As a kid, I fell in love almost every day. My emotions were so overwhelming, the only way I could negotiate existence was to let the feelings pour from me toward others. This made me an intense little dude. I’ve gotten better at controlling the emotions, but I’m an intense bigger dude. I discovered early that music is instrumental (see what I did there?) in helping me feel understood, in providing me an outlet for my myriad emotions. Boyz II Men’s debut album Colleyhighharmony holds a very special place in my heart. I wore out two copies of the tape inside of a year. My brother, who listened to Black Flag and Fugazi, wanted to kill me.
This past weekend, I informed the congregation of my intention to step down as the pastor. The date is still TBD, but it will be sooner rather than later. Sunday’s service was incredibly emotional; the predominant feeling, though, is love. It is mixed with no small degree of lament but ’tis love all the same.
There are times in our lives in which we find ourselves between identities, between worlds, between the past and a future yet to settle into the present. The liminal phase. Like a child undergoing a rite of passage to enter the community of adults. Behind them an identity they can no longer claim; in front of them, an identity they have not yet earned. Liminal. From the Latin lamen, meaning threshold.
There is rarely a single, lone factor that pushes a person to a threshold. For me, considerations financial and professional certainly have factored in. I would be lying if I said otherwise. There are reasons I will not share publicly—and privately only with a very select few—but the main reason I will: I believe that the Spirit is moving me onward.
I sometimes hesitate to use language like this because many are rightly suspect when Christians talk about following the direction of God. Too often such statements are followed by actions aimed at controlling and condemning others. For me, discernment means months, if not years, of continued work on deconstructing the ego while listening for the still, small voice. It means confronting the overwhelming emotions that come with fear: fear of losing love, or leaving what is familiar, of not being able to control what comes next. It’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday, indeed.
I am returning to my home denomination, the United Church of Christ, to serve as an intentional interim pastor. This means that I will not serve an individual congregation for longer than two years; my job will be to help them identify who they have been, where they are now, and what God is offering for the future. My job will be to eliminate my own job, in a way. It is a John the Baptizer position, clearing the one for the one who is to come.
I’m sad. But I’m also excited.
Damn those thresholds.