There has been little rhythm to my life in the last two months. No longer working at a church, there have been no liturgical or functional ecclesial patterns for me to follow. The places I would normally go and many of the people that I talked to and shared my days with have kind of evaporated from my life. There have been moments when it has been a bit unnerving and I am feeling pretty good if I keep myself under three existential crises per week.
The irony is we are in the fifth week of Easter, but I feel like I have tumbled backwards through time and am stuck in Lent. There have been a lot of ashes and dust and remembering that everything is finite and lots of things suck. Cognitively, I know about resurrection and new life, but it feels like wilderness. I am trying to figure out again where I fit in and what I am supposed to do.
I am trying to remind myself that this experience is not a sign of failure. Most of us go on these metaphorical wilderness expeditions in our lives; usually we do so many different times. I am trying to remember that I come from a family of itinerant ministers and carnies. That I follow a faith of nomads and wanderers. Heck, Jesus spent time in the wilderness and told his followers that he did not even have a place to lay his head. When the Israelites spent four decades rambling about, God stayed out in the wilderness with them in a tent.
This can be a hard place, but it can be a place of renewal too. The wilderness is definitely a place that teaches you. I have been thinking a great deal about grief recently. Since stepping down, I have grieved a community, relationships, a calling, a future that I envisioned with my students, and a future for my family. I am still at peace with my decision, but the fallout still hurts like hell. I have been impatiently wondering when I can fast forward through the five stages of grief and get on with my life.
I have come to realize that hurt rarely works in a linear fashion. Grief follows the footsteps of a drunk staggering home. It’s a meandering route and you have no idea when or if you are going to make it back. Odds are you are going to need someone to carry you home. In my head, I knew about grief’s wandering nature. I learned about it in seminary classes and I have heard people describe it. Yet experiencing it has given me some more insight that I hope can make me a better friend, husband, father, son, brother, and, God willing one day, minister. It’s a hard lesson yet it’s an important one.
So let this be my encouragement to you (and my encouragement to me): If you feel like you are in the wilderness, you are not alone. There are so many of us out here and God is out here too. This can be a hard place, but it can be a good place too. And maybe we can find some new life out here in the desert.