Blackness...Void...Depression...Grief...
Those words don't conjure up very nice and flowery images; and they're probably not the way one should start a blog, especially a blog dedicated to chronicling the adventures of a family who's called to serve Jesus overseas. However, to ignore those words is to deny their very existence in my life.
What if I told you that I died this year? Would you believe me? What if I told you that I died on June 1, 2014; would you believe me then? Obviously, I'm writing this blog so you know we're not talking about a physical death, but it was certainly a death nonetheless. June 1st was the day I died as a pastor. While I concede to your argument that since I'm still an ordained minister, I'm still a pastor, the reality is that for me, being a "pastor" is directly tied to serving in a "pastorate" and that all ended for me nearly 6 months ago now as I stepped away from local church ministry to follow Jesus, alongside my family, to another part of the world.
As excited as I was, and have continued to be, about this new journey, I was dying inside and the sad part is that I didn't even realize it. But with each passing day the clouds grew thicker and the storm raged louder and pretty soon there was nothing but black. I carried on with the everyday affairs of life; with getting my family ready and out the door every day; with serving at the boys' school; even with the daily and weekly grind of Partnership Development. Yet, little by little, my joy and exuberance for life were being stolen from right underneath my nose.
Why wasn't I more motivated? Why was I so emotionally distant? Why...why...why...I had lots of questions but very little answers. That all began to change one late October day as I received a letter and enclosed gift. It was given to me as a "little something" to express gratitude during Pastor Appreciation Month. And that's when I lost it. As much as my losing it was about what was written in that letter, it was about so much more. It was about the God of all the Universe, who cared enough about me, that he would use that letter to open my eyes to the reality that I had spent the past five months grieving a death, The story doesn't end there however...
We showed up to a church that next Sunday to once again share our story. My plan was to end our presentation the same way I had countless other times, by sharing out of John 21. Yet as soon as our worship encounter began, I knew God was prodding my spirit to do something different. For the next 30 minutes I went back and forth with God...I hadn't planned this particular text...I hadn't developed it as fully...is this more about me than the Church...As Christy and I began our presentation, I still wasn't convinced I had accurately perceived the Holy Spirit. While I spoke to the congregation, I didn't think much about it. But every time Christy stepped up to speak, I was consumed with which direction I was supposed to go. Finally it was crunch time; Christy stepped off the platform and I had a decision to make. By this point I knew God was directing me to speak out of this other text but would I be obedient was the question. As I hemmed and hawed for a few moments (that's when Christy snapped the above picture, knowing something was up), I just released the moment to God and began speaking from this other text...Acts 27:13-26.
If you're unfamiliar with this passage, this is the account where the apostle Paul got shipwrecked; although he was now a prisoner, he was on his way to bring the Good News of Jesus all the way to Caesar. While he knew in his heart that was his mission, I don't imagine he envisioned getting there in this capacity. As I started reading verse 20, my voice began to quake: "When neither sun nor stars appeared for many days and the storm continued raging, we finally gave up all hope of being saved." In a moment of transparency I began sharing my story; this journey of grief and depression that for so long had entrapped me and to which I wasn't even aware.
And then we came to verses 22-24: "But now I urge you to keep up your courage, because not one of you will be lost; only the ship will be destroyed. Last night, an angel of the God to whom belong and whom I serve stood beside me and said, 'Do not be afraid Paul. You must stand trial before Caesar; and God has graciously given you the lives of all who sail with you.'"
Did you catch what God was saying to Paul? This storm and looming catastrophe will not take you out! You are on a mission from me and together we will make it there.
And what God did in those next few moments was truly miraculous and benevolent! In my vulnerability and brokenness and transparency, God brought about his mighty hand of deliverance. In those moments I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that God had just set me free from the bondage and shackles of depression that was associated with my grief. In a split second he turned my mourning into joy! And all across that sanctuary there were others being freed as well.
I realize now that death, my death, had to happen. And the promise of scripture is that death, in Christ, is the gateway to life. In death, there is resurrection and that is the hope I have. If you noticed the tombstone, it has the word "HOPE" etched on it. I am filled with the hope of not only my salvation, but of the fact that dying to the pastorate will (and has) bring life to our mission to Central America.
Thanks for your prayers; thanks for carrying me through this most difficult season that perhaps, you like me, didn't even realize I was on. You are most loved and greatly appreciated!
Barry
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