I am no longer employed by
CCBC. June 25 was my last day of service for that congregation.
I found out that I would be
leaving the church the same week that I posted my previous blog. And for now we
are going to let it serve as the recap of my time there. It will serve as my
public thanks for the opportunity to serve that congregation.
Which leads us to the titular
question, Now What?
I'm not totally sure. I have
some irons in the fire as they say. More on those when I can talk about them.
Beyond where I will land next,
I still find myself asking the question, Now What?
When I began this blog, I saw
the goal of arriving at the destination as the purpose of life. I was
never one to enjoy the trip itself. While working at ARCG I began to see this
life we live as a journey. I learned to stop and look around. To appreciate where
I was in the moment. I began to notice and learn from where I was, rather than
needing to spend all my energy worried about where I was going or why I wasn't
there yet.
However, where I have been
lately hasn't been all that enjoyable. I left three places of employment that I
truly enjoyed (one of which I never even began), broke my elbow, and had my car
of seven years finally stop working. All of these experiences have left me
wanting to end the journey to finally arrive somewhere.
And yet, in this same time
frame I found two churches that taught me about community and communion, I have
seen my gifts and talents married to a calling that impacted my life and the lives
around me, and I got a front row seat to the first year of the life of my
niece.
When I see everything on
balance I am called back into an understanding of life as journey not simply as
destination. I am called back into trusting that God is present with us. I am
able to once again stop and look around. To appreciate where I am in the
moment. I begin again to notice and learn from where I am.
What this all means about the direction I am walking in, I am not
yet sure. I am still reflecting on all of that. But if my current understanding holds, next time we will get back to mixing over analysis of superheroes with my
personal theology.
--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
Before I left Houston, I bragged that I could make twenty hours of ministry work look like forty. I figured that life would be simple and easy. I
thought I would find time to substitute to make more money and that I
would have time for all the leisure I could afford.
I
thank all of you who knew that to not be true, but allowed me to find
out on my own. There are days now where I feel like I am making fifty or
sixty hours of work look like twenty. But even more importantly, I am
learning that this job isn't about leisure or money or even the hours.
In the last seventeen weeks,
I have had to stop my car to allow quail, wild turkey, and the occasional bovine to cross the road.
I spoke at a local Christian Elementary Chapel.
I transported four car loads of 6th to 12th graders to an establishment known as John's Incredible Pizza (think of Chuck E. Cheese's for older kids or Dave & Busters for younger kids) and back without loosing anyone.
Attended volleyball and basketball games, as well as the occasional school play
Found Target, Trader Joe's, and In-N-Out
Sold fundraising tickets outside of the local grocery store
Witness to the adoption of a child into his new home
Set-up and tear-down for the church's clothing give away ministry
Participated in the church's food pantry ministry
Found respite at a local coffee shop (that serves amazing deli sandwiches) and even made it to the movies on occasion
Countless games of Uno
Helped repaint and redecorate the nursery space
Participated in two Easter Services and an Easter Potluck Brunch
Found two Bible studies (one where I am the oldest and one where I am the youngest)
Attended the world famous Calaveras County Jumping Frog Jubilee
Planned and executed weekly Elementary School Outreach, Sunday School, Junior High, and High School Ministry, as well as getting to preach twice
What I have found through all of this, is that ministry isn't even about the doing. It is about being.
What I have been is teacher, chaperone, local sports fan, witness, cheerleader, supporter, encourager, creator of space and a servant to set the table, testifier, preacher, and participant.
I am grateful each of these opportunities and anticipate what the ones that lie ahead.
--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau
The fact that when we view things from a new location it causes us to see things differently fascinates me. The relocation caused by time is one of the most poignant ways this occurs (at least in my own life).
Time creates such a new perspective.
Sometimes nostalgia clouds reality.
Other times the distance of time gives one the space to see things clearly.
And then there is the work of reinterpretation. Last time I wrote about how one particular day was understood differently once time had added new experiences into the equation. A day that started in sharp pain and ended in faint hope has become a day of clear hope and distant pain. This shift of perspective was sparked by the "On This Day" feature of Facebook.
Once again, Facebook has brought me memories whose meanings have been refracted through the funhouse mirror lens of time. Two years ago I lived in Chicago. It was less than two weeks from graduation. I had zero idea of what the future held.
