Unpacking My Job Title

or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the... Church.

I had a couple interesting conversations at work last night, and I figure the topic warrants a blog post. I should probably say, for those that aren't aware, that although South Carolina law says there's no such thing as a bar in our state, I work in a bar. Lucky for me, it's a beer bar--which means, thanks to prohibitive cost & a limited availability of things that taste suspiciously like water, we don't get a lot of undergrads--but we're frequented by professors and undergrads, and not a lot of church goers.

I'd also like to preface this post by saying that these reflections are representative of my personal experiences and feelings, and they're not intended to offend in any way. I welcome your comments and feedback as long as they're presented respectfully. Please remember that we can have different and yet equally valid viewpoints.

I'm not unlike a lot of PKs (Pastor's Kids) in that I have tried my darnedest to run, not walk, away from the Church. Admittedly, not all of my dissatisfaction was because of my parents' careers, but that's a subject for another time. The point is, I don't think I've told anyone "I'm a Christian" since I was in high school. I'm someone who is comfortable talking about things I don't understand, as long as they're related to facts. I'm not comfortable with talking about things like faith, or prayer, or, especially, calling. I'm really not comfortable talking about salvation. Most of the relationships I've formed as a young adult are reflective of this aversion. I know a lot of scientists, a lot of activists, and very few tithers. So, when I signed up to be a missionary, I had to think about how to tell people that.

Back to the bar. We had a fundraiser last week, and it was incredibly well attended, but there's no telling if people wanted to support my year in Mexico or if they just wanted to drink some beer. Last night, a couple of our regulars who know me fairly well were asking whether I had any new news. Another guy (who I can call by name, but I know essentially nothing else about him) was standing near by, and asked, "Wait, what're you going to do in Mexico?"
Because I was in the middle of a sentence, I just said, "I'm going to be a Missionary."
He gave me a really surprised look. An anxious look. I said, "Not the converting-the-heathens kind. The providing-social-service kind."
Later, he asked me again, "You're sure you won't go running around proselytizing?" Only after many promises did he hand me a donation.

A lot of things happened at the YAGM discernment event to help me feel more comfortable with calling myself a "missionary" for a year. Not least of which was the discussion we had on accompaniment, the model for mission currently in use by the ELCA. In brief, I remember Rev. Rafael Malpica Padilla using the parable of the lost sheep as an illustration. The traditional model for mission (think of The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver or The Mission starring Robert DeNiro and Jeremy Irons) essentially says, "God is on my side, and you are the lost sheep. You are the one crying for help, and God has sent me here to bring you back to the flock." Accompaniment, in contrast, says that it is only when we understand that God is in all of us and all of us are of God can our experience of the Holy be complete (this, by the way, is very similar to the Quaker principle of the Light Within). There are not two separate relationships we're seeking to maintain, but rather three balanced parts of one relationship: you, me, and God.

Rev. Rafael Malpica Padilla reminded us that we are not shepherds. It is not our responsibility to seek out the lost lamb. We are the 99 sheep who are actively listening for the voice of the Shepherd and trying to follow him. We are less than whole when our brothers and sisters aren't walking in partnership with us and God.

On the one hand, I don't blame the guy from the bar. I wouldn't give someone money if I thought it was going to be used so they could stand on street corners and scream the truth of the Lord Almighty when their message flies in the face of people's real experience. But I also don't understand why we, who are believers of one sort or another, have such little patience with different expressions of belief. I mean, I really don't think throwing Bibles in people's faces or embarrassing them is the best way to share faith, but I don't believe the world would be better if we were all faithless. I am still struggling with being labeled "missionary." I still worry about what assumptions people will make if I call myself a "Christian." But for now, all I can do is walk in the hopes that someone will walk up beside me and hold my hand.