Lately I've been feeling a little… off. Not sick, just, not right. Mistake-prone. Distracted. Partly this is because I'm bored off my botty, but that's not the whole matter. Last night I went over… well, everything, everything I've been deliberately not thinking about the last few weeks (it's been five already! Only fifteen more to… uh… let's not think about it). Like, when or if I'm going to get word from the AF about separating; when, whether, where to move; whether to go to law school; what to do if I don't; how I'm going to try to sell this book; and a couple other things I won't belabor here. I didn't flee to Africa to avoid these matters, but there's not much I can do about them from out here. Consequently I've avoided even the one thing I could be doing here, which is thinking and praying about them.
I only decided on one thing last night. I decided that, since I went to bed so much earlier than usual (ten-thirty! I haven't gone to bed before midnight since the first week I was here), if I got up at a reasonable hour I'd go to church.
I don't go to church regularly. I haven't gone to church regularly since I lived in Valdosta in 2001-2002. In fact I'm still a member of the church in Valdosta. I miss it there. I felt at home at that church.
There was only one Methodist church in Del Rio and I only went a few times. The place had a strange country-club vibe—everybody was a white Anglo, though Del Rio as a whole is maybe 20% white Anglos. It felt like conscious segregation, whether it was or not, and I had trouble hearing the message through the blinding whiteness. Yes, I'm aware that I'm a white Anglo, but I still felt weird.
Tampa has been another matter; although there are dozens of churches I could attend in Tampa, the ones I've been to haven't felt especially… haven't felt right. I don't feel at home at Hyde Park, didn't feel moved at Palma Ceia, haven't found where I fit in at First in downtown. I don't especially feel like driving fifteen miles into the burbs, either, so I haven't bothered; call me a sinner for that if you want, it's true enough for other reasons.
So I haven't gone to church more than a couple times a year for, oh, four years. The other day in the library—which is where I'm sitting right now as I compose this—I happened upon a book called
Planted by Robert Gay. I skimmed it, didn't read it, so I won't put it on the book list. Mostly I didn't read it because of the first chapter. The later chapters that I skimmed made sense.The book encourages its readers to find a church where they can be comfortable, and plant there. Become a member, but not just a come-on-Sunday-and-doze member, but an active member of that particular Body of Christ. A good message, one I should listen to. The book also encourages an understanding of what it means to keep the Sabbath—that you aren't living in sin if your job requires you to work Sundays, because the meaning of keeping the Sabbath holy is taking time to rest and recharge spiritually—and if you can't do it on Sunday, do it on Tuesday. Or if you have to work half a day on Sunday, fine, but spend the other half in communion with the Lord and not the lawnmower.
All good messages. And one I suppose I need to hear, if only to keep it in my heart until my return. The chapel here on camp is not the church God wants me to be planted in, I'm fairly certain of that (I'm not sure God means this part of the world to be inhabited by humans at all, to be frank). But I can at least attend. If nothing else, if I do nothing else, I can hear the word and the sermon and find meaning there, more meaning than I'll find lying on my cot in the tent for twelve hours a day because I don't sleep well enough to feel rested. No question but that my faith could use a recharge—I haven't, after all, been keeping the Sabbath.
But the first chapter of that book, the first chapter… planted. Get planted. Robert Gay is a pastor in the Florida panhandle, and since he has one of those names that sounds odd when used in reference, I'll just call him 'the pastor'. The pastor probably didn't intend for that first chapter to be taken the way I took it. But maybe he did. Maybe my readers have input here.
The chapter starts with a passage from the 92nd Psalm:
Those who are planted in the house of the Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God.
The pastor says, "God wants His people to be planted in a local church." No problem there; he knows whereof he speaks, much better than I do certainly, and I've no quarrel with the notion. Why would Christ have referred to the Church as His body, as his bride on Earth, if He didn't intend for his followers to go there, to worship there, and to have fellowship there? I've tried to make Hyde Park feel like a church family to me, but it doesn't work.
It's the next section that troubles me. Faith isn't meant to be easy, but this is… well, here it is.
The word planted conveys the meaning of being stationary or permanent. When something is planted, it does not move around… It is in a fixed location… I believe the Father is saying to His children today, "Get somewhere and plant it!"
This is probably the single most challenge passage I've read in a spiritual book in several years. Why? Because I am not happy where I am. How can I heed a message to plant there if I am dissatisfied? Am I to take it that my dissatisfaction with the place where I live (Tampa, not Africa; work with me here) is a product of my failure to find a local church?
I'm okay with that notion. But I'm struggling with two things. One, I don't feel at home at the churches I've attended there. I should, I suppose, continue to look. Two, I don't think I'm supposed to stay in Tampa long-term. In fact, I've never felt happy staying anywhere long-term. I don't think being "planted," at least geographically, has ever been satisfying for me. More on that one later. For now, back to the first point, not having found a church home in Tampa that seems a reasonable fit.
