An old friend called me today. He asked where I was preaching? After initial trepidation, I nervously hemmed, hawed and complained how my mother-in-law’s health was declining, how my daughter’s school kept me busy, how I didn’t really have the time or the resources to devote to looking for a new appointment. I left my job as head pastor shortly after the 2016 election and the sad truth was and is that I don’t see my self ever preaching again. At least not from a pulpit in a church. The reality I live with, but haven’t really fully admitted to myself until now, is that I don’t know if I will ever go back to church again, except maybe for a cousin’s wedding or a niece baptizing her newest chick.

He went along for my ride, as I drug him to marriage conference, adult Sunday school, endless church services, small group and even as the husband of a seminary student and future pastor….. never a complaint he uttered…. He loved me fully and completely, this was how he showed me his unfailing love, by being present and accepting of me in all my crazy ideas. All the while I often felt guilty for my unrelenting desire to lead while making him out to be the head.

The second and perhaps biggest thing was the 2016 election. That nauseating, futile realization that the Emperor was truly naked.  All of a sudden it was as if someone changed the rules while I was looking the other way, the scales fell from my eyes. All the things the church stood for, held tight, and built its moral reputation on went completely out the window. The new language was framed loosely around God’s mysterious way of bringing about his will. It had always been code for explaining a situation that didn’t morally or ethically match up, but this time it just didn’t sit …..I saw the Emperor bare butted and all I could do was scream…. He’s Naked, He’s Naked. It became so clear to me, how could they not see. They pushed this line that black was white, up was down, wrong was right,  and sin was ok (as long as it provided a pathway to power in the Supreme Court) . It was as if they all had a meeting that I wasn’t invited to and decided that they choose political power over decency and inhumanity over love. That was their line and they were sticking to it…..I could yell and scream….What is wrong with everyone?….Can you not see this? Hello,… is there anybody sane out there …..We don’t go for this….. This is not the church….. But they had a taste of power  and the lotus leaf proved more palatable than any moral rational.

And just like that, I was an alien, a foreigner in my beloved home, the place which once inspired me, challenged me to behave in Godly ways, called me to be a mother who stayed home with her children, who didn’t drink or smoke or curse and was obedient to her mate. This place that I loved that I had spent my life serving had settled for a thrice married, cheating, lying, insufferable king who mocked disabled, called immigrants rapists and murderers, conspired with an enemy for economic gain, unrepentant, proud and incorrigible and just down right ignorant. A man who so completely was the antithesis to Christ, it seemed almost a joke…. If he had been democrat….which he was till he decided the better angle was the church, he would have been crucified. This was the new reality. Everything I witnessed , everything I saw, everything I experienced , could not be unseen, unfelt or denied….. the marriage bed was violated, the bride of Christ was really only a perpetrator of judgement and hate, of envy, of seeking unrelenting power. And that shattering, that break of the glass that held my fragile understanding of faith broke into a million little pieces. I had lost my religion.

Two years out now, I am slowly adjusting, though I will never fully understand the appeal of dissent.  What has emerged in my absence from the church is this beautiful, messy, imperfect mosaic of my future faith. An understanding of Spirit, of life, of love, of unconditional acceptance, not driven by class, or race, gender, status or acceptable behavior. It is fueled by the pure essence of Love. Without the institution of church and its confines I am able to experience the reality of who God is and always was to me…..the God who sat beside me at three when I was frightened and alone, during abuse, and neglect and defeat.  I had always known this love of a God so powerful it drew me through the mountain, and valley and badlands, to a place of freedom, of security and empowerment. Giving me wings to fly, a voice to speak and the permission to know. My religion boxed that in and made God a Genie who only answered the chosen. Though I have lost my religion, I am now so very grateful, because I have not lost God.  I can now fully embrace that I am the child of the most high God, warts, and doubts and anger and all. And I am enough in that knowing, and  not  the church, nor the powers of government, or those who blindly follow can ever take that away. I am enough. without title, position or congregation, even if I never go to church again, I am loved.

