Doubt

Doubt is not the opposite of faith; it is its partner. Doubt and faith challenge one another. Without doubt, faith cannot grow and mature.

Doubt and faith are seeds planted, nourished by questions, fertilized by seeking, blooming with each generation of answers. Doubt comes and nourishes faith.

Tree Stumps

In the park beside my home there is an elm tree. It stands beside the road, tall and valiant. It’s limbs and branches divide into innumerable twigs and leaves that reach toward the heavens in leaves of praise. It’s shape, though not perfect, is glorious. The shade it gives is dense and cool. It is an admirable tree.

It bears the marks of time… scars where branches have been carefully trimmed, stubs where windstorms have stolen its weaker arms. The side away from the road has fewer branches at the bottom; the branches above more than compensate for the inadequacy It has weathered the blight of Elm trees… the dreaded Elm Disease. It remains, however, strong and tall. It stands victorious over all its history. It is a triumphant tree.

Beyond the tree, amidst the bramble weed and brush away from the road, there stands the ruins of a stump. It too was once an elm tree. It too once stood with limbs and branches divided into twigs and leaves of praise. It too once was a glorious admirable tree. It too weathered storms. As saplings, the two had formed an inviting form, a promising configuration. From a distance they formed a single profile, each complementing the other in a shared silhouette.

The stump, however, is a defeated tree. A grounds keeper saw that one tree was tall, broad and strong. The smaller tree’s trunk was strong but its branches at the top were weaker. So the grounds keeper cut away the smaller tree giving the larger more room to grow. Amidst the bramble and scrub weeds, the trunk feeds the decomposers, adding nutrients to the soil, feeding and supporting the pulsating roots beneath it. In ruin and submission, it provides for the needs of the other, unseen.

I am that stump.

Too Young to be Real

I was a very young girl when I first heard it: “You’re too little to do that. You have to wait until you’re older.” I was always too little or too young. I was the youngest. All the big kids reminded me of what I couldn’t do that they could do on a regular basis. I had to follow them, not walk beside them in life.

When I first heard it, I was probably less than 2… I was too young to go on vacation with the rest of my family. I got left with a family friend for 2 weeks while the rest of the clan spent their days at the beach and in our Cape Cod cottage. I was 3 when they said I was too small to climb up on the garage roof with them; I tried anyway and stepped on a nest of yellow jackets. I was 6 when they said I was too small for first grade, but they had to let me in anyway because I could already read and do my brother’s second grade math; I sat under the table and laughed at all the kids who couldn’t read. I was 9 when the teacher told me I was too young to be reading with the 6^th graders; the 6^th graders picked on me because I was too small to be in their fastest reading circle. I gave up trying when I was 12 because no one would take me seriously… I was too young to be so smart. I was a 13 year old punk when a family friend told me I was too young to be such a loser. I was 14 when the local pastor told me I was too young to be selling drugs. I was 16 when I cleaned up and tried to change social groups; but I was too immature (another word for too young!) for most people I tried to be friends with. I was always too young, too small, too inexperienced. I always figured that when I was older, no one would say it any more. Surely I would age like cheese and I could be a part of the flavor of things.

But getting older didn’t change it. I was “just a young thing” and $14K in college debt when I got my first degree. One had to have experience in order to get the job… but how do you get experience if not in a job? One had to be “older” and more experienced to expect to be paid like a professional. “Take this lesser position and get some experience” they told me. So I did. But it didn’t change things. People always said I was wise beyond my years, mature beyond my experience, too young to be so old. Too assertive to be female. Too much energy, too little experience.

Oh I’ve followed all the rules. I’ve done all the steps. I’ve taken the lesser jobs to get the experience. Of course, it was easier for my husband to get a church, so I got the secular job that paid the bills. Then there was the part time youth ministry with kids whose last youth minister sexually abused them – but not an ordained position; that would have to wait until the degree was finished, but the bills still had to be paid. So there was the AIDS work, but again, not ordained. Next it was, “Oh yes, come here and be the minister’s wife… work for us without pay!” Then the little church in the country that no ordained person would take and who’d been abused by non-denominational clergy – yes, we’ll license you, but you really need to finish that degree and get ordained… yes, we’ll support you… take the little church part time until you’re ordained. Then, stay there and gain the experience. Now it’s “Your experience isn’t adequate for a church of any size, Let your husband find a church on his own and you follow him and find a church later.”

