From Missionary to...

When I was in middle school, possibly the seventh grade, Pastor Griess took me to Camp Carol Joy Holling, to an IDEA retreat. It was a retreat for young people to begin discerning a call to ministry. I honestly don’t remember much about the retreat, except for being very shy, and reading Alanna the Lioness in my room that evening instead of playing outside with the others.  

When I was in eighth grade I was confirmed. I remember a little bit more about that. There was this massive binder full of intense information and I had to get up early on Saturday mornings. I enjoyed the classes though, and liked seeing my friends. But I’ll be straight with you. I don’t remember a lot about what I learned. I can’t recite the books of the Bible in order, don’t know much about the Small Catechism, and, while I have the Apostle’s Creed down, I forget the Nicene Creed on a regular basis. I do remember the most important thing though. I remember the verse chosen for me by Pastor Griess, and it has led me for the past eleven years. “ ‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you, and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

The summer after ninth grade I went on my first ever mission trip to Seminole, Oklahoma with my youth group from church. The camp was hosted by Group Workcamps and teens from all over the country came together to work on houses in the community. We stayed in the high school and it was the most amazing week of my life. I turned sixteen that week. My crew gave me a hammer that they all signed and I still have it in my tool bag back home. We celebrated that night with iced animal cookies.

When I close my eyes I can almost return. The hot summer sun beating down, the smell of the paint, the weight of the roof tiles, the emotions of lunch time devotions, and witnessing the awesome power of God, when the storm rolled across the Oklahoma plain, headed our way, as we hurried to finish the last house.

I knew then. At sixteen I knew I would dedicate my life to God. How, I wasn’t quite sure. That trip gave me something that sixteen years in the church hadn’t. Suddenly it wasn’t just a thing I did on Sundays. It wasn’t just a prayer I recited every night before bed, the same prayer I had been saying for years. It became tangible. The feel of a hammer in my hand. The heat of the sun.

I returned to Workcamp every summer for four years. Seminole, Oklahoma, Red Lake, Minnesota, Racine, Wisconsin, and Walpole Island, Canada.  Every summer was the best trip ever, and every summer changed my life a little more. I knew more strongly than I had ever known anything before that this was what I was meant to do with my life.

What “this” was was less certain. Building houses? Working with youth? Mission trips? I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Then college rolled around and those feelings faded with the coming of fall. I wasn’t involved in a church at Peru. This was the beginning of my struggle. God had given me a firm foundation, but that was about to be rather drastically tested.

I got involved with the Christian group on campus. It was fun at first. I was meeting new friends, some of whom I’m still in touch with and adore today, and becoming involved in a peer ministry. And yet, there was a dark underbelly that I caught a glimpse of more than once. I shrugged it off as my imagination acting up. It wasn’t my imagination.

The things being preached started to take on a hellfire and damnation tone. Those in charge were not accepting about questioning. I was told I was going to hell for the first time in my life, and in the same breathe told that the Bible informed me that my boyfriend was supposed to be in charge of my faith life. Oh, the Bible. How they could quote it! They knew far more about the Bible than I did and they wielded it like a weapon. They would tell you it was a weapon of the faith. I can tell you that it doesn’t matter what kind of weapon it is, a weapon is designed to hurt, and it certainly did that. When you are young and asking a lot of questions about the faith, the worst (or best as the case may be) thing you can encounter is someone telling you not to question things. Its black and white they said, written here for you to see they said, God’s word they said. HOW DARE YOU QUESTION GOD’S WORD?

It all ended one evening in my dorm room. It ended with a friend crying on the floor, praying over me with my own, precious, Bible, convinced that I was going to Hell. I was convinced she was correct, because if what she thought was God was really God, than I wanted nothing to do with Him. Which I yelled at Him and her as I ran out of my own room. I ran to a friend’s room and they couldn’t get a rational word out of me for a good half hour. I have never been so angry. On top of that, I was convinced that I had just spoken horrible blasphemy and would be going to Hell.