Where I am ….

I’ve spent the better part of the last 18 months being angry

Angry at the election,

Angry at the people, who voted him in,

Angry at the Evangelical church for endorsing a lying, racist, thrice married, self admitted sexual predator, as one being “sent by God” to make “America Great Again”.

I keep trying to calm my emotions and

Keep trying to be tolerant and accepting and grateful.

And then I see pictures of children ripped from their parent’s arms and I am

Right  back there again, incensed , downright furious at what is playing out in American History.

It has been a long stretch of anger for me,  for a person who was taught that anger was bad… and good, obedient girls don’t get angry….

But alas, I feel like the Psalmist who lamented  “Beside the streams of Babylon we sat and wept , trying to remember Mount Zion.”                               Psalm 137.1

When will this nightmare end?

It feels like a lifetime for me….

I left my job, disconnected from a lot of people.

Left friendships and familial relationships

all under the umbrella of infuriation, disgust and disbelief…..

Yet I know if I want to continue to grow, if I want to be whole: body soul and spirit, I need to do something with this anger. I cannot just let it fester and allow it to define my breath and my being.

Because anger unresolved will surely turn to bitterness and bitterness will slowly choke the life from my spirit until I am no longer able to see the goodness in anything.

So I ask the deep questions, why am I so angry?

Why did this election upset me so much?

What is beneath the anger and resentment and fury? What is the emotion beneath the emotion,  because anger is a secondary emotion, derived from other primal feelings of loss, shame, fear and our sense of justice.  What shift in my reality created such a division in my soul and spirit that I felt the only way to emerge with my dignity and remain emotionally unscathed was to leave the career and calling I had spent the better part of my life pursing?

I have never in my lifetime voted democratic – and yet this time , though I was unhappy with the choice. I felt as if it was a vote against and not for. And I stand still in shock that good people that I know and love are standing behind a man who has such a degraded sense of morality that cheapens the very idea of what it means to be holy and pure.

My heart is broken, and I

think a lot of it comes from my own sense of failure.

Being part of the church,

And pouring my heart and soul into teaching the ways of Jesus.

And yet  feeling as if it made no difference at all! That nothing I said or taught made much of a mark in the places that really mattered.  It was as if the lines were drawn in the sand and party and not principle made up people’s minds. That people bought into the fear being propagated instead of seeing truth and that makes my heart ache.

But I guess this is just  My truth, this is just  My reality,  

The bigger truth is that so many were so happy to see this win….

and I am trying so hard to understand why, really I am-

I want to know why…., but it eludes me still.

The choice was a hard one I get it-

but how can it seem so obvious to me  and others do not see?

When so many of the choices not only -do not reflect Christ  but often feel like the  antithesis of what Christ would choose.

And yet the Evangelical church at large still stands behind and cheers as if their new savior has come.

And this feels a bit like rejection to me.

Like I am no longer part of the family,

It is a hard reality to see that the place I believed taught me the essentials of loving Christ, of being holy and pure and loving  my neighbor has been usurped by a sense of acute nationalism that reeks of fear and scarcity: as if the pie is not big enough for all to have grace.

And in this – somehow I am being judgmental for not towing the party line …as if

…Jesus is a Republican .

It feels so  much to me that the premise of loving my neighbor has been replaced by the feelings of fear  and lack and loss of control in a changing dynamic.

And the dichotomy of this feels  so personal to me,

it hurts deep into my core and feels like betrayal ….did we not read the same scriptures, did we not love the same God?

Reflectively though, I know it stems from a sort of benign neglect  on my part. I once was in that place of surrendering  all my beliefs for the party line…. I believed  that it was all a renunciation to what was “right”, “holy”, and “proper”  a way to believe and to  way to vote.  It was easier to adopt the narrative given to me by my parents, the beliefs of my church, and the choices of my tribe then to take the time to sit with the difficult questions and wrestle with the injustices perpetuated by my own kind.  And there are so many injustices , so much done in the name of privilege and race and heritage.

