Hurt By Church

January 26, 2014.Reading time 3 minutes.

I had an unusual conversation Friday night. A friend of mine (I’ll call him Redleg) and I were together with a man who was hurt by the church – and he’s not going back. He was very open about it and I found the dialogue very interesting. It sounded like he was very active in a large church at some point, but now he isn’t. In fact, his theology has totally changed to a “many roads lead to God” type of belief system, and he admittedly doesn’t care about eternity. At some point, he let it slip that it all hinged on how the church reacted to his divorce. A linchpin. He got hurt and that was it.

Nothing was solved. We listened and tried to encourage him before our time together was over. I’ve heard about people such as this, and quite frankly, I’ve been disillusioned by church over the past couple of years also. In fact, my family is winding down a year long search for a new place of worship. So I could totally sympathize with his resentment toward how he was treated. But whatever happened caused him to abandon his faith and that makes me sad.

The thing I’m still wondering about happened after he had left though. Redleg and I honed in on two totally different aspects of the man’s dilemma. I lamented how the church reacted while Redleg felt as though the man was running from truth. I know the Bible is firmly against divorce, as am I. I further know that we need to speak truth and be a light to those around us. But I couldn’t help think that if the confrontation had been handled in love, this man might not be floundering in his faith.

Somehow, truth and love have to coexist. Is the modern church doomed if they can’t? Redleg is a “truther”, and I’m a “lover” – and we are still friends. We admittedly don’t know the entire circumstance that brought this man to where his is, but isn’t it odd how two believers went totally different directions in response to it?

(photo credit: Nicholas A. Tonelli)

The Colonel’s First Story, pt. 2

January 23, 2014.Reading time 4 minutes.

Over the next few weeks, I am serializing Colonel Birdwhistle’s first story. Click here to start at the beginning: Part 1 .

And now, I submit to you Part 2:

Mrs. Dobrey returned in a moment followed by a boy exactly the opposite of her slight build. Every aspect of him was round, from his trunk to his cherry cheeks. Rolls of fat calves punched out of short pants that were too tight for him. His arms stuck out of his shirt sleeves like dough squeezing out of a tube. A look at the lad, who appeared miserably confined in clothing far too small, elicited a feeling of pity. Looking from mother to son, the Colonel found it hard to believe they were cut from the same cloth. They just didn’t belong together. Yet here they stood, silently looking at the Colonel and expecting something from him.

“Well…hello,” he paused trying to remember the boy’s name, but he could not.

“I’m Leon,” said the boy.

“Yes, yes. Good day, Leon,” said the Colonel. “A fine young lad. I am Colonel Clarence Birdwhistle. I had the pleasure of meeting your mother and she said you might have some interest in me.”

The boy strained his neck to look up at his mother, who smiled back down at her angel and nudged him to redirect his attention. Leon took the correction and once again stood quietly staring at the Colonel, who had no idea how to entertain the child. He cleared his throat, rubbed his mustache and even pretended to be occupied with caring for Oscar, who didn’t help in the ruse at all. He had taken to dozing on the sun-warmed pavement and growled at the interruption from a good nap. Still the boy stood and said nothing. Finally the mother broke the silence.

“Couldn’t you tell him a story from one of your adventures in Africa?” she suggested.

“I suppose I could,” replied the Colonel, uncomfortably shifting in his chair. He cleared his throat once more and searched his memory for something to say. The boy teetered forward and back and came to rest in a seated position with his legs crossed in a most awkward fashion.

“Well, Leon. I can think of something that might interest a boy like you,” began the Colonel. “Do you know what the word cannibal means? It’s a beastly thing, Leon. Practiced only among the low, uncivilized people of the world…” Hearing a loud cough intended to interrupt, he looked up and saw Mrs. Dobrey standing behind the boy flailing her hands in a violent manner and mouthing the word, “NO!”

Taking the obvious cue, he changed direction. “…But that is a tale for another day, my boy. Let me see…. I recall an event when the local witch doctor put a spell on us…” He stopped short as he spied the disapproving mother shaking her head once again. He fell silent as he tried to find an appropriate memory to relay.

Part 3