What Has Not Worked...

Here is what has not worked. Someone suggested that although the concept is theoretically good we probably do not have the chops to execute it. Leave this kind of work up to the big boys, they suggest. You know, those with corporate chops or perhaps government funding. Stick to what you know. Preach. Visit the sick. Host some karaoke nights. After all, pastors are prone to some crazy notions about inclusivity and love that will hinder our capacity to be ruthless in our pursuit of success. And...in case I had not noticed, I am an old white woman and that certainly limits my value.

These statements are no less valid than the encouraging ones. I am old. I am white. I have boobs that once kept babies alive through the magic of lactation. I do want to succeed at this venture but it is a proven fact that I am not particularly ruthless. (Although I can have my moments and a little healthy respect for my capacity to burst into flames of righteous indignation should probably be considered before throwing gas on my fire.)

The problem all these true statements have in common is that they are not helpful. They do not inspire me or our team in any way. They offer no path forward for improvement. My son asked me how I felt about the feedback. I told him that it feels awful to be reminded of all the ways I am judged as “less than.” But I also told him that this was not new territory for me. BECAUSE I am old, I have the experience to know that I do have limitations that have resulted in epic fails or diminished opportunities. AND in spite of those limitations, sometimes crazy ideas turn out to be good ones.

In the spirit of vulnerability I need to say this. If we do not give up, if the coronavirus doesn’t stall our plans or wipe out our church, if we try this new thing - this conversation will not be part of my inspiration for doing a new hard thing. It only takes one little outside voice to awaken the inner voice of doubt and shame and never-good-enough that lives within me. Nevertheless, I will persist.

The Value of Suffering

Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.

Lemony Snicket

In our community we are zooming like crazy and are fortunate enough to have a group of friends within the community and beyond who see the value of these strange meetings. They are awkward and unsatisfying and definitely a pain in the neck to facilitate. But what a refuge of hope I have found among these courageous and committed people who keep showing up for one another in an inhospitable climate for connection!

Last weekend was no exception. One of our members said this: “I see the value in suffering; suffering has taught me a lot. But torture? Torture is not good for anybody.”

He did not mean that he prefers suffering; he was simply sharing his wisdom. He has learned over the years that suffering has taught him things that making choices based on his preferences have not. His sufferings have made him a better human.

His wisdom did not stop there. He set an outer limit on suffering as a value. When suffering moves into torture, escape is essential. After that meeting Pete and I went for a long walk. We talked about how we define torture versus suffering.

What makes a day torturous? For us, every single solitary time we have put our hope in someone or something or some outcome - it eventually produces, if not exactly torture, certainly needless and unproductive suffering.

Because of my friend’s wise words, I am working on intentionally placing my hope in the only place that makes sense. I am regularly admitting my foolishness when my expectations are out of alignment with my hope. There is some suffering in this refusal to give myself permission to wish for something rather than hope in a God who sometimes feels too far away for my own good.

Nevertheless, I persist.

And now, o Lord, for what do I wait? My hope is in you.

Psalm 39:7