A Seasonal "Memoir" of My Life in Church

How I've changed, grown and morphed and maybe you are as well...

There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens—Ecclesiastes 3

I happen to live in a place where all four seasons of the year are on full display. Winter, spring, summer and fall all bring their lessons and invitations to find meaning and purpose. Seasons help frame time and space and give an order to what might be experienced as chaos or a pessimistic way of viewing and living life.  The metaphor of changing seasons is a helpful image to understand our growth in cycles and phases in work, relationships, faith and life.  The various seasons provide a way of understanding in our lives.  This is our first winter to experience in the mountain town where we are now settled.  There is frost, fog, and a cold chill every morning, until the morning sun appears. Only the brave are hiking the trails these days. No one is sliding down the nearby waterfalls. It’s a time of hunkering down, slowing down and a change of pace which is welcomed, if the truth be known.

A season is a period of time, varied in length, that is marked and distinguished by factors and dynamics which differentiate one season from the other. In the Northern Hemisphere, changing seasons depend upon the spinning axis of the Earth and how we experience the sun and temperature variations. Seasons can be taken also to give us an understanding of our “inner weather”.

Winter is a time of slowing; a span of time of seeming death and harshness. Winter time is a time of hunkering down and surviving.

Spring is a time of growth, greening and breaking up fallow ground. We expand. We plant. We feel life again.

Summer is a time of long days; warmth and enjoyment. Travel, gathering and reunions often mark this season. We enjoy. We live.

Fall is a time of harvest and fruitfulness; a time of in-gathering; a time of thanksgiving and beauty.

I often ask someone, “What season of life are you experiencing right now?” And without any explanation or annotation, there is a primal understanding of how to frame their life stage or current situation using the metaphor of the seasons.

Using Seasons to Give Understanding with the Church

Photo by Chris Lawton on Unsplash

I’m going to use the metaphor of changing seasons to help me frame my own seasonal journey with the Christian church. For me, the seasons help give me the distinction and the changing ways I’ve both experienced and participated in church life.

The seasons provide a way for me to frame my own journey of life in the church. Like so many, I have been in a spring, summer, winter and fall with church. Some seasons have been harsh; others have been full of life. If you’ve been reading church news these days, then you’re aware that across the board, churches in the United States are entering a season of decline, death and deterioration. It could be a long winter for the American church, along with so many other aspects of our lives these days. There are exceptions and be thankful if you are in a church where winter seems a long way off.

At present, I am emerging from a long, cold and harsh winter with the church. There is a small, Episcopal parish in our mountain town that has welcomed us and given us a sense of home. It’s where we are meeting our friends, singing the songs of faith and is becoming a place of convergence of my many and varied seasons with the church. To be totally honest, this church is a place I hoped for; dreamed about; yearned for but didn’t know how to find—until now.  The Episcopal church has offered me distinctive ways to help mark my own passage; my own metamorphoses and my own understanding of what I want and what I need in church.

Now, I am in the Spring time with church. There is a ecclesiastical greening—a time for my own soul to be budding with hope, belonging and community.  One of the hard things that happens in prolonged winters, is an erosion of hope—that a spring—any spring might never happen, again. This is true of someone who has lost a spouse and lives in the winter of grief. It is true of person who is in the winter of their vocational life due to being fired or retiring. It is true of a marriage that dies back or totally dies in some kind of winter. The benefit of using the metaphor of seasons is that the winter—a winter is not the end. Just that said in black and white, can offer some of us hope—that another season is around the bend.

My story and my seasons are distinct from yours. But I hope you might find something in my memoir of seasons in the church that might shed light on your own.

For me, I have worked in the church for over 50 years. I have worked in the bowels of the church—worked with the leaders of church across many denominations and doctrinal differences. My own, long, hard and harsh winter with the church was shaped by working so intensely in the ICU (Intensive Care Unit) care of pastors and priests who often arrived at our door step “DOA” or “Dead on Arrival.” All that intense work really affected me; undid me and contributed to a winter-experience of what I call, “Church-i-anity.”—a life of working and living in the church.

After working in the church for nearly 50 years, I am seeing how helpful it is for me to use the seasons metaphor to give some perspective and understanding.

The Long Summer of Church

I’ve been on a journey with church as long as I have been on the earth.  There has never been a day for me, that I was not, in the church.  Even in utero, my mother and father took me, raised me and showed me the ways of the church.  And more than just any church—for me, it was the Baptist church. I “walked the aisle” at six years old and was not tall enough to wade into the baptistery to I swam out to meet the preacher who dunked me under the water in a fiberglass pool with a glass window which, was a proto-type I suppose for the infinity pools we now have today.

