PastorX is now ex-pastor

Who is PastorX?

That would be me.  I went through a brief stint, early in my stay-at-home Mom career, of visiting places on the internet where atheists were hanging out (mainly columns on atheist subjects in webzines and online newspapers) and injecting myself into the conversational mix as the (often lone) reasonable, educated, patient Christian type.  I was starved for an intellectual and an evangelistic challenge, and engaging both young atheists and their angry fundamentalist detractors in dialogue (tri-alogue?) provided me with both – all conveniently available in the home I was confined to for 2 – 2+hour baby naps per day!

And when I went online for these purposes, I went by the handle “PastorX.”

Why?  I was looking for a handle that right away identified me as a professional interpreter of Christianity, so – Pastor.  In math, we use the letter X to refer to an unknown quantity.  And I wanted to remain unknown – especially as to gender.  Frankly, a lot of brainy young men seem to think that you have to be a man to be brainy.  (Let’s be clear – I am talking about chauvinist beliefs as lived in practice, not as espoused explicitly.)  And atheists actively arguing on the internet are disproportionately brainy young men.  I wanted to keep the focus on what I was saying, not what organs I was or was not born with.  So – PastorX was born.

But the X grew on me for many more reasons.  Again in math, X is meaningless, unknowable on its own.  X is known only in relationship to others.  X is the name of my generation – an at once jaded and hopeful generation that is liberal politically, but holds tightly to the value espoused by conservatives – personal responsibility – a generation that believes in community, in egalitarian relationships – a generation that still can’t quite believe that we really are the grownups now.

It also occurred to me that X might signify a rejection of a slave name.  Malcolm X changed his last name to X from Little to signify that his true name was unknown – that Little was not an African name, but a name inherited from white slaveholders.  Similarly, as a woman, changing a name in marriage recalls a transfer of property between two men – the true holders of the name.  To go by “X” could be a feminist assertion that my true name is unknown – I have only the surnames of men to chose from in recorded history.   But it could also be taking on the name of Christ, whose name begins in the Greek with the letter Chi, printed “X” – I am no longer a slave to sin and death, but have been given a name and a heritage.  Taking up my X could signify that I now in fact do know my true name – it is X – I am marked as a member of Christ’s family.

I gave the X a lot of thought, but I took the title “Pastor” for granted.

At the 2008 General Conference of the United Methodist Church, certain changes were made regarding the relationship between family leave and the ordination process.  And as a result, it became impossible to imagine that I could complete the ordination requirements in the new allotted time.  So this past June, my petition to be discontinued as a Probationary Elder was accepted by the Virginia Annual Conference.

This summer, I received a note from my District Superintendent.  As an ex-pastor, I was required to return not only my license for local ministry, but also the certificate I received when I was commissioned a probationary elder.  Turns out it is not so much like a diploma, and more like a license.

It was not until a few weeks ago that I was finally ready to climb the stairs to my work space, take the frame off the wall, pry open the back, and remove the certificates.  Today I will put them in the envelope and finally send them back to the District Office.

Now, I am pure X – the traditional mark made by an individual who does not know how to sign her or his own name.  I think that it is starting to grow on me.

“Are there spoilers?”

So – if you were not already aware of how I feel about “spoilers,” here it is – I am someone who watches the same movies over and over again.  Knowing what happens in them doesn’t spoil it for me.  If being surprised by how the plot unfolds is all that is worthwhile about a movie, then it is likely not worth watching the first time.  If I take the time to blog about a movie, it is probably worth watching.  Since no one is paying me to review movies.  (Yet.)  So make your own choice.  If you can’t stand to know what happens in the movie, stop reading, rent the movie, and come back to reading the blog entry later.  But seriously, I hope that the readers of this blog (unlike complainers I have seen in other venues) are aware that MOVIE REVIEWS TYPICALLY INCLUDE DETAILS ABOUT THE MOVIE!!  Maybe it is the Gen X-er in me that wants to say “enough hand holding – take a little responsibility, people!”  But I’m probably not talking to you – it’s those other guys.

