Unanswered Questions

I used to think that part of the responsibility of a pastor was to answer people’s deepest questions about life and God and death. That’s why seminary was essential; that’s the place where we learn all the answers, right? And if seminary didn’t give us everything we needed, then we’d figure the rest out with good ol’ experience.

After twenty years of pastoring, however, I’m still struggling with those questions. I’m less sure about my answers now than when I started.

This has nothing to do with a crisis of faith; no, I am confident in my relationship with God, but the shape and form of that God keeps changing. Every time I think I have got God sorted out, God slips out from under my theology. I have to wrestle all over again with basic concepts like providence, sovereignty, and free will.

It’s also been difficult to get a handle on the death and afterlife matters. After so many funerals and unexpected deaths, I still have lots of questions myself. What really happens after the moment the body shuts down? Is there really such a place as heaven, or is it more a kind of third dimension?

Again, I have a confidence, a trust that God will be with me throughout the process of dying, including afterwards, but it sure would be nice to have some clarity.

Complicating all these matters is the fact that I don’t have confidence anymore in the basic institutions that I once did, first and foremost of which, is the church itself. We United Methodists seem destined to divide ourselves, just as Christians of other stripes have done.

And then there’s the “so-called Christians” in our country who promote heretical ideas and support white supremacy and corrupt political leaders. At times, I wonder if we share the same religion. Do we really know the same Jesus?

If I’m honest, I will admit that I have unanswered questions as the pastor of Kessler Park UMC. What are we to do about our youth program? What should our long-term vision be? How do we extend our ministry to the thousands of people moving into our community? What should we be doing differently?

Every day, I wake up with these questions on my mind, and sometimes I feel pressure to come up with a quick answer.

However, I have learned something in these twenty years of pastoral ministry. And one of the most important things is this: I don’t have to know all the answers. In fact, if I thought I did, that would be a very bad thing.

But that’s not what being a pastor is all about. And it’s not what being a Christian is about either.
We are really only supposed to follow Jesus. Following is a completely different kind of thing than knowing. Jesus rarely explained things to his disciples; he simply beckoned them forward, and they moved. Sometimes they would learn the answer to a question in the action of following; other times, they never did learn anything. I think that, most of the time, we end up learning that the questions we thought were so important, are irrelevant.

In the end, that’s the best I can do as a pastor. I just want to keep following Jesus on down the road of life. He’s led me to some fascinating places so far, and I have the feeling that the best is yet to come.

To Live a Ghost Story

Last weekend, our neighborhood was the site of the sixth annual Oak Cliff Film Festival. Thanks to a sponsoring church member, I had access to a VIP pass, which enabled me to attend quite a few films over the weekend.

I geek out over film festivals; my favorites are the shorts and documentaries. But this year, I also got to see the big closing feature film, “A Ghost Story,” written and directed by local David Lowery.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I saw our very own church members, Margot and Sylvie Tomerlin, in a scene! (Spoiler alert: they played pioneer kids in a covered wagon.) I have no doubt that one or the other will end up being a famous performer; remember that Margot is our star liturgical dancer!

The film itself was an eye-opener. Don’t let the title or the marketing materials fool you; this is not a horror film, nor even a suspenseful thriller. And the one best-known actor in the film, Casey Affleck, spends most of the film under a white sheet. To be honest, “A Ghost Story” fits more comfortably in the “arthouse” genre. But don’t let that designation fool you either — the film is accessible to anyone who has just a little more patience than the average “Fast and Furious” filmgoer.

It’s certainly a different kind of movie from most Hollywood fare. For example, a few of the scenes are single takes that last four or five minutes. In one instance, Rooney Mara, playing a bereaved young widow, walks into her apartment and eats an entire pie. The whole thing is captured in only two shots, each of which seem to last forever. But the scene portrays grief in the most authentic manner I have ever seen on-screen.

The film is also very quiet. There is little dialogue, not much background music. Only natural sounds of night and quiet meadows. And so it gives the viewer the chance to really engage, not only intellectually, but emotionally with the striking images.

Yes, the story is about a ghost. The ghost walks around with a white sheet over his head. It sounds gimmicky, but it works in a very interesting way. He doesn’t come across as spooky or ethereal. Rather, the ghost is a clear symbol of loss, of a void.

The ghost functions as a screen upon which the viewer projects his or her own fears about belonging and identity. As I watched the ghost, I found myself wondering about the weighty matters of faith, love, and spirit. It wasn’t so much about the question of the afterlife, but upon what remains when one dies.

This particular ghost found himself rooted to one specific space; his identity was tied up in one location in a very particular period of time. As the people and things which inhabit his space disappear over time, the ghost becomes more and more disoriented; he becomes rootless and restless.

The point is clear: we humans inhabit time and space. Everything we do is bound by our place on the earth, limited by the seventy or eighty years we are given. We can’t transcend those dimensions as human beings, no matter how much we may strive to make ourselves “immortal.”

Only God transcends the dimensions of space and time. And God’s revelation in Jesus Christ makes plain to us what ultimately lasts, what goes on into the distant future, beyond our limited lifespan. Three things remain in the end — faith, hope, and agape/love — says the apostle Paul (I Cor. 13:13).

What matters is faith — the unconditional trust that we place in God’s love.

What matters is hope — the undying flicker of possibility in the future, however distant.

What matters is agape — the love that gives unconditionally and completely to the other.

These are the things that go on, that remain.

I know that I will die someday. But I sure hope that I don’t find myself in a white sheet, loitering around the house long after my death. Instead, I hope to find myself in God’s presence, enjoying the shalom I have sought all my life.

And I pray that my acts of faith, hope, and agape will last for a little while, at least, if only to encourage those who come after me to do the same.