A Rewrite

So... I rewrote some stuff.  Here's the stupidly naive, ignorant or self-centered thing about it all... I didn't expect to have to do so.  I'm not quite sure what all was going on in my brain, but I think that maybe those narratives I shared were so ingrained in my memory that I didn't think about how they'd feel to those closest to Erin.  It was stuff that happened.  That's it.  It was, however, my view on the things that happened.  I'm fully aware that other viewpoints exist.

Another crazy thing is that I shared these posts with quite a few friends before sharing on Facebook.  Each friend I shared them with would be someone I'd describe as insightful and honest, most of whom love and care for Erin.  Yet none of them challenged me on anything.  In fact, some of them thanked me for the attitude with which I wrote the posts.  Maybe they were just avoiding conflict .  Quite possibly the intention with which I thought I was writing the posts actually came through.  Maybe they saw the bigger picture of what I was trying to do and thus didn't think much of the parts that would be labeled as "hurtful."  Whatever the reason, we all clearly missed something.  For what it's worth, I take some solace (i.e. feel less like an insensitive idiot) that those people missed it.

Then those closest to Erin read the posts.... that's when the proverbial shit hit the proverbial fan.  I guess it would suffice to say that they believed me to be forming a narrative that made myself look good by demeaning Erin.  Which, surprise, surprise, they believed to be slightly below board (or just downright inexcusable).

My initial reaction was to be defensive, "of course you have to say that, you're family."  Upon further reflection, I decided I needed to listen to their perspective, which means I do two things: 1) apologize and 2) rewrite the parts perceived to be out-of-line.

Later on, also upon further reflection, a lot of those friends who first didn't see much hurtfulness came back to me and said, "Donnie, I can certainly see how some of what you said could be perceived as hurtful."

I for sure need to listen to those voices, so I am.

Years ago, when I was leading a church, I had some difficult conflict.  All pastors go through it, but this was my first time handling something of that magnitude.  As is often the case, I had no idea it was going to cause such a shit storm, but it sure did.
I had some voices from outside the situation, people for whom I have great respect, telling me, "it's okay, Donnie, you did nothing wrong, stand your ground."  So I adopted that siege  mentality and stood firm.
Needless to say, that didn't work so well.

So now I find myself in a similar situation.  This time, I'm going to listen much more readily to the voices of dissent, those telling me that what I did was wrong.  They can obviously see something in my actions that I was either blind to or intentionally ignoring.

I can be "right" and alone or gracious and apologetic and stay in relationship with people.

Two things convinced me, last night, that I needed to make some changes and apologize.
1) I read this quote:
"Behavior which is superficially correct, but is intrinsically corrupt always irritates those who see beneath the surface."
- James Bryant Conant
I think it's quite possible that the former in-laws who are off-the-charts mad at me are able to see some motives in my writing that I'm not consciously aware of (at best) or justifying away (at worst). I'm not able to figure out the answer to that now, but I have listened to them, which means I'm rewriting some stuff and apologizing to them.  I took the parts of my story that I shared that they construed as hurtful and unnecessary and rewrote them with a much more neutral narrative.

2) My mom asked me, on the phone last night, "didn't it occur to you that what you wrote would be hurtful to Erin"?
"No," was my honest answer.
"Had she written similar things about me, it wouldn't have hurt me."
"Well, Donnie, she's a woman, so she feels things differently than you."
"Good point, mom.."

My mom used to always tell me, as a kid, "if you hurt someone, even if you don't mean to, you have a responsibility to apologize."

So I'll deal with personal apologies, but take this as my public apology.

I think that re-writing those hurtful parts allows me to focus upon what the whole point of what my blogging was in the first place, to talk publicly about the taboo topic of Christians and divorce, allowing myself and others to battle the shame that grows in the hiding places.

A mentor of mine, who prayed for us at our wedding, asked that we'd always remember the nine most important words of a marriage, "I was wrong.  I am sorry.  Please forgive me."  Well, that didn't work out so well for the marriage but I think those words also apply to navigating life after a marriage.

Causing pain truly wasn't my intent, but it happened, so I've gotta own that.  And I've gotta apologize for it.

So I adopt those words of my mentor as my own, again.

Identity

I've seriously considered changing the title of this blog.  I already did so once, years ago, when I changed the title from "One Church Planter's Journey" to "One Pastor's Journey."

Can I still call myself a pastor?  What happens to the calling I believe I received as a high school kid when; a) I'm divorced and b) I'm disillusioned with church.

I don't really know, honestly.  I still have a lot of work to do to figure it out.

