Where have all the men gone? That is a question often asked by clergy. The men of my father’s generation attended church. A much smaller percentage of the men in my generation attend and are involved with the Church. This next generation has even less. Sure attendance is down as a whole but that doesn’t explain the conspicuous absence of the men. I knew Brian had attended church and several Bible studies before we met. I liked that about him. After I divorced when my children were very young, I started to have a vague sense that God was important. After Brian and I were married the vague sense became something more.
Something was pressing in on me kind of like a person in the airport security line who gets so close that they invade your personal space. I have had this feeling at various times in my life. I am usually busy and it is easy to ignore it in the beginning. I push it into the background hoping it will eventually go away. But usually it persists. It is kind of like being followed around by an omnipresent specter. It keeps its distance as long as I am moving but when I stop it gets close enough to really annoy me. It presses in on me more and more as time passes and I ignore it. It starts to engage in a “persistent nagging.” The specter won’t go away. It won’t stop “nagging.” I am in a constant state of annoyance. This feeling starts to interfere with my ability to enjoy my life. Eventually I can’t enjoy anything I am doing. I feel like I am being suffocated. When that happens I am compelled to deal with it. There will be no peace in my life until I do. In my case I don’t really know what I am being nagged to do. I have to conduct a sometimes exhaustive search. It is strictly a search by trial and error. I know when I have hit on the “right thing” because the discomfort stops. So it was that I was visited by my specter of discomfort when I was 37 years old.
At the time my “specter” was pressing in on me, my life was incredibly full or more appropriately incredibly busy. In fact I was so busy I wasn’t enjoying my life. Back then, the innumerable daily demands prevented me from savoring any moments. Now my life is devoid of everything that made it so busy back then. Now I have time to savor the moments but not as many daily moments to savor. It seems that life is so out of balance. Is there any way to arrange it so that we aren’t robbed of enjoyment by the overwhelming demands of making it all work? Is there any way to keep the memorable moments from clumping together like small metal fragments stuck to the end of a magnet? At that time in my life I couldn’t’ imagine where I was going to find the time and energy to add anything else to my life. But something kept “nagging” me relentlessly.
“I want to tell you a story about a time I was disappointed,” the young minister said. “I really, really wanted to go to this particular college. It was the only school that I wanted to attend. My parents forced me to apply to other schools but I just knew I would be accepted and go to the school of my choice. Sadly I wasn’t accepted. I was very angry at God for a long time because I thought He could have made it happen for me if He wanted to,” he said as he continued to tell history. As I sat in the church pew that morning and listened to this eerily familiar story, I kept wondering to myself why I had come to church that Sunday. At that time in my life everything was going smoothly at least by my standards. I was married to Brian. I was pregnant with Gary. I was employed in my field. Money was no longer a huge issue. The children were settled and doing well. The roller coaster ride of the previous years had become more of a train ride or almost. The trip still included travel over big mountains and valleys but they were smaller, fewer and farther between. Why then urgency to go back to church? I realized that my “specter” had stopped “nagging” me as I sat in church that morning. That was reason enough for me.
“Do we really want all that space?” I asked Brian He was so excited that I hadn’t wanted to say anything for fear of spoiling this for him. I am not sure why I did ask. I knew it wouldn’t change anything. It was too late in the process anyway. Brian looked at me quizzically and resumed giving instructions and orders to the construction crew. We would be moving to a new house on the other side of town in a few months. Everything would have to change including the church I would attend.
Eventually we settled into our new home. I found a church close by where Brian had attended services in the past. I remember our first visit was to attend a Thanksgiving service. Gary was about 5 months old at the time. He sat quietly on my lap during the service. It was, obviously, about giving thanks. I remember thinking that was a strange topic for us at the time. We had already received the preliminary diagnosis of Lou Gehrig’s’ disease, months earlier. I didn’t feel like I had much to give thanks for at the time. Brian was going to die. In the early days of the illness, the church service offered me some peace but not because I experienced God there. I enjoyed the familiar hymns, the message, the chance to mediate, the rituals. I didn’t connect these things to God.
My decision to attend church at this time had a rational component to it. I knew, even though I thankfully had no idea how difficult things would be, that I could not cope with Brian’s by myself. I knew that I needed help. That was a big admission for me given my background and temperament which I won’t repeat here. You see I had resolved that I would no longer just soldier on and suffer through difficult times. I wanted to arrive at the end feeling like I had “triumphed” not just survived. By triumph I don’t mean patting myself on the back or blowing a horn of rejoicing like we do Easter morning. I am referring to getting to the end and saying something other than,”I made it” bitterly. I had no idea how to do that. The church seemed like a good place to look for that kind of help. I wasn’t really thinking of it as a place to seek a relationship with God. I was thinking more in terms of finding people who could offer me some support in the ensuing months or years.
I saw it announced in the church bulletin one Sunday. A new group was forming. I think it was called “Living with Chronic Illness.” That wasn’t quite my situation but I decided to give it a try. I was totally new to this church so I did not know a soul – no pun intended.
I arrived at the appointed time or a few minutes late as is my habit. The door to the meeting room was closed. I wanted to secretly peek in to see what was happening but there were no windows. I put my hand on the door handle but I couldn’t turn it. I let go of the door handle. I was afraid- no terrified. Was I afraid of facing my feelings? Was I afraid of sharing my life with strangers? Oh there were so many fears back then it was difficult to know. If red was the color of fear my entire body would have glowed bright red. I was shaking. Something made me open the door a little bit. People were sitting in a circle wearing name tags. Ugh I hate name tags! The leader saw me before I could close the door and escape. I hope they don’t expect me to say anything I thought as I entered the room.
We talked and prayed at the “Living with Chronic Illness” group meetings. After all this was church. I went through the motions of prayer. I didn’t get anything out of it. Maybe that’s because I didn’t really believe anyone was out there listening or at least anyone who cared. Prayer to me was just empty words but the community of people, especially the leaders, did nourish me emotionally. That is what kept me coming back. I was staring into the dark, cold, black abyss of despair and anger. At times I was totally immersed in it. This group was a light in the darkness. It was the only light. I couldn’t talk about my life in the “real world.”
“Don’t talk to your friends about what you are going through,” a woman whose husband had recently died from Lou Gehrig’s disease advised me. “If you do you won’t have any friends,” she continued. How sad that she was right! God not only afflicted us with terrible suffering but left us friendless and alone in the process. Why should I talk to Him? He obviously was not going to answer any of my prayers. There was no way Brian was going to get better no matter how much I prayed. I knew that. I didn’t believe in miracles.
To Be Continued...
To Be Continued...
