Unafraid.

The world got ahold of me today.  
I started to wonder if I might get swallowed up.
In the anger and frustration of protestors with guns.
In the confusion in my spirit about what it means to be a pastor these days.
In the righteous anger I feel when I see these amazing little girls with heart and sass, 
and then read another tweet from our President calling a woman a "third rate lap dog." 
Swallowed up in the immense opportunity we face 
to be a people rooted in love rather than greed, 
in the possibility of changing the polarization into bonded community
that looks out for the least and lost, 
no matter the color of their skin, or the details of their identity.

I've also been swallowed up lately by people whose kindness overwhelms me,
with May Day bouquets, and parades, and treats, lawn parties, 
and listening ears that never tell me I've lost it.

I realized today that this quarantine has truly changed my life.  So I hope you will bear with me as I share some of my thoughts...remember you don't have to read them or agree with them, as long as you know that my real hope and intention is to live by the rule of doing no harm.  

As a woman pastor I have been told things and been expected to respond to criticism in ways that my male counterparts never would.  After preaching my very first Sunday service, on my 25th birthday, I got a call the next day that my skirt was too short.  It actually covered my knees.  So, I immediately called and apologized, because I had obviously been in the wrong.  There have been other tough moments, but all pastors have them, especially women pastors.  Every church I have served has started with at least a few conversations about how "I never wanted a woman pastor, but I'll give you a chance."  My deep love of people nearly always helps me see what lies underneath statements like that, so it is easy for me to care for people until they learn to trust me as a pastor.  Before I started my current charge I encountered righteous anger, directed at me like never before.  Persons certain that I was theologically way off base about full inclusion of LGBTQ+ persons in the life of the church, afraid I would use the pulpit to manipulate rather than preach the Good News of Christ, told me clearly that I would have to "get some ethics and morals someday."  

When things like this happen my wiring has always taught me that these voices are right, that I must be doing something or saying something wrong.  Which has led me to live much of my ministry super safely - to prevent people from getting mad and leaving.  I love and work really hard, and the Holy Spirit never lets me down.  That usually leads to a strong community of faith that is open and willing to try new things and have fun together.  Ministry has absorbed my life since I recognized God's call my sophomore year of college.  I have often chosen my church over my family and myself.  This has led to tons of professional affirmation, which has only perpetuated my desire to work harder and do more.    

This time of social distancing and the reality of the loss of life from Covid-19 has offered up the perfect storm in my life.  It has given me time to read books that are calling me out on what it means to be authentic, time to listen to podcasts that empower and embolden, time to process the overwhelming waves of grief that came with the loss of my Dad, my dog, and my Aunt.  All of this alongside figuring out what it means to be in ministry via computer screens and telephones has made for some crazy emotional weeks, and lots of soul searching.  

I've been watching how people are responding to our state and national leaders.  In Michigan, Governor Whitmer has taken her share of overly personal criticism.  And I wonder how that whole landscape would be different if she were male, or if those protestors weren't mostly white people. I watch as our President strays away from the matter at hand to personally attack reporter after reporter, which really accomplishes nothing more than fueling the nasty chasmic divides that already exists.  I listen as Christian folks make claims of oppression when buildings have been closed to keep people safe.  And I look in the mirror and wonder what my role might be in all of this as time moves forward.  

When I was in college I wrote daily devotionals to my sorority sisters for an entire year.  The other night I read through some of them and realized how certain I was back then, that I had all things faith and Christian figured out.  Time has passed and experience has taught me that certainty was only a gateway to deep spiritual transformation that leaves me with a lot fewer answers.  Unfortunately for some Christians, fewer answers means less faith.  My experience has been the opposite, the more I ask the hard questions of both God and myself, the more aware I am of God's faithful presence and call in my life.  

One of the voices in the Christian landscape that has had a profound impact on me is that of Rachel Held Evans.  I resonate deeply with her experience and prophetic voice that calls the Christian community to see things differently than it has for years.  In her book, Searching for Sunday, she wrote:

"This is what God's kingdom is like: a bunch of outcasts and oddballs gathered at a table, not because they are rich or worthy or good, but because they are hungry, because they said yes.  And there's always room for more."

One year ago today Rachel died tragically after an illness. She was only in her thirties and had such an impact on the lives of people who weren't sure they wanted to be Christian, because they just didn't fit into the Christian faith as modeled by many churches in the USA and beyond.  She pressed the boundaries with the desire to make space for all people to come to the table.  We need her voice right now, and she is missed by so many.  

I write all this tonight mostly to get it out of my head.  But also to confess that in some significant ways I have not been the voice for Christ to which I have been called.  Fear of failure, fear of not being liked, fear of people leaving the church....all of these fears have taken up way too much space in my life.  

2 Timothy 1:6-7 says:

For this reason I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands; for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.

This is Paul reminding Timothy who he has been called to be.  I have been reminded in these last fifty some days a bit about who I am called to be too.  Exactly ten years after I was confirmed as a member in the small church I grew up in, I knelt on a stage while the Bishop placed his hands on my shoulders ordaining me for ministry and encouraged me to "Take thou authority."  Today I have been deeply reminded of that call.  There is no room for fear in that.  

Fear is running rampant in all sorts of places and in all sorts of people right now.  But for me, this might be the most unafraid I've been in a long time.  

Pastor Devon