But when I went to  seminary and was  forced to stare the ugly reality of the Biblical texts straight in the face: the reality that my tribe- in all its whiteness -had made these rules because the victors usually craft interpretative forms.

That the original language and its context of what the Bible really says

calls me be transformed by its hearing  and that it is not so much about who wins as it is about a deep dying to self for the sake of others,  that behavior is a scapegoat used to control- but the true reality is that t the Kingdom of God is here and now and how I treat people, and accept people,  and love people really matters not only for a heavenly realm or my place in it, but for an earthly reality.

Almost a decade later, I know more facts and systematics, and creeds that I need to,  but somehow I am still humbled by how much unknowing there is left.

And how much more comfortable I am in the discomfort of  the unknowing -because all that I really need to know is that I am known and loved by God.  And that God is a God of love….deep abiding love , that welcomes the stranger, and cares for the poor, and loves unconditionally….

And that one take away  from that is a lesson I learned in my childhood faith…. which I cling to like an old stuffed bear  as it grounds me and gives me strength:

God is a God of Love- that God loves all humanity  – and that God is a God of forgiveness.

That this triune knowing…. which relies not on dogma or doctrine or party  to express essence but shows itself fully in love for my neighbor, in welcoming the stranger, in feeding the hungry and drink for those who thirst.

It is most present when I listen to those who need to be heard, when I refrain from judgments for those who feel ashamed,

when I cry with those who grieve and sing with those who feel joy.

And it is in this knowing

that I am most certain…..

that  I must release the anger,

that  I must let go of the hurt, and continue forward.

That the people I love may not be there yet ….but I will love them anyway, despite .

For I am fully aware that

God allowed this space and

This place in history for reasons I cannot know.

And for that reason I will say: I am grateful, grateful for the breaking open  of my soul to trying to understand what to me seems impossible,

that is happening for reasons I am now unaware, That  the stepping forward of those who have been wronged, and the awakening of society to calls of justice louder than those who cried before are being birthed in a crucible of great prejudice….

But still I am grateful

And I  acknowledge that the reasons why I feel so wounded by so much of the past eighteen months of  what feels like hypocrisy and lunacy to me

Feels like a blessing  and answer to  prayer for others…. that to them it is a dream come true

I will try and put aside my judgments and agree to disagree

and that feels like growth to me.

I want to be ok with it all , to see the light …because the light will shine.

It has been a shedding of the old me , the me who was  afraid to  question the  coming into  a larger place, which leaves space for my doubts and my disappointments and the knowledge that God is ok with all of those.

I am still so very disappointed with the Evangelical church at large, a place that originally nurtured this knowing-

this growing -this faith,

and traded its place for power and position and took so many along for the ride.

But if I want to be whole…, If I want to continue to grow

I must allow it to be as it is,

and forgive,

both for my part in its propagation, and for the continued hypocrisies and injustices I feel it portrays.

And so I forgive ….again and again and again…

I forgive….

and I release.

And continue to search for the gratitude I will find in these lessons I’ve learned, and the growth it will bring to my journey in this tenuous

yet tender season of life.

It has been five years since my father died, my Facebook feed reminded me with its On this day feature…. one, two three, four, five years ago today.  We were at Camp Geiger in North Carolina, waiting for Logan to graduate from his Military Combat Training: a month long required training after 13 weeks of boot camp to instruct the new Marines in the use of powerful weapons. “Every Marine is a rifleman or riflewoman” they boast… “from the KP To Infantry…. if Marine…. then skilled in the correct use of weapons…”

It was one last time that we would get to see him before he would be placed or deployed anywhere …From Iraq to Okinawa or maybe even Ft. Dix NJ only 20 miles up the road (that was my hope). I knew we would make the eight hour drive to Camp Geiger even if we could only visit him for a few hours and even though my Dad was in the hospital, after all ….Dad was recovering and said he felt better than ever before.

