among us. A "worship service" is made of of many elements, all of which are a form of corporate worship. It is not an interruption of worship for the service to stop the music stage and continue on to the next stage. Nor is it an imposition --indeed, in my mind it is a requirement of the job-- for me as a worship leader to deliberately defer to the needs of the congregation (for example, to have a song or two related to Easter on Easter Sunday) above my own (when, for example, I am personally much more comfortable with a free-flowing, unplanned, spontaneous, "Holy-Spirit-led" session).
And this leads on to the above-mentioned quote. Here is my re-casting of it:
"There is nothing inherently liberating in dancing before the Lord; there is nothing inherently restrictive in kneeling quietly in reverence; the liberation lies in the choice."
I have noticed that those who emphasize "freedom in worship" usually have a very clear idea in their minds what they mean by that. To them, "bondage" means bowing heads in quiet prayer, sitting quietly in a seat or pew and singing hymns. They seem to equate silence, contemplation, or older forms of Christian worship with "dead religion". To these folks, "freedom" can only mean dancing! shouting! upbeat songs! the waving of flags! the blowing of shofars! laughter! holy abandon! So when they get up before the congregation (or if they are leading worship) and say things like: "I proclaim freedom in this house! Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom!" they will usually follow it up with some instruction like "So let's all shout to God with a voice of triumph!" or "Dance with all your might before the Lord!"
Well, I'm sorry, but to me this is just as religious as telling us we may NOT do these things in church. It places those members who actually would prefer to sit and revere quietly, to kneel or to lie down as their form of abandoned worship, in an awkward position. They are being given a subcultural definition of "freedom" which disallows their actual freedom to worship God as their nature would genuinely incline them to do. If by proclaiming "freedom" I really subtly mean "you must now dance or be judged as un-free", I am actually restricting the very value I espouse: that people should be able to worship God freely.
For some, freedom will mean never having dared to get up and dance when they felt like it, and now being able to do so. But for some, it will mean having the freedom to resist a subcultural norm with which they are uncomfortable, and to feel free to not participate in the "required" manner. Ideally, a genuinely "free" worship service would have people responding individually to the presence of God in whatever way is genuine for them in that moment; but doing it together, and comfortable with each others' expressions. This might mean some kneeling, some lying down in worship, some dancing, some singing… And this very form would make many people, comfortable with more structure than that, highly uncomfortable, so it's certainly not for everybody.
But if we are to insist upon such a high level of freedom, let's cover all bases, not just our personal preferences.
That said, personally my own preference is to have a plan --which I am perfectly willing to jettison should God indicate he has something else on the agenda. I speak from experience here. I have worked hours on talks I never gave, because at the last minute Dad said "Let's talk about something else." When I chose songs for a worship set, though, I prayed ahead of time about which ones to select. I rarely had to abandon them because for some odd reason they almost always fit beautifully with the rest of the service (though the preacher, service leader and I had not conferred beforehand). There are ways of being led by the Spirit that do not necessarily involve bedlam, and they are not necessarily bondage.
So, go ahead and wear your midriff-exposing T-shirt, or don't. Sing in tongues into the microphone, or don't. But don't call the one "freedom" or "liberating" and the other "uptight" or "bondage" without a little respect for where someone else may be coming from. And if your idea of freedom is to wave your flag in my face, dance upon my toes, or blow a shofar in my ear, remember:
It is to freedom that you have been called, my brothers. Only be careful that freedom does not become mere opportunity for your lower nature (including selfishness! my note). You should be free to serve each other in love. For after all, the whole Law toward others is summed up by this one command, ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself’.
Galatians 5:13-14, J.B. Phillips
Monday, April 28, 2014
Fallow
I started writing this post waaaay back in autumn. Once I got started on the subject, it got somewhat out of hand and ended up too long. But I've chopped it up a bit, and this is about how far I got with the theme. My emotional status (and the weather!) has improved since, but this is a snapshot of where my thoughts had reached.
It has been dreary and raining almost non-stop for weeks now… welcome to England. Also, I was sick for close to 3 weeks, first with a bladder infection and then with a cold that turned into bronchitis. I don't recall being sick this often or this long for many years. Plus, our somewhat archaic heating system decided to give up the ghost in the middle of last week and just got repaired yesterday-- the house, being old and damp anyway, still has a chill to it.
