I’ve delayed posting my annual reflection on My Story at King’s Cross Church — longer than I needed anyway. Last year, I made a series of posts, the final which I wrote in late-December out of necessity; it just took me that long to work through my thoughts and feelings. Last year when I reread my words, they were heavy. I couldn’t get through certain sections without taking breaks. Some I read while standing up. Other parts I was able to sit down.
I recall shortly after, I was just writing furiously. It was how I attempted to settle the many thoughts in my mind. I had so much that I was reworking in faith and vocation. I did several word studies for fun. I wrote about trends and AI in ministry. I wrote about women in the church, music, culture, my usual liturgical calendar posts, etc. Some of that writing never made it to “publish” but if you spoke with me during the time, there were some unfinished essays about “fighting against invisible enemies” (from my visit to a fairly progressive church) or “how to presbyterian as an asian american” (reflections on the asian don’t-stir-the-pot mentality in presbyterian polity) or “a theology of i don’t know” (coming to embrace mystery in the scriptures) just to name a few.
This year is different.
If my posting on this blog is any indication of my need for processing, here’s my annual log in visual form.
I definitely went on a processing break in the summer. (In the back of my mind, I always had that essay on scripture and authority that I eventually just hit “publish” because I don’t think it will ever be complete. I just had to let it be incomplete but in-progress.) Summer might have been the first time in a while I just focused on enjoying my time. Finishing the summer with a visit to Minnesota to see Esther and meet her friends immediately followed by a family adventure trip to Alaska really made it a life-giving summer. These two trips gave me a lot to think about regarding genuine community and re-creation.
Regarding my commitment to myself to revisit my story with King’s Cross every year to process, I think it’s still a good commitment. I should probably do it next year too. Maybe it’ll be the last time? We’ll see.
From this year’s revisit, I’m learning that I’ve grown and changed quite a lot. I did not read the story with as much heaviness and grief. I found myself even questioning my own writing; “Is that really how it went?” It was a really strange experience to misalign with the account of events that, for a period of time, was so deeply etched in my memory.
I’m grateful I’ve been able to let go of those details and let the pages of the story hold them; I don’t need to carry that around in my heart/mind every day anymore.
I even found myself trying to give the elders an out, sympathizing with them on how they were really over their heads. “Incompetence” probably is still a hurtful word there but I don’t think the structures and cultural expectations allowed them to see that asking for help or just accepting that that were “incompetent” as an option available to them.1
I also noticed that I highlighted and underlined more of where the Spirit was present, working despite my pain and grief — that he still leads his people as wayward as we were in pursuing wholeness. I read my story trying to see how God work shining through the cracks we were making in our dysfunction. Go was working. God is still working.
In the immediate aftermath, I avoided hearing about the church. I’m grateful that people who knew of my story did not flood me with news about King’s Cross and how people were doing. It was too hard at the time to hear from people I had cared for so much but could no longer be a part of.2 But over time, I got more comfortable.
People started reaching out. It often came in waves (like multiple people at once), which led me to wonder what was going on. News was usually bad. People were resign, frustrated, apathetic. I tried my best to point them to grace; to give their leaders a chance; to give the new pastor (and eventually the other new pastor) a chance to get their bearings. But it was too much. The misalignment was too askew. After some time I just had to come to terms that the church was just too entrenched in its ways to help these people who kept reaching out; I think the most helpful advice I could give was to start looking elsewhere. It’s not good to stay for so long in a church where your spirit is crushed and you enter each Sunday w/ so much pain and apathy.
I will add that in my most recent unexpected interaction, I heard good news. That was surprising, yet nonetheless, good to hear. I’m glad someone was receiving something life-giving that he was willing to talk about. (But this was the odd one out. It was not to hear, but I’d still be cautious of pointing people to King’s Cross.) During this conversation, I heard names of people I haven’t heard in a long time. As I listened to him share, I found that I was still moved — not to the point where I felt paralyzed as it was in the previous years — but I realized I still cared for these people. And I was sad that they were still there… that at least in my imagination, they didn’t know what they were missing in the broad expansive beauty that is available to them in the faith.
As part of my attempt to move forward (not “moving on”; I don’t think I’ll every full move on), I recently (like, this past week) started getting to know a new group of ministry people from across the country. We’re all trying to reimagine the faith and look for beauty in our contexts. I hope as I get to know them and they get to know me, we’ll have some life-giving conversations. I’m looking into what faith can look like after this… what pastoring might look like and the community that forms around a reimagined church.
Am I okay now? Maybe? At the very least much better than where I was! There are still some things to reckon with but I’m looking forward with hope. I wonder where I’ll be in a year.
- Makes me think about how the season of Lent, and the other aspects of the liturgical calendar that they were resistant to receiving into church life, is so formative for this. I can hear my prof, Chuck DeGroat’s voice coming to mind regarding Lent: “It’s alright…come on down. Return to your ground. It’s so much easier down here.” ↩︎
- I was really distraught at that first Thanksgiving when I had to figure out how to be around church people. That’s the odd one out. I wasn’t ready for that at all. ↩︎
Leave a Reply