I’ll tell you the hardest thing about that whole Pete McCullough situation is that I kept thinking, Why am I doing this? What do I have to do with this church or any church for that matter? I mean, it was surreal. Like suddenly I was a pastor again and I had this obligation. Someone comes to you with a problem or issue or something, and they expect that not only CAN you help them, but you WANT to help them. And you’re called by GOD to help them. I’d call that a pretty heavy obligation. And expectation by them.

I mean, that’s what I didn’t want anymore. That’s why I left. I just couldn’t handle the expectations.

Foy, can you tell me a little more about the obligations you felt and what led to your leaving the church?

Sure. Look, the whole church & minister thing is a mess, if you ask me. When you’re a pastor or a priest, everyone has an idea about the kind of person you are. First, you’re supposed to understand the Bible and God and theology and all that. That’s actually the easiest part. Well, not understanding God but I was just saying that’s the stuff you learn in seminary. And then if you’re committed to what you do - and I was - you read and learn all the time. So being the community Bible scholar and theologian isn’t that hard. That part was kind of fun, actually.

But then the expectation is that you’re this ultra-spiritual guru who lives this wonderful Godly life. People figure you probably pray a lot and are serene and happy. You’re supposed to be living life the way they imagine they could be living if they were as good a Christian as they think you are. So you just kind of walk around with this priestly air about you. You have to. After awhile you don’t even remember who you really are inside.

And Christ, I mean you really ARE trying. It isn’t the liars and cheaters and evil ministers who have this problem. I mean probably you ARE actually being that. You know, a serious and pious Christian. You probably are that. Maybe, I don’t know anymore. That’s the problem. I didn’t even know if I was trying to be a good Christian because I wanted to and it was something, I don’t know, that God was doing in my life, or was it because I was paid to be a good Christian?

It’s funny, sometimes I think people are like, I can’t be a good Christian myself, but I like knowing that my pastor is.

Huh. That’s messed up.

And of course you’re supposed to have answers to life’s problems. And if anyone needs to talk, you’re right there for them. You HAVE to be. It doesn’t matter how you feel, you know? Someone’s in the hospital, so you’re just tickled pink to get out of bed and go see them. Same thing on Sunday mornings. You’re on, like a performer. Happy happy. Smile smile. Jesus loves everyone. I mean, not overboard, like one of those goofball television guys. But just…yeah, I mean this is good, life is good, Christianity is good. Right? So what if you feel like shit on a Sunday morning? What do you do about that?

I’ll tell you what you do about that. You shut your mouth and you smile. And if you’re not a fake person? If you’re not the kind of person who can put on an act, well you better fuckin learn how. You have to learn to actually make yourself believe things and feel things. You HAVE to. It’s your job.

Ever watch ministers after church is over on Sundays?

I guess i haven’t.

Well, that’s probably because you can’t find them. Most of them go straight home and crash on the couch or maybe just go to bed. They don’t even want to talk to their own children. They disappear. The role takes it toll, man. The role can take everything from you if you’re not careful. After years, you can even become the role. I mean where your natural personality sublimates or goes under the surface or whatever. I mean, what is this? A religion run by zombies?

So how funny is this? I leave, right? I pack up and throw my collar on my desk and leave. And do you know what that meant for me? What a sacrifice it was? I mean, how am I going to make a living if I’m not a minister? Thank God I met Doug and he gave me a job. Anyway, so I have this HUGE turning point in my life where I say, “Fuck it,” I’m not going to do this anymore. And I start working at the office and then suddenly I’m right back in it.

Oh, some of it’s my fault. I could always say no, right? I didn’t have to shoot off my mouth and say, YES, I was a priest, and YES, I’ll do a fake wedding for a joke, and YES, I’ll talk to you about your wife and daughter. I mean I have to take responsibility for that. See, I thought I could just step out of the robe and go right to living a normal life. But somehow, I don’t know, it’s like the role follows me. Or maybe, secretly, I want it to. What do you think?

I don’t know. So what did this Peter McCullough want from you?

This is perfect because it’s exactly what I’m talking about. The minute he finds out I was a minister, then he’s got this problem that he thinks I can help him with. Jesus, the guy’s an atheist and he wants to talk to a minister. I mean, how funny is that? But seriously, it was a bad thing. One of those things you can’t possibly say no to someone about. I mean, how could I say no?

What did he want?

Well, the deal was he and his wife were not religious in any way. I think he was very intentionally an atheist. I don’t think she really cared. They were just regular people of our world, you know? Working, taking care of their daughter - they have a little girl - I don’t know, maybe like 8 years old. Good people. That’s something I learned when I left the church, by the way. Church people tend to think that everyone in the church is trying to do the right thing and people who don’t go to church make this intentional decision. “I’m not going to church.” What they don’t realize is, not going to church is the default position for people. It’s what most people do, or don’t do I guess I should say.