I know what I need to stop doing, though and that's referring to myself as a "divorced pastor."
I'm not sure where or if the pastoral label/identity means anything but I for sure need to stop referring to myself as a "divorced dude."  Well, except for on dating sites, so the potential matches don't think I'm hiding that I'm married, as I've heard happens...

I've had two people get up in my face and challenge my use of the label "divorced pastor." One time was from the pastoral couple I mentioned in the "Shame" post, whom have both gone through a divorce themselves, though it was before they became Christ-followers and went into pastoral ministry.  I was sitting at an inspection with them, a couple of weeks ago, sharing more about my own journey.  Somewhere in that conversation, I referred to myself as a "divorced pastor" in a rather sheepish or even shameful way.  The husband got in my face a bit (in a gentle way, of course) and stated, "Stop referring to yourself as a 'divorced pastor.'  That's not the summation of who you are.  God has so much more for you than that."  I believe him, though I don't know what that is yet.

The other time was during a conversation with an intuitive, wise, direct and smart lady I dated for a short time.  Again, somewhere in the conversation, I referred to myself as a "divorced pastor."  The fact that I was called out for that twice makes me think I've done it a lot of other times but the other person simply let it slide.  She also got in my face, "Donnie, that's not your story.  Maybe you'll never stand behind a pulpit again (which I don't believe I ever will, at least not as a permanent role) but God still speaks through you.  I can still see 'the anointing' on you (did I mention she's Pentecostal?).
She challenged me to add to my morning list of things for which I'm thankful a list of ways I've served the Kingdom.  No act is too small to write down; helping a homeless guy get connected to some housing, helping with kids church on Sunday morning, the "sermon" my boss asked me to re-tell in a training meeting (a little discourse on how "perfect love casts out fear").  I've been doing that.  It's a great reminder each day, both of what God has allowed me to do and when I'm starting to slack off a bit.

Coincidentally, or maybe not, both of these people who got up in my face are a part of the same church.

A lot of my identity as a "preacher" or "pastor" came from my upbringing.  My dad was, admittedly, a bit disappointed that I didn't share his passion for farming.  As a self-centered kid, I didn't think about how my lack of interest in farming would hurt my dad.  As a dad myself, now I realize I was hurtful to him.  In the middle of High School, though I sensed a call into full-time ministry.  For a Miller, the next best thing to being a farmer is to be a pastor.  My identity or self-esteem began to be built up around the pride my dad (and even my Grandma Miller or Grandpa Tyler) beamed on their faces every time they were in the congregation while I was preaching.

Obviously, I didn't make it in pastoral ministry.  I failed at the two things the most important to my dad; church and marriage.  Ironically, I think my dad and I have never been closer.  I think the breaking down of these false identities has helped us to connect on a simple, yet profound, father-son level.

That pastoral identity however, was also pumped up by my home church.  Whenever I was visiting, I usually did something up front, whether that was leading in prayer or actually preaching a sermon.  Of course, this has stopped as I've worked myself out of a ministry position.  I tried different non-traditional ministries until I eventually just turned in my credentials due to inactivity.  It took me about 9 months from the divorce until I had the guts to attend my home church while visiting my family.

I shouldn't have been surprised by the response I received; grace, acceptance and a lot of hugs.
I talked with my parents' pastor after worship and told him how embarrassed I was to show my face and how hard it was to visit.  He simply hugged me and said I'd always be a kid of that church and I was always welcome.

Why did I believe those lies?

When dating N, I talked with her a lot about how hard it was for me to face former congregation members after the divorce.  Being Catholic herself, she didn't really understand this Protestant expectation that the pastoral family be a model of everything godly, including having a strong marriage.  She kept telling me, "you don't have anything to be sorry for.  You didn't owe anyone an apology or anything else."
That was hard for me to accept, though.  So I've been slowly going on what I jokingly call my "apology tour."  Or maybe "forgiveness tour" is a better label.  Whenever I meet with former congregation members, I talk through the divorce and apologize for the pain that it likely caused them.  Well, not "likely" caused them because the news of Erin and my divorce hurt a lot of people. 
What I've found though, is that the hurt former congregation members or ministry partners were felling was hurt for us and not from us.

Which just goes to show that my identity is so much more than any type of ministry position. Ultimately, I'm just a kid.  That's all I'll ever be.  My dad's kid, yes but more importantly, a loved child of my Heavenly Father.

As I learned from Breakthrough almost three years ago, "I'm okay.  I'm just a kid and that's okay."