I did not know where my journey would take me after walking across the stage to receive my diploma. I was doing my best to remain present. To take in all the things that I would encounter in those last weeks in Chicago. I began to post on Facebook a list of the things that I would miss the most.
On April 27th, 2015 my Facebook status read, "I'm gonna miss doing something two years in a row and calling it a tradition. #ThingsIllMiss#NPTS#13days" The initial meaning of that sentiment dealt with where I ate Thanksgiving Dinner or attending Great America's Fright Fest. It referenced who I spent time with after church on Easter Sunday, and most importantly what film was viewed later that day.
The idea was that my journey through seminary was limited from the very start. I entered into that season knowing that it was going to end and it was going to end soon. There would be only four Thanksgivings that would be celebrated in that community. Only four Easter Sundays. The tradition of attending Fright Fest didn't begin until my second year at North Park. It only happened three times.
I turn 40 this September. Being born in the fall, I have already celebrated forty Thanksgiving meals and forty Easter celebrations. How could a mere ten percent of those ever truly be called traditions? But that was the fun of labeling any repeated annual activity a tradition. Knowing that time was limited and calling anything a tradition was a way to mark that our time was fleeting. It was a way to lament that this community would not last. And it was a way to celebrate the fact that while we were still together we could find celebrations and rhythms to call our own.
Yesterday, I attended a meeting of volunteer parents to plan a Fun Day at the local elementary school. Bounce Houses, Photo Booths, and Organized Games were all discussed. We spent several minutes discussing what worked in the past and what we should replace. We discussed the idea that the kids might be bored with the craft that has been done the last two years. The counter to that was that because we have already done it two years in a row the kids might be expecting it (i.e. it had become a tradition).
At North Park the idea of two annual events marking a full blown tradition was encased by the idea that these rituals would not last. The concept itself was marked by irony.
Now the idea of two annual events marking a full blown tradition is encased in expectations and marked by the reality of this new community.
As I read Facebook this morning, I was struck by the fact that two years ago I viewed time and tradition as fleeting. I didn't know what would happen next. I couldn't even really imagine a time and place grounded and enduring. And now?
Now, I have entered a season where time and tradition are the bedrock of my community. They are the foundations of the ministry I find myself a part of.
--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau
(The preceding blog was written on 4/27/17, and published on 5/8/17)
I have written briefly about my struggle to find my footing in the early parts of 2016 as well as the challenges faced that summer. Today, I would like to focus in on one particular day. February 10.
Quick background: In January of 2016, I had a phone interview in Houston that led to an in person interview in Chicago, that led to the words, "You are the candidate, if you don’t accept the position we start over." What I understood that to mean was that I had been offered a job. I was flown out to Washington to see the church and meet the congregation. I attended and participated in meetings casting vision for the second service they were starting in six weeks. I left to the words, "There is a vote on Tuesday, and we will call you Wednesday."
I understood the vote to be a formality. I understood that I would soon be called to serve at that church. Over the next two and half days, I packed up and fit everything I owned into my Honda Civic. Wednesday morning I placed the last tub into the Civic, and came back in to check my email. A member of the search committee had just sent an email that simply read, "Is now a good time to call?" I replied that it was. During that call, I was told that the vote had not gone in my favor. I no longer understood myself to be called to serve at that church.
That was February 10, 2016.
My body honestly went into shock. I didn’t know what do or say. I had clothes and toiletries set aside for the anticipated drive to Washington, so I didn’t need to get anything out of the car right away. I left everything in my car and went into my now empty room and laid on the floor. While I didn’t feel like hope was present, I knew I wanted to act as though it was. I went to my car to retrieve a single item.
The first item I retrieved from my Honda Civic on 2-10-16
That item was a present given to me Christmas of 2014 by my (soon to be) sister-in-law. Readers of this blog will know that I have a fixation on Gonzo from the Muppet troupe. Sara (my now sister-in-law) painted me an image of Gonzo taken from the final moments of the old Muppet Show. Each week, Gonzo would appear at the end of the theme song and attempt to play the final note. He never succeeded. He was beset by a series of malfunctions, interruptions, and explosions.
That depiction of such a futile attempt may seem like a poor totem of hope. However, my painting shows Gonzo playing that elusive final note and many more. I don’t believe Sara intended any deep meaning to be infused into her work. But on that day I found in that simple gift what I needed: hope. I needed to know that the despite the evidence to the contrary, I was worthy. I needed the assurance that God was still good. I needed to believe that I was still called to serve the Church. I didn't have any of those truths within me.
