Abiding > Calling

I currently have two houses listed, each of whom are being sold by friends of mine who are going through, or have recently gone through, a divorce.  They came to me because they can trust me, having confidence in our shared experience.  If I want to live a life in which I’m serving other people, these are the best moments for me, professionally speaking.  In fact, last year, I sold a house for a ministry colleague with whom I’d shared a similar ministry path.  When I met with him and his ex-wife-to-be, explaining how we could get the house sold and split the proceeds, he thanked me while blinking away tears.  He was grateful for my being able to help him what needed to be done and, most importantly, for being able to stand with him in all the hurt and shame of his divorce.

The flip side looks like the time I was leading a buyer couple into the basement of a nice home in a nice neighborhood and suddenly being hit by a wave of self-pity, “this isn’t what I signed up for, this isn’t why I went to college and seminary.”  It’s not, but it’s where I currently find myself.

As I asked in an earlier post, what happens to the “calling” I believe I had? 
Maybe that question needs to be turned inside-out.  What if I was never “called” into full-time ministry at all?  What if no one is “called” in that way?  I’ll admit, this is a new way of thinking for me, possibly a new way of sorting through the past 25 years.  The idea came from a sermon I recently heard, when I just so happened to be worshiping with my former church because the daughter of the above-mentioned friend was being baptized.  In the midst of a sermon on John 15:1-8, the “I am the vine, you are the branches.  Remain in me and you will produce much fruit” passage, Tim Keel had the following to say.

“How does God’s grace get worked out among us?  By abiding.  I read something from Oswald Chambers this week, who said the following, ‘A Christian worker is someone who perpetually looks in the face of God and then goes forth to talk to people.’  It’s not complex.  We get to know the one we love and it overflows into our lives…. Trees aren’t trying to produce fruit.  Fruit is the natural overflow, the byproduct of an organism in right relationship to its environment.  A tree’s not trying to make fruit happen, a tree can’t stop fruit from happening.  Fruit is the natural overflow of what a tree is created to do.  When we abide in Jesus, fruitfulness is the result of his life getting lived through us.

[In talking often to church leaders, I tell them] the most acceptable form of idolatry in the church is ministry.  People think you’re called to ministry.  You’re not.  You’re called to Jesus.  And to abide in Jesus.  And to help create communities of people who are abiding in Jesus.  Ministry is the overflow of a community that is learning together how to abide and remain in Jesus and to allow God to prune them, together, in their life in Jesus.”

Mind blown. 
Past and future possibly re-interpreted and re-imagined. 

It wasn’t just me, either.  Right after the benediction, I talked with several other members of the “former pastors club” who said that line also took them for a loop. 

It clearly happened.  I certainly served God in the capacity of a pastor for a season in my life.  It was good, rewarding and positive.  While there are certainly things I’d do differently, including some decisions and approaches that now make me cringe, I don’t regret having served in that capacity.

Back then, I had  a much more narrowly defined way of doing ministry.  Things are more wide-open now.  As I now, as then, stay connected to Jesus I'm making an intentional effort to be open to whatever opportunities come my way, opportunities that are almost certainly going to exist outside of any formal structure. 

For example, I was talking on the phone with the twice mentioned seller client and friend when I had the sense that I needed to pray with him.  After I’d finished, he informed me I’d made him cry (I guess I do that to people?) and that he’d needed the encouragement.  The next day, he thanked me yet again for praying for him. 

A similar thing happened just the other day, while helping with Free Hot Soup Johnson County.  After a friend of mine, who has dedicated so much of her life to serving the poor, homeless and addicted shared some struggles she was facing, I sent her a note to say I was praying for her and to remind her that her actions convey to others the love of Jesus. 

While there are some who need to do so, at this stage in my life, I don’t sense the need to hold any type of official church position.  I simply need to stay connected to Jesus and responsive to the opportunities that come my way.

I've Changed the Name of this Blog

As a follow-up to this post, I've now decided to change the title of this blog.  I simply don't think I can refer to myself as a pastor anymore.  Truth be told, I'm completely fine with that.  I try to be sensitive to God's leadership in my life and, as of this moment, I sense that I'm okay where I'm at.

As any reader of this blog would be fully aware, my life took a serious left turn a few years ago.  But even before that, I was curving away from the mainstream in regards to how I lived out my (then) life purpose of pastoral ministry.  As any long-time reader of this blog would be aware, my ministry path continued to take one step after another away from traditional approaches to ministry and toward bolder and less secure approaches.  As I kept reaching for more innovative and risky ways to serve, the ability to actually early a living at ministry gradually faded away.  Eventually, in regards to pastoral ministry as a career, I found myself on the outside-looking-in.  Again, I'm totally cool with that.  In fact, I'd likely make the same choices again, were I given a second chance.  In the spring of 2016, when I realized my connection to the inner-city church by our home wasn't going to work out and that I wasn't willing to drive out of the city to be a part of a healthy church within my denomination, I turned in my ordination credentials due to inactivity.  Of course, I was also pretty sure a divorce was approaching over the horizon, so I preferred to face that life change without the pressures of denominational expectations.

My peace with where I currently find myself, however doesn't nullify the sense of bewilderment and disillusionment that comes with experiencing such a dramatic shift in purpose and identity.  I started preparing for pastoral ministry at the age of 16.  I went to college for it.  Then seminary.  I chose a wife based, partly, upon our compatibility as ministry partners.  All of that has changed, however and I'm now in the process of forging a new identity and purpose.  Hopefully, it's an identity shaped less around what I do and more around who I am, as His kid.