One of the results of all this has been that I have been cooped up inside our small, rather dim "bijou cottage" (as a visitor put it-- meaning "dinky") rather a lot. Often cold. And physically miserable. Cooking and baking, which are my default cheer-Holly-up strategies, were not an appealing option because, being ill, I couldn't taste much anyway. I have nothing meaningful demanding my attention; at the moment, there is no way in which my life makes a significant difference (to anyone but A). I ran out of piddling household projects and library books to read, I don't yet have the emotional stamina to plunge back into deep and meaningful books, solitaire and Bookworm grew stale, and I realized something else:
I am bored.
I lived 30 years in a country to which I went at 25 with fire in my bones and a purpose in my heart. There was always a sense of responsibility, of calling, about living there. Though much of my time was spent doing the normal business of living --raising two children, running the household, shopping, cooking and cleaning-- that was not my primary purpose for being there. Indeed all those things would have been more conveniently, and cheaply, done in my country of origin. I stayed because I had made a commitment to make a difference in Austria, no matter how small a difference it might be. Only time and posterity will tell if that did, in fact, occur. Later, that fire inside spread to include several other nations. But here?
I am (or at least I feel) purposeless.
I'm aware, too, that though an ambivert, I'm normally a relatively sociable creature. Though I need my solitude, relationships are a large part of what feed me and bring me life, and the fact is I've only been here (at the time I began writing this) a bit over three months. In Austria (besides my family) there were many people I had known for 20 years or longer, so there were always social options; but here, there simply hasn't been a lot of opportunity to build relationship with anybody yet. While Elliott, the cat we acquired recently, was company for me the first weeks, as soon as we started letting him go outside, now he disappears for many hours at a stretch. This means my only local real friend is A, who has a job to do. Result:
I am lonely.
Now, I have been through major cultural change a few times now, and I do know the ropes; in fact, I have even taught on them in missions schools. I understand the dynamics of culture shock and adjustment, the emotions that one experiences, the tools one can make use of to minimize its effects. I know it's not helpful to wallow in one's feelings, though they may be uppermost in one's mind. But it's not wallowing in them to take them out and identify them; in fact, I find it helpful to do this periodically because otherwise, unnamed emotion can clog up the brain and muddy perspective. So, pushing what I know aside, what does this stage of my journey feel like?
It feels dead. It feels as if my life is over. And in some ways, it is. That life is past.
I've had a major watershed similar to this before. By 1990, P and I had been full-time missionaries for 7 years, married for 12. We had seen good fruit but also some very dry times. By spring of that year, I was in what I now recognize as at least a mild form of clinical depression, though I had no words for it then. Oh, I was functional: as mother of 2 small children, wife to P, active in the Austrian church we had helped plant in 1983. But inside, I was dead, or at least dying. Nothing I had been taught was helping me do more than cope and maintain, and so much of what I'd been taught simply wasn't enough to deal well with real-life situations in our budding church, or even the unpleasant surprises that had surfaced in my own marriage. As "missionaries on the foreign field", we were at the top of the status rat heap as far as our own church circles went; but personally, I was finding it singularly unsatisfactory.
I'd discovered John Wimber's books the previous autumn and longed for the Kingdom I'd read of. After all, I had fallen in love with Jesus during the Jesus People movement, which had a lot more life in it than I now had. And one spring day it came to a head out in the garden, when I told God: "If this is as good as it gets, if this is all I can expect, if I can't live what these people in this book get to live, then I don't want to do this any more." And I realized, as I said "do this", that I didn't just mean ministry, being a missionary. I meant I didn't want to be here on earth, didn't want to live. There didn't really seem any point to it…
Now, I wasn't planning to actually DO anything about it myself, but I did ask God if it wouldn't be too much trouble to arrange a brief and painless accident. I knew he would take care of my kids and husband, whom I did love, but uppermost in my heart was that I simply couldn't do this any more, maybe even for years and years and years. And I saw no way out.
