Tribal Church

I’ve been doing a lot of exciting things since I last checked in–like trying to figure out how to get home from New York City in a blizzard, waiting on the phone with Amtrak, digging my car out of the snow, and talking to Daniel Karslake.

Daniel Karslake is the Producer and Director of For the Bible Tells Me So, a documentary about Christianity and homosexuality. You can download the interview at iTunes or listen to it at the God Complex Radio site. Either way, Karslake was really fascinating, so it’s worth the time.

Another site that you might want to check out (if you don’t already know about it), is the Beatitudes Society. I’ve written a couple of reflections for their Epiphany Study, which you can get to if you join Be@ts 2.0. Upcoming… we’re having a Beatitudes Society meet-up in D.C. I’ll keep you posted.

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As a child, I often had pastors who would paint terrible, frightening pictures of hell. Then they would tell us that if we did not accept Jesus Christ into our hearts, we would be thrown into a fiery pit, for an eternity of weeping and gnashing of teeth.

This happened on a regular basis. I would stand alone in the second pew, while my parents would be in the choir loft. The pastor would fire up a verse of “Just As I Am,” and if we got through all the verses without anyone coming up, he would have us sing it again.

He would remind me that if I did not ask Jesus into my life, I could be the best sort of person on earth, but I would still be sent into eternal burning. It didn’t matter if our parents were Christians. It didn’t matter if we were raised in a Christian family. God didn’t have any grandchildren. We were to make the decision for ourselves, or we would go to hell.

I would stand, with my best dress, my lacy socks, and my shiny leather shoes, and I believed every word of it.

It was frightening to hear, as a tiny girl. The threats worked. I invited Jesus into my heart. And then I did it again. Again and again. In fact, on a pretty regular basis, I would ask Jesus into my heart. I didn’t go up to the altar each time, because I figured that would be an embarrassment to my parents. But I would pray in the pew. Just in case it didn’t stick. Just in case I wasn’t sincere enough. Just in case I lost my entry ticket into heaven. Just in case I had done something that did not merit God’s love that week. Just in case God was angry at me for some reason… I just kept asking.

This experience taught me a lot. For the most part, it taught me that God was angry, jealous, and petty. And even though God was all-powerful, God would let a small child to burn in hell. For all of eternity.

I began to question this vivid idea of God when I started traveling around the world. I went to China and Hong Kong, and I came face-to-face with crowds of people who (according to my view) were going to hell.

I was deeply concerned about my view of God when my closest friends began to confide that they were gay or lesbian. A couple of them grew up the same black-and-white religious world that I did, and I can’t imagine the courage that it took for them to come out of the closet.

This view became even more problematic when a friend committed suicide. I knew the torment that he lived through. I had great compassion for his suffering, and yet, according to my religious system at the time, he was in hell.

I began to wrestle with the notion, when I loved certain people in my family deeply and I knew that they were not “Christians” in the same way that I claimed. I knew that, according to my beliefs, they were going to hell, but I also knew that I would do anything that I could to save them.

So why wouldn’t God? Why would God allow so many people suffer for eternity? And for what reason? Because they didn’t say a prayer, inviting Jesus into their hearts? Why was that formula so important?

There seemed to be one conclusion. It was because God was cruel and vengeful. Full of wrath. And I was in the hands of that angry God. Just like a tiny spider who was held over an open flame, God was holding me over the fire, and I would be singed unless I loved God.

This was the God I grew up with. And this idea of the divine fostered a great deal of anxiety and fear within me.

I knew that something had to change. And at the heart of all of this was my concept of God. It was this God who withheld love except if people came asking for it. It was a view of God who would allow a person to suffer, unless he or she loved and worshiped God in a certain way. It was a view of God that gave me the sense that I was never worthy of love or acceptance, and therefore in turn, no one else was either. It was a view of God that enflamed intolerance toward people from other religions, and for gays and lesbians.

