No, when you hurt someone it’s not “only her”

It’s unbelievable really. I found what I thought was a great church. People cared for each other. I was making friends. The pastors were leading people to lead open, authentic, loving, grace filled lives.

Until they weren’t. One person. One person was all it took, stirring up trouble. That person wanted more limelight, wanted power. That person has gotten it. By getting someone else terminated from staff. That person celebrated the night this was announced. That person now parades around being called pastor. Apparently there has been more hurt. More people that person has wounded directly since. And many of us who have been indirectly wounded in the fall out.

I was told when it happened, of the person who was terminated, “oh, well, it was only [them].” Lies were repeated. Easily refutable lies. But the church leadership said nothing. I asked for a room to gather people to pray. I was told it was a good idea… but that I couldn’t have such a room, that I couldn’t call such a group together. In my own church. To PRAY.

People want to just keep going, supporting, doing. But is that right? When the leadership of a church unites together with someone who is spreading lies, protecting that person, letting them lead, naming them as a pastor? When the church has made no attempt to reach out to those who’ve left, and has, worse, ignored those who came, who tried to find some balance, when they tried to recommend some things that might help? Even some on staff have said they’d ask again. And I never hear back. I’ve been silenced, stonewalled, and shut out. People called when it first happened with “I don’t know if I can trust you…” There is so much division, so much hurt. And the wounds are growing.

I’ve done all I can. I want to stay and help in a way. There are people there whom I do not believe will be there for much longer, and I want to spend what little time we could have together…. together. But at the same time, I find myself sickened by the lack of action, ready to explode through the silencing, and more and more saddened and angered by the church’s willingness to just flow along blindly, to not see, to not care, to not hear… and to willfully silence any who would ask the burning question: “WHY?!?”

Tonight I deleted yet another facebook rant to that person. It’s become too much. It’s time to leave the situation. I wanted to stay through Advent, but now they’ve put that person up in a speaking role in every service, it seems. And I can’t. I can’t listen to that person talk any more about loving everyone, welcoming everyone, and working for justice while living the opposite. I can’t sit in class with people who tell me I shouldn’t lead (though I’d volunteered to) because surely someone else will be there who can. I can’t sit across from them in class while they disrupt, talk over me, or stare me down if they don’t think they’ll be seen. I can’t walk through the church and see those I thought were becoming friends stare past me and draw away. And I can’t keep wondering who’s next? Because when this started I was told repeatedly, oh, don’t worry. It’s just one. But it’s never just one. And no one is just or only anything. They – we – are whole people, imago dei, made in God’s image.

Though when I remind myself of this, I realize at present I’m having a lot of trouble seeing through all the damage done and remembering that even terrible, horrible people who would slander others in order to gain more power also have, somewhere in them, a spark of the divine.

UPDATE: it’s now five months later. It appears some action was finally taken. The main troublemaker appears to be gone, though may still be stirring up trouble behind the scenes. And the flying monkeys are still around, though they’ve quieted some. But they are still there, and I can’t help but wonder what might send them flying again. I took a few months basically off. Others left completely. It’s a sad situation for many, in my opinion. And because it’s still not discussed, nothing can change for the better in the long run. What happened this time will happen again, because no one was given an opportunity to reconcile or heal or even grieve together. And yet for now I’m back. Cautiously, watchfully, and not without extra safeguards in place.

Death or Life?

NOTE: This is about the death penalty but it is not about the death penalty. This is not meant to be a political statement. If you prefer, please skip below the second line ______ and continue from there.


I saw the repost of part of my blog on the public group associated with this page. Reading back over it, I thought of the man I heard speak last night, an activist and pastor in the local area.

In 2022, this man, Darryl Gray, was requested as spiritual advisor for a man on death row for murder. The difference between that former pastor I was subjected to and Rev Gray is astounding. Consider part of an article written about his and Kevin Johnson (death row inmate):

_______________

…Gray said he also didn’t want to engage with someone who wasn’t sincerely seeking spiritual help. “I take ministry serious. I don’t do drive-bys and it’s not a drive-thru,” Gray said. “And I was being asked to walk with someone through the last steps of their life. This had to be real.” Gray agreed to meet on Sept. 19, 2022, 71 days left before Johnson’s execution date.