Oddly enough, that prayer acted as a sort of catalyst. Nothing at all had changed in my outward situation, but something started changing within me: a sense of hope, of expectation (for what, I had no clue) began to grow. It grew throughout the following summer, along with my personal hunger to experience firsthand more of what God was doing on the earth.
That November, P and I had a major and unexpected encounter with Holy Spirit and the power of the risen Christ which resulted in our physical healing (my spinal curvature and P's severe food allergies) and in a new level of interaction and experience of Holy Spirit in our daily lives. Within half a year, this experience (and our refusal to deny or renounce it) had resulted in our losing everything we had built up to that time: our reputation, our ministry, our mission sending board's commendation, the church we had helped plant, almost all our friends, and last but not least, our livelihood.
Well, being the great spiritual giant I am, I complained. I bitched and moaned about how unfair it all was, and how we were just being true to what God, after all, had given us, and why should we suffer like this for it, and what about our kids, what would we live on now… And mid-moan, Dad interrupted me:
"Remember that life you said you didn't want any more? The one you gave to me and asked me to take?"
Nod yes.
"Well, look at your life now. You don't have that old life any more, do you? I took it, just like you asked me to."
Oh.
"...So what are you complaining about?"
His voice was kindly and a bit amused, not at all condemning. But it shifted my perspective completely. (I often find God takes our prayers much more seriously than we do!) Dad was so right; the life I didn't want to live had been taken from me, and I had up to that point mostly focused on the many losses as a result. But now, all sorts of possibilities as well were open to me. None had, it's true, yet materialized at that point; but I was no longer trapped in the closed circle of my previous context, and never needed to be so again.
In a way, I'm at a similar point now. Even since the recent life changes, many words of life have been spoken over me and I/we have received many confirmations that God has something good in store for me, and for A & me as a couple. That is, something not only good for me/us personally (as our marriage and our release from the CAWKI mentality are), but something that will actually benefit the world around me/us. That's what I wanted in 1990, and it's what I want now: his Kingdom to come, his will to be done here on earth as it is in heaven, and I want to be involved in that. I just don't yet have a clue as to how, here, now, at this point in my journey, that will be lived out.
So, being aware of all this, I asked God to help me identify the season I am in; and I received the word "fallow". This at first didn't seem very encouraging. But then I started remembering (and then did a little researching) what that word actually means.
FALLOW -noun: (of farmland) ploughed and harrowed but left for a period without being sown, in order to restore its fertility or to avoid surplus production
(of a period of time) characterized by inaction; unproductive: long fallow periods when nothing seems to happen
(transitive verb) to plow, harrow, and break up (land) without seeding to destroy weeds and conserve soil moisture
Cultivated fields are, of course, regularly turned over and harrowed in order to prepare them for planting the next season's crop. An intentionally fallow field is left unsown, though, for several reasons:
1. in order to restore its fertility;
2. to avoid surplus production;
3. to destroy weeds;
4. to conserve soil moisture.
Well! I could certainly identify with the ploughed and harrowed bit. Starting in 2005, when my father shot himself, varying life circumstances had grown increasingly harrowing. I felt I never had time to recover from one blow before the next one fell. Eventually these circumstances resulted in the loss of my marriage, my own church, my wider ministry, my livelihood and what was left of my inheritance. It did feel rather a lot, at times, like being rolled over by a heavy tractor and gouged deeply enough that all the ugly worms and rocks under the surface were turned up for all the world to see.
This current period of time feels precisely like the second sentence: characterized by inaction, unproductive, nothing seems to happen.
As for the verb meaning, A has long referred to this season as our time for "de-sucking" before God can healthily inflict us upon the world again. He coined this word as we both realized how much our attitudes, in many ways, really suck; so what we need, obviously, is to be de-sucked! In words that fit my concept, we need the weeds destroyed, and new stuff planted in our hearts.
And I feel quite dry inside. Not dead; more numb, or in hibernation. Perhaps I can take the "wettest winter on record" the year we moved here as a sign that this will not remain the case..?
Many more thoughts boomeranged off of this, which I may get around to developing in another post. But right now, even though things are not as bleak as they were last autumn, I am still, for the most part, lying fallow. My challenge in this season is to trust the Farmer that he knows precisely when to re-plant me, and with which crops. It's his harvest, after all; he gets to decide.