But anyway what happened is Pete’s wife became a Christian. I know how it happened but it’s complicated and I won’t go into it. She was with some women friends at a Bible study or something. Some church thing. And it probably took place over time, but she decided to become a Christian and she took it very seriously. So she started going to church every Sunday, and she took their daughter with her. So there’s Pete, sitting at the house alone. It was just heartbreaking to hear him talk about it.

Sundays used to be our day. Tia and I would sit in bed and read the New York Times and drink coffee and talk.

That was his wife. Tia. You know, they shared the paper and read stuff to each other. And their little girl would jump in bed with them and read the comics. And then the three of them would decide what to do that day. What’s really funny is, doesn’t that sound great? Doesn’t that sound like a wonderful way to spend a Sunday morning? And you have all these church people and ministers busting their asses to get dressed and get their Sunday school lessons learned and their sermons ready and get to church on time. Church takes like half the damn day, and everyone is exhausted when its over. And here these people are having a real day of rest, a real Sabbath almost.

Heh. I find that to be very funny.

But now Tia and Tanya aren’t there anymore. Tanya - that’s the little girl. Sunday was their family day. So Pete feels like the church stole his family. Hell, they did steal his family.

Then it gets worse. Some teacher or preacher or someone hinted or maybe just told the little girl that her daddy was going to hell if he didn’t start coming to church and become a Christian himself. So she’s always saying Daddy, come to church with us. And this puts him in an awkward position. He doesn’t like what he sees happening to his daughter. But what’s he supposed to do? If he goes with them, it feels false. And he kind of feels like he needs to stick to their old life to balance out what Tia is doing.

I’ll never forget the way his voice sounded.

It breaks my heart because now there is this barrier between me and my little girl. And the worst thing is, I started thinking that I would never have married Tia if this was how she was. It was like they brainwashed her and took her away from me. And then they took my daughter too.

So then the guy says - can you believe this - What should I do?

“What should I do?” Like I have the answer to this. And I’ll tell you, I’m pretty much on his side by now. Which is weird because I remember talking with women whose husbands wouldn’t come to church and trying to counsel them. What should I do, Foy? He won’t come to church. And we’d sort of strategize together. And now I’m seeing it from the other side.

Oh Jesus, why am I doing this? Do you see? I’m doing the exact same thing from the other side. What am I, the anti-pastor now? It’s like I’m living in the bizarro church world.

So what did you tell Peter?

What did I tell him?

Yes.

I don’t know. I said some stuff. It’s hard…to even remember exactly…

You don’t remember what you said to him?

Yeah, I remember. It’s just kind of jumbled up. Give me a second. I said….Uh…

Take your time.

I - you know - just listened to him for awhile. He was more hurt than angry. Kind of helpless feeling. I could certainly sympathize. I got pretty angry, actually. The Church. Supposedly the Church of Jesus Christ. And who knows what that even means or if Jesus himself would admit to any relation. So we kind of stewed in our anger for awhile. I said some things about the Church that I kind of regret now.

What did you say?

Uh…

Some things that are probably uncalled for. I yelled a bit. Said the Church wasn’t anything and this showed it. That kind of stuff. There was some profanity.

Why do you say that was uncalled for?

Well, this guy isn’t a Christian and not a part of the Church. There is a part of me that feels like I shouldn’t speak badly about the Church like that. Maybe just not be so angry in front of this guy. I don’t know. It just felt wrong.

Was he angry?

Actually, no. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t particularly interested in anything I had to say about the Church. He just wanted to know what he could do to somehow keep his little girl from being estranged over this. He’d kind of written his wife off, I’m afraid. And it occurred to me that I had gotten off the subject and was grinding my own axe, so to speak. So we ended up talking about him and his family and this church his wife goes to.

What did you talk about? What did you tell him?

You know, I told him about First Corinthians seven, that Paul - and I explained that Paul was an early church leader - had written about exactly this situation. What to do when someone becomes a Christian and their spouse doesn’t. I mean, Paul seemed very concerned that the marriage be kept sacred and that the Church not be a part of breaking it up. It seems to me that Paul was calling for something rather extraordinary. He said that if a woman became a Christian and her husband didn’t, he was made holy through her. No one has ever figured out what he meant by that, but there is CERTAINLY scriptural precedent for this church respecting this man and his beliefs and being careful not to drive a wedge between him and his family.