Through that glass, spectators or worshipers could see above the waterline and also below the water line. In the Baptist church, one must go all the way under the water to ensure that one is truly of the fold. 

As I grew in size, I grew in soul and I outgrew my Baptist roots. The summer ended for me and I needed another season to expand my roots and flourish. It would take another style, kind and stripe of church to help usher me forward.

I was 40 years old, that odd place in human and spiritual formation, when I came to an intersection and chose a more deliberate way—an less explored path. I left the Baptist church; took my tie off and shed my jacket before that became vogue and just wanted to establish a safe place for spiritual seekers to call home. It would be “trans-denominational”—not tied to anyone way of looking at God or one set of beliefs. This was a time of a great and wonderful fall season. I harvested much fruit in my soul in this time. I experienced a freedom and authenticity that marks the soul into a maturity and deeper growth than just a wide growth.  It was Spring and truly a wonderful time and season of life for me, my family and many others who seemed to be on a very similar journey.

I discovered Philip Melanchthon’s (16^th Century) infamous words and adopted them as my new creed—which to me was as important as the Apostle’s Creed or, as we recite in the Episcopal Church these days, the Nicene Creed.  His words are still the words I adhere to today:

In essentials, unity.

In non-essentials, liberty.

In all things, charity.

In all honesty, Melanchton’s statement above, is about all I can handle these days—in this season of my life. I wish we could just say his words and move on. It seems to be enough—at least for me.  The problem has been that my list of “essentials” has gotten, what is the right word???—smaller or shorter, as I have grown older. This particular season has allowed me to prune back what didn’t fit; what I didn’t need and what I could lay down.  It was a time of shedding, deconstruction and understanding of my true self—that greatest of all spiritual gifts—finding the courage to stand up in your own skin and your own soul and say, this is me—I can be or do no other than this.

Another Winter with Church

When I turned sixty, I spent every Wednesday afternoon at 4:00pm with a Roman Catholic priest in the mountain town of Woodland Park, Colorado, where  I was living.  I met with Father Tim for an entire year of Wednesday afternoons. I felt the need for discernment. I sensed a gnawing feeling inside which went like this: “Steve, you’re sixty now. The ride is almost over. You’ve got only a few short years to get all of this figured out.”  With my need and the availability of this priest, I entered what is called, “The Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius.”  These “exercises” are a rather intense journey of excavating one’s soul to the root. It is a stripping down to the bare essentials in the hope that more growth—more transformation might be possible. It is a way of helping someone to discern, not only their future, but the true state of their very soul.  I consider my “doing” of these ancient exercises to be my “undoing.”  That particular year long experience was like a greenhouse of my spiritual journey. It was a safe, protective space for me to grow deeper and experience even more intimacy with God.  I was given doses of “miracle grow” through what I now call the core essentials of my faith. It was life-altering and I will always be indebted to Father Tim for his year with me in the greenhouse of a long, Colorado winter. (You can listen to a podcast with Father Tim here where we recount our time together.)

That year of winter and inside the greenhouse of a Catholic priest’s office I found the jugular vein of my faith—a life giving vein that I am still benefiting from today. I started pulling a thread of my faith and what resulted was a complete unraveling of all that I had believed.  Let me just say, that it was in this experience that I fell in love with Jesus and abandoned my love with the church. Work in the church and for the church had gotten in the way of my love of God.

Henri Nouwen, another great Catholic writer and theologian wrote words for me that I will never forget. His insight here helped me free myself from a bondage to the church that was not healthy.  He writes: 

“Often we hear the remark that we have to live in the world without being of the world. But it may be more difficult to be in the Church without being of the Church. Being of the Church means being so preoccupied by and involved in the many ecclesial affairs and clerical “ins and outs” that we are no longer focused on Jesus. The Church then blinds us from what we came to see and deafens us to what we came to hear. Being in the Church without being of it is a great spiritual challenge”

For me, I needed a season and time and church where I could be “in” the church but not “of” the church. It all made sense and a new season unfolded for me.

During this time, the Catholic priest who was my Director of the Ignatian Exercises became a trusted companion. He saw my thirst. He discovered my desire. He felt my spiritual hunger. So, he invited me to his church. I went to mass every week and sometimes, I’d go twice!  I saw him swinging incense. I heard them ringing bells. I listened to chants and I watched him drench a man in oil with two whole gallons of olive oil---poured it so generously, that it poured and rolled down this man’s shirt and pants. I had never seen such a lavish anointing of a human being with oil in my life. I found new meaning in the rituals, symbols and liturgy of the Catholic church that I almost became one—a Catholic. It all awakened me. I felt life again. I felt hope again.

