Listening and hoping

The other day I had a fascinating talk with a man about my age. We found we had much in common, and the conversation could have gone on for hours.

The genial interlocutor was unaware of my past because it wasn't relevant to the subject matter at hand.

He did not know I'd spent 25 years in pastoral ministry or taught religion for 10 years at Southeast Missouri State University.

It didn't come up.

When we drifted into how we each deal with stress, my conversation partner revealed he was reared a Christian but was now a Buddhist.

"(Buddhism) relaxes me; it calms me; it works for me," he said.

The news of my new friend's shift away from the monotheistic Abrahamic faith of his youth caused me to ask myself -- a lifelong adherent of Protestantism -- some questions in a private moment.

"Does my Christianity 'work' for me?"

"Does it relax me; does it calm me?"

I'm not used to thinking of my religious faith, which is as close to me as breathing, in those terms and with those queries.

Separation

One thing necessary in order to try to think differently is to separate faith from the church. In other words -- pry apart belief from a particular community of people.

There are traditions that suggest such a division is impossible.

Without a community, it is argued, there can be no authentic faith.

We're not individual islands in the vast sea of the cosmos.

Our lives are interlinked and intertwined with the notion of separation seen as dangerous.

How does one love thy neighbor in a meaningful way from a distance, for example?

Family history

My late father was a layman and being a Bible teacher was his avocation.

At his most energetic, Dad taught as many as four Bible studies a week while being gainfully employed for decades as a computer programmer.

My father was on the governing board of his church for many years, but his real passion was evangelism.

On Tuesday nights, Dad used to cold call on private residences with Bible in hand, asking for permission to talk to those inside about Jesus.

Most of the time, he was not invited inside.

It takes a special fire to push yourself to do that kind of ministry for as long as he did.

One day, and it took a very long time, Dad got fed up and resolved to quit going to church.

He loved God but was tired of the people he was rubbing shoulders with in his congregation.

He went to bed and had a dream.

The details of that nocturnal experience are committed to my memory because my father shared the tale often.

Suffice it to say, my father received the following message, he believed from Jesus, as he slept that night long ago.

Here it is: "I am at work in the church. Do you want to be a part of it?"

Dad awakened the next morning and abandoned his pledge to quit the church.

Concluding thoughts

I think I need Dad's dream.

Truth to tell, in my own life, I've never been so uplifted and affirmed as I've been by church people.

The converse is also true: I've never been so hurt either.

There is a way through my ambivalence, but I'll confess, I haven't found it yet.

In the meantime, I'll keep listening and hoping I can find other conversationalists as inspiring as the one last week.

I have a quiet confidence that God will continue to be patient with me in my wilderness wandering.