It was an ideal of God that ran contrary to the very nature of what the Scriptures say. That God is love. That Jesus Christ is our peace. That we are to love God, love our neighbors, and love ourselves–and all of that is very difficult to do when the source of that love is jealous, vengeful, angry, and intolerant.

And so if I was going to have peace, I needed to re-imagine God. All of this, I did intuitively. When I became a Presbyterian, when I went to seminary, and when I began an intellectual pursuit of reading theology. In the midst of all of this, I often had seasons of doubt, and I wondered if religion was more damaging than healing. Yet, I persisted with my religious studies, because I knew that even though fundamentalist religion could be destructive, there was something there that was a source of peace.

Andrew Newberg, a neuroscientist, wrote a book with Mark Robert Waldman, a therapist, entitled How God Changes Your Brain. As the title suggest, their research shows that contemplating God will change your brain. Even though our brains begin to lose abilities and begin to slow down at the age of 30, meditating, praying, and contemplating God slows the aging process. They help the brain to grow. Contemplating God actually changes the neural circuits that enhance our cognitive health. Furthermore, it makes us socially aware and makes us more empathetic. It promotes peace.

Newberg and Waldman explain how the anger and prejudice that is generated by extreme beliefs can damage your brain, but imagining a God who is loving, rather than vengeful, can reduce anxiety, depression, and stress. Their studies show that contemplating God can increase feelings of security, compassion, and love.

I guess that’s why I stay. Even though I witnessed religious abuse growing up, I keep writing and pastoring, because I’ve seen the security, compassion, and love flourish in so many lives.

The authors explain how it works by telling a Cherokee legend about a little boy who received a drum as a gift.

It was a beautiful drum, and he loved it. Soon after he received it, he was playing with it, and his closest friend came up and wanted to play with it.

The little boy was torn, and he ended up grasping the drum and running away.

Frustrated, the boy went to one of his elders and asked him what to do. The elder responded that he often felt like there were two wolves inside of him. One was greedy, angry, and selfish. The other was generous and kind. And the wolves were fighting. The elder turned to the boy and said that he thought that the boy had two wolves inside of him too.

The boy asked, “Which wolf will win?”

And the elder answered, “The one that you feed.”

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So, I got calls and emails from people, apologizing that I didn’t have a good experience at the McLaren conference. But I did. Please, let me be clear. I think he’s doing wonderful things. It was great to see the conservative/liberal divide collapsing.

I had a bad experience with someone in the pew… but I know that’s not an overall reflection of anything. I know how heart breaking it is for me when a visitor to our church has a bad experience with someone in the pew.

As church leaders, we try to make sure that everyone feels welcome. We train our ushers and our members to be nice to visitors. We talk about loving one another. We work hard at being friendly. I mean, really. It seems like it should be a given, but we’re always reminding each other, in the Deacon’s meetings, in our board meetings, in all of our gatherings, “We don’t want to see anyone standing alone. We all know how excruciating it is to stand at a cocktail party and not have anyone to talk to. Well, church is worse, because we don’t even have the drinks. So, don’t talk to your friends. Talk to strangers.”

It works, for the most part…. But, the sad truth is that the pastors and church leaders really can’t control what people in the pew say to one another. We’re an inclusive, urban church. We have homeless people sitting next to CEOs. We have people who are slipping in and out of dementia. We have some who are depressed, some are anxious. None of us are there because we’ve got it all together. And sometimes things are said… and sometimes I’m making phone calls to apologize. And sometimes the calls work, but sometimes we lose people.

I hate losing people.

But, if I may be so unfocused, let me go back to the great divide. I’ve been trying to articulate something without sounding ageist. And I don’t quite know how to do it…. I’ve linked to this report before (sorry it costs money), but in it, it talks about generations in marketing terms: Boomers, Gen X, Millennials, etc. And one thing that it suggests is that Boomers are idealistic. They love to argue and fight over principles and beliefs. Gen Xers are more pragmatic and innovative. They would rather cut through the discussions, get work done, and start new stuff.

