Round 639...ding.

"I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one another in what you say and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be perfectly united in mind and thought."
1 Corinthians 1:10

And yet, last year at the General Conference of the United Methodist Church two of our biggest, most recognized pastors presented an amendment to the United Methodist Book of Discipline that read in part, "The majority view of the General Conference, and thus the official position of the church, continues to hold out that same-sex intimacy is not God’s will. We recognize, however, that many faithful United Methodists disagree with this view." Read the full text of the amendment here.

I lived under a protective rock last weekend called "Exploration 2013." An entire weekend of worship, music, FANTASTIC preaching, discussion producing workshops, and best of all...encouraging young people to listen and follow a call into ordained ministry in the United Methodist Church. Sunday morning as we gathered for our final worship service before boarding airplanes or cramming into church vans for an unbearably long drive home, the rock I'd been living under for 3 days was rolled away. I first read the news about Rev. Frank Schaefer's trial on Yahoo News. Then on Huffington Post and New York Daily News and International Business News. When we landed back in Phoenix, it was on NPR Radio. This story is being handled "in house" but it's become big public news. And my entrance back into the world has been less like Jesus' reception from the women at the tomb and more like that of the apostle Thomas; trying to prove that all is not lost and that God's love is still pure and true amidst so much doubt.

At a workshop last weekend called, "To Rev. or Not to Rev." (come on, that's good stuff) someone asked, "Must all clergy agree 100% with the Book of Discipline?" This was just one of many subtly posed questions that really said, "I think love is what Jesus teaches and sexual orientation is not a hindrance to love." The 2 ordained pastors at the front gave an intriguing and honest answer: "The United Methodist Church is one that holds many viewpoints that do not all agree with one another...sort of like the Bible. We disagree, we engage in Holy Conferencing. If that's a state of being that you can work within and embrace, then this is the church for you. If you prefer a church that agrees with one another on all major issues, this may not be the church for you."

I'm currently reading Pastrix by Rev. Nadia Bolz-Weber who I may or may not have a weird pastor/mother/girl crush on. She's Lutheran, but I don't hold it against her. I for sure do not look as badass. I have enough trouble committing to a color of nail polish for 2 weeks and as such should NEVER get a tatoo. But I've had my nose ring since I was 19 and that's got to count for something. Ok, here's the point. Her husband Rev. Matthew Bolz-Weber once called her on the carpet saying, "The trouble is that every time you draw a line of us vs. them, Jesus is always on the other side." When Paul wrote that verse in 1 Corinthians (up top ya'll), he wasn't asking all Christians to agree on every issue. He was talking about how we tend to put our human leaders, specific agendas, even firmly held viewpoints ahead of our devotion to Jesus Christ. We are called to recognize that God created all life which includes people we don't like and especially includes people we see as so very different from ourselves. Because Christ is always on their side. Anything that leads us to depart from the love that Jesus Christ taught only separates us from God. There's a word for that: Sin.

In 30 days, Rev. Schaefer may surrender his credentials, but it sounds to me like he'll be fulfilling his very Methodist and Wesleyan faith and as such be drawn closer to perfection in Jesus Christ.

But still...the events of the past week...suck. The church is on the big stage and the world is watching and we're...fighting. Many of my more senior colleagues (see, I didn't say older!) have commented that they are weary of this same old fight. They've been engaged in Holy Conferencing on the same merry-go-round for decades. The lines are firmly drawn and don't seem to be moving. The whole thing makes me think of a couple of those Greek myths. I'm no expert, but I seem to remember a guy who had to push a rock uphill over and over, only to watch it fall back down the hill again. Sisyphus I think? (Thank you Google.)

When I was 17 years old I got to go to Spain and tour El Prado in Madrid. I actually stood before a painting of Prometheus; the guy who was sentenced to have birds swoop down on him, peck out, and eat his organs. Every. Day. That painting was HUGE and I might have had nightmares that night.

Both of these myths always make me think, "Um, why does no one help them?" Because with the 7 Billion people in the world, we could have shifts. You know, take your turn rolling the stone up the hill, then someone else take a turn, and next and next. Or everybody make a scarecrow, plant it in your front yard or hang it out your bedroom window and Presto! Promethius can travel anywhere safe and sound.
Why have I chosen to be IN the church rather than practice my faith OUTSIDE of it? Because you can't change it from the outside. When votes are taken, only members can vote. You've got to get your skin in the game before you can really make any amount of change. I know that more and more people in our country are rooting for Rev. Schaefer. And they're the people who will be around for many more years; who will make up the largest group of voters, workers, and also potential members of faith communities. To my peers: We can choose to opt out or opt in. If you choose to stand outside, it is the same as watching Sisyphus struggle alone. If you opt in, I'll share my bale of hay with you and we'll stuff scarecrows together.

