An Epiphany Along the Way

Life is a not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be lived.

~Charlotte Joko Beck

There are a few sayings that I live by. One of them you see at the beginning of every post. Another one is also from Charlotte Joko Beck that I will share in this post.

The saying really made a huge impact on me during one cold morning 19 years ago. I was standing in the parking lot of a large insurance office building in Overland Park, Ks., a wealthy community in the Kansas City area. I had left a happy pastorate to be part of a church plant. Professionally speaking, it was my shot at the “the big time.” Being a minister is in many ways like other professional careers. We plan to “move up the ladder,” from larger church to larger church—well, at least, that was the plan. Except that for me, it wasn’t working out. Being a un-Orthodox, “quirky,” just-left-of-center minister in a very conservative denomination, I was almost forty years old and still in small churches. This church plant was my chance to be part of what was supposed to quickly grow into a contemporary, wealthy, mega-church. The only hitch was that I had to find a “secular” job to support myself until the church became large enough to start paying us salaries.

Pastoring skills mean squat in “the real world.” With over a double-major in Religion & Philosophy from college, a Master of Divinity Degree, and Doctor of Ministry work, plus over a decade of pastoring experience under my belt,  I found myself as a security guard at a nine-story office building, making minimum wage. “It’s simply a means to an end,” I kept telling myself. The church plant imploded, fell apart, and I was left in charge of helping it come to an end gracefully after a terrible conflict that took a very high toll on me. Now, being a rent-a-cop was no longer a means to an end, it was my job. At the age of 4o, when I should have been at the height of my “professional career,” I was making minimum wage, and my wife and I were going deeper in debt every year. And for what?

For some reason, the CEO of that office building decided that I needed to stand out in the freezing cold in the parking lot every morning, watching the cars come in, people arriving for work. I couldn’t understand it. Everyone I talked to at the company thought it was just as stupid as I thought it was, but there I was that cold winter morning, freezing my butt off, watching people with real jobs coming in to work.

I hit a new low in my spiritual depression, and I had been depressed for over a year. I was angry with God, and at the same time afraid that my worst insecurity fears about myself had finally come true—that I really was a failure. I had spent two years begging—I mean, begging and pleading—with God for a good job. And He wasn’t listening. So that morning, at the age of 40, and at the lowest point of my life, I seriously wondered if being a Christian was worth it.

I mean, we had given up a pastorate in Oklahoma, moved to Kansas City following God’s direction, swallowed the humiliation of not being able to get anything other than a minimum wage job—but I was doing it for the church plant—and I was each year going in debt. And the church plant collapsed. I had no ministry. WHY was I there? And was this what I got for following God’s leading—freezing my backside off in a parking lot for people who didn’t care? Is THIS what you get for faithfully following God?

I had never in my life been angrier at God, and that morning, I was seriously considering abandoning Him, abandoning Christianity, abandoning my faith, completely. Frankly, it wasn’t worth it. I’d had it.

Authors have always been my advisors, teachers, counselors and mentors, and they kicked in that morning. First, it occurred to me that I tried life without God before, and I was miserable then, too. So life without God was not a key to happiness. I remembered that from experience. For better or for worse, God was all I had. As one author, the psalmist Asaph wrote, “Who have I in heaven but You?” (Psalm 73:25). Second, I remembered Bernhard Anderson’s classic book, Understanding the Old Testament, and his treatment on the book of Job. He asks “the Job question”: Why are the pious faithful?  Was it for the reward, the payoff? Anderson asserts that the pious are faithful because it is who they are. I had to ask myself, Why was I a Christian? Was it for the payoff? For the Christian version of the American good life—the big church, big salary, new home and new car? Or was I faithful because as a Christian, that’s who I was? It really made me re-examine my motif for being a Christian. Had I been in it for the wrong reason? Should I not be faithful because being a disciple of Jesus Christ is who I am?

And then there was a quote from the Buddhist author, Charlotte Joko Beck. She was talking in one of her books about the Bible passage, Galatians 2:20, I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.  Beck interprets that passage as meaning that since we have been crucified with Christ—the self is dead—I no longer live, but Christ now lives in me. Our lives, then, are not ours, they are His. And 1 Corinthians 6:19b-20, Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you received from God? You are not your own; you were bought with a price. We are not our own. We no longer live. Christ lives in us. Therefore, Beck concludes that since my life is not my own, then…

My life is none of my business.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I belong to Christ. My life is none of my business. It was literally like a shaft of light broke through the heavy winter clouds. So what if I’m 40 years old and I’m a lowly, minimum-wage rent-a-cop freezing in the parking lot? It’s not my life. My life belongs to Christ, and if this is what He wants me to do, then who am I to complain? As Beck said, who am I to tell God that my life should be different than it is? That my life is not satisfactory, not what I want? It’s not my life anyway.