For so long, in the body of Christ, we have had those who would bounce around from church to church. Many times we have referred ot spiritual floaters as "church-hoppers" or "cruisamatics." [I've never heard either of those terms before.] They cruise around to all the churches in the city usually causing problems wherever they go. This is not the plan of God for any believer in the Body of Christ.
It may be that I'm pushing this paragraph to be deeper than the pastor intended it to be. One could interpret this paragraph this way:
Wherever you find yourself, plant there. Find a church in the city of your residence, get comfortable, become a member, give of yourself, grow spiritually through your membership and service.
If that's right, then I don't feel too bad. I don't consider myself a church-hopper in the sense the pastor's using it above. I don't walk to the nearest church as soon as I move in and make it my church home right away. I also don't think there's anything wrong with that. I intended to find a church home in Tampa. I just didn't. But if the pastor's injunction is simply that—find a church home in your community and plant there—I can work with that. I need to, certainly.
For some reason, though, my mind cannot resist the following interpretation of the above:
Settle down in some community and never leave. God hates it when you move from city to city.
Okay, maybe I'm adding a little editorial bent to that. But you get my drift.
It shouldn't be any particular secret that I'm considering leaving Tampa once I'm out of the service. A number of places come to mind, Charlottesville, Chapel Hill, Atlanta. I've given thought to Austin, but it's farther than I wish to go. I've considered returning to Clemson, but although I have strong emotional ties pulling me back it would just be an attempt to "go home again," and would result in heartbreak as such attempts always do. Asheville would be nice. Let's face it, the list of cities I would like to move to runs into the dozens, possibly the hundreds, and after I've moved there and lived there for a few years I will get itchy, and the list of places to which I'd like to move will start to expand again, and I'll pick up and move.
And I feel like—feel, don't know, but believe in the depths of my being—that the pattern will repeat.
This does not upset me in the slightest. It isn't that I grow weary of places; I simply don't feel anchored geographically. I don't want to be anchored, geographically.
I don't hate Tampa; don't think that. I don't hate any place I've lived. For God's sake, I love Del Rio. Love it. Nostalgia plays a part in that, and I was ready to leave the town when I did. But I made it my home. I made Avon Park my home. I made Valdosta and Clemson and Fort Lauderdale my homes—although I will admit that I hated Fort Lauderdale. Only place I've ever hated, although it took me a long time to get to like Jacksonville, and I'm still ambivalent at best about Orange Park. Jacksonville I could move to. Orange Park, no. But it's home, so I don't hate it. I don't expect to hate any place. I just don't expect to stay.
I could have stayed in Valdosta longer. Since Valdosta is also the last place I had a church home, there may be something to the notion that I feel compelled to move since I don't have a spiritual home in which to plant myself, and that if I had said spiritual home, I would be inclined to stay.
But that's speculation only. Valdosta is a nice town. The church there was a wonderful church, and if I hadn't spent most of my year there in a 12-hour-a-day job I think I'd have done more as a member of the church than I did. But although part of me likes the notion of going back there, I don't really think Valdosta would be able to keep me long-term. Perhaps. Perhaps not.
This is more troubling, I guess, than I let on earlier. At one point in my life I was going to get in to politics, something that obviously would have required me to pick someplace and stay there long term. Lack of desire to stay someplace is not what's made me quit my political ambition, but it is a new feature, or at least if it's an old feature it's only recently that I've recognized it.
I haven't gotten anywhere, just rambled. So I'll go back to my interpretation of the pastor's statement:
Settle down in some community and never leave. God hates it when you move from city to city.
Regardless of whether I'm interpreting the pastor's words correctly, the question remains. Do I have it right? Are we meant to settle in one place and not leave? Obviously jobs move us from time to time, and I don't imagine God wants us to accept poverty rather than move to follow a job. But moving just because… well, I want to.
Faith is, as I said, not meant to be free of challenges. Is this a challenge? Or is it just my feeble mind giving vent to a fear I won't admit to?
6 comments:
I won't have time to write a full comment, due to needing to go to work, but here's some food for the brain.
I plant in the church. My parents don't. They attend church. I lived in Augusta 3 years, sometimes helped with set up and clean up for events, played in the choir, got to know everyone and helped carpool occasionally for people whose car wasn't working. I never intended to stay in Augusta long term. And I didn't stay. I cried when I left that church for the last time.
Then I got to Baltimore and church hopped approximately 4 Sundays in a row before lucking out and finding the shrine. I planted in a lesser extent. I attended the same mass at the same time on Sunday. I talked to the people around me, I went to dinner with the young professionals and always went after church to eat a donut- and forced myself to actuallly SIT with strangers instead of taking it back to my car and driving home. I knew it was a short term plant, but it was a source of stability during my 4 months there.
I hate the church here. I've attended it 4 times total, there is no alternative church. I didn't plant. I miss it. But I'll find one at the next place.