I’ve been the supporter and the team player. But unless you’ve been the main dog full time, it doesn’t count. And you can’t get a full time church that pays enough to support your family if you’ve only been a part time pastor and a licensed lay pastor…any where. Why? The same old thing: You don’t have the experience, You’re too green. You’re not seasoned enough.

It’s all gotten me no where

It’s not fair. We call ourselves the Church. We work for justice and lift up the oppressed. Yet our very system oppresses us and keeps us “in our place.” And it’s not the folks in the pews who are doing the oppressing; the local church was very affirming and very supportive It’s the folks who insist that you must incur tens of thousands of dollars in debts to be about “full ministry.” And any thing you do before then doesn’t count. It doesn’t get figured into your experience because it wasn’t “full ministry.” Nothing about my ministry changed when they laid their hands upon me; nothing changed except my net worth. And everything I did before that time is of no value. I still have no experience. I’m still too unseasoned. I’m still too female.

So now I’m going to have yet another birthday next week. And I still am too “unseasoned” to do what I’m called to do. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been doing it for years. I’m still too green. Just what does it take to be seasoned? And just what can I do about the fact that I’m female?

I’m ready to just quit it all. To hell with God and this call. Nothing I’ve done is worth anything. I still can’t get paid enough to pay off all the debt I incurred following this thing. I’m still to green, too young, too inexperienced. I’m still too young to know so much.

And so I’m back to square one…. I have to walk behind rather than beside my husband. I have no choice but to take the lesser position. I’m still too little to be a real person.

Illusion and delusion.

I have lived my life in illusion and delusion.
My mother repeatedly told each of her children that we could do anything we set our minds to doing. My brother once objected when I said I was going to be president of the United States – “You can’t be! You’re a girl!” My mother remained strong. “Just because there’s never been a woman president doesn’t mean there will never be one.”
You can do anything you set your mind to doing. I believed it. I was intelligent and able. I could do anything.
But it isn’t true. I may be bright and able. I may have “wisdom beyond my years.” But there are limits to what I can do.
Some limits are physically imposed. I cannot father a child. I cannot move large, heavy boxes. I cannot drive a wedge through a stone with a sledge hammer. I cannot eat food with small seeds and expect to be pain free. I cannot survive being stung by a bee without immediate medical intervention. I am limited by the confines of my own body. But I can make adjustments and arrangements to live and grow despite these limitations.
I am limited by the confines of my mind. I cannot comprehend the expanse called eternity. I cannot understand the logic of God’s grace. I cannot understand why my cannot differentiate between my clothes and those of my son. The extent of my knowledge and understanding is limited. But I can make adjustments and arrangements to live and grow despite these limitations.
I am limited by the free will of others. I cannot make my son like broccoli. I cannot force my opinions to be accepted by others. I cannot change how someone feels. And if that someone feels women cannot do this or be that, I cannot force that someone to change their mind. Their free will will affect what I am able to do because they will not hire me, will not hear a call from God to listen to my wisdom, will not invite me to be their pastor, teacher or friend.
I have lived my life in illusion and delusion.

Discrimination

Experiencing discrimination is like a child’s nightmare Christmas. There’s all kinds of anticipation about Christmas morning. When it finally comes, in the nightmare, the beautifully gifts are removed from under the tree and handed out, one at a time.

You’re sitting beside your brother and you watch him unwrap a gorgeously wrapped box. He looks under the flap and starts describing what the gift looks like. It sounds like a dream gift. It’s just what you’d like.

So you look at your own package. It’s also wrapped, but the paper is not as colorful. Oh well, you tell yourself. The wrapping is just part of the mystery. You carefully remove the tape and unwrap the gift. The gift inside is nothing like the one your brother received. It’s small and old, and it’s been used. Worse, you have no idea how to use it. You are devastated.

