My Resurrection Year

As I drive home from work these days, I often look out at the endless fields of corn and soy beans, look up at the intricate cloud patterns in the dome-sky that shelters me. And I am overcome with gratitude so much so that I weep.

I do a lot of driving in my new job, and it gives me a lot of time to think. My heart is nourished by the sight of the rolling hills and buttes of the land north and west. Sometimes I see real cowboys herding their cattle. Or unsupervised cows just chillin' in a pond cooling off or sharing the latest gossip. Kamikaze birds fly across my car's path, barely missing collision, as if on a dare from one of their friends. I see majestic hawks with terrific wingspans and occasionally I spot the elusive eagle.

These days are narrowing into the tunnel of my First Year Out of the Ministry. In grief work, we often talk about that intense year full of firsts after a death. The first birthday, anniversary, Family Reunion, Christmas, Easter, etc. Every event becomes a potential trigger of intense grief. Of course that is true for the years following, too, but that first year is the introduction to Life Without...

And so, I am coming to the end of my First Year of Life Outside the Pastoral Ministry. September 22 is the anniversary of our moving into our first house. September 27th is the anniversary of my Last Day in the Pulpit. And October 6th. The Day I Handed In My Ordination Papers and cut my ties to The United Methodist Church.

You may not think of that as a death, but it is. I was a United Methodist for 44 years. I was born into it, raised in it. The rhythm of my life was to the beat of the Church Year. I grew up going to Annual Conference in Ocean City, New Jersey. I was inspired by preachers at St. Peter's United Methodist Church and the sound of 1,000 or so Methodists singing at the same time. I went forward at an altar call one year to re-dedicate my life to Christ. I looked for my favorite pastors on the boardwalk at night, whom I knew from summer camp. I stayed in a cottage with my parents and two other clergy couples and we played Rook and Scrabble at night. My life was turned upside down when I heard a preacher from Missouri.

I went to church every Sunday all my life, and one time when I slept in as a kid, I felt so guilty that I missed church that I read the Bible all day for penance. I went to youth group and had a crush on the associate pastors. I waited with my mother every spring to hear if the District Superintendent would call my father and tell him he was moving this year. We made Advent wreaths at church every Sunday after Thanksgiving, and I can still smell the mixed scent of pine branches and candle wax every Advent season. I dropped out of confirmation class because I knew everything already and the other kids were too rowdy. I went to summer camp every summer for four years and got on a religious high. I fell in love for the first time there, got my heart broken, recovered, and tried things that brought me out of my introverted shell.

I went to a super-religious college that told me United Methodists were going to hell because they ordained women. It was like insulting my family, and I wrestled with my faith, learned about other denominations, and came back always to United Methodism, my spiritual hometown. I went to seminary, learned all about the Wesleys and pledged my allegiance to the Book of Discipline. My parents handed down to me a Wesley Teapot. I was proud of my religious heritage and its history, which is a history of people that wanted MORE from Church. Wesley was a rebel, and he stood up to the church bureaucracy, preached in the streets, and believed in grace. Sure, he was somewhat of a failure in personal relationships, but I believed in him.

My calendar year began at the beginning of Advent and ended with Christ the King Sunday. I loved the drama and intensity of Lent, and the coming into the Light of Easter. I've struggled with a lot of darkness in my own heart, and every Easter was a chance to begin again, walk out into the Light again. Dying, rebirth. Darkness, Light. Death, Resurrection. It was the cycle of seasons, and the cycle of my own spiritual life.

I could never have foreseen leaving the United Methodist Church. And it does feel like a death. Death sucks. But sometimes death needs to happen in order for life to come forth. A year ago I was in a very bad place. I had been for a couple of years, struggling against a lot of forces. I felt trapped. I felt like I was dying spiritually-- sometimes being choked to death. I lost hope. I tried to get people to listen to me, to hear that I was in trouble. But they wouldn't listen.

But I am still standing. I can breathe. I can laugh. I can sing. I feel lighter. I have the capacity for great joy and deep, deep gratitude, and I feel the intensity and height of that capacity as I drive alone through the Sandhills or simply drive to work past all the miles of cornfields. My new job gives me room to try new things, to develop new gifts I didn't know I had, to discover that there's more to me than I thought. It connects me to some of the most beautiful people I've ever met, in whom I see the face of God. I have wept with them, laughed hysterically with them, learned with them and from them, and been blessed by them. I feel a richer, deeper sense of God's love in me and through me than I ever dreamed possible. I sense God at work in me every day. I see God at work all around me, and see the Spirit in the eyes of those I get to work with. Not only am I healing, but I am thriving. I am in awe most days.

There are mixed feelings as I approach these landmark days. There is still some sadness for some of the people I left behind and for those who didn't seem to feel they could continue our friendship after I "left." But mostly I am grateful to be alive. I am grateful for New Life. I am astonished at the power of God to give life, to heal, and to empower. Today I am grateful for the crazy, winding, painful, exhilarating journey God has put me on and for the precious people who have walked with me.

Life is good.