Subterranean Homesick Evangelical Blues....

Continuing onwards with this Lent of re-discovering self: sometimes you feel like a nut...and then sometimes you feel like a nut who's entirely out of place...

I have to admit, there are times I feel like this in my life, particularly in relation to faith.

For those who don't know, I grew up in the Baptist tradition. Like, REALLLLLLY Baptist tradition. It's always ironic when I try to relate my heritage to folks, especially the ones who say "Oh! I went to a Southern Baptist church for a while!" Oh no, my friends, my branch of Baptist thought our Southern cousins were left-wing heretics. That probably should tell you a little bit about the severity of my religious upbringing.

Hellfire and brimstone? Check. Judgements upon the way people dressed? Check. Denouncement of all things sexually "icky?" Check. Aaaaannnnd the list could certainly go onwards for quite some time.

Suffice it to say, it's probably one of those great mysteries of the cosmos how I turned out to have the points of view that I do. Moreover, I'm probably not ever going to be on the Christmas card list for a number of the folks who were my early-guiding-lights in the church. In fact, my last interaction with the senior pastor from my youth was his letting me know that "my baptism clearly had not taken affect" when he had performed it years ago. Awkward...

I think it's fair to say in addition to being pretty amazed that I'm where I am now, I am also grateful to be out of that world. Well, at least, usually...

While the instances are small, there are times that I miss some things from that past fundamentalist world.

I miss....

*the certainty. The certainty that YOU had the answer, it never mattered the question, because you could sort anything. I mean, all of this certainty often came at the expense of historic analysis, cognitive sciences, social theory and examination, etc. Still, there's an insane amount of power and calm in the thought that "I've got this figured out. I know who God is. I know what I'm supposed to do."

*the cohesiveness. Obviously, fundamentalist groups are notoriously myopic. Even more obviously, I find that to be hella' problematic. All the same, there's something incredibly reassuring about being around "your" people. People who look, sound, act, and believe just like you. It can, at times, be a bit Stepford-esque, but it's also -at times- reassuring.

*the inclusion. Okay, this one sounds a bit odd, but hear me out: if you are/were part of the included group in the world of my childhood faith, you were incredibly warmly welcomed. Mind you, if you weren't in that accepted and included group, it was a bit like being in a social Siberia. Nonetheless, there was an inclusion -for the select...or elect as it might have been- that is hard to replicate elsewhere.

There are other things too. When you grow up in a culture or community, it's hard to step away from it. There are many Sunday mornings, where I miss worshiping in the Baptist style. (Though I DO love my little liturgical community.) And there are more than a few times where I get on a roll and wonder what would happen if I cut loose in a proper Baptist-esque sermon? (The answer is that Adam would be meeting with the Pastoral-Relations Committee very soon...)

Mind you, I don't miss these things that often and usually when I do miss them, I'm quick to remember why I don't partake in that tradition anymore. The judgement? You can keep it. The lack of care for the least? Stuff it. The "boxing-in" of God, who God is, how God works? Jog on.

But still...there are days...

Gypsies, Tramps, and Ministers...

Yes, you're not hallucinating, I have returned to the blogosphere.

Reading my last post -from May of 2014!- it feels like a lifetime since I've last posted. Or, better said, it feels there's been a lifetime's worth of changes since I last posted.

"What changes" you ask? Well, I moved back to the USA, I'm still putting the final touches on my bloody thesis (97% there!), I returned -for a time- to bartending, and perhaps most notable: I took a call as a parish minister in downtown Dayton, Ohio.

Yeah. I still can't really believe that last one either.

Don't get me wrong, I love the parish I serve; I love the job and I love the people. That doesn't mean everything is perfect.

Leading any type of urban organization is a challenge. Doing so in a city that's still, largely, trying to recover from a post-industrial meltdown? That's a bit like saying "I love the challenge of coming up with a vaccine for HIV!" It's not impossible, it can be done, but it does involve regular sessions of beating your head against the wall. (In six months I think I've made a permanent niche in one of my vestry walls...)

The actual job duties aren't too bad. Usually. On days that begin with...okay, yes, these are challenging too. Some days, you're a counselor. Some days, you're an administrator. Some days, you're a project manager. Some days, you're an exorcist. (Also known as "days they never prepared you for in seminary.") And other days you're a cross between a politician, actor, and Avon agent. Again, not impossible things to juggle, nor mutually exclusive "hats" to wear. Still, my friend Missy and I have decided to pen a book entitled "Ministry is Like a Keg-Stand...And other S*** they Failed to Tell us about Ministry." and there's some serious truth to that. Basically, I've learned that my job and its duties are defined and redefined by the day...sometimes the hour.

And then there's the "human" element of things. If you've ever been in any sort of organizational leadership, you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, well, just trust me when I say it's never dull. Ever.

Still, I think the thing that challenges me the most is allowing myself to "live-into" the call I have received.

I mean, if you're reading this and you knew me in my 20's, well, you're probably at least shaking your head and saying "Wow! Never saw that coming..." I mean, "hot mess" probably only describes the tip of the iceberg for that decade of my life. Between drinking like a fish, trying just about every illicit drug on the planet (or at least what now seems like "every" one), and sleeping with just about everything that wasn't bolted to the floor, well, yeah, "not my finest moments" doesn't really begin to cover it.

Don't get me wrong, a rocky past is convenient in some ways. (I rarely am shocked in pastoral care sessions...) And it's not like I didn't go to seminary in my late 20's and that wasn't both a hugely formative and redemptive experience, it's not like I haven't always been involved in the church, to some degree, and it's not like I was the worst person on earth in those days either. (Charley Manson can keep the title....) All the same, it's, at times, more than a bit surreal.

Obviously, inside of all this, there's a rather pathological understanding of the "perfection" that is required in ministry. I know I'm not perfect. I know I'm not called to be perfect. I even teach my parish to "embrace the messy parts that are involved in the beauty that God is making in them." But damn if that rather classic mindset of "priest as perfection" isn't pretty thoroughly engrained, even if just at the subconcious level.

Which, brings me to Lent...

I'm guiding my parish through a season entitled "Learning and UnLearning Lent." That's not just because it's kinda' a fun way to approach the season and/or it's a renewed and renewing process. (Though, that doesn't hurt.) Still, I think it's more that this is MY theme this Lent.

As I preached in Ash Wednesday services yesterday: Lent is a journey towards saying "I'm a mess. I'm imperfect. I get it so wrong, so often, but that's okay. I'm learning. I'm living. I'm moving towards that thing which is so much greater than I, myself, and it's a process. I'll get it wrong, but I'm moving forward. I'll never be perfect, but I'm listening all the same. And all the while I am loved. All the while I am valuable. All the while God is still speaking to me." (By the way, if your minister has failed to mention this: it's a lot easier to preach to other people than it is to preach to yourself.)

I guess this is the tension I'm learning to embrace at this time and place. I am slowly, but surely, getting my head around the fact that some days, I'm just going to completely and utterly f*** it up. It happens. In fact, there will be years I can -and probably will- look back on as being complete flops. All the while, that doesn't mean God stops hanging with me. It doesn't mean God stops speaking, calling, or using me to do things that are totally beyond me...or you...or anybody.

There's something incredibly cool, incredibly weird, and incredibly difficult in that construction. Still, all the same, here we go with a Lent to remember....or to unlearn, as it might be.