Let me now say that this journey to Rome—this deep unraveling of my protestant threads was something that we did not share in our marriage.  It was mine to figure out. I shared my undoing with Gwen. She already knew it. But her story is another story that she can tell.

That whole experience and season helped me find markers—and take-a-ways that I both really needed and wanted in the season with church that I’m in right now. These markers I learned help me to figure out what was “right” for me—regardless of what any one else thought. I was compelled to walk into a new season and let me just say, I’m excited again about the convergence of my journey and my seasonal journey with the church.

Markers of My Church Season

 I thought I’d list a few of the markers—the take-a-ways that have become important for me to navigate all the seasons, all the churches and all the possibilities we have in the thousands of choices we have in church life today. These have become essential in my own journey and seasons with church. See what you think. See if one or a few of these resonate with you in your own season of life and what you need in the next season.

Mystery. I found myself tired of the predictable. The strategy and goals for growth and the PowerPoint presentations made me weary, not inspired.  I needed mystery, symbols and something beyond my mind to connect with. We are living in  a day where the rational attempts to understand the chaos around us and within us isn’t working in more. We need something primal. We need something beyond our minds to help us understand, accept and worship in humility—not out of our giftedness, pride and accomplishments.  There comes a time when the soul will not settle for anything less than wonder and awe.  I no longer need for everything to be explained. I need to experience the Holy.  The theologian and author, Karl Rahner wrote, “The Christian of the future will be a mystic or will not exist.” I agree with Rahner. More and more, I felt at ease in using the term, “mystic” to describe myself. A mystic is someone who experiences God rather than just knowing logical, linear and sequential facts about God.

A place of liturgy. Liturgy is simply a way of moving through various movements of worship. Liturgy honors rituals, rather than making something up every seven days in contemporary churches to lead people into worship. Liturgy is an ancient road map. For me, when I participate in the liturgy, I am participating in prayers, readings, hymns and actions that have been practiced for thousands of years. My body is involved as well. I stand. I kneel. I bow. I sit. I turn my palms up. I pass the peace in a handshake or warm embrace. I kiss my wife as well.  We both want peace more than ever these days.  I don’t need to have something new every week thrown in my face. I can relax in the known and heavily trafficked ways of connecting with God in ways practices for 2000 years.  A liturgy is like a table of contents and you simply follow the flow and come to understand the movements. The liturgy is important where as I was raised, taught and educated to believe that the sermon was the summa bona of a legitimate worship service. In churches before, music was only preliminary to the big act of preaching.  Liturgy helps re-size worship and makes each part important and essential. Each part of the liturgy has it’s place and all of the movements fit together to make one whole experience—no one thing is more important than any other part. Nothing is competing with anything else.

A place of confession. In the liturgical church, I was led into a time and space where I could reflect on my failings and short-comings and I could make amends. I could pray to be forgiven and told that I was forgiven. Accepting my need to confess is about owning my place in the many failures or my life. All my efforts; all my many attempts and benchmarks, never felt like I was fully “in”.  The humbling posture of confession is compelling. I felt myself needing now. to walk forward to the alter with my hands outstretched like a beggar who is truly in need of a bread crumb to survive and thrive than.  Having the bread placed in my palms by someone who has Something to give and who knows that I will be nourished by this broken bread helps me know I belong. I belong with other beggars—not others who have assumed  begging is not a virtue to be admired anymore.  In the New Testament church, early disciples were taught to repeat the Lord’s Prayer multiple times a day. In the protestant church today, this prayer is rarely said. The prayer Jesus offered, as a model prayer, is full of confession and making things right. Saying this prayer in  unison with other like minded people brings a sense of belonging, community and shared humility.

A Place of Robes and Stoles.  Since my own work and vocation has involved working with pastors and preachers who are burned out; undone and fried up, I have heard way too many stories of the woes and ills of clergy. Through the years in helping them find their way, I need a place to worship where there was a visual boundary between me—the congregation and the priests or pastor who was leading me. The  simple, visual distinction of  the leader wearing a robe and a stole, sets them apart for me. Again, in our work with clergy, for decades, Gwen and I would go into a church helping the staff with soul care issues. But soon, we discovered in some churches that we were in a professional of “hired help” of  consultants brought in to help the clergy be “successful.”  After us, or before us were the clergy consultants advising the staff of what kind of shirts, jeans to wear and specifically where to get tattoos and the kind of ear-rings to wear so they would reflect the spotlight.  I wish I was kidding, but I am not.  What I realized is the staging, illusions and fame that the American protestant church was promoting was literally making me sick.  Perhaps, it was just me but I saw such a pervasive sense of toxicity and performance oriented culture that I simply could not take it any more. I was “done.” My “doneness” left me wondering what was up in the world and in my soul.

