To dwell in hope...

So much happens when you let the cat out of the bag. I am now dialoging with nearly two dozen friends, family members and mentors and these conversations have taken me down hundreds of roads. I've had many jump up and down and scream at my ideas, some encourage me as former church planters, some inform me on the difficult road that I am on, some question the need for another church, and even a few question my motives. I have asked a lot of questions and received an equal amount of answers and advice. I've been encouraged and discouraged, excited and confused, optimistic and pessimistic, ready to move and ready to bury my head. Yet, I continue this conversation.

I am reading Under the Unpredictable Plant: And Exploration in Vocational Holiness by the marvelous Eugene Peterson and I find myself again drawn to his warm and pastoral tone. He tells a story from early in his ministry when it dawned on him that the "job" of pastor he had was drowning him and his family and he was miles from his "calling." He went to his elders and resigned. Instead of accepting, they asked him, "What do you want to do?" He responded that he wanted to deal with God, himself and people. He writes, "I want to study God's word long and carefully so that when I stand before you and preach and teach I will be accurate. I want to pray, slowly and lovingly, so that my relation with God will be inward and honest. And I want to be with you, often and leisurely, so that we can recognize each other as close companions on the way of the cross and be available for counsel and encouragement to each other."

I believe in a community that shares with one another, learns together, prays alongside each other, breaks bread and drinks wine together, and gathers regularly. I want participate in a community who seeks to be missional, intentional, confessional, historical, and purposeful. I want to own my calling as a shepherd, leader, counselor and teacher and I want to fight the urge to settle for a church job.

Peterson refers to his community as "close companions on the way of the cross" and I am marveling at this title as we enter the Easter season. On this Maundy Thursday, this day that Jesus offers his disciples hope, I too dwell on hope.

But it happened...

So...I am seriously contemplating planting a church - for the first time. I do not say this/write this lightly. I believe with ardor that the local church is the most fascinating institution on planet earth and that her mission and her purpose is divine. There is a great fear in my heart as I type these words but I am confident that this fear is not born out of darkness but born out of holiness. I have spent the past nine months walking with two beautiful, local communities, candidating for their open teaching pastor positions only to finish second both times. I have dealt with disappointment, discouragement, despair, and a myriad of other emotions. I have dwelt in my lament and wondered where the Divine was in my journey but now, perhaps because of my new spiritual disciplines, my focused reading, fresh new conversations with amazing souls, and new prayers with my wife, I am finding the light, hope and promises once again. Thus, this conversation regarding my calling: planting a church.

Last Sunday at Mars Hill Bible Church, where my family and I have attended since the fall of 2005, our teaching pastor, Rob Bell, preached a sermon from Lamentations 4 (I would recommend the download: http://www.marshill.org/teaching/index.php - Stunned and Spent). In his sermon, Rob points out that the deep pain and lament from the lead character in the poem, a women who represents Jerusalem after her destruction, reaches the next level in her process. Though she is alone, in pain, abandoned, broken, distraught, confused, spent, angry at God's silence, in disbelief that her great community has been crushed, and lacking clarity, she shifts her posture in chapter 4. She says in Lam. 4:13, "But it happened..." Rob points out that this is the beginning of re-birth - a simple declaration that this is reality and it can't get any worse than this and new life and new dreams can be a new reality. As I sat in the gray, plastic chair, I found myself in this poem but on a whole different level. On my way out of the Shed, our gathering room, I ran into Rob who embraced me and asked what was going on with my journey and calling. I looked him in the eye and simply stated, "It can't get any worse - right?" We shared a laugh and a hug and parted. By that thought stayed with me - it continues to stay with me.

Over the past four years I've engaged the church planting idea but always ended the conversation, "It's not my calling." Even during my seminary training, I passed on the idea but supported others that embraced the call. Since my journey as a candidate with two local communities, it became clear to me that I was called to be a pastor: to teach, lead, comfort, aid, process, engage, and restore. However, as I would converse with these communities, as well as the dozen other churches I've engaged, I would feel a sense of disconnect to their mission or pedagogy but I would feel that the passions, philosophies, gifts, talents, cultural understandings and the like that live within me would be useful to these churches to allow for needed internal growth. Yet, they didn't. After nine months and two disappointments, I felt, in pain, abandoned, broken, distraught, confused, spent, angry at God's silence, in disbelief that my great community had been crushed, and lacking clarity...But it happened..."

So I pray, ponder, sit in solitude, contact contacts, sit with friends and mentors over coffee and pints, ask hard questions, wait for answers, dialogue with my wife and my family, read the scriptures, dream new dreams, and see what becomes of this season of lament. Could it happen?