Faith is the evidence of hope. Faith can be individual. Faith can be corporate. Faith can be held. I have been privileged to have been a part of several communities who have held my faith for me. I have been surrounded by those who knew that I had worth even when I didn't (especially when I didn't.) I have been in communities that proclaimed God's goodness over my life. I have been assured and reassured that I am called to serve the Church.
On that day, I needed a reminder of all these things. I needed a reminder of all those whose lives have touched mine. So, I went to the car and grabbed the painting.
This blog was inspired by an "On This Day" post from Facebook. Not only did I retrieve the painting from my car, but I snapped a picture of the painting, posting it in my 2016 Picture a Day album. By doing so, one year to the day, Facebook reminded me of what took place on February 10, 2016. Now, February 10th is a date that when it appears on my Facebook feed I will remember as the day I received that phone call. And yes, I know that I can tell Facebook to no longer bring that memory to my feed, however I don't plan to do that.
Facebook reminds me that February 10 is also the day I took 5th and 6th graders on a night hike in the Bay Area. February 10 is the day when I was in Chicago and I was able to bring provisions to a friend who was sick. Facebook reminds me that I am not just that one day. My story didn't begin on that day, and it certainty didn't end there.
In 2016, I received a phone call, photographed a painting , and clung to hope that was most definitely unseen. In 2017, I had accepted a call to work at Copper Canyon Baptist, photographed that same painting now hanging in a fully furnished room, and clung to the hope that I was serving where God would have me.
We are so much more than the individual days that build our lives. We are so much more than one phone call. We are so much more than one rejection, one disappointment.
On February 10, 2016, I entitled my painting "And the Song Goes On".
--Waiting in hope alongside you, just from father away --Jesse Letourneau
Blogs mentioned in this week: WAVES BONES Gonzo in action
Seminary was rough. But it was the good
kind of rough. The kind where you come out on the other side knowing
more about yourself. The kind where you experience God.
After seminary, I desired a time of healing. All I wanted to do was
rest. To relax. To give my heart and my head time to process all that
happened to me.
After a summer saying goodbye to the
people and places that I loved. I moved to Texas.
I searched for what God had for me
next. I was convinced I had landed
a dream position. I hadn’t (I will talk more about that next time).
There are those who say that God causes
everything that happens to us. There are those who say that God
causes nothing that happens. The truth lies somewhere in the middle.
God is not waiting on the other side. He is not waiting for us to
succeed or fail. Nor is he waiting to give us comfort when we have
finally overcome.
Rather I believe that God is present in
the midst of our lives.
After losing the position, I went numb
for a while. Sleep occupied my days. Well, sleep and Netflix. The fog
began to lift in April. In May the skies were clear again. I felt
confident that I knew what was needed. I felt confident that I could
do what was needed.
On the twenty second of May, I tripped while in
the front drive way. I accomplished this feat while stepping over
some twigs that were roughly six inches high. As I stumbled face
first, I reached out with the palms of my hands to catch myself. The
impact of the fall traveled up my left arm and shattered the head of my
radius (arm bone on the “outside” if your hands are by your
side).
Shattered is not hyperbole.
There were shards of bone now floating
in arm. Surgery was the only option. Surgery was a success. My elbow
is healed and my arm is rehabbing nicely. But we need to back up.
After the initial break, my arm was in
a sling for a week. Then surgery. After surgery, my arm was in a
brace for a week. This was followed by three weeks of slow gradual
improvement in my range of motion coupled with six weeks in a brace
that prevented me from turning my arm so that my palm was facing up.
I felt helpless. I felt useless. I
wondered where God could possibly be in this time.
However, I was forced to slow down, and
in that slowing I found again how to rest in God’s strength.
The healing I experienced during my
time at seminary was an active one. I was in engaged in learning. I
was in engaged in stretching myself beyond my comfort and ease. I was
engaged with friends who taught me more than words can describe.
The healing I received while in Texas
was a passive one. I didn’t have the money for the surgery. I
didn’t have the strength to serve. I didn’t have the faith to
believe that God was present in my pain. I didn’t have the faith to
believe what I was seeking was worth seeking. I had to
ask. I had to receive. I had no other option than to be passive. I
had no other option than wait. I had no other option than to heal.