It all added up for me that morning when I was seriously considering walking away from The Faith.

                --I had lived without Christ in my life before, and I was miserable. Walking away from Christ wasn’t going to fix anything. For better or for worse, God was all I had.

                --Why had I been faithful? For the reward, or because being Jesus’ disciple who I am?    

                --And it’s not my life anyway. My life is none of my business.

I told Christ that morning that if this was what He wanted for the rest of my life, for me to be a minimum-wage security guard, then that truly was fine with me. My life was His, and He could do whatever He wanted with it. And a huge weight lifted off my shoulders, along with all the anger, disappointment, and a deep depression. At one point previously the depression had become so severe I literally thought I was cracking up. But from that morning on, not only did I have a peace I had never known before, I felt that my faith had reached a depth, a deeper level, than it ever had before.

I can’t tell you that the next day I got a great job offer. We stayed in Kansas City for another year, and I was happy to do so. The next winter we moved to Indiana, where I was on staff at a great church, and had 9 wonderful years there.

But I’ve never forgotten what I learned that day. That my life is none of my business. It makes the mystery that is my life an open frontier. The mystery is even more wonderful. It makes the journey lighter because it lessens the baggage. It means more contentment because if I am following Christ, I cannot look at my life and say, “This is wrong. This isn’t what my life is supposed to be like.” Who am I to say?

I have been crucified with Christ. My life is not my own. It is Christ living in me. My life is none of my business.

How liberating!

Your Fellow Traveler,

~Steve

Moore, OK Chapel Message

Below is a message I gave at the Oklahoma Heart Hospital Chapel Service.

OHH Chapel

May 25, 2013

Chaplain Steve Gillihan

We know that the whole of creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. ~Romans 8:22

My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. ~2 Corinthians 12:9

For the past week I have been struggling with what to say this Sunday.

We have seen the pictures of the monstrous, powerful, awesome tornado that went through Moore, ripping a path of terrifying destruction two miles wide and seventeen miles long, with a wind force of such magnitude that possessions have been found as far away as Arkansas.

All I know is that when Humanity fell in the Garden of Eden, Creation fell with us. Rather than there just being life in this world, from then on life and death has existed side by side. And not just for humans, but for nature as well. Beauty and ugliness. Good and evil.

Friday at Mercy’s Medical Tent, I spoke with a volunteer who has been working in the heart of the devastation. He was suffering from shellshock. Eventually the magnitude of the destruction had taken a toll on him emotionally. That night as I was working my shift at OU Med, I was listening to the chaplains there tell the horrific stories of working in the ER and Trauma units that night.

But on the other hand, back at Mercy’s Medical tent on 4^th street, I was also overwhelmed by the magnitude of love and compassion that I was seeing all around me. At the church grounds we were stationed at, I saw mountains of clothes that were being brought in for the victims. I smelled the grilled chicken sandwiches that were being cooked and handed out non-stop. Every church seemed had been turned into a relief center. I saw tent after tent lining SW 4^th street with mountains of bottled water, clothing, even places where families could recharge their cell phones. I spoke to one woman who had significant damage to her home. She was pushing a shopping cart full of clothing. I asked her if she had enough food and she laughed and said, “Oh, chaplain, we have more food than we can eat!” I met and talked with volunteers from Utah, Arkansas, and Wisconsin who came not with church or relief groups, but just on their own, because they wanted to help.

Standing at the back parking lot of the church property, I looked across the field at the devastation of the tornado. Homes ripped apart. The land marred with debris. Then I turned around and saw I don’t know how many people, donating clothing, passing out hot meals, free medical attention being provided, volunteers walking past me to head across the field to help with the clean up. I was standing between such ugly destruction on the one side, and the beauty of loving compassion on the other.

This is the world we live in. Human beings are capable of such ugliness and cruelty, yet also of such compassion and beauty. Nature is the same way. It’s like this created world reflects its inhabitants.

