Looks like many churches will be closing their doors this Sunday to help prevent the spread of the COVID-19.
What you find below is my confession to a bundle of personal practices that have caused many pain and heartache. So here it goes……
Approximately three years ago, I found myself dragging my soul through the darkest corridor I’ve ever traveled through. It didn’t help that I created this mess myself. Somewhere along the line of trying to navigate life outside of my calling….
My initial reaction was nausea… then the nausea was followed by deep sorrow…. My heart hurt for this young man. I’m almost sure that he was completely blind-sighted by the backlash caused by his shirt. I’m positive that all he wanted to do was share the gospel. Instead, he was tar and feathered by two bitter crows.
I sat there on the couch, surrounded by people that I loved and cared about, but at that moment I would have given anything for an excuse to get up and leave.
The proposition was a simple one. The church needed both a janitor and an associate pastor. Unfortunately, they could only afford to hire one. I could tell that the pastor was trying to sell me on the arrangement, but his efforts were pointless. I had my mind made up before any attempt to convince me was made.
All six of them stood before us, that day, all in a row. We all knew what was coming and it wasn’t good.
I hated these moments and had witnessed them one-too-many times. I never understood why the congregants allowed this archaic practice to take place. Were all of them too fearful to stand up and do something about it?
Recently I’ve had to face an important element of my faith journey that my religious upbringing and theological studies did not prepare me for.
As I left the building, I saw the transient couple sitting in the beat-up-Yugo that I had seen earlier. Not wanting to engage in conversation, I tried to make a quick break to my car….. but before I got too far, I heard someone call out to me. “Pastor John! Can we talk to you?”