Dealing with Past Lives

            Lately, I’ve had contact with lots of people from my “past” lives. All of us have pasts, but “past-ors” are unique. Every move we make, we leave behind an encapsulated life of its own. For us, it’s not just leaving a job; it’s leaving family and friends, victories and defeats, secrets, struggles, sorrows, couples we married and sadly, some we buried. With each move it starts all over again, but if we’re honest, really nakedly truthful, pastors never get over their past.

            It’s funny, because again, if we’re honest, sometimes when we leave a place, we can’t wait to leave. Sometimes the hurts and wounds have piled up and created such a mountain of sadness that someplace else…any place else, seems like a God-send. And for a while, we’re relieved, we are “better.” But then, six months or a year later, someone from that past life calls out. Maybe they post on Facebook® or send a card. Or maybe they call and say they’re passing through your “not-so-new-anymore” place and would like to stop and see you. And then they say it…the phrase that rips you in two and shoves a knife into your chest all at the same time. They say it, or write it or post it… “We miss you pastor.”

            It’s a heart attack of a different kind. Your heart aches, you feel yourself bleeding from the inside-out. You miss them too…no really, you long to be with them again, to pastor them like you used to, but you dare not express it, you can’t say it, especially in public, because you would feel unfaithful to your new flock if you ever spoke those words and so you don’t…but you know inside that it’s true…you’ll never get over your past.

            I have several “pasts.” Some are over forty years old now. The weird thing is, pasts are like fine wine…they get better with age. They don’t fade or die…they linger on. The circumstances that made you leave…or run…or hide, those things fade. Sometimes you can’t even remember why. But the friends, the laughter, the hugs and happy tears…they only get stronger with time.

            And so I have lots to remember and be thankful for…because lately I’ve been hearing it a lot… “We miss you pastor.” And since the past is like a good wine, allow me to make a toast…to Stanley and Max, Frank and Bugs, Carol and Bobby, Tim and Rose, Jeff, Sherry and Karen and Brother Lloyd. To Bob and Ollie, Toni and Betsy, Dean and Loren and Kelly and Jerry. To Carol and Sue, Hagen and Josh, Dana and Jeff. To Mark, James, Wesley, Daniel, Blind Mike, and hundreds of others along the way…Cheers! You are not forgotten and I miss you too!

Have you blown it?

     Here’s a question we all have to deal with from time to time: What do you do when you’ve blown it? When you’ve taken a wrong turn, missed your exit, goofed up, stepped in it…how do you deal with it?

     I know a lot of folks who have a very fatalistic view of life. They believe if you miss your perfect opportunity or bail on a good situation you’ll never again be happy or fulfilled or complete. Wow! What a horrible way to live…or should I say exist?

     No, from my where I sit, I think God…and life are a lot more forgiving than that. Few of us get it right the first time around. And by the way, I don’t think God’s in the business of holding our mistakes and missteps against us. I’m convinced He is interested in helping us get it right, or at least get closer, when we get up and try again.

     As a pastor, I’ve counseled a lot of folks through the years, and based on hundreds of hours of listening to people confess their mistakes, I don’t really think their biggest problem is getting God’s forgiveness. I think the biggest obstacle most folks have is getting their own forgiveness. We (especially those of us in the church) have been bamboozled into believing God is mad at us when we mess up. We figure if God can’t forgive us, how can we forgive ourselves?

     We all mess up. And the good news is, there’s forgiveness, there are ways to right most wrongs and life has a way of coming back around so that we can jump back on where we fell off.

     So you made a bad decision? Maybe you rushed into a marriage…or out of one…or both. Maybe you bought lottery tickets instead of paying the electric bill. Maybe you said some harsh words to a son or a daughter, or maybe your mom or dad. You wish you hadn’t, but you did. It’s O.K. We’re not perfect, we make mistakes, it’ll be alright.

