Livin' on a $132,000 Prayer

I stopped feeling it.  I don't sympathize anymore.  I can't believe it.  I was reading along at this lovely blog posting a friend had linked me to.  I was instructed to "pray for this young couple."

OK.

I linked to the blog and found a truly heart wrenching story of a young homeless couple that had recently made a decision to live an unconventional lifestyle.  In easy terms they were going to move out in to the country and live off the land.  Now the reality of the situation is, the home they were going to lease is off the market.  The owner "decided" to sell.

I think this means the "agreement" between this endearing young couple and the homeowner was never in writing.  Wow.  That's a leap of faith.  Or, maybe, just maybe, really, really (did I say really?) naive on their behalf.

Now they are praying for "$132,000" so they can just buy the house.

Really?

Hmmm.  I've got a '92 Buick with a smashed door, no a/c, and only the back windows go down in the driveway that sometimes leaves me stranded.  Sometimes I have to bum rides or not go.  I feel God's calling for a nicer car.  I think I'll pray for a Mercedes.

I know this is all relative, but for a couple about to be "homeless," there are many options.  One of which shouldn't be a $132,000 home in the country.  It's the one or two bedroom apartment or duplex in town.  For crying out loud.  This kind of thing sets me off in a big, big way.

Quit bumming off God, people.

Never On Sunday: The Church Newsletter and Blended Services

The church newsletter arrived this week.  I scanned through it.  Seems egos are still headlining.  I remember when I was working for the church, I wrote lots and lots of articles.  Long ones, shorts ones.  I wanted the church to know about the things that were going on.  I don't know if it just came naturally, or if that's the kind of person I am, but I seldom mentioned myself and my efforts in the articles.  However, it was still a potpourri of what I wanted the congregation to know.  What I wanted them to know.

I would say a strong majority of the articles this month were me, me, me, look at me.  I'm doing this, I did that.  We did this, we did that.  Amazingly enough, the pastor's little third of a page article was pretty much devoid of the me statements.  There was congratulations for a great Vacation Bible School, a mention of summer ending soon and the changes to be made to the "11:00 service"--oh wait.  There it is.  Subtle as it may be.  There's the me in this.  He's wanted a contemporary service from day one, only this is about a "blended" service.  Perhaps a compromise?  It's hard to find decent musicians that will commit to every Sunday for free, isn't it?  At any rate, sounds like he's finally gotten his way.  What has it taken?  Seven years?  Now that's a patient man.

Blended service.  What a recipe for disaster.  Talk about riding the fence.  Blended service is just a way to get that contemporary feel without having to pay a band.  Don't even get me started on "praise" bands.  Uggh.  I hate blended services.  No wait, I hate "praise" bands even more.  These bands are usually full of soloists and prima donnas that never really quite made it any where but church.  I'm smiling here because my name could easily be on that list, but I don't play in church for free and I don't have an enormous personal agenda.

These blended services always end up coming off like amateur hour.  I can guarantee it will come off like a high school talent show except there won't be any high schoolers because our church doesn't support it's tiny little youth program.  It will be a disaster.  When a church tries to follow the world instead of the other way around, it's wrong, wrong, wrong.

So my thought here that the newsletter was predominantly about egos holds truer than I had planned.  I'd actually planned on pointing out that the pastor had actually managed to not talk about himself.  But, in a convolluted way, he still did.

Take a look at your newsletter.  See how much of it is actually news and how much of it is egos spouting off all the wonderful things "I" and "we" did and are going to do.  Look at how relevent it is.  I dispassionately read mine this week and for the first time realized that it has got to be one of the biggest wastes of time and money the church has.  You guys want to save some money?  Cut the budget?  Cut out the newsletter.  I guarantee you that anyone that actually reads it already knows the information because the only people that read it are the ones that submitted the articles.

Never On Sunday: What Is He Thinking

I just read a facbook entry from a friend that claims to be "blessed".  Statements like this interest me.  Like when people say they heard God's voice tell them what they should do or felt the "Holy Spirit" nudge them.  I'm certain within a few percentage points that I've never actually heard God'v voice despite a phase I went through of wanting to hear it pretty bad.  The nudging of the Holy Spirit seems to be more of a nuance than a feeling, so it's quite possible in all my busyness that had the Holy Spirit actually nudge me, I probably didn't recognize it as any more than my inner self.

