Epilogue

About 4 years ago, I started writing a book about my spiritual journey, and by draft #3, it was obvious that the heart of the story was the 3+ years I spent at Golden Gate Baptist Theological Seminary. Certainly, the funniest stories emerged from those years, so I began cutting my manuscript down to a series of tales about my life as a Baptist seminarian in Marin County—material that forms the basis of this blog.

And now we’ve reached the end of the story. Sure, I could carry on with more recent anecdotes, but I have concluded once again that it is best to limit my musings to those few seminary years that shaped all the rest. Which means that this blog has run its course. But before I sign off, it seems only fair to offer a brief epilogue that tells the rest of the story—at least in part.

After graduating from seminary, Mimi and I remained in Marin to continue serving the churches that had become home to us, and I kept working at the environmental company to make ends meet. Eventually, Mt. Tam and BayMarin merged (under the latter name), and after a new senior pastor arrived on the scene, the church entered a period of steady growth.

Within 3 years, Mimi and I had two daughters, and I had joined the staff of BayMarin as an assistant pastor. For the next 6 years, I led the small group ministry (ironically), preached occasionally, and helped the church launch a transitional housing program for single mothers. But I also continued to struggle with some basic questions, such as whether the resources devoted to high quality musical/video presentations should have been channeled to ministries like the housing program. (Or to pastors’ salaries. One of the two.)

Sensing a fresh start was required, we moved north to Sonoma County to start a new church with some other BayMarin families, and I also became executive director of the housing program—now a stand-alone entity. The new congregation got off to a good start, and on the outside, everything seemed fine.

Internally, though, I felt increasingly torn. Maybe it was the new surroundings or some midlife deal, but for the first time, I gave myself permission to reexamine my faith from the ground up—no holds barred. And I soon realized that the professional ministry is a poor context for such a process. So, long story short, after 2 years I left the ministry and found another job in the environmental field.

That was over 5 years ago, and while the reexamination process is probably not complete, I do feel more settled as a person. My views have changed considerably, though the process has not been as simple as replacing Belief A with Belief B or Position X with Position Y. In fact, the biggest change of all may be my growing disinterest in having the right answers—the settled, orthodox theology I can cling to forevermore.

Of course, if you’ve read this far, you’ve probably already figured some of this out already. So I’ll simply close by thanking you for coming along for the ride. I hope you had a few laughs along the way, if nothing else.

Graduation

On a cool December evening, my seminary education concluded with a simple graduation ceremony held at the Golden Gate chapel. During the commencement speech, I gazed through the chapel’s floor-to-ceiling windows to the lights of San Francisco glimmering across the Bay, and I remembered arriving on campus as a callow 23 year-old, unsure if I really belonged at the seminary or among the ranks of professional Baptist ministers. But, despite ill-advised encounters with felons, a small arms arsenal, two stoned construction workers, and a licentious retiree, I was about to walk out as a newly minted Master of Divinity.

Of course, the chapel afforded me no views of the future, so it was impossible to perceive how the course of my life would be shaped by a handful of years spent immersed in two very different worlds. The terms were not in vogue then, but studying Red State religion in a Blue State world had changed me. I had brought a host of questions to Golden Gate expecting ready answers, but my professors had, for the most part, shown a vexing reluctance to provide them. If anything, my seminary education had ended up raising still more questions that I couldn’t answer.

These doubts and struggles were more or less set aside for a long time, but eventually they came to bother me very much, as you may have gathered by reading various posts in this blog. In recent years, some of my faith issues have gotten resolved, others haven’t, and I have come to the overall conclusion that questions aren’t so bad, and answers aren’t always what they’re cracked up to be. No, that’s probably not what my old seminary professors were trying to teach me, exactly. And, as such, they should be held blameless for my present spiritual and mental state.

Of course, it must be admitted that during my seminary years, I was also influenced by the various denizens of Marin County who crossed my path. If the seminary gave me a broader view of my faith, then Marin and the Bay Area gave me a broader view of humanity in general. It struck me as a place where you got to be more or less whatever you were, and no one would make too much of a fuss about it. Even if what you were was a rather goofy Southern Baptist seminarian.

I kind of liked that open stance, and over the years I began to wonder if there was something almost Jesus-like about this easy, come-as-you are acceptance. It doesn’t take much reading of the New Testament to see that the main gripe people had with Jesus was that he was too inclusive—too ready to hang out with women, children, cripples, and assorted riff-raff. Maybe you can read too much into that tendency, but then again, maybe you can’t.

Perhaps that’s why I’m still in the Bay area almost 17 years after that graduation ceremony. My, how time does fly.

Willow World

Okay, back to the story at hand. As my seminary education was wrapping up, I was also trying to get the Weekday Church off the ground, but starting a lunchtime church in San Francisco’s financial district was not proving to be easy. So when Pastor John decided to inspire the troops by taking a few key leaders to a conference, I jumped at the chance.

The seeker-sensitive church movement may have started in Southern California, but its crowning glory was Willow Creek Community Church in the suburbs of Chicago. Led by an energetic pastor named Bill Hybels, Willow Creek started out in a rented movie theater, grew to a weekly attendance of over 15,000, and built a beautiful 90-acre campus in the town of South Barrington.

Eventually, Willow Creek began hosting conferences to share the secrets of their success, which brought our little band of BayMarin/Mt. Tam/Weekday Church leaders to Chicago. When we arrived at the church, it reminded me of an upscale office park, with carefully-manicured landscape and modern buildings. The vast parking lot was staffed by numerous attendants in orange vests, and as we entering the main building with 4,000 other conference attendees felt like walking into a basketball game or rock concert.