This makes so much sense to me as I look at the church. As older generations chip away at the beauracracy, as they talk over LGBT ordination over and over again, as they write papers and send overtures, I speak to people in my generation, they say, “I’m tired of talking about it.”

And I say, “What do you mean? You just went to one meeting.” But usually, one advocacy meeting is more than enough.

In general, I want to state my beliefs and move on (but, of course, I worry that we might have to quite literally move on, the way this is all panning out… I’m afraid our church may lose an entire generation over LGBT ordination).

There are, of course, good things about the idealism. It brought us Civil Rights, after all. And there are many irritating things about my generation–like their incredibly annoying habit of NOT VOTING. What is up with that?

I guess it’s been helpful for me to understand what’s happening, but I would hate to funnel energy into another divide. So, what do you think? Do you see this shift? Would it be better to think in terms of a shift in cultural milieu instead of a generational shift?

Of course, my answer to our liberal/conservative divide is inclusion. I would love it if the conservatives could be conservative and progressives could be progressive. But is it possible? My progressive vision easily includes conservatives, but can there be a conservative vision that includes liberals? Is there any talk of that out there?

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Okay, I admit it. On New Year’s Eve, I was not partying like a rock star. I was rubbing my sick daughter’s back and watching television with my husband. We were warm, cozy, and laughing about all of our past New Years.

Our most memorable one being when we lived in Lincoln, Nebraska. We walked through three-foot snowdrifts to the downtown pubs. It was particularly cruel weather for me–as a girl from Florida who had never even seen that white powdery stuff before I was seventeen.

Around two a.m., when we finally made it back to our apartment, we realized that neither one of us had any keys. We locked ourselves out.

We didn’t have cell phones or car keys either. I couldn’t even imagine standing in one place to wait for a locksmith. I was sure that I was about to die. I had visions of my fingers and toes falling off.

So, we walked another mile and knocked on Matt Buell’s door–because he’s the sort of wonderful friend who would happily let us in at two-thirty in the morning. Laughing, he pulled out his sofa bed, made us some hot chocolate, and we stayed up watching Dick Clark. They just kept playing footage of that crystal ball dropping over and over again, as the New Year traveled from the East Coast to the West.

No such drama this year. I was just nursing my daughter, hoping that I wouldn’t have to clean up any more vomit out of the carpet. And–get this–we were watching a Carol Burnett documentary. On PBS. Aahh…It was a wild and crazy night….

They were talking about how Carol Burnett shocked the world by how honest she was. I can’t remember what she was honest about…I think it was her daughter’s addiction and recovery. But, she was admitting to these things before public figures ever did.

Now, we know all about the private lives of the stars–their addictions, recoveries, DUIs, fights, diseases, and haircuts. Nothing’s too sacred or too mundane to be tabloid fodder–especially if it’s happening to the talented, young, and beautiful.

But it’s not just the superstars. We might have learned it from Oprah, but I think the honesty (exhibitionism?) has trickled down to all of us. It’s a huge change.

At a retreat in our church, we were talking about generational issues. It was a pretty amazing conversation, because we had adults from every ten-year range. The people who were 70+ said, “You know, when we were growing up, we couldn’t even tell you what the word ‘rape’ meant.”

“Really?” I was startled. I had not only heard the word since before I could remember, I was in fear of it since before I could remember. I asked, “Was it because it didn’t happen or because no one talked about it?”

“Both.”

I thought about the change. And, I guess I’m happy about our ragged, worn, and honest world. I’m glad that we can talk about most things. Openly.

I’m glad that women who suffer from breast cancer can ask for prayers in church. It’s good to know that church leaders who drink too much can get help. They can have support in recovery and don’t have to suffer alone. I’m pleased that same-sex couples don’t always have to lie about who they are, and gays and lesbians are slowly finding places in our church where they can live out their calling. Women who have been victims of violence can speak…when they are able.

And I guess I’m glad that I write and live in a world where even the mundane (like… getting locked out of the house on NYE…) can be interesting.