I get to rest.
Happy Springtime, everybody.
It has been dreary and raining almost non-stop for weeks now… welcome to England. Also, I was sick for close to 3 weeks, first with a bladder infection and then with a cold that turned into bronchitis. I don't recall being sick this often or this long for many years. Plus, our somewhat archaic heating system decided to give up the ghost in the middle of last week and just got repaired yesterday-- the house, being old and damp anyway, still has a chill to it.
One of the results of all this has been that I have been cooped up inside our small, rather dim "bijou cottage" (as a visitor put it-- meaning "dinky") rather a lot. Often cold. And physically miserable. Cooking and baking, which are my default cheer-Holly-up strategies, were not an appealing option because, being ill, I couldn't taste much anyway. I have nothing meaningful demanding my attention; at the moment, there is no way in which my life makes a significant difference (to anyone but A). I ran out of piddling household projects and library books to read, I don't yet have the emotional stamina to plunge back into deep and meaningful books, solitaire and Bookworm grew stale, and I realized something else:
I am bored.
I lived 30 years in a country to which I went at 25 with fire in my bones and a purpose in my heart. There was always a sense of responsibility, of calling, about living there. Though much of my time was spent doing the normal business of living --raising two children, running the household, shopping, cooking and cleaning-- that was not my primary purpose for being there. Indeed all those things would have been more conveniently, and cheaply, done in my country of origin. I stayed because I had made a commitment to make a difference in Austria, no matter how small a difference it might be. Only time and posterity will tell if that did, in fact, occur. Later, that fire inside spread to include several other nations. But here?
I am (or at least I feel) purposeless.
I'm aware, too, that though an ambivert, I'm normally a relatively sociable creature. Though I need my solitude, relationships are a large part of what feed me and bring me life, and the fact is I've only been here (at the time I began writing this) a bit over three months. In Austria (besides my family) there were many people I had known for 20 years or longer, so there were always social options; but here, there simply hasn't been a lot of opportunity to build relationship with anybody yet. While Elliott, the cat we acquired recently, was company for me the first weeks, as soon as we started letting him go outside, now he disappears for many hours at a stretch. This means my only local real friend is A, who has a job to do. Result:
I am lonely.
Now, I have been through major cultural change a few times now, and I do know the ropes; in fact, I have even taught on them in missions schools. I understand the dynamics of culture shock and adjustment, the emotions that one experiences, the tools one can make use of to minimize its effects. I know it's not helpful to wallow in one's feelings, though they may be uppermost in one's mind. But it's not wallowing in them to take them out and identify them; in fact, I find it helpful to do this periodically because otherwise, unnamed emotion can clog up the brain and muddy perspective. So, pushing what I know aside, what does this stage of my journey feel like?
It feels dead. It feels as if my life is over. And in some ways, it is. That life is past.
I've had a major watershed similar to this before. By 1990, P and I had been full-time missionaries for 7 years, married for 12. We had seen good fruit but also some very dry times. By spring of that year, I was in what I now recognize as at least a mild form of clinical depression, though I had no words for it then. Oh, I was functional: as mother of 2 small children, wife to P, active in the Austrian church we had helped plant in 1983. But inside, I was dead, or at least dying. Nothing I had been taught was helping me do more than cope and maintain, and so much of what I'd been taught simply wasn't enough to deal well with real-life situations in our budding church, or even the unpleasant surprises that had surfaced in my own marriage. As "missionaries on the foreign field", we were at the top of the status rat heap as far as our own church circles went; but personally, I was finding it singularly unsatisfactory.
I'd discovered John Wimber's books the previous autumn and longed for the Kingdom I'd read of. After all, I had fallen in love with Jesus during the Jesus People movement, which had a lot more life in it than I now had. And one spring day it came to a head out in the garden, when I told God: "If this is as good as it gets, if this is all I can expect, if I can't live what these people in this book get to live, then I don't want to do this any more." And I realized, as I said "do this", that I didn't just mean ministry, being a missionary. I meant I didn't want to be here on earth, didn't want to live. There didn't really seem any point to it…
Now, I wasn't planning to actually DO anything about it myself, but I did ask God if it wouldn't be too much trouble to arrange a brief and painless accident. I knew he would take care of my kids and husband, whom I did love, but uppermost in my heart was that I simply couldn't do this any more, maybe even for years and years and years. And I saw no way out.