I moved here from Denver. I clearly remember the awesome beauty of the snowcapped Rocky Mountains, and how they filled me with awe. I also remember seeing rescue helicopters flying over my head, on the way to Long’s Peak, to rescue hikers who have been injured by the treacherous nature of such beauty. I remember sitting in a lawn chair at sunrise, surrounded by a small herd of elk—such majestic creatures—grazing all around me. And incredible experience.  I also remember seeing a bull elk chasing tourists, those huge, dangerous antlers pointed right at them, ready to wreck havoc because they dared to get too close during mating season when these majestic animals can be particularly dangerous.

Nature is filled with such awesome beauty, and such awesome danger. Just like we can be.

As a trauma chaplain, I’ve seen patients brought in with ugly wounds inflicted upon them by another human being. Stabbings. Gun shot wounds. Beatings with a baseball bat. And then this week I’ve seen so many people rushing to Moore, Oklahoma with overwhelming love and compassion that is just awe-inspiring and deeply moving.

Not just as people, but also with nature, we live with the duality of the fall from Eden, where life is filled with love and hate, beauty and ugliness, compassion and violence, awesome beauty and awesome destruction, good and evil, life and death. As it is the way of Humanity, so it is the way of Nature that fell with us.

And in this, God promises us that His grace is sufficient. And His grace more often than not comes to us through others, the ones He sends to us to give us a bottle of water, a hot meal, clothing, medical treatment, shelter, even a shoulder to cry on, a person who will pray with and for us. This is when we, the Created, best reflect our Creator. It is when we best reflect the love of God.

People experience the love of God

by being loved

by people who love God.

I don’t know how this week has been for you, how this devastating tornado effected you or yours. I just want to remind you that God’s grace is sufficient in this world of beauty and danger.

Traveling With What You Inherited

Life is not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be lived.
~Charlotte Joko Beck

In my last post I said that my daughter, Meghan, inherited my Mom's personality. Mom was not exactly "church material," however. She liked to smoke, drink, cuss, watch raunchy movies, and didn't like anyone telling her what to do. Mom's hero was Cher, because Cher did what she wanted, said what she wanted, and didn't care what anyone thought about it. My step-father, Bud, finally got my Mom to go to church, and when I found out that it was a Southern Baptist Church, I knew it wouldn't last. One Sunday the minister preached against women laying out to get tans. That was it for Mom. She loved laying out in the sun. I remember growing up Mom taking me and my best friend, Ricky, down to "the sandbar," the shore of the White River, so we could swim while Mom laid in the sun, tanning with her favorite, homemade, tanning oil: half baby lotion, half Iodine, in one of my step-father's empty whiskey bottles. Mom was always extremely tanned in the summers, very dark. She decided that this minister "does not like women," and she never went to church again. My daughter inherited my Mom's independent spirit and problem with authority. I inherited Mom's problem with authority as well.

This is why my heroes have always been the somewhat rebellious, smarmy, wise-cracking characters: James Garner's Brett Maverick character, Bruce Willis' John McClain of the Die Hard movies, M*A*S*H's Hawkeye Pierce, and my favorite of all, Dr. Johnny Fever of WKRP in Cincinnati. Being a minister and a "responsible, dependable" worker, I can follow the rules, but I do so with a cavalier, smarmy attitude. But hit me over the head with the rules, and I'll show you how many of them I can break. And as for telling me what to think--excuse me, I have a functional IQ. I don't need anyone telling me what to think. Needless to say, I have a love/hate relationship with the religiously Conservative circle that I am a part of.

From my Dad I got my physical build (big gut and no butt), his love for futuristic inventions, and off-the-wall sense of humor. My wife, Teresa, said that she never understood me until she met my Dad. I'm a sci-fi lover (HUGE Star Trek freak) and a fan of Will Farrel, Steve Martin, and Mel Brooks comedy. Whenever I'm sick, Talladega Nights, Dodge Ball, The Jerk, Young Frankenstein, or Blazing Saddles can always make me feel better.

Now, for me, this is all the fun stuff I inherited, and as you can probably tell, it is the stuff that I really enjoy. But we also inherit stuff from The Dark Side of our parents.