As I looked at the Facebook memories feed, I instantly was taken back to those moments right before I knew- the innocence of not knowing… the naiveté of life before a significant shift occurs to mark the end of an era, the photograph taken right before I found out. The smiles that didn’t know that in just a matter of moments my life would be different forever.

Ethan and I, so full of pride bookending our beautiful unsmiling boy dressed in his crisped cotton cammies, arms at his side. Me with my red Marine Mom top proudly displayed and Ethan in his Retired Marine Shirt that I accidentally bought without reading the small embroidery thinking it simply said US MARINES – darn reading glasses, never around when you need them.  Ethan always felt like an imposter wearing that shirt,  as if someone found out they would say…. “Liar you never served” no one ever did.  Red was the uniform parents were instructed to wear- Red so when the graduates looked out at us they would view a sea of scarlet waving parents and friends wishing and praying for safety from what was to come ….For some it was the last time they ever saw their boy or girl.

Another picture on my Facebook feed was of the graduates lined like camel colored crayons in a box each one stacked in perfect space and place alongside the other waiting for command. The clock on the back wall read 9:15 as if memorializing in time, the very moment when….  I was reminded that is when the phone rang from an unknown caller.  I silenced the ringer and after decline, took a picture of those kids in flawless order – three more times it would ring.

Bulletproof focus betrayed my reality, I though it was a telemarketer, it was a number I didn’t recognize and the cell lines had just recently been made open on the market. I remember stuffing the phone in my pocket determined not to let anything rob me of that moment. It was a few short beautiful moments, filled with awe and relief…. From where Logan had been…..how far he had come…. Unwilling to entertain the thoughts of where he would go I was happy to be present in that moment with Ethan at my side and Logan safe in front of me. I didn’t have to think about what would come, what could come, and I remember feeling so proud of him, and so, so happy.

When the graduation was over the parents and guests were herded over to a make shift bazaar like area with tables set up like a flea market bearing the goods of Marine regalia and souvenir. Like mewling, hungry infants searching for the comfort of mother’s breast we rushed to buy something we could hold in our arms that would remind us and sustain us in the emptiness of letting them go. Something to mark us as Marine Mom’s and Dad’s, something tangible to help us try and forget for a moment that we were sending our babies into deep harm.  No real consolation -just material comfort and anything would do at that point to take away the fear of not knowing…..

I bought a brand new scrapbook that was made from an old cammie uniform folded in perfect square with USMC stitched on the left pocket. I’ve done exactly one scrapbook in my whole life and it painfully betrayed my lack of crafty prowess…but I had great intentions of filling that one with Logan’s memories of boot camp and MCT The letters I so cherished as my only connection to him those long lonely weeks. Sad, scary weeks with no contact, he left with the just clothes on his back…not even a toothbrush, or glasses.  They were instructed to bring NOTHING…that’s a tough one for a mom who sent her kid to camp with two huge suitcases and a carry on for a weeklong excursion – just in case they needed something.

Sending him off with nothing made me feel useless and unprotective, and my mom radar was going wonky….what if he needs?…. Ethan reminded me often, he will need for nothing…. So I was left ,waiting ….waiting to see if he would survive, let alone make it through 13 terrible weeks to the crucible.  I remember hearing his bellowing voice for the first time when I went through the gates at Bush Gardens…. our stop on the way down to Graduation. … “Mom- I’m a US Marine”…. It was perhaps the most terrifying and wonderful words I have ever heard in my whole life.

Yes, I had great plans for that scrap book,  A testament to how some times hard things and scary things turn out ok, and how at some times the thing in life we are most often afraid of, turns out to be the best thing that could have ever happened. I was determined that was what the scrapbook  would represent. I would look at its finished pages while he was away -wherever they sent him- and I would remind myself how hard he worked and how far he had come and what could have happened had he not decided to join the Marines.