What I'm saying is, you can become quite planted in 3 months. And it's okay to shop-- churches have personalities and you need one that you can see your place in. And it's okay to move on. You stay, you attend, you help make the church a little stronger, and then you weep goodbye.
It's the difference between being a lurker on an email list and someone who writes in. They are all important and gain something from their reading, but those that write in create the body.
Those who are planted in the house of the Lord shall flourish in the courts of our God.
Now, I may not be the best person to make comments, but I see nothing in the above that indicates that a person should be tied to a geographic location to be close to the Lord. I don't attend church regularly, though I still consider myself a Christian. Some may disagree with that sentiment, but it does not really matter to me. The love of Christ that I have in my heart travels with me and is not tied to a building.
Now there is a lot more to a Church than a building and I do miss the Church that I left in Washington. The Church that replaced it in Florida was enough to prevent me from attending services for about 5 years. Even then, it has pushed me to other denominations. I would say that I hated that Church. Not the word of the Lord, just that Church.
I think that there is something that can be said for tying oneself to an area and being comfortable with staying there, but I am not sure that being comfortable staying comes as the result of tying off. IF anything, quasi blindly tying to anything is enough to make me WANT to move on to something different. But if I am comfortable and confident in something, then I won't have any problems wholly committing to it.
Perhaps the reason you aren't open to being Planted, is because you haven't found to reason to yet. Or perhaps being planted isn't coupled with a geographic location. Rambling Speech cannot help but to become more solid and committed as a person by traveling as much as she is. Being exposed to as much as possible only further roots what it is that makes you ... YOU.
Just because you may physically want to relocate, for whatever reason, I cannot ever think that would be seen as a slight against God. (So long as he is brought with you where ever you go.) If it is, then there are far greater things wrong with my faith then I could have ever imagined.
As someone who has lived in seven countries and two states, I really doubt that God hates me for that. I may do other things that tick Him off, but not that. I also firmly believe He doesn't just want you to plant yourself anywhere. Think of the seed parable: Places have rocks, thin soil, weeds may grow up to distract. You have to search for the rich soil where you will grow in your faith. The church we recently left had very thin soil. Great sermons, pretty sanctuary, very thin spirituality. I could not grow there, and it drove B. away from church completely.
So I tried again (several, actually, of various denominations) and found somewhere that seems to have better soil and the other congregants don't appear to be weeds. They just started a 20s-young 30s Sunday school class, and even B. is going. I'm really excited about that, my first class since I was 14. I'm really hopeful that I'll grow there.
Of course, I grew leaps and bounds at our Charlotte church. I still miss that one and have probably romanticized it in my mind, but it really solidified what kind of Christian I am -- or at least what kind of Christian I will make the most impact as. God did wonderful things for us at that church. But I can tell He hasn't abandoned us at this one, either, just because we moved. Now it's time to grow in a different way, or to put what I learned before to use somewhere that may need it even more. If a job or family or hurricane makes you leave one place for another, the God I was taught about certainly wouldn't abandon you at your time of need.
And hey, He made his chosen people and even his Son wander about all the time! Think of this as your exile in the desert -- though thankfully it's not 40 years!
This pastor may be harping on joining a church a bit too much. He wants members and their pledges, after all. You could just as easily plant yourself at a homeless mission or food bank or another charity and be well rooted in God. I daresay the larger meaning of that Psalm is to plant yourself in God himself. All else is arbitrary. Some of that arbitrary stuff may prove useful, may help you grow, but it is still arbitrary. You have to find a church/worship/service culture that fits you, otherwise whatever doesn't fit will distract you from your main purpose. I'm a firm believer in the importance of community and learning from others, but I'd bet God wants you to find the right place to do so. Places, in fact.
I believe I was meant to go to Clemson. I know I grew spiritually there, and it wasn't through a church. I was meant to go to France, where I grew plenty, not as much spiritually, though I bet increasing my confidence and sense of who I am had plenty of spiritual applications. I was meant to move here, meant to have all the ensuing craziness happen to me. If I had just stayed a lump in one town, clung to one place I knew and one church I knew and one spirituality I knew, I'd be a very cowardly Christian indeed, and we're supposed to be anything but.
I hope I didn't come across as being totally full of myself there. I am really struggling with my faith, and trying to find a church home has been important for me. If I don't go to church, I don't think about my faith hardly at all. If I do go, there's at least one day of the week I'm thinking about it. I was afraid I sounded like I had it all figured out, and Lord knows that's not the case. Literally.
Thank you, everybody who took the time to respond here, and to M & D, too, for their offline responses. And thanks to any who wish to respond here after I leave this comment. You've all given me a lot to think about, and there will be more posts on this subject in the near future.
First time poster here....what a cool blog...not that I would be biased in any way...
I completely agree with the previously expressed sentiments that you are not restricted from relocating. It happens all the time, in modern times and in biblical times.
I think the important thing to do is - BLOOM WHERE YOU ARE PLANTED.
Love,
M-
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