No guarantees

When Jesus went out into the desert, the devil offered him all sorts of goodies:  you'll never go hungry, you'll be safe, you'll have all the power in the world.  But Jesus knew better than that.  He knew himself and he knew God better than that.  God never promised us a rose garden.  The only promise that God ever made that may have been worth any salt was through Jesus:  I will be with you, to the end of the age.

Ironically, though, God did not even keep that promise to Jesus.  On the cross we hear Jesus cry the words of Psalm 22:  "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"  At some point in our lives, we will face the cross in all its pain and sorrow and isolation.  In fact, being faithful to God, as Jesus was, just might lead right to it.

Good friends, good people, keep telling me that the right church is out there for me, that I need to keep the faith.  If ever I have lived through a wilderness time, this year plus some months of searching has certainly been one of the most challenging.  Ever since I made the decision 16 yrs. ago to stay home with my girls, I never thought it would be this difficult to reenter full-time ministry.  I thought that somehow God owed me one, that since I had been willing to give up my vocation to fulfill another (motherhood), God would reward me with the church of my dreams.

Hah.

God didn't promise me a thing.  I devised that whole fairytale to get me through the lonely times, through not having the company of a single pastor who has relinqished what I have; not being able to share the same struggles and joys as my colleagues when we gathered for fellowship;  not serving at the Table; not being available to preach because all four of us being at church together was more important some Sundays; not being able to attend clergy groups or conferences or Synod; not working except when I could because I was not able to divide my energy between being a mother and being a pastor.  To those of you who have been able to do this, I wholeheartedly applaud you and I am envious of you.  But I would also not trade places with you.  Accepting this does not make any of this easier.

It would be sheer bliss if I could look back on this time from the quiet of my pastor's study in some future church and see the reasons why, the connections, the purpose, the meaning of this desert, this back-and-forth with the constant presence/fiercest adversary I know as God.  Anybody who has cancer or who is struggling to keep afloat with house and bills or who can't find the right combination of meds to allow some normalcy of life or whatever the battle is, knows about this and knows that it really doesn't help.  Because there are no guarantees.  George Burns smoked cigars and drank martinis almost every day of his life, and he lived to be 99.  I could eat right, exercise, and still get hit by a truck tomorrow.  Or keep the faith and still not be called by a church.

The desert is all about being faithful, not about anything promised on the other side or there even being the other side.  It's about remaining true to oneself and not letting the desert and its demons corrupt your soul.  It's about loving and forgiving and being merciful and compassionate, perhaps even joyful when what you'd really like to do is grab the Almighty (or the nearest bystander) by the collar and ask what the hell is going on. 

Hope isn't pretty.  The reason it can be so hard to hold onto is because it's covered in thorns.  Hope isn't the resurrection; it's the cross.  It's crying out to God even when you know it's not going to get you off the damned cross, when you're going to die anyway but it's the only prayer you've got left.

Am I going to find a church?  Damned if I know.  All I do know is that I'm thankful I don't have to do it alone.  Although, there are days it sure as hell feels that way.  Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief.  Amen.