Oddly enough, that prayer acted as a sort of catalyst. Nothing at all had changed in my outward situation, but something started changing within me: a sense of hope, of expectation (for what, I had no clue) began to grow. It grew throughout the following summer, along with my personal hunger to experience firsthand more of what God was doing on the earth.
That November, P and I had a major and unexpected encounter with Holy Spirit and the power of the risen Christ which resulted in our physical healing (my spinal curvature and P's severe food allergies) and in a new level of interaction and experience of Holy Spirit in our daily lives. Within half a year, this experience (and our refusal to deny or renounce it) had resulted in our losing everything we had built up to that time: our reputation, our ministry, our mission sending board's commendation, the church we had helped plant, almost all our friends, and last but not least, our livelihood.
Well, being the great spiritual giant I am, I complained. I bitched and moaned about how unfair it all was, and how we were just being true to what God, after all, had given us, and why should we suffer like this for it, and what about our kids, what would we live on now… And mid-moan, Dad interrupted me:
"Remember that life you said you didn't want any more? The one you gave to me and asked me to take?"
Nod yes.
"Well, look at your life now. You don't have that old life any more, do you? I took it, just like you asked me to."
Oh.
"...So what are you complaining about?"
His voice was kindly and a bit amused, not at all condemning. But it shifted my perspective completely. (I often find God takes our prayers much more seriously than we do!) Dad was so right; the life I didn't want to live had been taken from me, and I had up to that point mostly focused on the many losses as a result. But now, all sorts of possibilities as well were open to me. None had, it's true, yet materialized at that point; but I was no longer trapped in the closed circle of my previous context, and never needed to be so again.
In a way, I'm at a similar point now. Even since the recent life changes, many words of life have been spoken over me and I/we have received many confirmations that God has something good in store for me, and for A & me as a couple. That is, something not only good for me/us personally (as our marriage and our release from the CAWKI mentality are), but something that will actually benefit the world around me/us. That's what I wanted in 1990, and it's what I want now: his Kingdom to come, his will to be done here on earth as it is in heaven, and I want to be involved in that. I just don't yet have a clue as to how, here, now, at this point in my journey, that will be lived out.
So, being aware of all this, I asked God to help me identify the season I am in; and I received the word "fallow". This at first didn't seem very encouraging. But then I started remembering (and then did a little researching) what that word actually means.
FALLOW -noun: (of farmland) ploughed and harrowed but left for a period without being sown, in order to restore its fertility or to avoid surplus production
(of a period of time) characterized by inaction; unproductive: long fallow periods when nothing seems to happen
(transitive verb) to plow, harrow, and break up (land) without seeding to destroy weeds and conserve soil moisture
Cultivated fields are, of course, regularly turned over and harrowed in order to prepare them for planting the next season's crop. An intentionally fallow field is left unsown, though, for several reasons:
1. in order to restore its fertility;
2. to avoid surplus production;
3. to destroy weeds;
4. to conserve soil moisture.
Well! I could certainly identify with the ploughed and harrowed bit. Starting in 2005, when my father shot himself, varying life circumstances had grown increasingly harrowing. I felt I never had time to recover from one blow before the next one fell. Eventually these circumstances resulted in the loss of my marriage, my own church, my wider ministry, my livelihood and what was left of my inheritance. It did feel rather a lot, at times, like being rolled over by a heavy tractor and gouged deeply enough that all the ugly worms and rocks under the surface were turned up for all the world to see.
This current period of time feels precisely like the second sentence: characterized by inaction, unproductive, nothing seems to happen.
As for the verb meaning, A has long referred to this season as our time for "de-sucking" before God can healthily inflict us upon the world again. He coined this word as we both realized how much our attitudes, in many ways, really suck; so what we need, obviously, is to be de-sucked! In words that fit my concept, we need the weeds destroyed, and new stuff planted in our hearts.
And I feel quite dry inside. Not dead; more numb, or in hibernation. Perhaps I can take the "wettest winter on record" the year we moved here as a sign that this will not remain the case..?
