Moving The Mouse...Part One

I am a big fan of the cartoon strip, Dilbert. One of my favorite characters is Wally, the guy who is always trying to get out of doing any real work and has perfected the art of looking busy. One of the methods he employs for looking busy is keeping his hand on the mouse while he snoozes away at his desk. When he hears his pointy-haired boss approaching, he deftly moves the mouse. The computer has perfected the craft of looking busy while really accomplishing very little. Welcome to a great metaphor for ministry – moving the mouse.

I have served in ministry for around 25 years – most of that time being in the role of Lead Pastor of growing congregations. One of the reasons I chose to leave the institutional church ministry setting was because of a growing disconnect that I felt with the moving the mouse activity that defines much of present day ministry. Let me explain.

In the United States we pour a vast amount of resources into putting on what amounts to a production Sunday after Sunday. My former life was given to - week after week, month after month, and year after year - crafting an attractive, entertaining, captivating, “concerned”, and polished mini-event that took place once a week: something we called the Sunday morning worship service. This one event involved: study time; manuscripting a relevant message; handing the notes off to a tech team for production prep.; reviewing and approving the backgrounds for the power point presentation; rehearsing a worship band of anywhere from 8-10 members; doing a final revision of the notes and tech presentation late Saturday night, and then heading off for the big Sunday morning event where the service was conducted two times. Just that accounted for about 40 hours per week. In addition to those preparations were the: countless meetings with staff; elders; leadership; counseling appointments; facility meetings; dealing with budgets; dealing with fuss-budgets; funerals; weddings; community meetings; mission committee meetings; socializing with congregants, etc. None of this was necessarily bad mind you. And, a lot of churches and a lot of Pastors pull this off week after week with aplomb. But, by Sunday afternoon, I was exhausted and there was this gnawing realization in my gut that when I awoke the next morning, I would have to start pushing the rock up the mountain again. When I would occasionally ask a person - even my staff – what they had gotten out of the service two weeks prior, I was met with a deathly silence and a blank stare. Few could remember what I had preached on two weeks ago. I knew I was in trouble when I too couldn’t recall the messages I myself had prepared and preached. The services, the meetings, the busyness all became a blur – a blur of activity. I had become a professional mouse-mover.

Many ministers and many ministries become addicted to activity. Ministry is never lacking in opportunities for busy-work – never. Ministers can fuss with mountains and molehills of “stuff” that has to be done. And, at the end of the day, we can walk away and feel very tired because we have been so busy. But, if we ever stop to examine our activities and relate them to the great and high call that Jesus has on our lives to be his ambassadors to the world – then we are cooked. He has called us to be a harvester of souls, to be a threatening presence and a strike force that storms the gates of hell. But, what we often become are people who have: mastered this year’s church budget, created well-oiled policy manuals, recruited great nursery workers; and updated the carpet. If for a moment we can step out of the busyness and ask ourselves: “What the heck am I doing with my life?” then, the banality of it all will appall and horrify us. Were we called to such marginalized and mundane pursuits?

So…something happened to me about three years ago that rocked my world. A friend of mine opened up a coffee shop (Durango Joe’s – best coffee anywhere) and I, being a good friend, began to guzzle vast amounts of Americanos; and, I began to watch and observe the customers. I didn’t realize it at the time, but what was drawing me back again and again to the coffee shop was not only good coffee, but it was the sound of the harvest. The harvest – the precious people for whom Christ died. Wasn’t the harvest of souls the whole purpose of the church? Wasn’t it my original calling from God to be about the work of the Master and to be proclaiming the kingdom of God, the message of hope, the good news, to people who were lost and without hope and facing an eternity apart from God? Wasn’t this the main thing? Could I stay behind the walls of a church façade – safe and secure in my Christian ghetto – while people were marching inexorably day by day into hell?

These thoughts appalled me. I appalled me. I had been mesmerized for so many years with “churchy” activities, with Christian conferences, Christian concerts, and Christian events, which were all geared toward - Christians. But where were the harvesters? And, more pointedly, where was I in the harvest? I was outside of the harvest. I had to confess, I had become a professional Christian playing to the already convinced…

A Letter To A Victim of Suicide...

[Note: I received news today regarding a dear friend who lost her younger brother to suicide last night. My family and I navigated our way through this hell a few years ago. I have never really put a pen to the things I learned - or am still learning - from that defining event. The following letter, with some privacy editing, is shared as both a cathartic process for myself and as one small contribution for those of you who have experienced such loss or have found yourself in the position of trying to bring comfort to the unwitting victims of suicide.]