This is the experience I’ve had opening letters from conference ministers. Brothers in ministry with the same number of years in ministry and similar experience get letters recommending they apply to large and respected congregations in metropolitan areas as the senior pastor. The churches are active and interesting. My mail brings to me recommendations for associate positions (doing Christian Ed, of course) or small congregations who are offering part time or yoked ministry and are far from metropolitan areas. These congregations are struggling to survive. The only significant difference between us is gender. The gender of the denominational official or placement staff usually doesn’t matter. The region of the country doesn’t matter. It’s happened to me in nearly every region I've applied. There is discrimination in our regional offices.

Making Change

Lately, it may seem that “normal” is only a setting on your washing machine. There’s been change in the air, and some are still asking, “What’s happened?” “How come?” or, “What’s next?”

Change is a part of life. Something that is no longer changing is either dead or never had life. The seed changes into a germinated sprout, a seedling, a sapling, and then a fruit bearing tree. If it stops changing, it will die. Everyday our bodies change as cells die and are replaced by new ones. Not even the sky stays the same – if it did we would have no seasons. Change is the only constant in life. Sometimes change is good. Sometimes change hurts. And when change hurts, we have to make an intentional decision to grow amidst the change.

Change has already happened, and will continue to happen at Bethany Church. So it’s the job of an “Interim Pastor” to help everyone deal with the changes positively and to help each person and the whole congregation make it work toward growth. I want to make these changes like money in your pockets – a useful tool to help this congregation grow. This is my long-term goal for my time amongst you.

But first we must deal with the hurt – because pain is not “small change”. Ignoring it can be very expensive. We need to voice the pain, and we need to listen to one another. We need to talk honestly and openly together. Communication is the key to making change work for us and not against us.

I plan to actively listen to each of you as I visit you in your homes and as I gather with you in meetings and classes. I will ask each of you to share your reflections of what’s gone on and what Bethany’s future holds. I will encourage each of you to not bury the dirt, but to air it and let it be fertile soil for new seeds to grow.

One of my favorite hymns is In the Bulb there is a Flower. It was written in 1986 by Natalie Sleeth as her husband was dying. The second stanza says:

There’s a song in every silence, seeking word and melody.

There’s a dawn for every darkness, bringing hope to you and me.

From the past will come the future, what it holds a mystery,

Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

© 1986 by the Hope Publishing Company

Natalie Sleeth held fast to the faith that even amidst the pain of the change in her life, God was present and along side of her in her pain as well as in her joy. She held fast to the hope that change could bring the hope and dawn of a future that would unfold before her.

Let’s choose to make change together.

Thoughts

I don’t always like the human nature. It would seem that sometimes we human folk are so tied up in looking inside ourselves that we assume that everyone else is looking inside us too. That everyone else is as critical of me as I am of myself. In my more rational moments I realize that this simply can’t be true. If I’m so busy looking at my own faults, surely others are too busy looking at their own faults to see mine.

In less rational moments, especially when I’m feeling insecure and as though my world is caving in, I read criticism into every word spoken or written to me. A passing comment about a child, the work place, or even someone else’s home is taken as a stabbing and painful criticism me, my child, my workplace, my home. I mull over the words looking for hidden meanings. I interpolate and extrapolate every phrase.

Of course what I’m really doing is examining my own doubts, insecurities and imperfections. The ones I know best. The ones others probably don’t see but I assume they do. I assume they not only see them, but that they spend as much time and energy worrying about them, talking about them, mulling over them as I do.

It’s a paranoia, really. Paranoia that feeds on my self hatred. Paranoia that is fueled by my need to be self-critical. Paranoia that is self sustaining and spiral in effect. The more I doubt myself, the more critical I am. The more critical, the more I read into others comments and the less secure I feel. It plunges when I strike out at others and further isolate myself from them with my scathing words in defense of my weak self-esteem. The more isolated I am, the more self-critical I become. It is a set up for loneliness. A game plan for depression.

How to end the spiral effect I don’t know. I do know that the only way out of the basement is to climb the stairs or crawl out a window. Reversing the downward climb means reversing the trend. Looking for the positive in everything. Being more like Norman Vincent Peale and less like the fear mongers. More like Emma Bombeck and less like Willa Cather. Not that I’d want to emulate either Bombeck or Peale. I can’t be someone I’m not. But the first step is to turn away from the negativist tendency. The second step is to find things in myself that are likeable and good.