It's pointless to lament the past.  It's worthwhile to be faithful in the present.  To fully embrace where I am at this moment.  I'm learning the benefit of taking a long view of things; a long obedience over a lifetime.  Hence the new name of my blog, which is actually a play upon the title of a book by Eugene Peterson.

I've found an amazing church.  I'm not too involved yet, but I'll slowly wiggle myself into the community and shared mission.  The church is pastored by a friend from seminary and, even better, two families that both Dawson and I count as some of our closest friends are a part of this church.

I've recently connected with Free Hot Soup Johnson County, which serves food to homeless people on Monday nights at a park a few blocks from my place.

In just about every way other than finances, as I'm still digging out of a bit of a hole while trying to expand my client base, I've almost completely recovered from the trauma of the divorce.  I was having a beer with a close friend the other night when he came to the exact same conclusion.  If anyone would be able to recognize whether or not I've recovered, it's this friend, whom I've known for decades and with whom I went on a significant roadtrip several years ago; a trip in which my dark cloud of despair and hopelessness was the third passenger in his SUV.  He turned to me and said, "It's good to see you laugh.  You seem to be back to your old self again."

In some ways he's right.  In other ways, a new self has emerged.  I assume that's normal for anyone as they progress through life (have I mentioned I turn 40 in just over two months?) but even more so for someone who experiences a dramatic life change. 

Even as something new emerges, a constant to which I still turn is words; my ability to express myself in ways that often helps other people.  Just the other day, I was at a happy hour with a 23 year old guy who played football and performed in show choir at a rival high school, though we just missed being competitors by a mere two decades... Anyway, this single kid young man told me he'd recently read my blog and really appreciated what I'd shared, both the content and the vulnerability.  I'd assume that if my words can help him, someone in a completely different stage of life than am I, then surely they can help others facing similar struggles. 

In fact, that's why I started blogging about this post-divorce journey in the first place, so my words could bring healing to others while simultaneously bringing healing to myself.  I'm writing what I wish I could've read three years ago, while struggling to breathe from all the pain and loss and shame.  I would've loved to have heard from someone whose marriage had died but whose relationship with God and with most of his friends survived. 

So maybe this amateur blogger turns into an amateur writer, as in a book about my divorce and recovery.  To the delight of my sister, who's been encouraging me to do this, I've put together a preliminary chapter outline.  Maybe it becomes the major project of my first year in a new decade of life.  Stay tuned...

Finally, I'll admit that ministry (as in a staff position at a church or other ministry) isn't totally out of the question.  I'm positive, though that I could never again assume the role of a traditional pastor, that's simply not going to happen, for various reasons.  I also know it would be in a different denomination than in which I grew up.  A few years ago, at the prompting of the pastor, I interviewed for a position with a Methodist church.  During the interview, I thought it wise to be honest with the pastor interviewing me about my marriage existing in a rocky and unsure place.  In response to my honesty, the pastor offered some reassurance by stating that while he'd  never been involved with a Church of the Nazarene (having spent all of his post-conversion years in the Methodist Church)  he spoke from his experience with Nazarene friends in stating, "Methodists seem to be more accepting of their pastor's humanity, as a rule, than are Nazarenes." 

Imperfection.  Humanity.  Yep, that's me all right.  Here's to my spending this human life living out a long obedience in (mostly) the same direction.

Two Christmases

The holidays have a way of bringing up emotions we thought were buried, or to be even more hopeful, completely gone. 

 I moved out last December 16th but I had a plan for dealing with Christmas in the new relational state; I hopped a plane and flew to Los Angeles to spend a week with one of my best friends, Michael, who pastors a church in Visalia.  If you've never traveled on Christmas, you should know that you can get cheap flights on that day.

Michael and I have been friends since high school.  In fact, we were "called" into ministry at the same Iowa District church camp.  After attending both college and seminary together, we moved into our respective ministry positions; Michael a staff position that eventually lead to a couple of different lead pastor roles and (well known if you've read this blog) I moved to Gardner to start a new congregation.  The answer to the question, "who do I go visit when my life falls apart"? was obvious; it's my good friend, Michael.

It was a great week.  Exactly what I needed.  We watched bowl games, went to see Rogue One and  had some late night conversations.  He was okay with me crying a bit as we talked.  I also ate so many fresh oranges from a parishioner's orchard that I got a freakin' infection.

The best part, though was spending a couple of days hiking through the Sierra Nevada mountains. 

It was a good week of healing and reconnecting.

This year, I stayed home, giving me a perfect view of the light snow that fell over KC on Christmas Eve morning.  Dawson was with me the evening of the 23rd till the evening of the 24th.  We opened presents Christmas Eve morning and then worshiped in the incredible candle light service that Rez Downtown does each year.  

All those emotions of the holidays, they came up during that Christmas Eve service.  I just kept running my fingers through Dawson's hair as we sang Christmas carols, letting some happy tears roll down my face.  I wrote here about the Christmas Eve service I experienced at Jacob's Well, after dropping off Dawson, which helped me reflect upon all the healing that had happened during the past year.  I spent that evening doing my regular Christmas Eve tradition of watching the 1954 version of Dickens' A Christmas Carol.  

Christmas Day itself, though was a new tradition for me, I (mostly) spent the day alone.  With Dawson with his mom and my family five hours away, I spent the day packing my apartment in preparation for the move I made two days later.  I was, though able to make Charles Dickens somewhat proud, by spending a few hours with a group from Free Hot Soup KC bringing food to people living in homeless camps around the city.  I found myself wondering the same thing while spending a few hours out in the freezing cold as when watching the scenes in A Christmas Carol, "how do people live outside in this weather?"  I really don't understand how they survive.  It's also hard to explain how an entire homeless population hides in plain sight, in the middle of the city.

I guess I experienced some new realities these past two Christmases. 

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."