Now this is not to say that this sort of thing doesn't happen.  It's just never happened to me.  Two of my favorite people on TV, Ken and Gloria Copeland claim both of these things.  Why not?  They've centered their lives around such things.  I'll admit, I'm pretty shamelessly jealous of anyone that claims to have heard or felt any member of the Holy Trinity.  Anyone who has opening prayed in the grocery store or has prayed a child's prayer for a boat and got one ranks up pretty high on my list.

So I return to my facebook friend that is "blessed".  Last night his blessing came in the form of having a son he enjoyed spending time with.  Then of course I wonder if he'd had a son he didn't enjoy spending time with, what would that mean?  Would he have stepped over into the "unblessed" by God crowd?  I don't know.  I'm just sayin'.

This same man has claimed "blessings" on multiple occasions.  A lovely wife, a beautiful home.  A job.  Hmmm.  I also listened to a pastor who claimed to regularly hear God's voice in his study.  A pastor's study is a magical place.  Many things happen there that don't happen too many other places.  This man claims to receive direction on what topics to preach about.  Some undesignated member of the Trinity has contacted him and helped him choose a sermon.

I've prayed longingly for that kind of direction.  I've cried on my face concerning many things.  I've sobbed prostrate on the carpet at the foot of the alter of my church wanting to hear God's voice tell me just one thing.  I laid there on my face for quite some time after the tears would no longer flow and a long string of mucous had made its way to the floor.  Unhappiness and discontentment being the only things directing me.  I didn't hear the voice, but I made the decision I'd hoped He would want at least some input.  Apparently he didn't want input that bad.   I got up, walked away from the one place on this planet I was pretty sure God would be willing to reveal himself.  I quit the job at the church and have drifted fairly aimlessly since.

I can't tell you the jealous rage I have feltt at other's claims to God's wonders.  The blessings, the miracles, the joy and filling.  The Holy Spirit was sent for all of us.  Not to just "nudge" a chosen few that fit some impressive criteria.  I've been promised a comforter.  I've been promised a provider.  I can't seem to tune in to these things no matter how still I sit, how much I cry or how many nights I repeat the same prayer over and over again.

I will interject this.  I've changed.  I've stopped waiting around for God to fulfill some grocery list of needs.  I've stopped waiting for family members to meet my wants and desires.  They aren't going to and  God doesn't appear to be in the business of checking lists.  At the risk of saying something offensive to a reader or even worse, to God.  I'm not sure I know what God is thinking or wants.  I haven't experienced any of those things that others claiming to walk side by side with God have experienced.

You know, there's a possibility that all these sensations, leadings and voices are not from any member of the heavenly sect.  There's even a stronger possibility that there are no angels or demons watching our every mood.  That God is not fretting over us the way we'd like to think he is.  That he doesn't care where we park, what we eat or who we marry.  I can't imagine what it must be like to be the God we've created in our minds and an even bigger statement would be I can't imagine ever claiming to know what he's thinking.

Never On Sunday: An Unlikely Source

I imagine one of these days the bitterness I feel for churches, pastors and organized religion will subside, but for now, my antenna are up and alert when it comes to such things.

I spent the evening with a friend and her daughter.  The friend used to be the assistant principal at my son's (now 23) elementary school, so we've known each other for quite some time.  Her daughter recently entered our lives via her husband.  Not because of, but in spite of.

I always wanted to ask "the question" about her ex husband and what prompted her to leave him after 25 years of marriage, however, I didn't know her well enough yet.  Last night, on a long drive to a musical we were all attending, she spoke of him and her children and I just listened.

Her husband is a mean person.  Self absorbed and self serving.  He is also a Christian.  She spoke of him for many miles as if he was a pastor or had been a pastor.  So I asked her. 

"Is your ex-husband a pastor?"

She answered quickly, "No, he just thinks he is."  The comment from her was so full of resentment I knew the next several miles would be filled with more of her life with him.  Apparently when he wasn't wooing potential Christians, or being a wonderful example of the Christian walk to others, he was emotionally and verbally abusive to the family--their five children and his wife.  Their heated arguments and fighting lasting deep into the night when she chose to stand up to him or long spells of silence when she did not.

Somewhere in there she didn't love him anymore, she didn't blame him, she didn't hate him, but had chosen to leave him.  The adult children were still angry and many had sought counseling.  

