I saw a definition of “retirement”. “Retirement,” it said, “is the withdrawal from one’s position or occupation or from one’s active working life.” In my situation I did the former not the latter. I have withdrawn from my position/occupation as a minister. Of course, one cannot escape the “call” of God. Once God put God’s fingerprint on one’s life there is no running from it. Ministry is not a job—it is a lifestyle. Actually, it is a way of life . . . the way one lives.
I never felt I wore the title “reverend” well. Throughout my forty-some years as I observed my peers in the ministry, I spent a lot of time in awe and jealousy. I never seemed to fit the mold . . . never seemed to “fit in”. I am not a great speaker. I didn’t dress ministerial. My humor was a little off—too much teasing. Teasing is one of my ways of showing love. If I ever stop teasing—watch out! I never felt “holy” enough. I think laughter should be a part of worship. Worship without laughter is not worship. God has a sense of humor . . . after all God called me to a life of ministry for over 40 years. I just never felt like I was a part of the club.
That’s not the reason I retired from the ministry. I retired because it was time. I hit the magical number of 65 years old. That’s the gold standard for our culture—except for the Social Security Administration. For them they keep the “age of retirement” on a revolving and constantly changing wheel that they seem to spin every other day. According to them I’ve got a least another decade to go! Despite their guidance, I retired. Retired because it was time to explore the fork in the road and see where the adventure takes me. I want to do that while I still can. Besides, it feels right. Forty-some years of organized ministry is enough. Now it is onward to disorganized ministry. Seems to fit me better. Life among the “sinners”.
So, its been three weeks.
Of course, the biggest question I have been asked since retiring is “where you going to go to church?” Well, I have retired in a small community where I have served the church for 15 years. There are six “official” communities of faith in a town of about 600 people. Figure about a third of those people attend church—according to research . . . that’s a small group to find a place to fade into the woodwork. The introvert in me isn’t too keen on that idea. The evangelistic fervor for those faithful is a competition I was not built for. I’m tired of the competition. It’s not faith. It’s not living as Jesus intended it to be.
I want no part of it. Because of that there really is no church in the community I desire to be a part of. Also, the communities of faith in town lean towards the conservative side . . . politically and religiously. I can handle that. What I can’t handle is the homogeneous expectation to be the same. In such an environment there is no room for growth. God designed us to grow. Growing never stops. To grow one needs discussion, conversation, exploration, and adventure. It does not need rigid doctrine and dogma.
I do not think I can find that in our community among the active faithful. Their intentions seem virtuous on the outside, but they all want the same thing—carbon copies of themselves. As I said, I don’t fit into molds too easily. I would disappoint them or frustrate them. So . . . right now I have joined that 70 percent who do not worship in a place of organized religion. I’m wading into the waters of sinners according to my evangelical peers. Oh, the gravity of it all! But after three weeks I still see myself as a person of faith. That fingerprint of God is still squarely upon me.
Now remember . . . I have “withdrawn from a position and occupation” as a public minister. I am still working full-time at the area university. I love and enjoy my job at the university and after 15 years there it still does not feel like work. Besides Social Security is holding ransom my full payment until I hit the ripe old age, they will allow me to retire. Since I can’t beat them at their game, I must play their game. Ah . . . the politics of aging!
When that day comes, we can talk about retirement. Until then I’ve just hung up my “official” garb in the closet and I am enjoying the freedom it has afforded me to be me. That feels good . . . even after only three weeks.
That’s it. That’s the best answer I can give at this point in my journey. Come back in a week and I’ll probably have a different answer. In the meantime, I am enjoying my free time on the weekends. I have gotten to spend time with family—especially my grandchildren. I have done some critter creeping and photography. Dabbled in returning to writing my blog. Attended a pow wow. And done a ton of “honey do” lists making the wife happy. As you know, if Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. Even in retirement.
Yup, three weeks!
1 comment:
Well said. I never fit the template either. As “Saint” Frank said “I did it my way”.
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