Once inside, I was even more impressed by Willow Creek’s spacious auditorium, jumbo video screens, and massive worship band, and floor-to-ceiling windows that showed off a beautiful panorama that included a tree-lined lake.

Despite (or perhaps because of) all the grandeur, Bill Hybels and the other conference speakers were quick to point out that they had never set out to build a megachurch, but rather a “biblically functioning community.” And the church’s skyrocketing growth followed as a natural consequence. This was not exactly a catchy phrase (“Visit Willow Creek: We function biblically!”), but it was good to know that our churches didn’t need a beautiful campus, parking attendants, or charismatic speakers to grow. We just had to straighten out a few functions here and there.

We also heard a lot about “spiritual gifts.” Willow Creekers emphasized that all believers are endowed by God with one or more special abilities that equip them to assume an indispensable role in the church. These abilities are listed in the New Testament and include teaching, leadership, encouragement, and evangelism.

Willow Creek had even developed a special questionnaire that could be used to identify one’s spiritual gifts. This instrument contained yes/no questions like “I regularly try to persuade others to my point of view” and “I have spoken in a language that is unfamiliar to me.” I had to answer “no” to both of those, as pushiness and speaking in tongues are not my spiritual gifts. And I felt sure that anyone who could speak in tongues would be able to figure out their gift without resorting to a questionnaire.

Still, the exercise was enlightening, as I learned that I had been endowed with “shepherding” and the rather vague gift of “helps.” Neither of these sounded particularly helpful to a potential church planter, but there was always the biblical functioning stuff.

No on Proposition 8

At times, I’ve felt nostalgic while writing about my seminary days and remembering all the friendships and good times I experienced. Then I come across story like this one and remember why I am no longer an evangelical Christian:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/26891725

Here’s the deal. I understand how someone could argue that Scripture prohibits gay relationships, as I used to hold that position myself. And if that is your opinion, it seems perfectly reasonable for you to refrain from gay relationships and attend a church that only recognizes marriages between people of the opposite sex. So far so good.

But I do not understand the urge to raise millions of dollars and hold prayer vigils to deprive others WHO MAY NOT SHARE YOUR BELIEFS of a right THEY ALREADY POSSESS as Californians. Do you have nothing better to pray for or spend your money on? Like, say, starving multitudes, hurricane victims, or REO Speedwagon tickets?

Oh, I know—gay unions undermine “real” marriage, destroy the very fabric of society, blah, blah, blah. BALONEY (sorry for getting carried away with the caps here). My wife and I have been married 18 years, and in that time I’ve learned that the only thing that can undermine our relationship is the choices we make as partners.

Think about it—maybe you’ve got a gay couple living down the street. Maybe, like some friends of ours, they’ve been together for over 20 years and raised a child who now has a family of her own. Well, that couple isn’t going away. They are part of the community, and the only question is whether or not we will afford them the same rights and protections that we “straights” take for granted. If that supposedly menacing couple was going to undermine society, they would have already done it—so having the state recognize their relationship changes nothing for the rest of us but means a hell of a lot to them.

Oh, I also know—if we let gays marry, what’s next? People will start marrying dogs! I actually heard this argument recently, and frankly, this kind of “slippery slope” reasoning is laughable. When we have a significant group of folks wanting to wed their pooches, we’ll address that issue as a society (and I won’t hold my breath). The reality is that right now we have a host of friends and neighbors who are clamoring to retain the right to wed another consenting adult of their choosing. So let’s focus on that fact.

Having unburdened myself thusly, I am off to make another donation to NO ON PROP 8. Please join me!

The Haiku

The men’s group I wrote about in my last post continued to meet until seminary graduation sent us off in multiple directions. When the end was near, we decided to mark the occasion by surprising our wives with a group date. Matt suggested that we pack a picnic dinner and attend an outdoor Shakespeare production he had heard about. This sounded bad enough, but Matt upped the ante by insisting that we all write a poem to our wives and read them aloud during the meal. This idea met with immediate and protracted resistance, but Matt was not the kind of guy to take no for an answer.

Shortly thereafter, we found ourselves eating on blankets with our wives in front of an old amphitheater. After dinner, we husbands presented our wives with flowers, and Matt announced that an even more special gift was forthcoming. Hoping to get things over with quickly, I had volunteered to read my poem first, and Matt cued me to begin. When I finished the dozen or so lines I had painstakingly cobbled together, I was relieved to see the other 3 wives give Mimi closed-lipped smiles and little pats that plainly said, “You have such a nice husband.”

The other men, however, were staring daggers at me, which I was at a loss to understand. Didn’t they like it? Had I gone off track somehow? But the reason for their animosity became plain as soon as the remaining poems were read.

Matt went second and announced that he had decided to write his poem in the form of a “haiku.” This brought more smiles from the ladies, who were growing more impressed with their choices of mates by the moment. But by the time Matt finished, the smiles had turned to expressions of bewilderment, and an awkward silence descended over the group. Ethan finally spoke for all of us, asking, “Dude, do you even know what a haiku is?” Matt then expressed an eagerness to see what Ethan “had come up with,” so he read next.

Ethan’s “poetry” turned out to be a stream-of-consciousness manifesto that made little sense to anyone—his wife Carlie least of all. Jeff and I tried in vain to suppress our laughter as a vindicated Matt cried, “What on earth was that?! At least I wrote a poem!”

“Ever heard of free verse?” Ethan countered, but the damage was done. Jeff brought the proceedings to a reasonably dignified conclusion with his effort, but all in all, it was clear that some of our wives would have been far happier with the evening if we had dropped the poetry idea altogether. Mimi was an exception, I am happy to report, and at least for one night, my stock rose considerably on the home front.