I inherited my Dad's cranky-ness,. Actually, all the men in my family turned out to be cranky old men. Negativity and judgementalism is something that I fight against. It is easy for me to go to the "worst possible outcome" scenario when something happens. If I don't watch myself, I can go around thinking cranky, negative thoughts which puts me in a crabby mood that comes out suddenly when my wife says something, I snap at her, and she responds with, "Where did that come from? Why are you in such a bad mood?" Even though I may respond with, "Well, it's your fault because you said (or did) such-and-such," the truth is, I had myself in a bad mood because of my negative thoughts. I can go around griping and grumbling with really no one to blame but my own mind. Age is not helping!

I also inherited my Mom's proneness to chemicals. Mom was a chain smoker, alcoholic, and heavy-duty prescription drug addict. Actually, all of this ran in her family. We called her sister, Virginia, the Tranquilizer Queen. Her speech was always slow and slurred. Chemical abuse flows through my Mom's side of the family like a river. When I was in my early 30's, I had to have oral surgery, and that's when I found out that I inherited from my Mother a proneness for narcotics. The surgeon said that the mild dose of Valium had me too relaxed, and the numbing shots took effect in half the time they should have. Even though that evening I was in terrible pain, the doctor told my wife, "There's no way I'm giving him a narcotic pain reliever. He's too prone to narcotics. I don't want him getting addicted."

But early in life I began to wonder: are we predestined by what we have inherited from our parent's Dark Side? Are our lives programmed by it? Was I "destined" to repeat the sins of my parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles?

Anyone who lives with me can tell you that I still battle crabbyness and negativity. "Shit" is one of my favorite words, and as far as I'm concerned, there's a lot of it in life that I have to put up with. When it comes to negative thoughts, I can go to the Dark Side easily and quickly. But I remember my Mom referring to her Dad as, "that mean old man." I made the decision that I am not going to be another, typical Crabby Old Man in my family. It's up to me. I can take on the family baggage and wear it like a mantle, or I can decide to dump it in the desert where it belongs, and travel light. I am what I think, and I don't want to think negative and crabby. Years ago I determined to think more positively and live with less fear. And I can be a bit self-involved and distant. My wife is good at bringing me out of that.

As for chemical addiction, I made that decision when I was very young. I have only taken vitamins and health supplements during my adulthood. I have never been on any prescribed medication. I drink very moderately and enjoy a good cigar only once a year. As a result, I am the healthiest person I know of in my family.

I have also stopped the family cycle of racial prejudice. However, I have my own brand of prejudices, it turns out.

When it comes to what we inherit, cycles can be broken. We can choose to have something stop with our generation. "It stops here! With me!" And in doing so, I think we honor our parents and grandparents by emulating what we enjoy and admire about them, not what we feel doomed to repeat.

Who are parents and grandparents are, or were, always goes with us during our travel through life. It is a blessing, and can be a curse. It's up to us. As for me, I want to be the smarmy, easy-going, laid-back guy.

It's a matter of what we decide to do with what we've been given.

Your Fellow Traveler,
~Steve

The Journey is a Generational Thing

Life is not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be lived.
~Charlotte Joko Beck

For when David had served God's purpose in his own generation, he fell asleep; he was buried with his father and his body decayed.
~Acts 13:36

Lord, You have been our dwelling place from generation to generation...
~Ps. 90:1

I'm the kind of person that likes to hang out in cemeteries. I walk around reading the headstones. Rarely do I find one with the name Gillihan on it. The ones that make me stop are the ones that have a date related to May 13, 1954. My birthday. If the headstone shows that the person was born or died on May 13, 1854 or died on May 13, 1954, I stop and ponder about the life of that person. Who was that person? What was their life like, especially if it was 1854? What did they struggle with? What was the world like then? What was a spiritual life like for them, if they had one? Sometimes I also wonder if a person born on May 13, 2054 would be standing before my headstone, pondering the same questions about me. "Huh. This guy was born 100 years to the day before I was. Wonder who he was and what life was like back in his day?"

I have often wondered about the daily life and struggle of my ancestors as they carved out a life in Arkansas. Is there anything of any one of them in me?  I look up at the night sky and wonder if any of my ancestors had the same questions about life as I do, as they looked up at the same sky.

I once read that part of spiritual growth is finding our place in the flow of the generations. Our place in history. Of course, as you think backward to those who came before you, you also naturally think forward about those who will come after you. This is especially the case now that I am going to be a grandfather for the first time. I see a lot of my Mom's personality in my daughter, like it jumped a generation. Will my daughter say of my grandchild, "Good, Lord! He's/she's just like my Dad!" How much of me will be in that child? And what change will that make now in my place in the flow of history, the flow of the generations, now that a new generation is coming from my child?

