The Reconstructed

It has rained seemingly non-stop the last 3 days. In one sense, there couldn’t be better weather to start on the final leg of emptying out the home that I spent the most years of my life, a place where I lived with just me and my dad for 5 years. There was so much stuff, too much stuff. Maybe, I could have opened a store and but none of the stuff, none of the time, and none of the pain of loss has really quelled the sense of grief and the longing for home and longing to talk to my dad or my grandma. Instead, still photos and a few videos and voicemails and memory is supposed to be enough. Yet, it’s not enough.

In fact I’m not even sure the grief of loss of my dad the last year and a half, is the worst pain. That feels unfortunate to say. It just has not always been the most consuming and death is a different kind of loss than being personally attacked or controlled. The pain from the institution of church and from men purporting to be elders and leaders of the church have caused more pain, demanded more control, neglected their role as shepherds and spiritual fathers, and resorted to outright ostracization. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand how churches and men in leadership in the church could be so cruel and irresponsible, yet life goes on.

What I’ve found from most who care to spend the time to hear me and are with me, when I feel tormented by a sense of justice or a sense of cold bitterness, (which just feels like more judgment) like the windy rain of the last 3 days, is I need to let go. To sever relationships; that feels like division. That feels like letting people off the hook. It feels like foregoing reconciliation. And this is something I never really understood and still barely understand.

It’s this call to forego 1 Corinthians 1:10 “Now I beseech you, brethren, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that ye all speak the same thing, and that there be no divisions among you; but that ye be perfectly joined together in the same mind and in the same judgment.” And I have to do this because the hatred of an elder directed at me despite a year and a half of attempts at reconciliation and understanding and appeal for mercy. It was in vain.

Paul and Barnabas in Acts 15 are so divided over an individual that they decide to part ways after fruitful ministry. They part ways over a disagreement over the immorality of John Mark who deserted them on a prior missionary journey (no context of why he deserted them). Scripture does not really take a side or comment on who is wrong and one could argue more fruit results out of them parting ways. Maybe that is the way. Maybe when a group takes a side and casts you aside, you have to rise above by the Spirit, not look back and believe God has something better. Replace bitter for better. It feels impossible, yet it feels like the only thing left possible.

It seems like the only way forward is to not look back, not hope for church elders to do the right thing, and bite my tongue and be more careful not to slander or wish things that David prays for to God regarding his enemies in the Psalms. And to do it single and to suffer yet try to find joy in the Lord, in His presence, in His promises. Now we have a new way, love the enemy, even if the people that have made you the enemy are the people leading “churches.” It’s sad and sick and yet it’s the only way.

The power just went out.

Total rain has now left me in total darkness, other than the light of my computer. And in some ways I couldn’t be happier. In other ways I recognize if the power does not come back on, I won’t be able to sleep without my CPAP, or I’ll die in my sleep which is a mercy if I could be at home with the Lord. Someone else will have to finish the house and my last trip home will turn into my last night in New Jersey, not home on the Lane’s couch in the dark writing.

What does it look like? Well I’ve received about 12 prophetic words from people in the last 2 months. It probably looks like a return to ministry, yet I have no idea in what capacity. It probably looks like going to work after the house is sold yet I have no idea in what capacity. It could look like studying Biblical Hebrew in Israel for the summer, but who knows in what capacity because there could be a war. The world is terrifying if you let it be and the Church is struggling to be powerful, but it’s not hopeless. There is a remnant. I have open hands as I try to sever ties and heal. Hopefully, I can do that the right way; it is a struggle.

I will share what I wrote on the plane because despite my suffering Jesus suffered far worse with far more finality:

• I’m going back to NJ again. The last 5 years I’ve probably been back and forth from Charleston 20 times. The range of emotions in different seasons have spanned the gamut. This one has a new level of anxiety because we are selling the home I spent the most time with my dad. In a way the house means nothing but memories. “Owning” it does not keep the memories in the same way that selling it doesn’t mean losing them.
• Yet, it is the last time I will rest my head there are that exact coordinate, the place one earth. a place that I slept on a twin bed with a boom box that would play the same cassette to put me to sleep, specifically the song “Clumsy” by Our Lady Peace,” a strange song about refuge where to find it and whether or not its real. Whether what we see in others is real or safe whether or not we can tell if someone is drowning or screaming when we see them from far away. Whether anyone can see when we are drowning? Did anyone actually see me when I was drowning, barely surviving over the last 2 years? Who knows?
• But it’s not really home. I still call it my dad’s house to associate the permanence with him. Yet he’s gone. He is what gave home its meaning.
• You know what’s kind of crazy. Jesus left his Father’s house to make a new home, to be among us here. He made His dwelling with man. Son of God, God of God left Heaven to come here to die. While here, he promised to go prepare a place for us in Heaven by returning to the Father after raising from the dead, promising to bring the Kingdom here to earth. Jesus called a place home among a people who killed Him. Why? What pieces of shit we were and can still be. We deserve death.
• Do you think part of His purpose was to come to learn a skill, to be a carpenter? Do you think He may have brought His carpentry back to Heaven and as He lives to make intercession for us He is building our rooms in a Home with His hole-y hands determined to perfect the family of God. Do you think He says to the Father, look at this skill I learned in my humanity. I want to continue to pour myself into them, to create something for them to know I never stop thinking about them. They never stopped being worth it to us. They are beloved.
• I’m not very good at building things even though in pre-school I received the architecture award for aptitude in building things with blocks and legos. But perhaps more than building I wanted to put things back together. I wanted to make something of use that wasn’t broken or incomplete. I’ve never been an entrepreneur or a great self-starter. I’ve shared ideas and partnered and served others ideas because I lacked confidence to do things alone and I genuinely like passionate people. I lack self-assurance about what to do.
• Yet Jesus was set. He came to die after a visit to Jerusalem, to live perfectly to be crucified by the religious.
• Live imperfectly, yet repentant while walking what the Spirit calls you to, to be rejected by the religious.
• The true house of God does not devour, depreciate, deprecate to the point of discard, or divide but rest assured where these things are present and replicated there is the enemy of our souls and some among them are his partners.

I stopped abruptly on the plane. Probably because it was going in the direction of frustration. Let it go. Let got of me. Maybe if we could stop trying to control so much, we wouldn’t feel so suffocated. Maybe we could breathe again. Maybe we’d be home again.