Dish Towels and Churches

 They were perfectly fine for me. Those towels had been a wedding shower gift from Dan’s grandmother. She died over ten years ago. And those towels have wiped a lot of dishes and even more hands. I like my towels.

When a friend helped me out last spring, she noticed that my dish towels were “tired” and thin. So for my birthday, she gave me a new dish towels. She meant well. But I couldn’t bring myself to admit that the towels Dan’s grandmother gave me so long ago were no longer adequate.

We get attached to things. We don’t like to get used to new things. Yet in the lives of many of us, things change rapidly around us. We can cook dinner in seconds, thanks to microwaves. We drive cars that are more computer than automobile. Televisions allow us to watch three shows at once. And computers give us instant communication with people half the world away.

The world is constantly changing around us. Normal is only a setting on our washing machines. The world changes every nanno-second. But we resist change in the things that are most dear to us..... especially our churches.

My towels look fine to me. But to my friend, they are thread-bare and inadequate. She didn’t know them when they were new. She didn’t know who gave them to me or why. She only knew what she saw..... towels so thin you can see through them. And she couldn’t find any value in them.

The same thing is happening in our churches. Younger people who didn’t grow up in the church — or who left it a time ago — see what happens in our churches as thread-bare and not of much use. The music is so very old. Things happen so very slowly — especially to those who live with computers and watch MTV for entertainment. There’s a bobbing head behind the pulpit and the scene doesn’t change. They don’t understand the meaning of it. It’s not spoken in their dialect. And they can’t find any value in it.

I’ve not thrown out my old dish towels. They still work for me. I use them along side of the new ones. But someday they will fall apart and die. Hopefully by then, the new ones will be familiar friends with stories of their own. And they can carry out the work.

We don’t want to throw out our way of being the church either. It still works for us. But we must learn to adapt to a new generation of seekers, to be open to new ways of being Christ’s church. Because someday we will die. And by then, new generations need to be friends of Jesus with their own faith journeys.

And they will carry out Christ’s work.

Lent 1997

John 3 17"Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him….. 19And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. 20For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed.

Light of the world, push through the darkness of my heart and mind that I may see the light of
your goodness in all that is around me. Shine in even the deepest recesses of my being and
bring an end to all my darkness. Amen.

Mushrooms are an interesting part of life. Some are ugly but edible. Some are colorful but poisonous. If you don’t know what you’re doing when you into the woods looking for mushrooms, your choice can mean the difference between life and death. Whether edible or poison, all mushrooms share two traits: they grow best in rotten dead stuff and manure, and they thrive in the dark. I would not want to be a mushroom.

I’ve never had good eyes. From the time I was very small I remember turning on the brightest of lights because I couldn’t see very well and the light helped. When I got my first pair of glasses, the world became a different place. I could see little details like people’s dimples and the color of their eyes. But it was also uncomfortable because I could see the dust in the corners of my bedroom and the dirt on my clothes. Things that were unknown to me became evident. It was as though there was a great light shining on everything – the good and the not so nice.

Light is judgement. John says so. “And this is the judgement: that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil” (Jn 3:19).

Light shows everything – the good and the not so nice. Light gives us life!

Sometimes I choose to live like a mushroom: I look for the rotten stuff and the negative in everything. I find anything to complain about and something blame for my discomfort because I don’t want to shine any light on myself and find the real problem. I refuse to let God’s light shine inside of me and bring light to my darkness. Instead, I bring everyone else into my darkness so I don’t have to be alone in the dark. Sometimes I love the darkness because to bring light into it would reveal the not so nice in me.

Light shows everything. The good and the not so nice. Just like cleaning house, allowing the light into the darkness is not fun and it’s not easy. Putting on new glasses takes trust in the Optician, patience with ourselves, and hard work to sort through the good and the not so nice. God sends Light not to condemn us but that through the Light we can live. We’re not called to be mushrooms. We’re called to be lampstands.

There’s that children’s Sunday school song that we all learned:
“This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. … Let it shine, let it shine, all the time.”

Keep me from being a mushroom, Gracious God. Let your light shine in me, and through me. Let it shine, let it shine, all the time. Amen.