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We’re on a road trip, which means that within the Merritt truckster, we have thoroughly discussed everything from the virgin birth, to the definition of progressive Christianity, to the problem of modern hermeneutics. And I’ve got one thing to say about all of this: our poor daughter.

Thank God she’s patient. And before you think that we’re terrible parents, in our defense, I’d like to report that we also listened to They Might Be Giants’ “Here Come the ABCs” album all the way through. All 25 tracks….

So, here’s a question that we talked about. I often hear that our seminaries aren’t training good preachers. And I wonder, what is wrong with the way we learned to preach? Is there a better way?

In Presbyterian seminaries, we learn to preach with the Historical Critical method. It is a six-step process in which we take the text, translate it into the original Greek or Hebrew, look at the grammar, look at the historical context in which the text was written. We read what great theologians and scholars have said over the ages. We ask questions of the text, and then we think about the “hermeneutical bridge,” what links our time to the biblical time. The goal is to get to the original intention of the author.

It was an important process, because it made us interpret the Scriptures with a realistic lens. We began to see passages on slavery, ethnicity, birth control, women, and homosexuality within a culture, and we began to understand what would translate into our own. We became more honest about our tendency to be anti-Semitic. We began to understand the intricate layers of the text, the possible ways in which the words could be understood, and we realized the great number of leaps that translators make from the ancient language to our own.

But there are problems with this method as well. The biggest is that we think have the sense that we can know what the author intended. I have difficulty understanding what my husband intends on a grocery shopping list, and we’ve lived with each other for fifteen years, how can I know what John, the beloved, intended when he wrote in an ancient language two thousand years ago? There is no way to get to the author’s original intent. Instead it’s usually what we intend the author to intend.

The second is that it takes an enormous amount of time. It makes me wonder, did pastors have less other work to do back in the day? Or did pastors always lie about doing all of this study on the text? Of course, now that I’ve worked through with the lectionary the third time in my ministry, it’s a lot less difficult, but still, I don’t do every step either. If I did it by the book, I’d be swamped. And I have virtual libraries at my fingertips.

Third…well this is debatable. I’m wondering if the method just creates really bad preaching. I mean after a pastor works through all the steps, then s/he doesn’t want to disregard all of it as mere prep work. And so we hear sermons about the historical context, the original Greek, all the other theologians. But we rarely get to the point–how these great words of wisdom instruct our lives.

I’m wondering if the nature of interpretation is evolving. The historical-critical method was an important step, in order to unbind the text from some of Christianity’s most deplorable thought. But is it time to move on? What do you think? Does this method of preparation make us poor preachers? What do you do to prepare? Do you ever do all of those steps? What about in other denominations? Do you have similar methods? Would it be better to go to a liberationist model? What did you learn about preaching after you got out of seminary?

photo’s by _xtian

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When I was at the Rauschenbusch course at the College of Preachers, we read this interview, a conversation between William Sloan Coffin and Paul Raushenbush. Coffin, of course, is amazing. There’s so much that I could comment on, but this stuck out:

The churches are a reflection of the truth of Plato’s statement, “What’s honored in the country will be cultivated there.” When we got started as a country, we had no more than 3 million people–less than Los Angeles County today. Yet we turned out Washington, Jefferson, Franklin, Adams, Hamilton–you can name a list as long as your arm. How many people on the public stage can you name today who are of the caliber of those first men? And why aren’t there more? Because what’s honored in the country will be cultivated there.

Or how come those itty, bitty Italian city-states turned out one fantastic painter and sculptor after another? Because every kid couldn’t wait to get his mitt on a paint brush. What’s honored in the country will be cultivated there. We have fantastic athletes. I watched the Spurs and Lakers yesterday. Those guys play basketball like nobody’s business. Yet we have mediocre politicians, and the clergy is pretty mediocre also. But what’s honored in a country will be cultivated there. The greatest recession in this country is not economic; it’s spiritual. And so the great biblical mandates of pursuing justice and seeking peace are shortchanged.