Never On Sunday: Trail of Bodies

An uprising in my church caused a few casualties.  People left the church or are not attending until our appointed pastor is transferred, retires or dies.  That's not meant in humor.  A lot of people that love the church and the people of the church really, really don't like our pastor.  In the denomination that I have settled into, pastors are appointed to churches and it pretty much takes an act of God to pry one out.  Well, as pastors go, and I don't mind saying I'm prejudiced--he's an idiot--but he does claim to be a "Man of God", so I address that precarious position when one claims the "Man of God" position.  How does one make the differentiation between, "I am a Man of God and you, well, you are a, well, a parishioner".

Ouch.

"I have been to seminary to learn amazing facts and figures about the Bible and Biblical times.  I know how to deliver a metaphor, an analogy and an allegory.  I can wrap up a sermon with a story that will bring tears to your eyes.  In another career, I could probably sell you anything I set my mind to.  You, well, you are a parishioner."

Ouch.

"I can approach the pulpit weekly and speak of the mysteries of the Bible while you dutifully take notes on the little printouts I have given you.  You can follow along with the sermon on the power point presentation our secretary made for me.  The 20 minutes I speak to you about these mysterious truths and miracles and my vast knowledge are so much more important than what goes on here the other six and a half days of the week, I will promptly figure out others who can take my place for all those other things going on here.  Meanwhile, I am your pastor.  I am inspired by God to bring you His Word.  I don't think I'm interested in doing anything that is actually pastoral."

Ouch.

You know, that's not what I get from all this.  What I get is that it's supposed to be simple, free, life changing and hope renewing.  I'm supposed to be able to read the Bible for myself and have the Holy Spirit guide me to the truths He has for me for that day.  I think we all have the potential to be men and women "of" God.  I think the Bible is a very long book that written so very long ago pertaining to a world that is so very different from ours.

I've met many, many people that have been victims of the church but none that have been victims of Christianity.  It's time churches and pastors figure out what they are here for.  How can they contribute to a community in such a way that is not already followed out with a community center, clubs and theme parks?  It's a tough row to hoe, but I think the church can turn it around and stop leaving a trail of bodies when they realize their position and stand up for it.

Never On Sunday: Whose Holiday is it Anyway?

It's Easter.  My on again, off again relationship with the church is muddied by this particular holiday.  This time a few years ago I was working for the church and blind sided by a well-meaning parishioner that didn't like the content of my children's newsletter.  Apparently, it contained the truth about Easter.  Not the part the Christians swiped from whatever civilization preceeded them, the truth that Easter is about renewal, refreshment, and rebirth.  I shared stories of the ways different countries celebrate Easter and how our Easter came to be. 

I used the Charater Sketches book to pick an animal and biblical character as I always did.  Each month since I started the newsletter there was always an inclusion of the rules of the department concerning trips and activities, various FAQs.  It was pretty much the same newsletter it had always been, except this time, I guess someone actually read it because I got cornered after a meeting and by the time it was over, I was assured my little newsletter that I made a total of 20 copies of and stuck in the pocket near the children's section of the education buildling was going to cause the downfall of civilization as we know it.

On her way to me, she gathered support from the pastor's wife.  A passive aggressive woman with a jealous streak a mile wide.  The pastor's wife, not the woman.  The woman, was a worrier and a control queen.  If it could go wrong it would, because we didn't do it the way she'd wanted it done.

The whole confrontation didn't sit well with me.  I was left feeling ashamed and angry.  As an employee of the church, they had entrusted me with the care of their most precious commodity--their children.  I was on the brink of sending them all straight to hell in Moses's basket.

I wish I'd kept the newsletter.  I told her I would destroy them.  All 20 of them, for no one had taken one.  No one ever did.  I'd been asked to do a children's newsletter and there it was for six months, never read or ever looked at until this fateful holiday.  A time of year that can be claimed by just about every religion on the planet.

I guess I just don't get it.  At the same time, this woman and the pastor's wife insist on doing an Easter Egg Hunt every year.  There are games, toys, surprises, food and sandwiched in there is a vain attempt at sharing the "real" Easter story.  The pastor groups everyone willing together in the church and tells the "real" Easter story in his shorts and golf shirt never looking anyone particular in the eye.

So I wonder whose holiday it is anyway?  Somehow the picture has been muddied for me along with everything else about the church that just doesn't make sense to me any more.

Never On Sunday 2: What If God Was One Of Us?