…Gray turned the conversation: “Tell me where you are with the crime,” he said.

“I did it,” Johnson replied. “You know if I could take it back, I would. It was one of the worst days of my life.”

Gray asked him why he wanted a spiritual adviser. Johnson said he’d often had a fractured relationship with God, but wanted to make a connection while he still could.

“A fractured faith is better than no faith at all,” Gray told him.

…

About a month before Johnson’s execution, Gray got an unexpected call from prison chaplain Mark Wilkinson.

“I have good news,” the chaplain said. “Kevin wants to be baptized.”

About a month before Johnson’s execution, Gray got an unexpected call from prison chaplain Mark Wilkinson.

“I have good news,” the chaplain said. “Kevin wants to be baptized.”

…

[Gray was in the room with Johnson during the execution, putting a hand on his shoulder, trying to hold it together. After the execution, which people did try to stop] …Guards ushered Gray into another room. “I sat in the chair and I just cried,” he said.

__________

To add to the story, at least four of Kevin’s family members have now also been baptized.

__________

I’m not sure I realized until now why this affected me so much. Why watching a man who’s over 60 cry even months later while speaking about the life and death of an inmate really impacted me as it did. Yes, that anyone would be put to death is sad, and being a part of an execution like that would be beyond difficult, but it was more than that.

I realize now that I was condemned to eternal hell by a pastor once for whispering a verse to someone sitting by me in church, and another time for supposedly thinking a “bad thought”. I watched others condemned for wearing the wrong clothes or having the “wrong” appearance or simply for being who they were in any other way. Not bad people. Not people who were harming anyone. Just people being people.

And now I’d met a pastor who met a man who confessed to and had been condemned to death for murder yet he loved that man unconditionally and went to great lengths to comfort him and help him find a less fractured faith in his last days.

There’s a lot to be said for that difference. A whole lot.

Those former pastors said they did what they did out of love. For a long time I believed them. BUT… which of these, my former pastor or Rev Gray, seems more loving? Which had the most positive spiritual impact on people? Which seems more grace-filled, more like Jesus?

The extravagant grace and love of God

Someone posted a blog today on the extravagance of Lent. They started by talking about the alabaster bottle and the perfume the woman used to anoint Jesus at Simon’s house – the extravagance of that perfume that filled the whole house and the extravagance of her gift to him.

My mind didn’t go to Lent. For years I’ve asked why Jesus had to die and why THAT death. I’ve struggled with it. I’ve heard some really awful, traumatic sermons about it. And I’ve had no answers. But what if…

What if it really wasn’t necessary to go to that length? What if Jesus didn’t have to die, that crucifixion wasn’t essential to save the world, that none of it was required to accomplish everything? Mary broke an alabaster bottle and poured out her perfume. She washed Jesus’ feet with her tears and washed them with her hair. This was her extravagance. It wasn’t necessary, but it was right. And it was wonderful.

What if Calvary was an expression of God’s extravagance – of his extravagant love and grace for all of us?

God and Pianos

I had shared that I bought a used keyboard and all that meant to me: https://thrugracealone.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=802&action=edit

Yesterday that story got even better. I gave away a keyboard at Christmas. Last night I came home with a full digital piano… for free. It’s older but it’s fantastic, something I dreamed of owning for a very long time. As I practice, I’m relearning faster than I thought I would. And whereas the keyboard I’d given away at Christmas was a reminder of so many past wounds, now there is a piano sitting in my living room that is a reminder of all God’s provision and plans even in the midst of our pain… and of his love and grace even in the midst of our unbelief.