Now, it would be easy to go from these wise words into that tired rant about how people just don’t give pastors the r-e-s-p-e-c-t that they got in the hallowed 1950s. I’ve heard about the discounts men could get in the department stores if they wore their collars back in the day.

But…I have to say…I’m always annoyed by that denominational, teary-eyed longing for a time when African-Americans were still being lynched, women had next-to-no voice in our pulpits, and gays and lesbians had to hide deep in the closet. It’s a new day, and I really couldn’t be happier about that fact.

I also resent it when older ministers are always calling us mediocre. I wish they knew how painful it is to hear that all the time, throughout seminary, throughout all the good work that we’re doing…. I always take it personally. How else can we take it? And it makes me wonder, Were you guys really that much better than us? Isn’t there some other way to rouse brilliance in our leaders than constantly pointing out how unremarkable we are?

All that said, what I am interested in is how we can begin to cultivate pastors. FTE talks about this as a culture of call, and they’re studying churches all across the country to find out why particular congregations send more people to seminary. It’s a fascinating question.

I’ve been hearing more and more people around our place dropping hints like, “You know, the thing I would love about your job is….” Why is that? People who read this blog know that the best part about it is the comments. So let’s hear it. What’s your story? What inspired you to go into leadership? Is there any particular thing in your culture that you can point to that incites you to be a leader of great caliber? What sort of things are you doing to cultivate church leaders? What could we be doing better?

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My favorite radio program is “This American Life.” (Aside: Does anyone know what happened to the television program? Did anyone see it? Is it still out there? Did it get panned?) Anyways…last Saturday on the radio version of TAL, they spoke to a man who mapped his surroundings with the barely audible hums that came from all the appliances around him. So, his computer vibrated to a b flat, his heater made a d buzz, and his dial tone rang out something different altogether. (I don’t remember the actual notes correctly. But you can hear the podcast if you want accuracy…).

He explained that we are the first generation to be surrounded by these humming appliances. He began to map out the chords that became his background music each day, and noticed that they were minor, depressing combinations. He did research on religious music, and what the church has said about certain note combinations through history.

Since hearing the program, I can’t help but hear other things: the blowing fan, the whistling light bulbs, the murmuring refrigerator, the droning computers. He’s right. We’re surrounded. I’m not musical enough to know if these noises are discordant, contributing to a shift in moods, I’m just more aware of them now.

I have lived in the South most of my life, where the air conditioner was a necessary ingredient for sanity. But then I moved to Rhode Island, where we didn’t have any AC. The short summer was heaven. We opened up the windows and let the sounds from the outside in doors. At the time, I was struck, not by the manufactured chords that made up our lives, but by the rhythms. It seemed like the beat of the dripping rain, the grasshoppers, and the birds was much different than the mechanical hums that had become a part of my life’s soundtrack. Happily, we moved to Virginia, to an old breezy home that was never built for air conditioning, so we can keep it open most of the summer too. And so I’m writing here, as the sounds of nature wake up around me.

The other thing that has kept me thinking since Saturday: “We are the first generation to….” This is an amazing moment of firsts. It’s not just technology, although that is most of it. It’s social too. If we think of “generation” in a broad sense, we are the first generation of Christians to welcome women into the pulpit. We are the first generation to be thinking about family leave. We are the first generation to assume that the spouse will be working. We are the first generation that does not assume that the person staying home is the mom. We are the first generation to be talking about allowing ordained gays, lesbians, and bisexuals to be open and honest about their sexuality. There are so many things happening…what am I leaving out?

So often, as a person born in the seventies, I get frustrated and don’t understand why things don’t change faster. I become irritated because I feel like so many people just don’t understand.

But then, I realize where I’m standing, in this important room of firsts. A room where some of us hear things completely differently. And then I become overwhelmed with gratitude, because I’m able to stand here, in this moment of change, in this exciting, buzzing instant in history.

photo’s by heirloomfoto

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I have known the Christian Right from the inside. They are literally my family. I eat Christmas dinner with them. My artwork adorns the offices of a religious right congressman. I have known this movement since its inception.

