I used to be far more prolific in my writing and in keeping up.
But I’m tired now.
I feel like I’m unravelling most of the time. Hymns I used to love remind me of faces and events that leave me hurt and empty.
I try to read and study like I used to but my heart isn’t in it.
There is something about a public free-for-all condemnation that leaves a person broken. My former circles either took part in the stoning or stood by and watched it happen. And that leaves a person bruised on the side of the road.
Many of you know what I mean.
And now I feel empty, just waiting for something – but I don’t know what.
I enjoy my job and my coworkers. I feel useful. But it is physically exhausting to run a kitchen.
And when I get home, I remember the former days when I used to be interesting and witty and had things to say – but I mostly now just feel empty.
I feel like all of my theological and philosophical systems have left me battered and broken, and then I realize that those same systems have been crushing the weak underfoot for centuries.
It was the Reformed/Presbyterian system that justified slavery and still does.
It is the Reformed Presbyterian system that leaves women without a voice.
It is the Reformed Presbyterian system that teaches parents that their children are vipers in diapers and need to have their will broken by physical violence.
And those of you still in the system will say, “Not everyone. There are a lot of good people”. And there are. I know some.
But they still send their money to Greenville Seminary. They still support those who have bowed the knee to Doug Wilson. Money still flows to those who cause the little ones to stumble and teach others to do it as well.
They still sit quietly while children are beaten until blood runs down their legs and wives are abused and 11 year old girls are forced to face their rapist and “forgive them” because they are just so so sorry now.
And every time I tried to write about it, I was rebuked for attacking God’s Church – in huge capital letters. As if God approved the deeds that they did in the dark.
That was the system that I loved and embraced. I thought that the hatred and the violence and the arrogant “us vs the world” was an anomaly.
Then I saw that it was the rule. There is something there that causes rage and anger and fear.
There is something in the system that would cause the New England Puritans to banish families in the middle of winter to die in the snow because they were Baptists.
There is something in the system that demands that some people are enslaved and put in their place.
There is something in the system that says that I am worthy to partake of the body and blood of Christ but you are not since you have not answered all of my questions to my satisfaction.
There is something in the system that sets up a barrier between humans and salvation – only some can enter. You can not.
There is something in the system that says, “God hates the likes of you.”
Every sermon I ever heard about John 3:16 was about how God didn’t REALLY love everyone – and most of the time was on what the world means and how it means people like me and not people like you, because God couldn’t possibly love people like you.
There is something in the system that causes intense fury at the thought that maybe the wrong sort of people might be in heaven.
And now I don’t even know what to say anymore. I’m tired. I hear the stories and I want to go back in time to the little ones who were crushed and broken and left dead at the threshold and bring them the love of Jesus.
And I tried to do that, but now I am also broken and tired and empty and don’t even know what to say anymore.
Jesus said, “Come to me, you who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” So I hold to that.
And Jesus also said
“Come out from among them
And be separate, says the Lord.
Do not touch what is unclean,
And I will receive you.”
And so I can no longer be a part of those circles. As long as Greenville Seminary and Southern Baptist Seminary and Masters Seminary are sending out their priests of Ba’al, all I can do is flee and urge the rest of you to flee as well.
It is an ugly time for the church. Across the street, I found some people of God who have not yet bowed the knee, and for that I rejoice. I walk over with my family on Sunday. I sing in the choir. I hear the liturgy. I hear about Jesus and his love.
And so I’ll sit and wait for greener pastures.
And I will sing. And cook. And try to make life a little easier for the people I work with and live with.
And I know that Jesus won’t let me go. I just maybe need to unravel for a bit.
My Only Comfort 