Church.
A Quick Summer Recap, Along with a Few More Thoughts on Church
Hello dear friends,
How’s your summer been?
Mine’s been hot! Texas summers are no joke.
It’s also been FULL… full of hard work and tears, of sweat and of healing, of friends and family, of doing and living.
I usually think of FULL as a good thing— and it is! But FULL never excludes empty.
I experienced many moments of emptiness this summer as well. Sometimes these happened at the end of long days and even longer weeks, when my energy and creativity were sapped, and I was completely wrung out.
At others, they opened up like little black holes in the middle of everything, sucking me into my own neediness, grief, pain, and vulnerability.
I had been wondering, at the beginning of summer, what it meant to be a leader, and whether I could actually be one. And then, as this summer of ministering in a church wore on for me, it occurred to me I was asking a moot question. Here’s a little meditation I wrote which explains why:
“What does it take to be a leader?” Does it take a loud voice? Inner or outer strength? Being bossy and opinionated? Having a magnetic or charismatic nature? Always knowing what to say or do in every situation?
These are questions I’ve been mulling over for some time. Why? Because I’m currently enrolled in seminary, and as a girl raised in a fundagelical home, I was taught many things about what it takes to be a faith leader: you gotta appear to be perfect, you know, since you’re a leader and all; you can’t be too emotional and you can’t be vulnerable with folks, else they won’t trust you. Oh, and most relevant to me— you can’t be a pastor if you’re a woman.
It has taken me daring to go to seminary to begin unpacking these faulty ideals; my friends there have shown me the strongest people are the ones who choose to be vulnerable, the flawed make the best healers, the emotional are blessed with a richness of wisdom and insight, and that women, alongside all gender identities, make damn good faith leaders.
When I think about leadership, I consider Jesus— Jesus didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about “what it takes to be a leader” or whether or not he was a good one (at least as far as we know). Nah, from the time Jesus was a youngster, he knew he had a job to do, and he just did it. Sure, sometimes he ran away from all the crowds and hid so he could pray a while. And then there were times he wasn’t feeling all the questions and demands pressed upon him, and he’d get a little snarky or enigmatic.
And we mustn’t forget that time close to the end of Jesus’ life where he was certain he even wanted to be a leader anymore, and he prayed for one whole night that God would take the cup of suffering away from him.
When you think about it, Jesus didn’t come by his authority through any sort of self-affirmation or accolades from his teachers and mentors. He just knew he had a job to do, and he did it.
I wish I was like Jesus, but if I’m honest, I’m usually a lot more like his disciples, trying to figure myself out using all sorts of flawed litmus tests to see if I’ve really got what it takes to be a leader. And it’s always when I’m stuck in that place that I hear Jesus saying I’ve got it all wrong, that everything in the kingdom of heaven is upside down from the way I’ve got it all arranged— the last are always first, the least are always greatest, and leadership is for all of us in every vocation who, when we know what we’re supposed to do, just do it.
What an epiphany it has been for me to acknowledge that leadership is for all of us who, when we know what we’re supposed to do, just do it!
I can’t explain it, but I know this journey I’m on, towards being a faith leader, is simply a matter of saying “yes” and then using my gifts to serve others. It certainly doesn’t mean no more personal clumsy messiness for me or being perfectly smooth socially. It doesn’t mean I have all my shit together, nor does it mean there aren’t pieces of me that are wounded. (Though it does mean I am getting the help I need to heal these wounded places.)
So after all my questions and justified critiques about “church,” how am I still saying “yes” to it? Good question.
The first thing you should know is that the churches I’ve been part of of late are not fundagelical. They look at scripture, God, salvation, baptism, communion, stewardship, and what it means to be Christian, quite differently from the churches I grew up in. They hold space for different interpretations, too, all through the lens of the unity Jesus brought about by gathering his followers around a table.
With that in mind, in order to conclude this August letter, I thought I’d jot down a few of my “why ‘church’” notes:
There are many people who are looking for communities of belonging, and “church” can be that.
Okay, okay, so can yoga studios, book clubs, and D&D groups. And you’re right. They can. For some people, these groups are more welcoming and less stressful than “church.” “Church” in all of its expressions, has a long ways to go in learning to be as safe a space as these, but some churches are working on it.
“Church” is (or ought to be? or can be?) focused on helping fill folks’ spiritual needs. Regardless of your religion or whether you’re an agnostic or atheist, spirituality can be a way to find meaning in the suffering this life brings. And you know, when we find meaning, our wounds heal, and when our wounds heal, we bring LIFE with us everywhere we go, rather than death and decay. And LIFE binds this planet together and makes it unique (as far as we know at least) from all the other planets in our solar system.
Christianity offers its own language for encountering the “out there,” the “spiritual,” the “impossible,” and that-which-bring-LIFE; I am well versed in this language and can help others who share it with me use it life-giving ways.
Along these lines, “Church” can help people tell healing stories about their lives (through liturgies, prayer, communion, baptism, thoughtful storytelling, a shared common language, communal expression, and more). Think about these words from Ojibwe author Richard Wagamese: “All that we are is story. From the moment we are born to the time we continue on our spirit journey, we are involved in the creation of the story of our time here. It is what we arrive with. It is all we leave behind. We are not the things we accumulate. We are not the things we deem important. We are story. All of us. What comes to matter then is the creation of the best possible story we can while we’re here; you, me, us, together. When we can do that and we take the time to share those stories with each other, we get bigger inside, we see each other, we recognize our kinship – we change the world, one story at a time…”.
“Church” can be a community of care— a place where folks care for one another, for the planet, for the neighborhood or city they inhabit, and especially for the marginalized. This might mean the church gets involved in everything from accompanying one another in living life to conservation efforts to social justice, even in campaigning against political policies which don’t bring LIFE. (“Church” can also do the opposite, and be a community of harm, working against life, something we, and I as a faith leader, must always be cognizant of.)
For people who have grown up in “church” (and have had a good experience), “church” is comforting and centering. It also provides an avenue for outreach for those who wish to love and serve the world alongside others. (Yes, there are layers to this, and churches that wish to survive cannot remain in this comfort zone, but this is another way “church” can bring life.)
Where “church” is evolving to bring life to the world around it, it brings life, and I want to be a part of this work.
Friend, I pray you have a beautiful weekend.
Peace,
Carissa
Thanks for sharing Carissa!