I sat in his office as a young 24-year-old man, eager to have an opportunity to start full-time ministry. Having worked part-time as a children’s director in this mega church (while still working full-time as a software developer), I was now being offered the chance to interview for a full-time position leading men’s ministry. I was excited that this opportunity had been set before me in the same church where I had come to faith and was now serving on staff. I had also recently been accepted into seminary, so I was sure that this was going to be my path toward ordained pastoral ministry.
The pastor looked me up and down, and then began to silently read over my resume. He stopped almost right away. “You’re going to Reformed Theological Seminary? So you’re telling me you’re a Calvinist?” I had tried to prepare myself in case the conversation went this way. But I’d only been a Christian at this point for 2 years, a Calvinist for not even a full year. I hardly knew what Reformed really meant. I also knew that this church did not view Calvinism and the doctrines of grace positively.
“Yes,” I nervously answered, “I do believe in the doctrines of grace.” What followed after my statement was a nightmare which took me several months to recover from. We never actually got to the interview – for two hours this pastor berated me and tried to engage me in debate over Calvinism. He made accusations against me simply because of his associations with Calvinism.
I had no clue how to respond. He outclassed me in every sense of the word. He had been a pastor for years; I had hardly been a Christian for very long. He was a sharp communicator; I had barely begun to hone my communication skills. He was older; I was younger. He had position; my part-time position was now at stake. He had formal theological training; I’d read maybe a dozen theology books on my own.
When the conversation ended this pastor looked at me and said, “You have no future at this church.” I was crushed. It wasn’t until recently that I was able to look at this experience and call it for what it was: spiritual and theological abuse. Continue Reading
Like many people today, I have been deeply impacted by the work and writings of Dr. Brené Brown on the issues of shame and vulnerability. Brené (due to her personal writing style I’d like to think we’re on a first name basis) has really been helpful for me in discovering my own shame and the ways I try to protect myself from having to deal with it. Continue Reading
This is a lengthy article. It is best read as a pdf, which you may find here.
There is a great scene at the end of The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King that really captures what true friendship looks like. Sam and Frodo are nearing the end of their journey to destroy the One Ring. Frodo – even more so than Sam – is completely exhausted not only physically but also from the internal burden of carrying the Ring all this way. As they’re both collapsed on the side of Mount Doom, Sam asks Frodo, “Do you remember the Shire, Mr. Frodo?…Do you remember the taste of strawberries?”
Tragically, Frodo replies, “No, Sam. I can’t recall the taste of food…nor the sound of water…nor the touch of grass. I’m naked in the dark, with nothing, no veil between me and the wheel of fire! I can see him with my waking eyes!”
Sam, responding perhaps as the greatest friend in cinema history says, “Then let us be rid of it, once and for all! Come on, Mr. Frodo. I can’t carry it [the Ring] for you, but I can carry you!” He proceeds to pick up his dear friend, and although he can’t carry his friend’s deepest burdens, he can help get him to the place he needs to go. Recognizing his friend’s exhaustion, Sam helps him by meeting Frodo’s immediate physical need. Continue Reading