Somehow they had convinced me that everything I had ever learned or thought I knew was wrong. My kind, compassionate, forgiving, friend and father figure God did not exist. Instead, there existed a God whose whole purpose in creating mankind was to determine who would live in paradise and who would burn in hellfire. Anyone who did not, at some point in their lives, specifically say, “I accept Jesus Christ as my personal savior,” was going to Hell. If you had been raised in the church, and never had that moment, you were going to Hell. If you questioned about those people who had never heard of Jesus Christ, then you were going to Hell along with them. If you did not try to convert everyone you met around you, guess what? If you didn’t take the Bible as the whole truth, to be taken literally in every sense (except for the interpretations by the students in charge) then you were a terrible Christian. Also, being Lutheran, I had to be taught the error of my ways. I was almost as bad as the Catholics.  

It’s almost comical in its absurdity now, but at the time, I was devastated. It was psychological warfare. And they almost won.

I thought I had lost my faith that night. But really, the foundation that had been built had been forgotten and that was on me, no one else. God needed to shake things up. To shake off the dirt, grime, and general rubble that I had allowed to accumulate. That night did it. I felt like I had been tossed straight out to sea, with everything I thought I knew lost completely. He tossed me about a bit (probably trying to shake some sense into me) before tossing me full strength back at that foundation.

I left Peru State, home of so many happy memories in addition to the not so good ones, and returned home to finish my student teaching. I also returned to Luther Memorial. This is the perfect way to describe my return to my foundations. Everything big in my faith life, everything that helped to add to and strengthen my faith, had occurred here and with this family. I began to open up about what had happened, and really ask those testy questions that every Christian needs to come to their own conclusion with God about. Most importantly, I was actively encouraged to ask those questions, and though I was never given the answers, I was pointed in the right direction to find my own answers.

Little by little I began to build my faith life back up. I began spiritual direction, and had long talks with the people in my life who are most instrumental in helping me define what it means to be a Christian. I became involved with the Joshua’s, a group of young professionals, most of whom I had known for years, who were active in the church. I read, avidly, about the faith, but I’ll be honest, I steered clear of the Bible. It is something I struggle with to this day. Having had it used against me, and watching how those same people used it against others, I struggle to use it as the tool of peace that God always meant it to be.

There was a thought I kept returning too at that time, and that thought was what I was going to do with my life. This is, of course, a very normal question for those about to graduate from college. I began to think again about my Group Workcamps experience. I began to want to maybe, possibly, work for the church.

I talked myself out of it repeatedly. “Work for the church” was really just a non-threatening way to say “become a pastor”. Funnily enough, I would definitely be on a one way ticket to Hell if I chose that route according to that group back at school.  

Then the whole Japan thing happened. I had a load of baggage attached to the word missionary, but I am almost completely over that now. The interesting thing is that it took coming to Japan to get me over my misconceptions about being a pastor. Yeah, God I see what you did there. Good job, but I’m still terrified.

All this to tell you a decision I have made. Upon my return to the States I will be enrolling in seminary. I’m going to become a pastor. Yay?

People around me have thought this would be a great idea for years. See the start of this post. But I haven’t. To be frank I still find the idea rather... anxiety inducing. Or, you know, run for your life terrifying. How on earth can I tell people about God? Who am I to baptize babies, perform weddings and funerals, and preach sermons? These ideas make me want to run away. Maybe work at a library for the rest of my life instead. I like that idea. That is a safe idea. And I have the skill set for that idea. I’m pretty sure I don’t have the skill set to be a pastor. But it really doesn’t matter does it, because God has made it pretty clear that He is calling me to seminary. And you can’t really argue with that. I mean you can stand there and be like, “God I will make a terrible Pastor. I want to be a librarian.” He just chuckles and makes it a little bit clearer that you really don’t have a choice. And you just can’t argue with His I-know-something-you-don’t-know (understatement of all time) chuckles.

So, that’s my news. And, as you have probably noticed, I take a long time to tell a story, so someone’s going to have to help me keep those sermons short, sweet, and to the point.