I tease my son-in-law that since he will teach this child about Star Wars and Marvel comics superheroes, I will counter this by teaching my grandchild about Star TREK and DC comics superheroes, so the the child will "be balanced." Fun stuff, but superficial. I have have also told my daughter that since she would not let me teach her Martial Arts, I will teach it to this new one.

But what will I be able to pass on that really matters? How much will I be able to be a positive influence on this new generation that has flowed from me? What can I contribute that will be of any lasting depth?  I know that my wife will be nothing short of a remarkable grandmother, but what will I contribute? 

I know that I want to pass on the stories. Pass on 6 generations of family stories to the newest generation. Pass on my stories. Afterall, my wife and daughter claim that there's nothing I like better than a new audience for my stories. Grin. A sign of my approaching 60? And I want to take joy in hearing my daughter pass on her stories. I think it is important to make the stories of our ancestors, grandparents, parents, and our own stories a part of their story. It gives continuity. Too often young people today want to act as though they were born in a vacuum, as if nothing much of any importance happened until they came along. They don't care because it didn't involve them. We are not born into "the vacuum," we are born into the flow.

And there is The Faith.
I will not be this child's parent. I will have limited say about his/her spiritual life. And that is as it should be. I'm not going to be the parent. What I hope for is to be a grandparent that models a Christianity that is real, that is relevant, that is fun, and that has depth. My prayer for my daughter as she was growing up was that she would not find the Jesus of the church, but the Jesus of the Bible. That is my prayer for this grandchild that we are expecting. However, whether this prayer comes about or not, I will always love the stuffin's out of this kid.

I think that in some way we become concerned about our journey lasting longer than we do. That's why it's important to be able to pass on things to the next generations. Invest a part of ourselves in them, just as they invest part of themselves in us, contributing to our journey. My daughter has made my life richer just by being my daughter. She is a person of spirituality and depth. I'm looking forward to her child doing the same for me--child of my child. And there's my son-in-law's stories, and the stories of his parents and his grandparents and on back, that will add to the child's journey. He will be a great Dad. He's a man of quality, and he will bring a neat military background, a man serving his country. An honorable contribution to his child's journey. When it comes to parents, my grandchild will be blessed.

And there's the contribution of my son-in-laws' parents, their stories that they will pass on to a new generation. I just found out last Christmas my son-in-laws' Mom lived in my adopted hometown of Batesville, Ark. We had fun comparing stories and landmarks.

I really didn't know my paternal grandfather. He visited a few times when I was very young, but died in the 1960s. I did know my maternal grandfather. I really think the movie, Grumpy Old Men was partly based on his life, except he wasn't endearing like those two old coots. I remember my Mom referring to him as "that mean old man," and she was right. It was my father-in-law who really modeled for me what it means to be a Christian man, husband, and father, and a grandfather. He's the one I miss the most. I smile whenever I remember him. Now that I've just turned 59 and am looking forward to being a 1st time grandparent, I wonder how I will be rememberd? What will be my contribution to the flow of the generations?

I do know this. My contribution will not happen by accident. Nor do I want it to be a by-product as I pursue a self-centered, entertained and distracted life, replacing meaning with busy-ness like much of our society.

Maybe I should make a Bucket List of what I want to model and pass on to my grandchildren.

I wonder: someday, when my grandchild is a grandparent, he or she will stand at my headstone with his/her grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and tell them about me? What will be said?

And my journey will outlast me.

Forgiveness: One of the Traveling Mercies.

Life is not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be lived.
~Charlotte Joko Beck

I was visiting the Nativity Cave in Bethlehem, Israel, with a group of Christians. Also present was a young Egyptian family: a husband and wife and their two young children. At one point the son looked at his father and asked who this group of people were. The father looked down at his son and replied, "They are pilgrims." This struck me. Up to that point, I had thought of us as tourists. My traveling companion, a senior adult, had about 30 pounds of camera equipment hanging from his shoulders, so he certainly looked like the typical tourist. But the truth of the young father's statement hit me: we were not tourists, we were pilgrims. We took time to have short religious observances at all of the major biblical spots during our tour of Israel.