Tradition.  In all the anti-traditions and ditching of the ways of the church and culture, I need a sense of being anchored to history. I needed to see that I was tied to something that was not just relevant (Remember that word?) and cool. The liturgical church is one of two oldest forms of the Christian Church. Since I didn’t yet know any Greek Orthodox or Eastern Orthodox folks, why not be open to the Catholic way? 2000 plus years, simply can’t be all wrong. So I’ve learned what I could. Laid down what I could not carry and made my choices as you will see below.

15 minute homilies.  Seriously, one of the problems of the church today—specifically the Evangelical church, are the long, way too long sermons. Who can seriously be a taught by such intensity for 45 minutes? I simply loved a message that was crafted to be 15 minutes—at the longest.  Again, if something can’t be said in that amount of time, then maybe it’s not worth saying.  And then there’s this—in our world of distraction and short attention spans, perhaps less is really more.

Many Streams and One River. The Catholic church offers so many varieties: Franciscans, Dominicans, Ignatians and more—but they are all under one roof. There is room for someone like Richard Rohr. There is a space for the very conservative—and somehow they are one, big extended family.  I like diversity more and more these days and find a truth in diversity that isn’t offered when we are all looking and acting the same. In non-essentials, unity---remember? Though I’m not in the Catholic church, I applaud this attempt to be in one river together.

A place of reverence. This is a big one for me. In our shifting and changing culture, so much is just so, so, so secular these days. We’ve stripped the sacred out of books, classrooms, and there is just so much noise and so many words—too many words. The liturgical church chooses to offer in worship a place of reverence—a place that is marked by sacred order of life:  Candles. Chants.  Prayers. It smacks of something other worldly and for me, I need and want this in my church experience. There is a sacramental view of life. You learn that there is not a line demarcating the holy from the unholy or the secular from the holy. Everything is holy. Every person is holy. There is a dignity that is offered us and reframes how we view people, races, gender and people who are not like us. I want my church to be a “Sanctuary.” Why? Because God knows, I need a sanctuary. The world feels like a war zone.  Sometimes, the church is a war zone as well. I want one place in my life that is not marked by modernity; not stripped of the essence of spiritual things and stands open and welcoming.

Making My Choice and Choosing My S**T!

I have come to a place in my spiritual life where labeling people who are followers of Jesus isn’t helpful.  I’m laying down the lines of “Evangelical”, “Progressive” and so many others. I no longer call myself an Evangelical or Post-Evangelical. The silos of thinking aren’t helpful for me and do not fully take into account my own movement, formational shifting and development.  The one label I feel most identified with is this one: I am simply a follower of Jesus and I seek to adhere to his teachings; his way of life so that I can have the life he described. Being a follower of “the way” is how Luke, the biographer of Jesus and the early church used to describe people like me—people who had been steeped and formed into one way of living but after experiencing Jesus, found a whole other way to live.

Throughout most of my many seasons with the church, I would process all my seasons of challenge, growth and introspection  with my own spiritual director. My own spiritual director is a Benedictine Monk who lives a semi-cloistered life in a monastery in a forest in the mountains of Colorado.  I make an appointment with her every month or so, to just talk and allow her to lovingly ask me open ended questions.  In this particular time of my discernment when I was working all of this out with Father Tim, I laid out the options for Mary Collen, (her name). “Mary Collen, should I become a Catholic? Is this Episcopal church an option? What do you think? Should I try this… or that…. No one is going to understand if I take this leap. I’ll be hated if I do this.  What counsel can you offer me?”

When I processed this with Mary Collen, she leaned back into her chair, took a long pause and deep breath and said these words which I will never forget:  “Steve, you’re going to just have to choose your shit!”  We both broke out laughing at her honesty and confession…that in either camp—there is shit.  Sometimes, in a difficult season of life, we have to just make choices of what we can deal with; what we can own and what we can come to peace with. I will always love her for giving me this piece of advice and I, too, have offered it to many who have sought counsel from me.

So, there you have it. I’m still working it out.  My latest experiment with how to do church is going to a little parish here in my mountain town that has candles, stained glass, robes, and liturgy.   It’s a sort of safe place and I feel most welcome. They even have what they call, “A Service of Belonging.” It’s a short service where those who want to belong—but don’t want to be an official member can participate in. I like belonging. I need to belong—even at my age.   But, I am still evolving. Are you?