I listened to James Dobson when his ministry consisted of a radio show and films that would keep us busy during the Sunday night service, so the pastor wouldn’t have to preach again (that poor man–can you imagine Sunday morning and Sunday night services?).

But somewhere in college, when they were really gaining in power, I realized I couldn’t be a part of it.

Dobson’s op-ed in the New York Times proclaimed that “If neither of the two major political parties nominates an individual who pledges himself or herself to the sanctity of human life, we will join others in voting for a minor-party candidate.”

As we know, Dobson’s a huge voice. He can mobilize millions with a single plea. He has been focused, determined, and tremendously effective.

He organizes leaders like no one else, giving common voice and ground to Baptists, Charismatics, Pentecostals, Roman Catholics, some Mainliners, and a host of other Evangelical faith communities. The idea that in the 1990s we could think of “Evangelicals” as one hulking entity is amazing. These groups actually hate each other, but somehow, he got them to throw down their debates on Acts chapter two, set aside their arguments on the dispensation of God’s grace, stop predicting who the anti-Christ might be, and even quit worrying if the tribulation was going to happen before the rapture or after it.

Through Dobson’s genius, they found a way to put aside their monumental differences. They let go of all of it, so they could take up their swords and focus on the family. We now paint all of these groups with the broad brush of “Evangelical,” and we know longer think, “Oh! Those are the people who bring good news!” but we think, “homophobic, sexist, pro-war, pro-death penalty, Republican.” (Forgive me, Evangelicals out there. I know it’s much more complex than that, I’m not saying that is who you are. I’m saying this is now the perception for most people….)

Their agenda is clear: The defense of the family means no abortion, no same gender relationships. (Question: Are they still fighting against having women in the workforce? That was huge for Dobson in the 80s, but I’m wondering if he had to give that one up, given our economy. It’s interesting that he added “herself,” as if a woman could be an option. Was that for show?)

But, even as Dobson pulls out his strong arm of defense at this time, we cannot help but notice that the sword…it’s shaking a bit. He can still get an Op-Ed piece in the NYT. He can still claim that 40 percent of his followers made up the Bush vote. But can he get his way? Can he get the Republican Party to bow once again to his bullying? He’s certainly not keeping his power in a new generation.

Ironically, Dobson’s critical error in engaging young Christians is that he is not standing up for the sanctity of human life. He fights against environmental efforts in the Evangelical movement. He refuses to stand for children’s health care (those are our children, our family!). His policies work against the poor. He refuses to stand up for peace in Iraq, which is killing so many precious lives every day.

And, if Dobson loses his young constituency and he loses the Republican party for his soap box…well…that leaves him pretty unfocused.

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There are a few Presbyterian churches in our area looking for pastors. We have a call process that doesn’t depend on bishops or placements. For the most part, the pastors and church decide mutually if God has called them, if they can work together, if it’s a “good fit.” These searching churches are all about 500-1000 members, in the black, basically healthy, free of major trauma (no murders or massive sex scandals), but they’re having a difficult time finding pastors.

I wonder why. I’m not intimately related to any of these churches, I just hear the whispers that float my direction. They say that there’s just nobody out there. No good candidates. No one they would consider hiring. A couple of churches are going through the entire arduous process a second time, because they couldn’t find anyone the first time.

Could that really be the case? Really?

I mean, I can point to a couple of odd birds floating around when our local governing bodies meet. I won’t name any names here, but we all know who I’m talking about.

The pastor who could not make eye contact with a parishioner if her very own life depended upon it.

Or, the one with a fuse so short that you duck under a table anytime something combustible comes up in a conversation.

Or, the one who loves the process, the polity, the prayers, and the position much, much more than the people.

Or, the one who is always saying something almost inappropriate, and you leave the room thinking, “Did that guy just hit on me?” There’s nothing you can put your finger on, exactly. But it’s the fourth time you’ve asked yourself this question, after leaving his presence.