"I carried a watermelon."

Remember that moment in Dirty Dancing where Baby is at the staff dance for the first time and meets Johnny? She had been wandering around her sheltered world of scheduled activities and family vacation completely restless and well...bored. She jumped at the opportunity to follow someone into a world described as, "If your parents knew, they'd kill you." The room is smokey and packed. It's loud and chaotic. This is exhilarating and passionate and ohmygosh Johnny is so hot! She's totally out of her element, put on the spot, and all she can think to say is, "I carried a watermelon." Yeah, I had that moment yesterday, times 10.

In my quest to learn more about start-up organizations and meet like-minded people I attended the Arizona Entrepreneurship Conference. I find that I learn A LOT from business books and people with a little imagination about how it applies to the church. I was particularly excited to hear from so many female entrepreneurs, in particular, Gloria Feldt, Co-founder and President of Take the Lead. She's a pioneer and advocate of equality for women in leadership roles across all professions. I briefly met her at lunch where she was incredibly supportive of me as a female, new community building pastor. Then she asked if I'd be willing to answer an on the spot question during her talk that afternoon. Even as I answered "Sure!", I had a bad feeling.

Ms. Feldt's talk was inspirational and thought provoking, but I shook through the whole thing. She invited me and 2 other women forward and posed this question:
"When did you first feel like you knew you could do anything?"
With, I dunno, 80 people staring at me my mind went blank. Empty. Incapable of recalling any memory. Did I have a life before this incredibly uncomfortable moment? Nope, nothing. I'd been born yesterday. Every bit of networking I'd done that morning came crashing back down on me. No one had been negative or dismissive, but in each interaction I'd felt I needed to legitimize what I do and who I am. Come on Sarai, this is ridiculous! You're a pastor! You speak for a living, you're on the spot all the time. Just say something good enough and move on. Still nothing.

What I ended up saying was so incredibly stupid and small and not at all true that I can't even bring myself to repeat it. I told my husband through tears and I just can't bring it up again. Trust me, it was just...so. not. even. close. In fact, "I carried a watermelon" would have been SOOOO much better.
And of course I've been obsessing about it since.

I could have talked about standing in the kitchen with my mom when I was 5 explaining why I needed to be baptized.

I could have said something about watching my mom, who had polio as a kid and has lived her entire life compensating for a mostly dead left leg.

I could have shared that I have a voice mail saved on my phone from my dad that he left in July of 2010, 3 years ago, in which he gushed about how proud he is of me and my husband. I listen to it at least once a month and re-save it.

I could have talked about the first time I saddled a horse by myself.

I could have bragged about finishing my first and last full marathon and how I was so proud of my finish time at 7 hours, 46 minutes that I started to cry.

I could have gushed about how incredibly powerful the Holy Spirit flowed through me at my ordination last summer that I actually fear I may never feel that level of beauty again.

Or that I feel empowered by serving others, by baptizing their children and burying their loved ones, that I HAVE to preach because the Holy Spirit is so strong sometimes in my soul that it just bursts out of me, that even though it's exhausting I'm incredibly proud of the close relationship I have with my children....

But I didn't say any of those things. This moment of humility felt much like the first time someone asked me if I were saved. Ahem. I'm a United Methodist, in the west. We don't say "saved." What did that even mean? Ms. Feldt's question, although well posed and looking for a candid answer to prove her point, came to me with the same baggage: a presupposition that I believed the same as her. I don't think there's a singular moment of salvation in the same way I don't think I've ever felt that I could do anything. She assumed that there was a singular moment in my life when I'd had that feeling.
I've never felt like "I can do anything." The key word being "anything." I've enjoyed plenty of times when I feel like I can do plenty, or a certain thing. But anything? No. My husband is a chemical engineer. While I'm on top of the preaching and leading meetings or listening to someone share their life, I'd fall on my face if I had to rattle off equations or design the flow rates for a sulfur unit. Why should I think myself capable of doing anything?

There's always something else to work on. There are always an infinite amount of little itty-bitty steps that in the end add up to one incredible thing. And once I've reached that thing, I don't tend to dilly dally, even in the joy of the moment. Is five minutes enough? Or maybe a day or two? But then there's always something shiny and sparkly and tantalizing just over the next hill to go after. And it begins again. The quest to conquer a new horizon. The path to perfection with Christ who loves and forgives me.