Bright Wings

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with Ah! Bright Wings.

November 20, 2008

. . .with a holy kiss.

“How good and pleasant it is when brothers live together in unity! It is like precious oil poured on the head, running down on the beard, running down on Aaron’s beard, down upon the collar of his robes. It is as if the dew of Hermon were falling on Mount Zion. For there the LORD bestows his blessing, even life forevermore.”  Psalm 133

Relatively speaking, I’ve not had what you might call a turbulent go of it so far in ministry. But there is time yet.  Still, having grown up the son of a preacher man - the sort of preacher man that saw more than his fair share of pastoral hardships - I count myself lucky (in the purely Calvinist sense of the term).  Nonetheless, I’ve seen a good deal of conflict. It’s unavoidable. Occupational hazard, you might say. And if you’re a pastor that is at all worth a spit, you’re going to see a few tussles.  You can please some of the people some of the time, all of the people some of the time, some of the people all of the time, but at some point and some where some one is going to be mad at you.  If the good vicar is not careful, this can be paralyzing.  I know many that solve the problem by not saying much of anything ever.  Or, they just give it the old college try and head back to a career in vinyl repair when the proverbial poop hits the fan. 

All this to say, I struggle deeply with the conflicts attendant to shepherding, and I am often full of grief over hard words and the lost relationships they bring. I’ve been in Tallahassee for eight years now. That is plenty of time to see my share of people leave the church.  No matter the reason for their departure, my fragile ego inevitably puts itself at the center.  I see their faces about town, noting their frantic attempt to evade me. Being a pastor is a bit like being a father with a hundred prodigals.  I know that they aren’t all actual prodigals, it just feels that way.

Today I saw one of my old friends who had left the church a few years back.  It was an especially rough departure. Some go gently into that good night and some take their pound of flesh.  I was the lighter for his leaving.  I thought as I saw him how much easier it would be if I had a better explanation for the whole thing.  How much easier it would be if I could just anathematize him.  But he didn’t walk away from Jesus, he just walked away from me.  He thought I was dead wrong; I thought he was dead wrong.  Never the twain shall meet. I’m not saying there weren’t actual wrongs involved. I am saying that we are often more wrong than we might imagine. How do we handle such things? 

I considered what heaven might be like.  He and I will be there together, and there will be a perfect friendship between us. The sweetest and most holy fellowship. We will sit at the feast together, and sing together in some other- worldly harmony that as of yet only the angels know. Could it be that we would love each other the more there because of the depth of sin here? Or would we even remember the conflict that charged our words and our hearts in these days?

These thoughts fill me with the strangest mix of hope and grief. Hope for that time to come, and grief for the reality of this present sinful exile. When God calls us strangers and aliens, it is certainly with reference to our relationship to the lost. But, the reality of sin also makes us a sad sort of stranger to one another. 

I noticed that both he and I had our Bibles out.  A strange state of affairs, indeed. Two alien brothers reading letters from their Father.  At this realization I wanted to jump out of my chair, walk up to him and greet him with a holy kiss.

“That’s all behind us, brother,” I would say.

“Of course it is, brother,” he would reply with a smile.

We would then talk about what we happened to be reading in the Word, about our families, our jobs, and all the rest of it.  We’d plan to see each other again soon enough. We would shake hands and then go about the rest of our day in peace. 

Instead, I closed my Bible and left the way I came in.

“Since you have in obedience to the truth purified your souls for a sincere love of the brethren, fervently love one another from the heart. . .”    1 Peter 1:22

posted by Erik Braun