A letter to a friend in the pews…

Dear Friend,

Perhaps you’ve wondered where I’ve been. Perhaps you’ve missed me. Perhaps you’ve worried about me. I’m okay right now. I’ve been gone a while, and while I haven’t been okay the whole time, I’m okay now. Thank you for your concern.

What have I been up to? I’ve been spending this time in self-care, doing the things I know I need to do in order to be healthy. Things like meditation and exercise, practicing what I’ve learned in therapy. Oh, but you can see through that, can’t you? I really shouldn’t lie to you. The truth is, some of my time away has been self-care, but some of it has been giving in to the darkness, the worry, the sad voices. You know the voices, the ones that tell me that I need to back off, that I need to shut up, that I need to be alone. The ones that tell me I’m unworthy of love, unworthy of grace. I’ve given into them a lot. And of course they’re the exact thing I need self-care for.

So, I’ve been up and down. And I wonder what you think of that. I wonder what you think when you hear about my troubles, about the questions I continue to struggle with. Does it bring you some comfort, to know that you’re not the only one who hears the good news of grace, and yet can’t seem to believe it? Does it bring you hope to know that a leader in the church struggles as much as you do?

Or does it do the opposite – does it make you question whether the good news is real? After all, I am the leader, the pastor – the one who preaches the good news, the one who pours the baptismal water of promise, who breaks the bread of Christ’s covenant of love. Does my struggle make you question whether there’s any truth to this news? Whether your faith is in the wrong place, if even a spiritual leader is so fragile?

I will be transparent with you, friend. From the very first time I opened up about this, I wondered if it was the right idea. When I introduced you to my shadow self, my inner demon, I wondered if it was wise to do so. I am called and ordained to speak the gospel to you, to proclaim forgiveness and hope, and I’ve never been sure if sharing my own struggles serves that end or not. I don’t believe I’ll ever get a definitive answer to that question.

Ah, friend, I digress. I know you’re struggling right now. I know that you hear voices like I do. I know that they say such mean things to you. And I want to tell you that they are wrong. I want to tell you that you are loved, that you are worthy of that love, that you are stronger and more important than those voices tell you. I want to say that, but I also know these words may be little comfort – after all, the voices are probably telling you right now that I’m wrong.

So let me tell you this instead: I am glad that you are still in church. I am glad that you are still trying to hear God’s word for you. You belong in church. You belong among those people. Even though it’s hard sometimes to be there, hard to see their smiles and their happiness. I know you feel like you have to put on a mask and look like them. You don’t have to. You belong there just as you are.  Please know that.

I know you question whether there’s something wrong with you, whether you’re irredeemable. You look around at the happy faces in the other pews, and you think, “They’ve got God in them. Why don’t I? Maybe this gospel, this good news, just isn’t meant for me.” But I have two secrets for you, friend:

First of all, some of the smiles you see around you are also masks. Not all of them, but some of them. There are people in every church who are just putting on their best faces, who are as scared as you to show their real selves. You might be surprised how many. And you, friend, could do those people a great service just by being true to yourself – your bravery might just encourage or inspire them.

And secondly, this second secret is so important: The gospel is for you, precisely for you, because you know what it is to suffer. And the gospel is for suffering people. Jesus came to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are oppressed. That includes you, friend.

So please, keep coming to church. Please keep trying. That pew won’t keep itself warm. And friend, please consider if you might be comfortable opening up about your illness with others in the pew near you. You don’t have to. Your boundaries are your own, and I’m not asking you to change them. But if there’s a part of you that would like to be open about it, then I encourage you to try. They might not turn on you like you fear. I know they’ve never turned on me.

And keep listening to the words God is speaking to you through scripture. They might be hard for you to believe right now – hell, they might be impossible to believe right now – but keep listening, because maybe they’ll make a difference over time. Words like these:

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10)

“For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

“The Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your needs in parched places and make your bones strong, and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water whose waters never fail.” (Isaiah 58:11)

These last two were written originally not to individuals, but to a group of people who were in exile in a foreign land. They felt like their life as a community, as a people, was over. But I wonder if individuals might feel exile sometimes too. I wonder if you feel like you’re in exile because of your struggles. In exile from life, in exile from abundant life. If so, then please hear these words of another prophet, Ezekiel:

Then he said to me, “Mortal, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely.’  Therefore prophesy and say to them: Thus says the Lord God: I am going to open your graves and bring you up from your graves, O my people, and I will bring you back to the land of Israel.  And you shall know that I am the Lord when I open your graves and bring you up from your graves, O my people.  I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act, says the Lord.” (Ezekiel 37:11-14)

I guess I’ve been in exile for awhile myself. I wonder if I’ve been speaking these words to myself as much as I am to you. I suppose it’s often like that.

But friend, I think my exile is almost at an end. I think I’ll be back soon. Thank you for waiting for me. I look forward to seeing you then. Until then, keep the faith. Be patient. Hold on. Your exile will end as well. And I’ll be there waiting for you when it does.

Sincerely,

Your friend in the pulpit