When the woman handed me the receipt and put the scrapbook in the bag, I saw Ethan coming from behind one of the tents. And though he didn’t say anything right away, I knew….I knew something was terribly wrong, my soul just knew something awful had happened. When I had silenced my phone for the third time, they called Ethan. He held the news as an offering for my delight and innocence for just a few more moments during the whole graduation, quietly grieving himself while faking a smile and figuring how he would tell me. He let me fully relish that moment of pride for my son.

As I stood in that hot parking lot C at Camp Geiger with a bagful of intentions and a sweet nostalgia for Logan’s transformative journey ….Ethan’s eyes let me know before he ever said the words….

“Sofia called…..”

He didn’t need to say anymore

I knew

I knew

I knew.

And my body, unassisted by will, crumpled to earth in disbelief.

He was gone …

Just like that

My Father was dead.

My father who had been feeling so much better,

My Father…. who was telling me dirty jokes 10 hours earlier,

My father …who I didn’t answer his call when he called for the fourth time the day before so I could trouble shoot why he couldn’t turn up the volume on the brand new Ipad my sister bought him the week before as an early Father’s day gift.

My Father… with whom I shared such a complicated

and strange and funny and difficult and kind and messy and loving relationship with was dead.

My Father gone:  In a moment, his life was over.

And Logan’s bus was leaving in five minutes and I had to pull it together so he wouldn’t know ….we didn’t want to worry him until we had more information about the service and if he could even get leave to come home. We would figure those details on the way home….

So I kissed my son clutching the bag with the scrapbook of intentions and watched him carry his heavy cammo, backpack filled with military issue and climb onto the bus for Pensacola, Fla for the next leg of his journey. Smiling like nothing happened I was trying to be a good Mom and give him just a few more hours of peace until he knew and everything changed for him….

Ethan and I drove back to NJ that day and for eight, seemingly endless hours we spent half the time in silence and tears and half in laughter and memories… of all my Dad had done, all the stories he told, all the crazy, unpredictable, outlandish sometimes immoral things he had done in his life…. if nothing else my father was colorful and complex and wild and beautiful and caring and he loved his children with all his heart even sometimes when it didn’t feel that way.

Ethan and I realized on our way home that day….that we would have to navigate a new normal now, a new place for us both,  neither of us had lost a parent, our children had never experienced a death in the family. Being parents ourselves, we realized the gravity of the loss we understood and in that moment though we never spoke of it we considered our own mortality and thought of where and how our children would be when we were gone. The awareness of the terrible and beautiful fragility of life hung like a sheet between us in the car and we both felt its heaviness… how strange and precious life was.

As I scanned the pictures in my phone for one that captured the y totality of what and who my Dad was,  to use for the  Facebook post I would begin….“ It is with deep sadness’…  I so wanted to include the other pictures…. this was the last picture of me – taken before I knew my father was gone. See the smile on my face that was the very last time I knew that I still had a father who was living…. That was the very last time I was whole…. We are so often surprised by death, by its difficulty and its inconvenience, an uninvited guest in the party of life, but death really is the only guest on everyone’s event list. Promised to show up for absolutely everyone at some point without fail.

Logan finished his service in the Marines on January 28 of this year. Went the entire term without deployment. In my heart I know I was one of the lucky ones, I dodged a bullet to my soul,  I got to see my boy again, got to hold him and tell him I love him, and I am so very proud of the man the Marines allowed him to become.

And as I look at these pictures on my Facebook feed….this day a year ago, two,  three, four and now five.  I am swiftly reminded, to be present: where I am, to honor the moments I am in, to be kind always, to answer the phone, even when I don’t want to talk, because it may be the last chance I ever get to say hello.

RIP Dad   6/11/2013