All Shall Be Well

"A good theologian...is a person who is close to people, who has a creative imagination and the gift of listening, who shows a commitment to hard work, who accepts the risk of making a mistake, who is a person of self-renewal: a person dedicated to overcoming routine and considering theology as an ongoing task and a responsibility rather than a job to be done." - Clemens Sedmak

  
Church
I almost quit my church yesterday. I know. Typical, right? Another young adult leaving the church.

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The thing is, I've really tried. I lead a small group. We welcome new people whenever they visit. I introduce myself to people I don't know every week. I even served as an intern on staff for eight months. I write sermon discussion questions for sermon-based small groups. I've played keyboard and bass on the worship team. I've been on the prayer team. I've greeted people at the welcome desk. I've registered kids for Bible School.

And that's just at this church. That doesn't even take into account my previous church experience. I've served on a church board. I've preached. I've taught every level of Sunday School class. I've led Bible studies. I've even led the music for children's church (and I can't sing!)

In short, I've done it all. And my husband's list is even longer and more impressive.

But on Sunday mornings, we get up and go to church. We sit in our seats and listen to a sermon and some music. No one talks to us. I look around the room and see some familiar faces, but none who know my name. Our pastor preaches about how powerfully God spoke to him at a recent conference. He said that he was feeling lost, like just another face in the crowd when in the midst of three thousand people, someone said, "I have a message for people here from Kansas."

I understood what he felt like. Invisible. Unknown. Alone in a sea of people. But no one had something to say to me. My baby was sick, so we retrieved him from the nursery and took him home. I left as alone as I came.

My pastor and his wife were supposed to have lunch with us, but they had to cancel at the last minute. We've been trying to schedule a time to have a meal with them since March, but they are pretty busy.

My pastor also said, "Young adults, you have been given the privilege of standing on the shoulders of those who came before you. Pursue relationships with mentors. Listen to the wisdom of your elders."

I don't think that we are the first who have found our elders too busy with the work of church to make time to build enough of a relationship with us to impact our lives in a meaningful way.

I am thirty now. I'm tired of waiting. I have experience. I have a master's degree. I even have some positions of leadership and influence in the church. But none of those are enough for us to have someone to talk to on Sunday morning. And they are definitely not enough for us to help shape the vision of the church.

Motherhood

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I have just begun reading Clemens Sedmak's book, Doing Local Theology: A Guide for Artisans of a New Humanity. His primary premise is that theology should be done locally, by the people and for the people. Theology is not something that scholars sit around and think up. It is also not something that has to be re-invented every few years. The best theology comes from a combination of learning how to serve God in one's context while also listening to the wisest teachers from our day and the past.

My previous post about "the new domesticity" reflected the daily frustration I feel in not being able to be part of something where I feel I can contribute productively. I long to think and talk and write about things that matter, for people who can benefit from my contribution.

In a conversation with my husband, one of my professors acknowledged the validity of this frustration. He said that raising a child is important, but so is doing theology. When my husband told me that, I was overcome by emotion. Finally, someone admitted that devoting all my time to raising a child might not be enough.

Theology
"Our deepest wound is that we do not want to be healed."

Sedmak goes on to quote Erich Fromm's theory that we do not want to be liberated because we fear responsibility.

While I think this is a life-changing idea, I realized this weekend that I don't want to be liberated because I fear not being given responsibility. As long as I spend my energy on self-pity, I don't have to wonder what else I should be doing.

Sedmak's words made me wonder, what should I be pursuing? What is my local theology?

I might as well be a sixteen-year-old boy.

I realized that there are lots of people who live as outsiders. Outside the workforce. Outside the church. Outside traditional roles in society. Outside any sort of power structure. Maybe my location for doing theology is on the outside.

I'm still tempted to quit my church, but maybe being on the outside isn't such a bad place to be.

"We all have our cross to carry. We do theology because people suffer. Doing theology is a way to attend to the wounds of our time. ... We all do theology as wounded healers, as people in need of healing and comfort, and as people who can share the life-giving strength of our wounds."

My theology tells me that I can't quit my church any more than I can quit being a mother. But what I can do is theology. I can make meaning for myself and others. I can walk alongside my mom friends as we try to make sense of our lives apart from the roles that used to define us. I can walk with my young adult friends as we try to find places to serve meaningfully in churches dictated by fifty-year-olds. I can walk alongside women with giftings and callings to ministry who find church leaders less than enthusiastic about their leadership.

And I can hope, along with Julian of Norwich, that "all shall be well, that all manner of things shall be well."