Letters from the new pastor- Slowing down to hear from God

“With all wisdom and insight he [God] has made known to us the mystery of his will,
according to his good pleasure that he set forth in Christ,
as a plan for the fullness of time,
to gather up all things in him,
things in heaven and things on earth.”
- Ephesians 1:8-10 NRSV (emphasis mine)

I’m sick of the rain. I’ve never really liked it- esp now that I can’t walk across my lawn without rubber boots. The cold and rain add a cloud of dark depression to an already torrential downpour of painful feelings- it would be more bearable if the rain would just stop.

I look around, look around, and see how unlucky we feel right now. I see the grief, the pain, the angst, the unsettling- I see the fear, the sickness and the groaning- the striving. I see the fatigue. I feel it, too. Pastors live in wildly odd contexts- they walk through the pain and suffering with folks, bring the kingdom of God, scripture, prayer and hope- they prepare and pray and lead and disciple- and they go home, where they do their best to be spouse, parent and human being. It’s is easy to allow a certain incongruence with a duplicitous existence- plainly, it’s easy to be one person as a pastor and a completely different one at home. I’ve worked hard over the years to establish and maintain healthy ways of managing myself, not always successful, but as I age, I find more success.

The trouble comes in where see don’t see or feel the hope. That’s the part of grief that we most struggle with- I, of course, am now speaking of us all and not just of pastors. When we pray, when we plan, when we walk faithfully and feel the real fatigue, it is easy to begin questioning what it is we can do differently to change it all. I get it. We want to feel better than we do. And, it’s wise to evaluate and work towards excellence- as it is absolutely soul sucking to live in defeat.

So, what do we do? We read scriptures, like the one above. And we remind ourselves of who has all wisdom. We (Christians) need reminders of God’s purpose and sovereignty in the pain- for our very faith received no testing or proving without the “cross” of suffering.

I love M. Scott Peck’s words on goodness, greatness and suffering:

"Stress is the test for goodness. The truly good are they who in time of stress do not desert their integrity, their maturity, their sensitivity. Nobility might be defined as the capacity not to regress in response to degradation, not to become blunted in the face of pain, to tolerate the agonizing and remain intact. One measure— and perhaps the best measure— of a person’s greatness is the capacity for suffering.”

I often wonder, “Am I passing the test?" The only way I know to answer in the affirmative, is to measure my time with the Father, in prayer. For it is in structured and habitual prayer where I know I am most open- where I slow down enough to feel all the things- my heart is most open to compassion. My attitude is most open to holiness, my grief is most open to acceptance. To quote another favorite: “A Christian who has David in his bones, Jeremiah in his bloodstream, Paul in his fingertips and Christ in his heart will know how much and how little value to put on his own momentary feelings and the experience of last week. (Eugene Peterson)

Lord, help me to see rightly in this space and time. Help me to hold my feelings up for scrutiny to your largeness- and to seek the common good of your Kingdom. Keep my eyes off of myself, my angst from my brothers and sisters, and my humility above my pride. Remind me of your Kingdom’s power over and again- that your goodness is stronger than evil, that your love is stronger than hate, that your light is stronger than darkness, that your life is stronger than death, and that your victory is ours because you love us (adapted from Desmond Tutu prayer).

When the feelings of angst and fear seem too powerful, pray. Hear from the Lord. Slow down and hear his whisper in the middle of this torrential downpour. He gathers up ALL things. Amen.