I told him to call the pastor and talk about that scripture and make a simple request. That no one in the church scare his daughter or make her think he was going to hell. And that they encourage the little girl to honor both her father and mother, as the Bible calls for. And then I said if things didn’t get better to give me a call and I’d go see the pastor myself. Not like angry but just maybe the pastor might hear it from me.

Did you hear back from Peter?

Not about that. But we see each other all the time at work. He’s become a friend. We play chess sometimes at lunch. He thoroughly kicks my ass every time, but hey, I’m getting better.

Foy I want to ask you something. And I ask it only to better understand you, not because I have any investment in the specifics of your answer.

Shoot.

Are you a Christian?

Wow.

——-

——-

I don’t know. Yes. I’m not sure, but probably. I would think, you know, I hadn’t lost… Actually I don’t know what being a Christian means anymore. Some might say I’m not. I kind of feel…still…

You sound pretty uncertain.

I know. Look, I’ve been away from the Church now, but yeah I still think of myself as a Christian in my way of thinking of it.

And what would that way be?

Short answer. I still buy into the Jesus stuff. All of it. His words, his work, his ways, and yes, even the cross and all that. That story is…it doesn’t matter what…anyone…I just don’t like the Church at all right now. I find that when I go to church I feel bad inside. I actually start having spiritual problems when I even see a church. I get depressed and angry. But I still have my own code of…following Jesus. And I worship - pay homage you might say - quietly. In my way.

There are so many fascinating parallels between your life and this recent encounter with this Mr. McCullough. It’s very intriguing.

I know. I’ve seen that. I was in the church counseling women and trying to get their husbands to come, and now I’m out of the church working with a husband. In both instances living out some kind of pastoral role, albeit grudgingly now. It is fascinating stuff.

I was thinking of something else.

What?

I was thinking of Jenny.

Oh shit. Ouch. Damn it, do you know how much that name hurts? I swear I can’t even see it in print without feeling like I took a baseball bat to my gut. Oh fuck. I don’t want to talk about that. See, I don’t want to talk about “that.” Even the word “her” hurts. Do you know that I can hardly look at the letter J without choking up.

Damn. I know you’re supposed to do that, but…dammit.

——-

——-

——-

Go ahead.

——-

The things I’m about to ask and say are going to be hard. I know that. Are you ready?

No. But I’m here. And I know why I’m here. So go.

Why did Jenny leave you?

I’ve told you this story before.

I know. But let’s look at it again. Why did Jenny leave you?

I starved her. I starved her emotionally and physically. I just let myself get so wrapped up in other people’s problems so that it was like she didn’t exist. I was depressed during that time too. There was just…nothing in me. I didn’t feel anything. Everything went to the people at church or to any FUCKING person who came up to me on the FUCKING street and said, “help me.” I mean, JESUS!

By the time I saw it, it was too late. I saw it and I started looking at her and remembering, you know, why I fell in love with her. No one will ever be to me what she…and it was like I came alive again. I wrote her like 50 love letters. One every day. Serious love letters. I mean my flesh and soul on paper. No holding back. No shame. Everything. What a fucking idiot. I kept giving them to her but the words couldn’t reach her. There’s a limit to words, you know? Nothing could bring her back by then. She was done.

And then it was like worse that I had done that because I was in love with her again. I could see it, but I was too late. It was like standing on the dock and watching your ship disappear over the horizon. No getting it back. No second chances.

——-

——-

She took the love letters with her, you know? I used to think that meant there was a chance. I don’t know what it means. Maybe nothing.

What I find interesting is looking at this from Jenny’s point of view. She’s very much like Peter McCullough, isn’t she? The church took her husband. The church took you away and never gave you back. And there you were with your love letters, desperately trying to save things. Just like now with Mr. McCullough.

——-

It’s okay. It’s okay.

——-

——-

We’ve got all the time you need.

——-

——-

You know, the Church is - at the heart of her story - about forgiveness and grace. The most radical kind of grace imaginable. And at great cost to the Creator. But with the Church, where is the grace? With Jenny, where is the grace?

Where is the grace for poor sinners?

You know, Foy, I’m not a Christian myself, though I have immense respect for the tradition. The stories and archetypes are perhaps the most powerful formative expressions in the Western world. Only a fool would deny their power. I suspect for those who are within that tradition, the language of grace is exactly right. I think that’s why you’re here. To find grace again.

Your journey might begin with forgiving the Church, but healing might not come from the Church. Or maybe the Church should be defined in much larger ways. As a fellow human traveler, I believe that God’s grace - if you want to use those words - is available for everyone.

And it is often found in the most unexpected places.

Perhaps we’ll keep our eyes open, you and I, and see if we can spot the moment when grace appears.

 

rlp

 

 

This story originally appeared in two parts. They are combined here. The comments originally left at part two can be seen here.