I have hesitated to use the word “grace” to describe all that’s happened. The word “grace” always seemed a bit nebulous to me. John Wesley stated that grace is “the undeserved, unmerited, and loving action of God in human existence through the ever-present Holy Spirit,” and Bishop Will Willimon describes grace as “the power of God working in you to give you a transformed life.” (umc.org)

Yes, grace. There’s no other way, actually, to describe or define any of this.

Circles

In December I gave away my keyboard. I used to love it, even if I wasn’t good, but I haven’t been able to play for 23 years. Every time I’d sit down to play I’d remember, and old wounds – heart wounds that had never fully healed – would open again. Or perhaps they’d never closed to begin with.

And so I gave away the keyboard that had been sitting unused for so long. But the family who was to receive it got sick, and on Christmas eve still hadn’t been able to get out of their house. It was Christmas eve, and a child wanted it. So I took it to them. And since I’d already gotten dressed I decided to do what I’d done several years in the past and attend a few Christmas eve services.

The services were missing something for me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about them, a bit disappointed, through the next week. Since the next Sunday was New Year’s Day I figured maybe I’d extend my Christmas eve excursion and attend one more service. Why not? But there was a problem: I had been in many churches that expected everyone in attendance to be believers, and in some even to believe everything they did. I didn’t, and I realized how crazy it was to sit in a church thinking everyone else there must believe the same things and never once reach out to anyone or even accept them as they were if they happened to wander in one Christmas eve.

That’s how I came to sarcastically googled “church accepts unbelievers near me” (and then replace that with “doubters”). I didn’t expect to get a hit, but I did. That’s how I ended up going to church again. That’s how I ended up in a membership class, still saying I didn’t plan to join but just wanted to learn….

And then the circle’s ends met. In that class, communion was served, and for some reason I was asked to help by simply holding the cup. The easy answer to what happened would be “grace” but that seems insufficient. Communion for Methodists is considered a means of grace, but I think they mean receiving, not serving or helping. However, in those moments so much happened. “Restoration” might suffice but I’m still seeing ripple affects from that day. And when I receive communion, “in remembrance” isn’t just about something that happened 2000 years ago. It’s about what happened a few weeks ago, what’s been happening for just over two months.

Tonight I bought a used keyboard. I can’t really play. I’m too far out of practice. But I can play. I can relearn. Those old wounds didn’t even ache tonight. I’m enjoying something again that I’d finally given up on, that, in giving away the last hope of, somehow started me on this journey to begin with.

No matter how far we go…

I ‘left God’, and at the end, at the furthest I could get from him, found him waiting for me to arrive.

Membership vows

I took membership vows yesterday. THAT ended up being interesting in itself. When I applied to be in the membership class, I hadn’t planned to join. So I wrote what I was thinking… not what might be read in front of hundreds of people. They took that, edited it some, and… read it in front of hundreds of people. Of course.

Now everyone knows I googled churches that accept doubters. Everyone knows that I pretty much stopped believing for several years. Everyone also knows I was Pentecostal for 19 years… which was actually as embarrassing as admitting to everyone that I’d stopped believing. But I survived, and my blood pressure didn’t go up. I’m excited for Wednesday night. I’m looking for a new keyboard; I never played well, but if I can play just for my own enjoyment again that will show just how much healing there has been of old wounds. Piano was a part of my private worship for years and being sat down from everything took that from me, clogged and dirtied it somehow. I want to play again. And I can sing again.

I know this won’t last, this near euphoria, this joy. Everything won’t be new and interesting forever. But I’m glad for this time and I know that this will be treasured and become a cornerstone in my life. Meanwhile I have life and a new set of books to read… which reminds me of why I started typing to begin with. Rob Bell, in Everything is Spiritual, talks at the end of the book about Creation:
“In that ancient Genesis poem, the one that begins the Bible, it all begins with chaos, formless void, and darkness hovering over the waters. In ancient Hebrew consciousness, water is the unknown. The depths. The abyss. And in the poem, Spirit is hovering over those waters… and then Spirit enters into those waters and out of them creates something new. Something vast and expansive and beautiful and free… the first Jesus followers used to explain this great mystery by telling the story of Jesus being executed on a cross. He doesn’t explain the suffering… he bears it. He takes it into the expanse of his being… Actively, willfully — like he’s tuned in to some great secret involving a wholeness… The story isn’t over, it’s just beginning. They kill him, but it isn’t the last word. It’s the first word of a new world. Violence doesn’t have the last word. Love does. The suffering doesn’t end the story, it unleashes a whole new story. No wonder people still wear crosses… This sign, this symbol speaks to that question we’ve all asked: Can something new be created out of even this?“