As I contemplated this, it occured to me: Everyone is on a journey, not everyone is on a pilgrimage. And I didn't want my life to just be a journey. I wanted it to truly be a pilgrimage. To walk hand-in-hand with God, and to have major spiritual observances and markers along the way as I traveled through the mystery that is my life, on my way towards "a better country."

As we Christians pilgrimage our way through this life, we experiencing hurts and pains. We are hurt by family, friends, fellow Christians, the church, and some even feel they have been hurt by God. "Why did God allow...?"  "Why did God cause this to happen to me?" Some of our wounds are slight and heal quickly. Others leave scars that we bear. For some, one or two wounds are so deep and severe that they never really heal over, but are open wounds that are the source of a pain that we carry deep within.

Grudges and resentments that we carry and won't let go of brings a dark cloud of anger and even bitterness that cast an ever-present shadow on our path. It adds to the load of baggage that we lug along our pilgrimage. Not dealing with it can lead to both chronic anxiety and eventually an ever-present depression.

For we Christians, forgiveness is vital for our pilgrimage. I believe that there are several that we have to forgive as we journey along. Family, the church, God, and ourselves.

Families hurt each other along the way. It's just the nature of the journey. You can't live in close quarters daily and not hurt each other. But one thing I have noticed with the fellow pilgrims in my tribe are Christians who lug around a lot of baggage from their parents. Open wounds that still hurt, issues that they are still wrestling with, parents that continue to hurt them. Forgiving our parents for our deep hurts and wounds is one of the main chores of the journey. I know that the majority of my own issues have to do with my parents--deep, deep scars. But going through that baggage and forgiving one parent's is critical, because the less baggage we lug along, the easier the journey.

But forgiveness is not a "one shot thing" and then you're done. "I forgive you and now everything's okay." Forgiveness is itself a journey, a process. Because you find that even when you're an adult, your parents aren't done hurting you yet. I spent the first 20 years of my adult life dealing with my issues regarding my parents. And when I thought I was done, I found myself in therapy at the age of 45, being told that I had both abandonment and overwhelmed issues from my parents, which included my step-father. I thought, "Geez! How long do we have to live to finally get over this stuff?!" Now I know that there's no such thing as "finally." There's only progressive improvement, by God's grace.

But you know, as we are in the process of forgiving, we are also being forgiven. Because my family lives in close quarters with me. And I'm not always a barrel of laughs. I can be hurtful as well. Sometimes intentionally, hopefully unintentionally the majority of the time.

Not long after my daughter was born, I was thinking about this. My goal has always been to be the Dad that I always wanted to have. But one night I was standing next to the crib in my daughter's room, looking down at my sleeping infant, watching her sleep. I use to love to watch her sleep. I wondered about her life, what kind of woman she would grow to be. I knew that she would never have to wrestle with the things that I have had to wrestle with. My wife and I were going to see to that. But I also knew that I would be a lovingly flawed father. As I gazed upon my sleeping daughter, I wondered: What would she have to forgive her father for as she grew older? What hurts and wounds would she have to deal with in relation to me, and what would she have to forgive her old Dad for? I prayed for God to give her the grace and the ability to do it. She needed it, and I needed her to be able to forgive me.

Forgiving and being forgiven as we journey through the decades with our family. It's an on-going process. But it's the only way to travel light through the pilgrimage.

Later posts: Forgiving the Church, God, ourselves.

Your Fellow Traveler,
~Steve

More Than Enough Trail Bosses

Life is not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be lived.
~Charlotte Joko Beck

When I was 17, and a brand new Christian, I was visiting my father, his wife (my stepmother) and their daughter (my half-sister). My father's next door neighbor was also his landlord. Mr. Wilson was an "old school holiness minister." He and his wife had left the Church of the Nazarene because they were "too worldly." I guess that big, new black Cadillac in his driveway didn't count. Mr. Wilson came over every evening to watch the evening news. The Wilsons did not believe in television sets, but Mr. Wilson liked the evening news.

One evening, after the news was over, Mr. Wilson looked at my Dad and said, "You know, Gill, in order for you to get right with God, you need to divorce Lee and go back to your first wife." This came out of the blue and with no warning. My Dad gave him a puzzled look and said, "What?" "Well," Mr. Wilson went on, "when you divorced your first wife, it was not on grounds of adultery, so therefore it was not biblical and is not recognized by God. So you need to go back to your first wife." My stepmother spoke up: "Well, what about me and Janie?" Mr. Wilson shrugged and said, "That's what you get for marrying a sinner."