Dear reader, I am sure you have noticed
that I have moved from speaking of the physical healing of my bones
to speaking of the spiritual healing of learning to receive from
others. Learning to be a piece of a whole. However, it was my broken
bone that allowed this lesson to be received.
X-Ray 3 months after surgery
My injury provided not only the space
to heal but the analogy of healing as well. Bones will always heal.
No matter what happens bones will grow back together. The nature of
my injury was such that without surgery the shards of bone in my
elbow would have grown into a single mass severely limiting the use
of my left elbow.
Things had to be put back together the
way they were meant to be. Time had to pass. I had to wait. I had
to be passive. I had to let the bones do their work.
To receive the healing I sought, things
had to be put back together the way they were meant to be. Time had
to pass. I had to wait. I had to be passive. I had to let God to the
work.
--Healing as a part of a whole, along side all of you,
Just from father away
I have written before about
how the themes of Pixar seem to be following my own personal journey. I wrote
that initial blog tongue firmly planted in my cheek. I didn't truly believe my life was fodder for computer animated films.
That was until I went to see
the Disney animated film Moana.
The Chief Creative Officer
for Pixar (JohLasseter) holds the same
title at Disney Animation. Under his watch Disney released the CGI animated
film that seems to share very little with my life, yet echoes the latest piece of my personal hero's journey.
On the surface, Moana
is the story of a Polynesian Island girl on the cusp of womanhood who must
find her own strength, her own voice, and her own way of leading before she can
blossom into adulthood and claim her role as chief of the island. Along the
way, she is aided by her ailing grandmother who understands more than anyone
gives her credit for, a demi-god with magical tattoos, and the very sea itself.
On the surface my story does
not parallel that of Moana. But the core of her journey mirrors the core of my own.
To explain how this I need to discuss the plot of this movie.
So if
you haven’t seen it and don’t want to be spoiled stop reading now.
The plot of Moana is
a straightforward hero’s quest. She must find a guy, get a thing, and put the
thing back to save the day. As in all good hero quests her parents are against
her taking on the task. Think Marlin and his fear of Nemo going beyond the
reef. Here is where the similarities begin to come into focus.
The central question of Moana
is that of calling. Who is Moana meant to be and how is she to become that
person? Is she to be the chief like her father before her? Is she to become a
great explorer as her grandmother wishes for her? Moana must decide who she is
and what she will become.
The choices laid before her
seem to be at odds.
Stay home or leave.
Become the chief of island
dwellers or become a great explorer?
Moana’s island home provides
all anyone could ever need. There is even a song about how great the island is.
Her people have been farmers and fishers as far back as memory holds. There is
no need for Moana to leave home.
Until of course there is a
need. The island begins to die. Quite literally the island begins to decompose
as if the Nothing from The Never Ending Story has found this realm as well.
(And in my head cannon that is the case.) But there is still a fear of the sea,
and Moana’s Father tries to stop her from sailing off on her quest.
Moana learns that her people
have not always been island dwellers. She learns they were once great and proud
explorers. Moana finds an abandoned ship. And her quest begins.
Moana has chosen to leave
home.
She has chosen to become a
sea farer and not an island dweller.
Moana’s quest includes
finding her requisite Disney princess animal side kick, matching wits with the
Rock, an encounter with a very sparkly crab, and the final battle where she uses wit and empathy
to literally bring life back to her world.
But the story doesn’t end
with Moana learning she had the power inside her the whole time. The story ends
with Moana returning home to become the new chief. Moana had to leave in order to return. Moana was called to
be a chief, but could only become that if she first left home.
If Moana had stayed home she
would have lacked the ability to fulfill her calling. For it was only in the questing that she found the source of life not only for herself but for her
people as well.
If Moana had become a sea
faring adventurer finding her own way in the world but never returning home she would not have fulfilled
her calling.
I grew up in Northern
California.
I left home and explored my
own seas.
I was convinced I wouldn’t
ever return home. There was no need. That is of course until there was one.
God has called me back to
California. If I had stayed home I would not be who I am today. I would not be who
am I am called to be. If I had not come home, I would not be where I am today. I would not be where I am called
to be.
--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau
Next week God uses healing to teach me about healing.
