Confessions of a Liberal Puritan

In a bit of irony that it's taken me a few days to come to appreciate, a former colleague of mine (a minister I knew when I was pastoring my first solo parish, who has spent the last 12 years or so as part-time pastor to one of the churches I'd served in that first call) called me up Monday night -- totally out of the blue -- to pass on a compliment to me. Or so he thought. ( Read more... )

By yesterday, I was able to laugh about it, noting that apparently nothing quite so became me in my early ministry as my absence, and that my most effective pastoral leadership consisted in taking myself out of the picture altogether.

And that led me to reflect further on the issues and quotes I'd been playing with since Sunday.

Here's a quick re-print of the two crucial quotes from Lois McMaster Bujold and Madeleine L'Engle. ( Read more... )


The words from the prophet Jeremiah (bemoaning the way that God has 'stormed his citadel' and used him to work miracles not at all of his choosing) that I didn't have time to track down on Monday morning are in Jeremiah 20:7-9: ( Read more... )

What I have found particularly compelling and troubling about these words, ever since I first studied Jeremiah in seminary, is that in the original Hebrew Jeremiah's accusation that God has 'enticed' and 'overpowered' him could be interpreted as saying that God has seduced and raped him, in forcing him to prophesy against his will.

The book of Jeremiah can't get much more disturbing than that -- at least, not for me.

So, as I'm trying to reconnect myself with some sense of purpose and mission in my PhD work, and discovering all over again just how very little control anyone in ministry has over the way that we're remembered after the fact or the effectiveness of our words and actions in helping people to connect with God and find food for their souls, and all that, I'm wondering . . .

I'm wondering if it isn't, perhaps, high time that I allowed myself to be a little heart-broken (that the words of hope and redemption may not just lie on top of my oh-so-impressive mind, but fall into my dusty old heart and take enduring root there).

I'm wondering if maybe I should just accept that I'm a window or doorway for whatever work God needs to do in my little corner of the universe, and that all my careful planning and choosing and trying never to say the wrong thing or take the wrong road may not amount to very much, compared to God's ability to work best through my throwaway lines and unremembered gestures and even through my continuing absence.

And I'm wondering if it's time to just give in to that fire burning in my bones, and write something -- write anything -- in order to get my life and my work moving forward again, and give voice to whatever of God still resides within me.

In response to a comment made by the always thought-provoking shadowkat in my LJ back in July, I found myself reflecting on the parts of me and my interests that don't fit into the neat little categories often favored by academia, the Church, and even [gasp!] fandoms. ( Read more... )

I was reminded of those reflections again this afternoon, when I attended a visiting faculty luncheon in order to (a) have lunch with other people for a change, (b) get a free lunch, and (c) hear guest lecturer Steven Greenberg (a gay Orthodox Jewish rabbi) talk about his book (Wrestling With God and Men: Homosexuality in the Jewish Tradition, 2004), his research into male-to-male love poetry written by well-known rabbis in 11th-century Spain, and his experience trying to bring all of himself into his religious work and vocation.

It occurred to me, while listening to this very knowledgeable, likable, and challenging speaker, that the only way for me to perhaps get beyond the stark, unreasoning terror that besets me every time I think about proceeding with my dissertation is to throw down my gauntlet in the introduction to my proposal (in the nicest possible way), and just lay it on the line: this is who I am, and I cannot even pretend (at this late stage in my life -- I'm all of 42 years old, after all, and 43 is coming up fast!) to fit into any kind of strict, no-nonsense, suck-all-the-fun-out-in-case-anyone-might-think-this-isn't-serious-and-really-hard-work-that-only-a-select-few-are-smart-enough-to-even-understand mold.

For the record, I hate treating my research like proprietary material or acting like I'm in competition (rather than community) with every other person who likes to think about and discuss the things I like to think about.

From now on, I resolve to say "screw it! I gotta do this my way, or not at all" and get something DONE, at last.