I could not believe my ears. I said to Mr. Wilson, "That won't work, because Dad was not my Mom's first husband. Her first husband was a man named Bill, and their marriage did not end because of adultery, either. So if my Mom wants to 'get right with God,' she won't be going back to my Dad, but will have to go back to her first husband. So how can Dad go back to my Mom 'to get right with God' if my Mom has to go back to Bill?"

There was a pause, and then Mr. Wilson threw up his hands and said, "You people have your lives so screwed up even God can't straighten it out.'

 So I said to my Dad, "Why don't you accept Christ here, in this marriage, and start living your life as a Christian right now, right here?" Well, both Dad and my stepmother thought this made sense. Dad looked at Mr. Wilson and asked, "So, how about that?" Mr. Wilson shook his head and said, "Well, if you want to be liberal about it." I smiled and said, "Yeah, let's be liberal about it! I think Jesus would be liberal about it!"

Mr. Wilson got up and walked out. I had dared to use "Jesus" and "liberal" in the same sentence.

As we travel through this life, there is no shortage of people who want to be our trail boss, who want to tell us how to travel our own lives--how to act, what to think, what to believe, what our values should be, what our "issues" should be, what political party to belong to, how to vote, and so on. Ministers, denominations, church people, Conservatives, Liberals, political parties, the Media (particularly talk radio and talk TV hosts), and not to mention certain relatives. These all want to "parent us."

Some people are not happy unless they are running other people's lives.

When I was growing up, I had a stepfather who was not only abusive, but totally domineering. He told us how to talk, how to dress, how to walk, how to eat, what to think, how to sit down in and get up out of furniture--nothing about us was out of his master hand. I remember one time I was walking across the living room and he barked, "You're walking to heavy. Walk lighter." I was 10, and a scrawny kid--how heavy could I be walking? Once, when I was 16, I was counting money out to my Mom, and my stepfather, Bud, yelled at me. Mom said, "What is your problem?" Bud angrily replied, "He's not counting that money back the way I taught him!" And he was really ticked about it.

At 17 I'd had enough, and one night I hit the road. I vowed that I would never be dominated again. What I found out is that when you get out from under one trail boss, there are PLENTY of others who are willing to fill the vacancy, to take charge of your journey, your life, for you.

And we wonder why we travel through life with so much baggage weighing us down.

In psychology, these trail bosses are called "Critical Parents." With the Critical Parent, it's not just what we do that is "wrong," but who we are. Our personhood comes under bombardment by their criticism and "help." Who we are is actually lessened.

Paul declared in 1 Corinthians 15:10, But by the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace to me was not without effect. With my baggage, it's enough of a struggle to be who God wants me to be without all "God's helpers."

It's like the golf swing. The most complicated 1.5 seconds of your life. If you just relax, keep your eye on one spot on the ball, have no other thought, and just let the swing flow natually, the body will align itself with the proper golf swing. I was practicing this one day at a golf course. Relaxed, did not think, kept my eye on the ball. And within a few strokes I stopped slicing it off to the right, but instead was hitting straight and true. I was very pleased and very happy with my swing. A man was sitting behind me, watching. After a few minutes he said, "You're swing is pretty good, but I can give you some pointers that will make it even better," and he spent the next 5 minutes showing me how to stand and how to swing. He smiled and said, "This will make you an even better golfer," and walked away. Thinking about his pointers and concentrating on them, it was no time before I was slicing the ball off to the right again. And was angry and frustrated--again. With his pointers, my swing was no longer my swing.

I sat down and just looked at the blue sky, the grass, took in the sounds, and forgot the pointers. Then I addressed the ball again. I kept my eye on one spot. Erased all thoughts. Relaxed. Let the swing flow. And in 5 strokes I was hitting straight and true once more.

Who God wants me to be is all that matters. Who I am by the grace of God is God's gift to me, to the Church, and to the world. He guides me along the path. He brings out the best of His Creation, if we just flow with Him.

He's not the trail boss. He's the Shepherd.

I don't need trail bosses. I sure as hell don't want any more Critical Parents.

But I sorely need shepherding.

Your Fellow Traveler,
~Steve