It’s Complicated…

A few nights ago, my husband and I watched It’s Complicated.  He had a cold, and I was recovering from food poisoning, so we were looking for something light.  We figured that the cast would be worth watching – Meryl Streep, Alec Baldwin, Steve Martin, John Krasinski – so we had been hoping to get some good acting and call it a night.

The movie’s marketing campaign leads you to expect a bedroom farce, but while the movie is certainly a comedy, it never leaves the realm of the possible – you can imagine knowing a friend in this situation.  (Hopefully you cannot imagine yourself in this situation.  If you can, call me.  Seriously – we need to pray together before you do anything rash.  Or, God forbid, after you do something rash.)

I have never known of anything in real life even half approximating accidentally dosing your dead father’s lover with LSD, and then stuffing him in your father’s casket after mistakenly thinking that he was killed by taking a dive into the coffee table.  SayFor instance. I suppose it *could happen*, and it certainly was an amusing red herring of a climax in the midst of a hilarious movie, but I’m not sure that I could say with certainty that something like that has ever happened before.

But being divorced for some time, and then, while drunk, feeling attracted to this person that you (after all) were attracted enough to to marry some time ago, and then sleeping with this person that (after all) you had slept with many times before – this probably happens all the time.  Especially if you share children with your ex, and have plenty of opportunities to see them over time, to forget all that was bad about the relationship for long enough to wax nostalgic about – well, at least about the sex.  But not just the sex, either – the easy division of labor, the intact two parent family… it just feels wrong for Dad to drive away just when Mom and the kids are sitting down to the dinner table without him for the two thousandth time.

This business of suddenly waking up and deciding that you are in love with your ex-wife again has been happening for millenia, if we apply a hermenutics of suspicion – the Bible would find no need to forbid going back to an ex-wife if this idea presented no temptation to anyone.  But a single true premise does not make for a true story.  And that is where I was surprised by It’s Complicated.

Some of you may know that I have, over the past eight years or so (corresponds with taking Intro to Christian Ethics with Dr. Stanley Hauerwas.  Hmm…), found myself having more and more trouble enjoying fiction.  I went through a stage, on the movie front, where I could only watch documentaries with any success.  Even long standing favorites, like The Princess Bride, fell victim to new scrutiny.  Slowly I came to have a film canon, consisting of movies that seemed either true or at least insightful, whose few flaws I could forgive in the interest of the merits of the larger package:  The Empire Strikes BackThe Lord of the Rings trilogy. Serenity, Groundhog Day, Mystery Men, Galaxy Quest, Millions – wait a minute!  Aren’t there any on here that don’t have a scifi/fantasy element?  Sure – The MissionAbout a Boy.  Wait.  I know there’s more – let me think… Fargo? Six Degrees of Separation? Intolerable Cruelty?

But movies that gave me this feeling of being true to reality – of being untainted by any false premise (for every story makes multiple assumptions at the outset) about people or sin or relationships – became increasingly difficult to find – and so increasingly prized: The Savages, Love Liza, Owning Mahowney, Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead…  And it made it worse that sometimes a movie could be true and yet I could not like it for some difficult to express stylistic reason – Magnolia, say.

Let us not suppose that it follows that all Phillip Seymour Hoffman movies are true!  See, for instance, the disappointing, nuance free, atheist propaganda cheap shot that is The Invention of Lying.  And neither does it follow that all “true movies” I have discovered in the past 6 years feature Phillip Seymour Hoffman.  See, for instance, Thirteen Conversations About One Thing, or Blood Done Sign My Name.  Oh, right!  And – It’s Complicated.  (Remember Alice?  This is a song about Alice.)

As with any other movie, I have my complaints about It’s Complicated.  It is hard to believe that Mom would ever find her house to be “too small.”  And I’m generally not a fan of scenes that rely on smoking pot as a plot device.  It wasn’t necessary here, though it was a bit better done than usual.  And as you might imagine, I have to confess it was fun to watch Steve Martin and Meryl Streep pretending to be stoned together.  But (as usual) the depicted drug use was gratuitous.  However, the depicted sex was not gratuitous – it was at the center of the film without leaving me feeling like a voyeur.  Perhaps because the film wasn’t any more explicit than it needed to be to drive the story – which was ultimately a story about family, relationship, and the community implications of individual sin.