Many more thoughts boomeranged off of this, which I may get around to developing in another post. But right now, even though things are not as bleak as they were last autumn, I am still, for the most part, lying fallow. My challenge in this season is to trust the Farmer that he knows precisely when to re-plant me, and with which crops. It's his harvest, after all; he gets to decide.
I get to rest.
Happy Springtime, everybody.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Spring Has Sprung
So... hello again! It’s been several months since I have written anything here. I did start some themes but never got to the end of any of them. Frankly, it was quite a depressing winter in many ways: grey for weeks on end, incessant rain, damp and chilly housing. The locals tell me it was the wettest one on record (though not particularly cold), so it would be unfair to judge all of jolly old England on this one miserable season in this one calendar year. That said, there were times it didn’t seem worth leaving my flannel-covered down comforter in the morning, because it would stay grey all day anyway!
My third major enculturation has, meanwhile, proceeded apace. Wetly, I’ve discovered many delightful little aspects of British culture. For instance, Brits are inveterate readers. All over, there are “lending tables”, where you can bring a book you’re done with and take one that’s there, all for free. The local library can hardly compete, though it’s lovely to have one of them nearby too. The “public face” I learned to adopt in Austria (expressionless, eyes meeting no-one) is unnecessary, even counter-productive here; almost everyone but shy people and insecure teenagers are happy to meet your gaze and greet you in passing. I have already mentioned how delightful the elderly folks are. No self-pity and moaning; they just get on cheerfully until they can’t move any more!
On the negative side, I am now painfully aware of just how harsh and swallowed my own “r”s are, and how sloppy my enunciation is, especially any word that has a double --or even single-- T in it. Unless I take myself by the scruff of the neck and shake myself hard first, I invariably pronounce this as a double D (“wedding” rather than “wetting”, “eading” rather than “eating”). This sounds awful in my ears now, though I never used to notice it. That’s not to say most people here have a cultivated accent; far from it, for the most part: we live in farmer country, after all! It’s not that I want to sound British either; it’s probably more that my musical ear has picked up some of my less attractive habits through being exposed to several variations on a theme.
Speaking of musical ear, both A and I are involved in music teams in the local church now, though not the same one. A helps out in a couple with bass guitar and, occasionally, drums; I sing backup in one team which lost a singer recently. I had very much missed singing regularly. Since I’d left the worship team at VG, which I formed and led for most of 20 years, this had been the longest gap I could ever remember not being involved in some sort of music group.
I/we still have our struggles with the local church system per se. But something in us has relaxed, so we can be amused at many things that used to annoy us. It’s all our wider family, after all, and you don’t like everybody to whom you’re related, nor are you obligated to agree with them. But you can learn to appreciate them. And I think that has been happening to us. I feel rather “in” but not “of”, in a sense, and yet I do very much appreciate the people and what they have built out here in the middle of nowhere.
I am not invested in this church the way I was VG, of course; this is not a family I started; my DNA is not closely interwoven into its makeup. And if what I believe about institutional church is even partly true, this form has passed its sell-by date anyway and so investing in the form itself would be silly. But people are eternal, and investing in people is never wasted time or effort. And the people here are salt-of-the-earth. What you see is pretty much what you get. They don’t seem as inclined to play mind games out here in the countryside. What a relief.
With more and more distance from my ex and all his issues, I have also been able to relax more and more regarding my inbuilt negative expectations of how people will receive me. P could not handle my success or popularity very well; though he outwardly supported it, he sabotaged it too. That’s about the furthest thing from A’s mind. And here, it is all very low-key, but I am feeling the same sort of stirrings which I experienced when I started hanging out with GA: I am simply being myself, doing what I normally do, and it’s somehow seen as extraordinary and worthwhile with no conscious effort on my part.