And for me, for all of us, the answer is yes.

“I don’t want to bother you…”

I’ve said that often because I’ve heard too often that I was bothering people. The lead pastor’s response? “Oh, don’t do that.” Not in a mad or upset or commanding way, but with sadness or just seriousnesss. I finally learned why. There was a sermon that actually explained it well, preached several years before I arrived.

“Ask for what you need, and offer what you can. That’s so hard for us to do. We have that whole ‘I don’t want to be a bother’ thing going on. ‘I don’t want to be a bother’ is an unhealthy approach to Christian community. ‘I don’t want to be a bother’ denies someone else their opportunity to serve. Ask for what you need. They’ll say no if they can’t. Ask for what you need, and offer what you can.”

What a wonderful way of looking at things. And so I asked a question: “I will take you up on the offer of answering a question, though. Just one. Regarding vows: I can fully promise to support the Church with my giving. However, tithing was taught legalistically in my past, so promising to work toward tithing might be a problem depending on the meaning of “work toward”. What I can and do promise is to let the Holy Spirit lead me in giving. Its just if that is toward a certain percent, it would be better for me to just give cheerfully and follow that lead… and trust Her to do the math. Will this count as fulfilling that promise?”

He responded, “What a wonderful question! All we can ever to is let the Holy Spirit lead us. That goes for giving, serving, learning, and on and on. So the answer is “Yes” that totally counts!”

At that point I was ready to stop denying it. This is home.

A different sort of “miracle” (part 3)

There were answers to all sorts of questions over the next couple weeks. In songs, in sermons, in overheard conversations. Someone answered some questions, listened to me and gave me a tour of the church, which made me more comfortable. I signed up for another Monday night class and was enjoying it. And at the same time, my blood pressure was going high enough to be hypertensive on church days, or even the day before. I would physically shake when I’d get to church sometimes, and I was having tension headaches. I couldn’t keep schedules straight in my mind. Church, even a church I was enjoying, scared me.

And yet… they were offering a new members’ class. Why not? I wasn’t joining, but I’d like to hear what they had to say, at least. So I signed up, being very certain to tell them this was NOT to join. And yet… I decided I’d better find my baptismal certificate and send them a copy anyway. Just in case. (That was hard to find. I’d gotten pretty mad and tucked it away, but not where I’d thought. And I should have THREE. But the first I was never given, the second was for a cult… so where was that third one?) I also emailed the last church I’d been a member of, asking for a church record. I never heard back. But I found that certificate and sent a copy. NOT because I’d ever join. But just in case.

By the day of the class I was still struggling with blood pressure and such, but I was getting better. I’d tried to talk to one of the pastors I hadn’t met and she was confused as to why the things I wanted to talk about were even discussion points. (Because they’d been HUGE everywhere I’d ever been!) That actually made me feel better, that she couldn’t even comprehend my concerns. They were that far off this church’s radar, these culty things that had been big problems other places.

