I was supposed to be in Louisville this past weekend. I was supposed to be there for this. I'll save a fuller discussion on my feelings after having worked on this committee for another date. I will say that I have made what I hope will be lifelong friendships/connections in my work with this group. I am sorry that I missed the opportunity to spend time with people about whom I care deeply. I feel a bit like I let people down. I don't feel like I contributed much to begin with and then I missed the concluding session. I'm beating myself up a bit.
The real frustration is the feeling of anti-climax. It's just kind of over and out of our hands. I don't feel much closure. I needed the closure. I wanted this to be the experience that gave me hope and faith for te inner workings of the church at large were meaningful and productive. Instead, I feel like I was a part of a politcal process. That is not why I got involved in ministry. I understand that there will always be some politics in church life. There has been since the beginning. That doesn't mean I have to like it. I know it's naive, but I feel like the church should play by a different set of rules. No winners and losers. No defeated opponents, no bragging victors. What we tried to express in our final recommendations, I believe, was the value of unity. I take unity very seriously. I think it's so important that Jesus made it the focus of his final prayer before being crucified. (John 17:20-23) I certainly would have found something else to pray about at that time. And yet for many, unity is not a value. For many, it is better to be right than to be reconciled. I don't think theological integrity is more important than relationships. There are many people that I agree with intellectually that I would have a hard time working with. There are some who don't see eye-to-eye with me on the "issues", who I know have my back. The fact that my beloved Mother/Whore the Church is a place that values being right over being in relationship breaks my heart.
I missed the proceedings of this weekend to witness the birth of my son. And when I say "witness the birth", I mean it. Much to my chagrin, I saw him being pulled out. Yikes. That trauma aside, I can't adequately put into words how having here makes me feel. I guess love at first sight would be the appropriate cliche. To name someone, to witness their beginnings, to watch them figure out the world, to be empowered by their dependence you, to be humbled by their dependence on you... it's all too much. I don't deserve it. It is the epitome of grace. However many years we have together are a gift. In the early years of being married, I feared having children because I feared the responsibility. In recent years, strange as it may sound, I feared loving someone the way that I've often heard even the toughest of men say that they loved their children. Both fears had legitimacy to them. I'm sure both will creep back up. Neither is strong enough to override the sheer joy I have felt, even in my sleep deprived state. Still, I'm not sure if I would have appreciated it as much earlier. His timing, like so much about him, was perfect.