Road Kill

My eyes are a little swollen today.
I feel like a raccoon on the interstate after rush hour.
I had a good hard cry last night. It is approaching Canadian Thanksgiving, and holidays seem to stir up all the losses of friends and loved ones. First, I was crying for our lost pastor, who was an anchor and heart-healer; and for his precious family. It has been over three years since that family's departure, and nothing will ever be the same.

I suppose we all believe we have built our house upon a rock, until it is washed away.
We lost everything that year---the most painful of all was faith in our denomination.
But my faith in my denomination had to reach a huge a level of brokenness before I could ever conceive of entering ministry myself. For years and years it taught me that I was not capable---due to my gender---of serving in this capacity.
Personally that belief has long since been eroded by time, and evidence, and reading scriptures for myself, and the cry of my heart.
It took an enormous, final death-blow (personal betrayal, coldness and judgment from a high leader) to realize that there was nothing left for me. The cage door was open.
All that lacked was the courage to face the disapproval, contempt, and further loss of community that would inevitably occur once I took this step.

I am grateful to have been pushed this far, as painful as it has been.

So now I am flying, exhilarated by the delight and fascination and joy I am experiencing in seminary, and I am terribly lonely. There is no one to turn to to talk about it all with. My fellow students have a different paradigm. And while many are patient listeners and good-hearted, I have yet to find someone who will listen to and discuss with me my peculiar Swedenborgian spin at any length.
And I am lonely because my church of origin and family of origin are in judgment of my choice, and, I assume, threatened not only by my actions, but by my very existence.

It was inevitable that this day would come. I am not the first woman to seek ordination elsewhere, and I suspect I am the beginning of a wave of us.

One by one we will be cut off, and the validity of our cry of pain and ultimate heart-choice will be dismissed. It is the way of it.

But I am flying!

Yesterday I served in a small way on the chancel during the Eucharist. It was my first time to wear "albs" (white robe). I processed with the others and sat on the left side with the fellow who would be delivering the talk. I was teary and so deeply grateful to be wanted and welcome and allowed to serve. It was my job to read the scriptures. I did fine.

During Eucharist, the congregation sang this amazing meditative song. It was profound to be kneeling at the rail while the voices rose around me. I got goose bumps.

I am slowly attaching to these people and their worship culture. As a recent convert said to me yesterday, "Who would have thought I would find a home in such high ritual?"
But it is the gentleness and humour to which I am attaching. Pomp without pompousness, I guess. The professors and students are very respectful of my different perspective. There is no aggressive or acquisitive energy from them. It is peaceful and comfortable. I feel the welcome and good will, and I am deeply grateful that SOMEBODY has given me a home that welcomes my pursuit of ministry.
I still feel such pain at the polite coolness and withdrawal of my parents' affection, and the dead silence from my former fellow congregants.

Each of the two main families that left the church when we did, (there were more than three) are experiencing deep family crises. They need prayers---BIG prayers. The moms, my two dearest friends here, are not available to me. Their families come first.
I find myself so angry and resentful, and I don't even know who with! It's nobody's fault. It is as it should be. But I feel more alone today than I have ever felt before.
My husband is a wonderful listener, bless his heart.
But he works very hard. His commute takes over an hour, and with me in school, we are both so tired when we see each other that we rarely have the energy to talk.
I feel like Gideon in the Bible, who had resource after resource taken from him, until all that was left him was a tiny group. God stripped him of everything that represented Gideon's own strength, so that the victory clearly belonged to God.

Lately, that's how it feels. If I survive this and complete this, it will have been from some strength that is beyond me.

And, let's see, three people now have questioned my motherly love, wifely duty, and parental responsibility, implying that I am being selfish to be going to school.

Ahhhhh. We can be so amazingly horrible to each other.