I walked in favor for many years and got really used to it. I suppose I started to take it for granted. --Not at home, of course; a friend at VG was always quite upset on my behalf that “the prophet is not well received in his/her home town”; but I found it a bit of a relief, since the same demands upon “my anointing” were not brought as elsewhere, and I had space to rest up. At the same time, coming home from a successful ministry trip, where I was able to work in partnership with God and see him do very cool stuff in people’s lives, and establish meaningful friendships with people, was sometimes a real slap in the face. I remember one trip in particular, when I saw some absolutely miraculous things occur in Ukraine, and already in the car on the way home from the airport P had brought his first crushing criticisms of me. I felt as if I’d taken a blow to the solar plexus, and I realized: I have been without this essential-level rejection for two weeks and my resistance is down. Something is seriously wrong here, and it is not me.
Digression aside: many of the same dynamics of favor have been in operation since moving here. We have never sought out the movers and shakers in this church, nor attempted to get to know the pastor, or anything remotely like that. (Actually, we had hoped to remain incognito for longer!) Yet these are the very people who have been attracted to us, sought us out, and have engaged us in conversation and relationship. Not having a clue who people are and to whom they’re related has been a huge plus factor, because we encounter everyone pretty much the same for our part. Now that we’ve been here awhile we realize: the people we have connected with are the people who run things. Well, welcome, back, Favor. I wondered where you’d gone...
I mostly don't experience "words from God" or other gifts unless I am in an environment in which they are required. So, being in such an environment on a Monday evening in Salisbury recently, whilst someone else was praying and I was only nominally involved (because I couldn't hear much of what he said, I just had my eyes closed and was tuned in), I got a clear picture of walking through an orange door into full-blown Spring. Blossoms on the tress, butterflies in the air, a cool breeze and spring flowers everywhere: the whole Disney kitch. Along with it came the words "early spring". I was touched, and thought the word was just for me; but as the meeting progressed I saw it would be helpful and shared it as well. It's true that spring has come to Shaftesbury about a month earlier than usual, in the natural sense of the word. However, I have taken it to heart. After a long, hard winter of the soul, it is an early spring for me, too.
When I received unexpected and unprecedented favor back in the 90s I was really thrilled and excited and related it to the doubtless huge and significant calling God must have for my life. That’s where I was at, at that time. Now it is simply a small, familiar comfort in the midst of much adjustment. I don’t need it to happen, I didn’t look for it to happen, and I have no goals for it being there. I am past the striving stage. If God wants to grant it, he must have ideas of his own, and his ideas are always good. But frankly, I just want some friends; and that is happening, so I am content.
So this is our life: A works hard on his degree. I generally run the household and most social engagements (yes, there are some!!). I help out in the church office now and then, updating the horrible song database. We still see our vicar friend for tea, and try to get to know others in the community. It's a quiet life, for the most part. But for now, where we are is probably just where we ought to be. And I’m happy enough with that.
My third major enculturation has, meanwhile, proceeded apace. Wetly, I’ve discovered many delightful little aspects of British culture. For instance, Brits are inveterate readers. All over, there are “lending tables”, where you can bring a book you’re done with and take one that’s there, all for free. The local library can hardly compete, though it’s lovely to have one of them nearby too. The “public face” I learned to adopt in Austria (expressionless, eyes meeting no-one) is unnecessary, even counter-productive here; almost everyone but shy people and insecure teenagers are happy to meet your gaze and greet you in passing. I have already mentioned how delightful the elderly folks are. No self-pity and moaning; they just get on cheerfully until they can’t move any more!
On the negative side, I am now painfully aware of just how harsh and swallowed my own “r”s are, and how sloppy my enunciation is, especially any word that has a double --or even single-- T in it. Unless I take myself by the scruff of the neck and shake myself hard first, I invariably pronounce this as a double D (“wedding” rather than “wetting”, “eading” rather than “eating”). This sounds awful in my ears now, though I never used to notice it. That’s not to say most people here have a cultivated accent; far from it, for the most part: we live in farmer country, after all! It’s not that I want to sound British either; it’s probably more that my musical ear has picked up some of my less attractive habits through being exposed to several variations on a theme.
Speaking of musical ear, both A and I are involved in music teams in the local church now, though not the same one. A helps out in a couple with bass guitar and, occasionally, drums; I sing backup in one team which lost a singer recently. I had very much missed singing regularly. Since I’d left the worship team at VG, which I formed and led for most of 20 years, this had been the longest gap I could ever remember not being involved in some sort of music group.