In the class and one of the pastors put his hand on my back to get my attention and asked if I’d assist with communion at the end of class. OK, a few things: 1) pentecostals are deeply trained to say yes if asked by a pastor to do something, 2) I had only just accepted that it would be OK to receive communion even if I didn’t know what or if I believed… and 3) I know nothing about assisting and have only received communion maybe 3-4 times in a Methodist church in my life. I didn’t realize that until it was way too late to back out though. 4) in 1999 I was ‘sat down’ from all service in a Pentecostal church. I was never restored. In 2000 I was told never to return. All false accusations based on what the pastor “felt in his heart”. (The Salem witch trials reflect the same concept and line of questioning.) There are things I used to love to do that I couldn’t do since because of the condemnation and shame of all that. I told the pastor in a whisper “I have no clue what I’m doing,” and he smiled and said “just hold the cup”. And something clicked inside. The restoration I experienced during that few minutes just holding the cup… everything just started unlocking for lack of a better way to say it. Things that were broken for 23 years just…. suddenly weren’t anymore. 

At that point, I was seriously considering membership. How could I not? I’d been scared of the pastors. The communion service changed that somehow. I was free to serve again. I’d been somehow reinstated fully and completely while holding the cup. I was learning so much. But could I? Everything every church had required of me was based on what I could do or should do. This had to be about grace for me. It had to be based on God, not me.

A different sort of “miracle” part 2

I was invited to go back the next Sunday. I didn’t want to promise anything. I had to think about this new type of church. And my new acquaintances were OK with that. And so I was back the next week. I didn’t see them, but there were others who invited me to sit with them, who were friendly and welcoming, but weren’t pressuring and didn’t ask nosey questions. This was quite interesting. I went to Sunday School and was accepted there, too.

They had weeknight classes. I decided to sign up for one. It was just two weeks. I could do two weeks. The first night I went, I was blown away. From “it’s only two weeks,” I leapt to, “It’s only (just) two weeks?!?!” For me this was a radical new way of looking at the Bible, considering when a text was written and what was happening in the writers’ lives and nation. It made sense, but I’d never heard of it before. And I loved it. I loved it partly because it detoxified some passages, but I loved it more because it discussed the writers’ own doubts as they were writing, and viewed the texts as their ways of trying to understand or make sense of bad things happening in their own lives. Well, Wednesday nights there was also a class, though a different kind, so… why not?

On Wednesday night they went around the room for “check in”. When it was my turn, I shrugged and said “I’m Mary and I only started coming January first, so, that’s it.” There are two pastors in that class. I should have known. One leads the Monday night class. “Wait, you were in class Monday.” The other, “You’ve been here less than two weeks and you’re in two groups?!?!” And the person beside me, “AND she was in our class on Sunday morning.” By that point I was very embarrassed. I had planned to remain invisible. Obviously that wasn’t happening. And then one asked how I’d started coming. There was NO WAY I was going to say “it started with a google search for churches that accept unbelievers…” They accepted that I wasn’t going to tell them, and moved on. (I did admit to one of them after class that I’d searched for something I thought was impossible and their church came up, but I didn’t say what.)

On the second Monday night class I showed up an hour and a half early. I was mortified. They took it in stride, barely asking about it later, except to say that I’d have been welcome to stay and visit. Then in class the pastor/teacher said if any of us ever had questions she’d be happy to meet for coffee and talk for 45 minutes or so once a quarter. (It’s a huge church.) My mind was already doing the math. 1) if she did that for every member, It would be impossible for anyone to drink that much coffee or give that much time, 2) I could ask that many questions every week. And so instead, I prayed. “God, if you’re real…” was my standard caveat, so “God, if you’re real, please let my questions be answered without me asking them all.” And what seemed a nearly impossible request on two fronts for me was answered repeatedly through the next weeks. Starting with communion.

I’d tried to call the church and ask about communion because after the incident on Christmas eve at the other church, I was leery. I reached someone and got too flustered to really talk. I stammered through my question as to whether everyone was forced to go forward for communion and the person who answered gave some answer that I couldn’t really grasp, not because it was too theological but because my mind was still in such a panic. I hung up and swore I wouldn’t do THAT again. I think it was the third Sunday I was there that I overheard a conversation between the Monday night class pastor and someone else. What I caught was that communion was considered a means of grace, and that as such ANYONE could receive communion, even an atheist. Whatever else was said didn’t really matter. An answer had just dropped into my lap, and I felt much better having heard it.