April 16, 2007

Dear_________

First of all, let me express to you my deep sadness and condolence for the loss of _____ last night. I have been on my knees this morning praying for the cloud of God’s presence to surround you. And tonight, when I am able to share with Jan what has happened, we will enter together that place of prayer on your behalf. What I have to share in this short note may or may not be helpful this very moment, but I think it might be so in the days ahead. Please know that I am available anytime to listen, to pray and to share.

_____, as you know, I lost my precious brother, Chris, seven years ago to this same, inexplicable choice. Oftentimes, when someone chooses to end their life, I am called in to give insight or to bring comfort. I think people assume that because I have been through this, that I am some kind of expert on suicide and have some magic words to say that will lift the fog and fast forward the healing. The truth of the matter is that I am, like you will surely be, a mere survivor. A survivor is not a person who has given much if any forethought to experiencing a crisis or a tragedy. A survivor - in the truest sense of the word - is a victim of a catastrophic event which was unforeseen, unplanned and uninvited. _____, to that end, you need to know that you could no more have prevented this event than you could have prevented a hurricane. This was a random event that crashed into your family’s well-ordered and joyful life like a comet.

That was one of the more difficult things for me to grasp at the beginning. As I wept and wept – well past my body’s ability to even supply tears – I was haunted by the persistent thought of: “What did I miss? What could I have done to prevent this?” Now, I cannot keep you, or anyone else in your family, from asking those types of questions. They are as understandable as they are predictable. And, to be honest, I still have those questions flare up in my head these many years after my brother’s death. What I can tell you is that you will never arrive at any type of answer that will ever really satisfy.

But, just for the sake of argument, let’s suppose that you did arrive at an answer. What if you were to say: “If I would have done this one thing – then my brother would still be alive?” Well, that is a zero sum conclusion that simply invites some other grim reapers to the present party of despair; i.e., guilt, regret and accusation. To arrive at an “answer” is to simply make provision for the obvious and tormenting question: “Then, why didn’t I do it?” And, because you cannot answer that – all you are left with is self-recrimination.

So you see - it is all circular. We cannot make any sense of suicide. We will always be left with the question of “Why?” and the person who might shed some light on the answer is now gone. And you know what? Were it possible to somehow communicate with our loved one who committed the desperate act – I am not certain if even they could come up with a satisfactory reason. I think the question of “why” echoes on both sides of eternity.

I was blessed with a phone call from a wonderful old Christian statesman a few weeks after my brother’s death. Dr. Vernon Grounds, now in his nineties, is widely acclaimed as one of the founders of Christian counseling and therapy. His name graces one of the beautiful new buildings of Denver Seminary’s new campus, the: Vernon C. Grounds Counseling Center. This great man of God told me, very gently and lovingly - but also with a certain amount of firmness – that when it came to suicide, he had very few answers. His best efforts with suicidal people quite often ended in tragedy. He felt that once a person began to have and nurture those thoughts that they had somehow crossed over a line beyond anyone’s ability - save God’s - to stay the hand of self-destruction. A man who had helped thousands felt weak against the formidable and dark logic of suicide.

His point to me, and my point to you, is this: a victim of a tragic event is not the cause of the tragic event. Say that over and over to yourself. You must get busy with true grieving. That is the work before you for the next few days, weeks, and months. I refer to it as work – because it is. Those who counsel the bereaved – and I have done my share of it - have observed the following stages: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. I have not found the order to be always that sequential. Oftentimes we will have to revisit portions that we think we have passed through. But _____, this is the near road ahead. A suicide – because of the things I have already mentioned – often hinders us from beginning the journey through grief. We wait around at a sort of weigh station asking questions that cannot be answered. Eventually though, the journey must and will begin.

When I recall the early days of my loss, I can tell you that the body of Christ (i.e. the church) carried me when I had no strength. My wife and children and my parents were the most amazing. They held me and quietly stood by while I passed through each of the difficult transitions. They did this without judgment and without ever once calling attention to their own grief – which was substantial.

If there was ever a time to learn the important lesson of receiving comfort, it is now. Your husband is a good, wonderful and strong man. Melt into him. There will be others who show up merely to be seen like the professional wailers of Jesus day - the purveyors of platitudes – people who take your pain and somehow make it about themselves. I experienced some of that. You have permission to ignore them.

But mostly this: cry out to God the Father from the depths of your brokenness. And, I mean – cry out. Find a place where you can scream and cry and question and demand. The Father responds well to such honesty. I doubt that He replies to anything less. Has He not promised comfort to those who mourn? He has indeed. And He is always faithful to His promises. Seek Him and you will find all of the resources of Deity available to your wounded heart.

With Love & Prayers,
C. J. Alderton, Pastor
Patrick Crossing