So let’s get specific – what’s so surprisingly good about It’s Complicated?  So many things.  Even the minor characters act true to character.  The humanistic therapist only concerns himself with the impact on his client – whether she can learn and grow from the experience – and, as so many therapists do, never considers the question of what the impact will be on the larger family system.  The “other woman” turns out to be a real person, with real feelings that can be hurt – after all, she has now formed a family with her husband and child – she is as blindsided and hurt as the first wife was in her day.  (Though we get only a glimpse of her pain – which may have had the effect for some viewers of letting Mom and Dad off the hook.)  The young child of the second wife is pitch perfectly annoying and insightful, and unquestioningly trusting of his mom’s husband – grabbing and snuggling Dad’s hand as he falls asleep.  And Dad?  He’s as much of a cad as ever.  Unmoved by this young boy’s trust, he is as ready to betray a child now as he was his first three children years before – and for the same reason – better sex with apparently less complications.  Which is not to say that every man who cheats on his wife is a perennially thoughtless idiot who wants to free himself from the slightest responsibility at the first whiff of that elusive mythical beast: no-strings sex.  (Then again…)  Instead, what is true about this scenario is that hiding an affair with your ex from your children is not a recipe for madcap fun, but for more heartbreak – for all the same people as last time, and maybe some more this time around.  When the two main characters end up in bed together, things simply can’t end well – and surprisingly (for post-1970s Hollywood storytelling), they don’t – It’s Complicated opts to tell the truth here.

Taking a broader view, the most generalizable insight of the movie – for me, anyway – was the implicit warning against misplaced nostalgia.  Yes, it would have been better for the first affair never to have occurred, for the first marriage to have been successful, for the first family to have had their father around as the kids came of age and Mom started her new business.  But it didn’t.  Mom can’t get those 10 years back – and really, the only reason Dad thinks Mom looks so perfect now is that he skipped those difficult 10 years.  The rift cannot be repaired – and a now equally messy, equally valid second family will be torn apart, too.  The opportunity for this relationship to be reconstituted has passed.  It is time to move on.  Seasons can pass for even the best of gifts, and we must not let what we wish had happened blind us to our present reality.

In the end, the only people with no regrets about this affair are Mom and Dad.  And in its own way, this moment of pseudo-reckoning is true, too.  Mom and Dad are the ones most guilty, the ones who acted most recklessly and selfishly (“I did this for myself,” Mom explains to her 3 adult kids, as they huddle together in a small bed, comforting each other in their confusion.)  So often, with sin, regret requires distance.  Taking responsibility for – even acknowledging! – the pain we have caused another so soon after the fact is far too painful in a world without grace.  Honest repentance when the victims of our sin remain mired in the consequences of our sin requires that we take on their wounds ourselves.  We cannot hide from it, or minimize it, until the wound has healed sufficiently for the rawness to be only sketchily remembered.  It is seldom that we are willing to suffer so deeply – truly rare that we are strong enough to face our error without being overcome by the dark depth of how our brokenness has infected those around us.

They were greatly astounded and said to one another, “Then who can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”

If it were not for God’s love – for the assurance that we are forgiven even in the midst of our sin, that we are known through and through and redeemed and redeemable – if it were not for God’s grace, we would not be able to survive the loss of our illusions about ourselves as “basically good people.”  Without grace, we would have to choose between remaining blissfully unaware of our daily acts of violence and drowning in the suffering we have contributed to.  In It’s Complicated, there is no evidence that Mom and Dad know of God’s grace, and so they semi-consciously opt for the route of “no regrets” – the pragmatic choice.

Let’s *not* be reasonable – God has chosen what is foolish to shame the wise (1 Corinthians, passim.)  Thanks be to God for those lights in the world whose ability to love, to suffer, to repent, to grow is so evident that they (like a city on a hill) cannot be hid.  These remarkable sisters and brothers in the faith remind us that we need not choose between confession of our imperfection and strength in our convictions.  Instead, God’s love gives us the courage to see ourselves clearly – to suffer with those whose suffering we have caused, and in this com-passion to be strengthened – to come closer to that kingdom in which mourning and crying and pain will be no more, when Christ himself will guide us to the springs of the water of life.