"You suck, try harder," and letting go.

"You suck, try harder." 

In Jim Belcher's book, Deep Church, he references this in the preaching section.  It characterizes so much of the preaching that happens in American churches today, and sums it up in just those four words.  We've put the cart before the horse, so to speak, and we've forgotten that good deeds and a life worthy of bearing the name 'Christian' come from faith, not before it. (In other words, you can't expect someone who is not a Christian to act, think, and believe in the same way that a Christian does.)  So many pastors have forgotten to preach the "mystery of the faith", as the Communion Prayer calls it: "Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again!"  They've been so busy preaching about how to act/look/think/politic like a 'good Christian', they forgot the whole point. 

I could rant about this for ages, but I'll leave you there to think about that for a while.

On a somewhat related note, the theme of the rest of 2011 is letting go. 

Letting go of my own self-doubt, letting go of my own desire to be better at life, to be a different person, letting go of damaged relationships that just can't be repaired, and letting go of this death grip I've had (pun maybe intended) on the direction of my life.  As of right now, it's full-steam-ahead for seminary.  I'm staying until God throws me out, which hopefully will not happen tomorrow.

I have interviews tomorrow afternoon with my classis (regional body of church governance) to come under care of the classis.  This is a requirement for ordination in the Reformed Church in America (RCA), and this is how they sort of keep an eye on pastors-in-training.  They give us oral exams at the end of every academic year, they check in on us spiritually, they offer help when needed, etc.  (It sounds like a really great thing until you get to the exams, right?)

I've been told that this is sort of a formality, and that since my church's consistory has enthusiastically recommended me to the classis, it shouldn't be a problem.  But I never believe it when someone tells me that.  I do my best to not make assumptions.  If something ridiculous happens tomorrow, and I see God telling me "you know what, Sarah, this really isn't for you," then I'll laugh at myself for a while and start over. 

Until then, I'm letting go and moving on. The sign my mother hung in the living room when I was young still hangs in the house: "get over it, get on with it."