     I write all of this as a sort of confession. I’ve come to the conclusion lately that I’ve made some bad decisions. No, it’s not what you think. Jane and I are fine. We’ve never been more in love. No…it’s just in analyzing my overall situation in life, I realize it’s the product of my own decisions. There are a few I wish I could do over but I’m not really sure how to do that and the truth is, I’m getting to the age where do-overs are getting harder and harder to come by.

     What I’m trying to do each day is remember a couple of really important things…at least they’re important to me. One, I believe in a God who loves me.  I cannot comprehend His unconditional love for me. I cannot do anything nor could I have made any decisions which would have made Him love me more or less than He already does. Two, I am surrounded by family and friends who love me almost as unconditionally as He does. They have stood the test of time. Some of you are in that group. You love me in spite of the fact I am not perfect. As a wise woman named Jane once said, “love is even though.”

     So the next time you’re ready to beat yourself up over something you did or didn’t do, be careful. You’re about to hit someone who is loved very much. The ones that love you wouldn’t want you to do that. Take it from them…you are loved and it’s going to be alright.     

       

False guilt and the deck of playing cards on my desk

Every week at our church’s mid-week children’s ministry I do an object lesson for our kids. It’s a great way for them to see me in a little different light and get to know me on a personal level. They think it’s neat that the pastor comes and shares a little of his evening with them. (At least I hope they do.)

            So a couple of weeks ago I was preparing for the lesson and realized I needed a deck of playing cards for the “object.” No problem, right? Well no, except for the fact I don’t play cards and therefore don’t own any cards. My father was very strict about the devil’s game, I mean playing cards, so we never learned to play. To him, playing cards was as bad as, well, going to the movies or chewing tobacco or God forbid, dancing. These were all sins of the highest order and his distaste for these wicked deeds soured my heart toward them too.

On my way to church that night, I reluctantly stopped at the neighborhood “Dollar General” and picked up a deck for a buck. I must admit I felt a little guilty. I looked around to make sure no one saw me and quickly tucked them into my coat pocket as soon as I exited the store.

 I did the object lesson (with a fair amount of guilt, I might add) and then brought the brand new cards back to my office and threw them on my desk…where they sat for several days. They were in a bright red box and every day I’d see them sitting there. Perfectly good cards, including the jokers, just sitting in the box…on my desk…in my office.

            Sometimes I’m pretty sure I heard the jokers snickering in the box. I’m not sure why they were mocking me, but I’m almost certain they were. I think they were pleased that I was coerced by the lesson to do something I wasn’t comfortable with doing. Or maybe they knew it was just a matter of time until temptation got the best of me and I actually opened Pandora’s box, I mean the box of cards. If I had ever decided to open the box, I’d have waited until my secretary left for the day and made sure the door was closed. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see me.

            One day I thought maybe I’d just run them through my shredder. But that meant handling them or perhaps someone seeing the tell-tale shreds when taking out the trash. I didn’t want to just throw them away for fear someone else may find them and use them. I could, I imagined, wrap them in a brown paper bag and then throw them away. Yes, that’s what I would do, wrap them tightly in a plain brown paper bag and put them in the dumpster.

            Some time has passed now and with the playing cards thrown away, I once again feel safe. By now those cards are buried beneath tons of garbage at the city dump. My problem is solved…except…except sometimes I still hear the snickering…down deep where no one else can hear…I still hear the jokers laughing. Perhaps it’s because the snickers weren’t coming from the box at all. They were coming from an accuser who isn’t as easily thrown away as playing cards.  

            The false guilt which we inherit…or catch…or somehow internalize is just that…false. It seems so real, it can do real damage, it can drive us to do things we should never even consider, but the hideous laughter convinces us that the shame and darkness are real. There is but one cure. Resist, reject, rebuke, rethink, reconsider, realize that the bony finger of the accuser is powerless unless you give him power. Don’t take him seriously, don’t give him credit, he is a loser, a liar and he doesn’t fight fair.

            The next time you hear the snickers, the laughter, the lies…don’t wrap up the deck of playing cards on your desk. Wrap up the real source of your shame and throw him in the dumpster!