We all know the characters. But, for the most part, we’re pretty good pastors. As far as IQ, we fall into the top twenty-five percent range. Most of us have a Masters degree, and many of us have Doctorates. So what’s going on? Why are churches having such a difficult time finding the right person?

I know what it’s been in my case. I have a really odd education for a progressive pastor. As a bona fide graduate of Moody Bible Institute, many churches that I apply for simply don’t look at the second page of my information. I hear hilarious stories from the nominating committee at Western, who did make it to the second page.

For instance, my husband was the moderator of Presbyterian Promise, an LGBT advocacy group in New England. But, somehow this fact got confused, and it was relayed to the committee that my husband was the President of Promise Keepers. It was almost all over for me at that point. Instead, they persisted in interviewing me, but they kept asking, “Now, can you explain that organization your husband’s the head of again?”

And I kept wondering, “Why is this church so concerned about what my husband’s doing in his free time?”

So, what is it? Is it that some pastors are like me, and just don’t look great on paper? Are congregations expecting too much? Are churches wanting the wrong things (good teeth, skinny wife, perfect children)? Are we hoping too hard for a flawless fit? Is it because churches are having such a difficult time with the gender issue that they reject half the qualified applicants from the get go? Are women pastors less willing to accept larger churches? Is it that good pastors are less mobile? Do we interview poorly? Are the sermon tapes bad? Could it be the odd, computer-generated, dating-game call process?

What is it?

photo’s by Wes Craft

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My husband turned to me last week and said, “It’s been twenty years.”

“What?” I asked.

“Since we met. We met twenty years ago.”

I thought back, added up the dates, and he was right. We met on a summer mission trip for teenagers, and then we went to Moody Bible Institute together. The Bible school fact never ceases to amaze people in my progressive congregation. I mentioned it to a member/Harvard professor who did not manage to hoist his jaw off the ground for the rest of the afternoon.

From the outside, conservative Bible schools may look like a bunch of students dressing the same way and believing the exact same things. You might think that everyone at Liberty University adamantly hangs off of Jerry Falwell’s words, but they don’t.

Bible schools are complicated systems. They have the true believers, but then there’s a stream of people who don’t quite fit: The ones who question everything and everyone, even though the environment doesn’t welcome an inquiring mind. There are a lot of gay and lesbians there, who are working out their salvation with fear and trembling. There are a broad array of International students who teach us about liberation theology. There are many people who are there because their parents forced them to attend.

B and I were among the questioning misfits. He was politically radical, and I stuck out because of my views on women. Our theology was shifting as well, as I was just getting interested in liberation theology and “neo-orthodoxy.” And then there were the little things, like B and his roommates always played their music too loud, until their neighbors would pound on the door, yelling at them.

Oh, and B also dressed outrageously. He always shopped at thrift stores, or dug his clothes out of the “missionary barrel” (think Goodwill castoffs, but at MBI, we gave everything to those poor missionaries).

He had conversations in the thrift stores that went like this:

Woman from the neighborhood: “Ooo! Look at what you found. Those are beautiful curtains!”

B: “Thanks. They’re actually pants. I’m gonna wear them tonight.”

I was never quite sure what he was going to show up in from day to day. Or what his hair would look like. We had a strict dress code at the college, and after B completed his first year, they had to add more rules, for B’s sake.

But things change and so do people, and even though I took him out for our six-month-dating anniversary once, now he’s much more likely to keep the calendar than I am. On most days, he wears khaki’s and collared shirts. I do less housework; he does more. Our political, philosophical, and theological positions have changed dramatically.

As a pastor, I’m rarely surprised when people come into my office and tell me that their long-term marriage is falling apart. People evolve. They’re often drastically different than they were on the day that they met. It’s a miracle when two people stay together after so many years.

And so, I’m celebrating our little miracle today. And I’m reminded that not everything has changed. After all, we spent a good amount of time yesterday belting out all of the words to Queen’s Greatest Hits.

Our daughter yelled from the back seat, “Mom and Dad, can you turn that down?”

“No!” we both answered.

photo uploaded by DigiPix

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