I/we still have our struggles with the local church system per se. But something in us has relaxed, so we can be amused at many things that used to annoy us. It’s all our wider family, after all, and you don’t like everybody to whom you’re related, nor are you obligated to agree with them. But you can learn to appreciate them. And I think that has been happening to us. I feel rather “in” but not “of”, in a sense, and yet I do very much appreciate the people and what they have built out here in the middle of nowhere.
I am not invested in this church the way I was VG, of course; this is not a family I started; my DNA is not closely interwoven into its makeup. And if what I believe about institutional church is even partly true, this form has passed its sell-by date anyway and so investing in the form itself would be silly. But people are eternal, and investing in people is never wasted time or effort. And the people here are salt-of-the-earth. What you see is pretty much what you get. They don’t seem as inclined to play mind games out here in the countryside. What a relief.
With more and more distance from my ex and all his issues, I have also been able to relax more and more regarding my inbuilt negative expectations of how people will receive me. P could not handle my success or popularity very well; though he outwardly supported it, he sabotaged it too. That’s about the furthest thing from A’s mind. And here, it is all very low-key, but I am feeling the same sort of stirrings which I experienced when I started hanging out with GA: I am simply being myself, doing what I normally do, and it’s somehow seen as extraordinary and worthwhile with no conscious effort on my part.
I walked in favor for many years and got really used to it. I suppose I started to take it for granted. --Not at home, of course; a friend at VG was always quite upset on my behalf that “the prophet is not well received in his/her home town”; but I found it a bit of a relief, since the same demands upon “my anointing” were not brought as elsewhere, and I had space to rest up. At the same time, coming home from a successful ministry trip, where I was able to work in partnership with God and see him do very cool stuff in people’s lives, and establish meaningful friendships with people, was sometimes a real slap in the face. I remember one trip in particular, when I saw some absolutely miraculous things occur in Ukraine, and already in the car on the way home from the airport P had brought his first crushing criticisms of me. I felt as if I’d taken a blow to the solar plexus, and I realized: I have been without this essential-level rejection for two weeks and my resistance is down. Something is seriously wrong here, and it is not me.
Digression aside: many of the same dynamics of favor have been in operation since moving here. We have never sought out the movers and shakers in this church, nor attempted to get to know the pastor, or anything remotely like that. (Actually, we had hoped to remain incognito for longer!) Yet these are the very people who have been attracted to us, sought us out, and have engaged us in conversation and relationship. Not having a clue who people are and to whom they’re related has been a huge plus factor, because we encounter everyone pretty much the same for our part. Now that we’ve been here awhile we realize: the people we have connected with are the people who run things. Well, welcome, back, Favor. I wondered where you’d gone...
I mostly don't experience "words from God" or other gifts unless I am in an environment in which they are required. So, being in such an environment on a Monday evening in Salisbury recently, whilst someone else was praying and I was only nominally involved (because I couldn't hear much of what he said, I just had my eyes closed and was tuned in), I got a clear picture of walking through an orange door into full-blown Spring. Blossoms on the tress, butterflies in the air, a cool breeze and spring flowers everywhere: the whole Disney kitch. Along with it came the words "early spring". I was touched, and thought the word was just for me; but as the meeting progressed I saw it would be helpful and shared it as well. It's true that spring has come to Shaftesbury about a month earlier than usual, in the natural sense of the word. However, I have taken it to heart. After a long, hard winter of the soul, it is an early spring for me, too.
When I received unexpected and unprecedented favor back in the 90s I was really thrilled and excited and related it to the doubtless huge and significant calling God must have for my life. That’s where I was at, at that time. Now it is simply a small, familiar comfort in the midst of much adjustment. I don’t need it to happen, I didn’t look for it to happen, and I have no goals for it being there. I am past the striving stage. If God wants to grant it, he must have ideas of his own, and his ideas are always good. But frankly, I just want some friends; and that is happening, so I am content.
So this is our life: A works hard on his degree. I generally run the household and most social engagements (yes, there are some!!). I help out in the church office now and then, updating the horrible song database. We still see our vicar friend for tea, and try to get to know others in the community. It's a quiet life, for the most part. But for now, where we are is probably just where we ought to be. And I’m happy enough with that.
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