My husband was Jesus.  For about an hour and a half he was the Son of God.  The One everybody talks about at Christmas and Easter.  I couldn't go, I had a rehearsal, then the rehearsal was cancelled and I just had one of my almost meltdowns where everything  I put on was just a little tight, just a little uncomfortable or just plain dirty.  I felt bad for not going, but from what I hear from him and from other folks it wasn't that big of a deal.

The event was a cantata.  If you don't know what a cantata is, it's like  a musical, but it's a church choir and nobody moves.  At worst, it's hours of singing and singing from an ill-trained choir of retired warblers and men who have wives in the choir.  At best a cantata can be refreshing and thought provoking.  I've sang in enough cantatas in my lifetime I came up with an excuse not to participate.  It was lame, but after one rehearsal, I just decided it was not what I wanted to do.

Back to Jesus--a.k.a. my husband--I don't mean that in a blasphemous way, it's just the truth.  The one chosen to portray Jesus was younger, fitter and seemed the better choice.  Turned out, he had to work at the last minute.  My guy went from being Moses to Jesus.  They called it a "promotion".  I disagreed--but kept my mouth shut.  As the scenes of the "true" Easter story were sung, my husband pantomimed the the events with as much accuracy as one can wearing a wig and fake beard.  (My husband is almost completely bald)  His mother was duly proud as I'm sure she never dreamed in his early years that he'd ever play Jesus or even willingly attend church.

The irony doesn't end there.  My husband is also director of Youth Ministries.  It was youth night, so the youth were sitting on the front two rows.  When he came out, there were smiles and a little snickering from his constituents. Other than that, they seemed to appreciate the magnitude of the moment and kept whatever else they might have had in mind to themselves.

The last thing he had to do for the evening was hold his arms out during an entire song.  He was concerned about whether he could hold them up for that long.  I was certain that the adrenline of the moment would keep his arms up.  He said that while the song was going on, he wondered at what point he should leave for there was to be a healing service in the very spot he stood--playing Jesus.  He decided that as the song ended, he would walk down the aisle and out of the church.

So for a little over an hour God was one of us, or one of us was God.  How ever you want to look at it.

Never On Sunday: The Preacher Likes to Talk

This begins a new Sunday series:  Never On Sunday.  With a lifetime of faith and church going on, I imagine I have a few annecdotes and lessons learned in life in the pew.  So here is number one.  Prepare to be deeply offended if you've never taken the time to get to know your pastor.

Barring a few individuals who are near and dear to my heart, I'll put this out there:

I think preachers are the most irritating people on the planet.

Think about that girl or guy back in high school or middle school that just never would shut up.  I've had some pretty sour experiences with men--and women--of the so-called "cloth".  I always thought pastoring was about servanthood.  I'm beginning to think that a great deal of pastors just want to be heard, think they're not being heard, or just like to hear themselves talk.  As I said above, it's not the case with all pastors, some have really got it going on.  They serve their parish and parishioners with a strong leader's heart and servant's spirit.  To find one is a true rare gift to be cherished.

Other than that, the whole lot of them need to find new jobs.

As a professional musician, I do have opportunity to "go behind the scenes" in many churches.  I've listened while others talked and I've learned that our churches are being led by arrogant slackers that punch time clocks and keep inventory of their own good deeds and malign anyone else's.  Puff up their importance and overlook who really is the keeper of the keys.  Umm, excuse me, you are getting paid to do that, so how about you just shut up and do it.  By "that", I mean all those things you "do" during the week when we're all at work doing what we get paid to do.  A pastor pastors his church, an office manager manages an office and a doctor see patients.

I recently listened to a pastor talk (from the pulpit) about how difficult the life of a pastor must be for his family.  For this reason, they cherish vacations and send the kids to camp with other preacher's kids that aren't "coping" with the life of a PK.  What about children of fathers that are in public service?  Doctors, military, law enforcement?  Especially military and law enforcement.  Those kids have to know their parent could be killed in the line of duty.  I dont' know too many preacher's kids that have lost their dad to a gun shot wound at the pulpit.  Doctor's kids who have to spend yet another Christmas with a parent working in the E.R. taking care of strangers.  Just about every occupation has its tragedies.  I just say, you chose it.  If you don't like torturing your kids with hugs from little old ladies, church and summer camp, find a new profession.

I'm just thinkin'.