Four years later

Nobody reads this besides me, and that's OK.

For about a year now, Kay and Joe have been gone. That was an odd exit. Their house has been sold and they have moved to be closer to their offspring, which is totally understandable. One thing which always discombobulated me was Kay's attitude toward me after my exit from St. Matthew’s. If a valued church member who volunteered everywhere (and gave a lot of money) suddenly left without much warning, it seems rational to expect a clergy person to come up with one (or more) responses:

• What happened here? Why are you going?
• Are you OK? Is there some personal tragedy driving this? Health? Finances?
• Are you angry? What set you off?
• Did someone in the church say something offensive? Do we need some sort of reconciliation?
• I didn't think you would take it that way. Let's see if we can heal the relationship.

None of that happened. The best summary of Kay’s attitude was “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”

Then things got weird. After a couple of years had passed, she would come up to me (at the gym, mainly) and be all smiles and positivity. No hint of any split between us; no attempt at a reconciliation. It was all sweetness and light. I always sort of smiled and tried to edge my way out. I suspect that was all part of the gaslighting narcissim working its way out.

A couple of years have passed. The diocese (rather clumsily) attempted to push the idea of a Triad of Ashland, Mansfield, and Shelby joining to share two priests. It didn’t work.

1. Mansfield and Ashland lost their priests, and they knew that they would have to do something and do it quick. Shelby deludes themselves into thinking that Daniel will be there more or less forever, half his pay supplied by the Food Pantry.
2. Ashland and Mansfield are very welcoming to LGBTQI+ people; Shelby still thinks gay people do not belong in church leadership. The new priest is gay.
3. The focus of St. Mark’s is very SHELBY. They are not at all thrilled by the Episcopal denomination; they are much more focused on things such as Shelby Salvation Army and the local Catholic church. If it is not Shelby, it’s outsiders.
4. The same holy dozen have been sitting in the pews for years, so they assume they can keep going indefinitely.

Looking back, it was pretty inevitable that Mansfield and Ashland would join together and Shelby would stay aloof. Shelby has no sense of need and has a raging independence.

I know some things they do not know. I know that Daniel will not be funded by the Food Pantry after December 2026. I know that of the dozen regulars, only two families are currently employed; all the rest are retired. These people (including me) are old. I know that the Masonic Lodge approach (“To be one, ask one”) of anonymous checks to good causes does not grow the church. I know that St. Mark’s does not offer anything particularly unique to Shelby—there is really no good reason for it to survive.

I also know that my reasons for going to Shelby were all related to a need to escape Kay Ashby. She is gone now. I honestly believe that the Shelby church has about 24 months to go. I know that I want a church where I can be out and where I can feel like I am not stuck in a small Bible study group. I keep looking for a trigger event, but more likely the church will simply erode away.

Three years later

This all went to sleep (and it was a good idea) after the discussion of the exit from the Ashland church. I decided to simply leave cold turkey, so I never lingered around, giving explanations to people or complaining or anything like that. Most of the people there never got a word of explanation from me, though I know that Sharon Broeder's dying wish was that I would return and Andi Shifley was in tears, begging me to reconsider. I didn't want to start any kind of political battle.

So I've been gone for three years. Occasionally there's a death and a memorial service and I return and see old friends. I always have good times with the Reeds and others and get cold shoulders from the nuns.

Soon after I left, a new treasurer was appointed, a woman who had corporate experience and was brand new to the parish. We met to go over all the stuff I had been doing, and she was full of praise for my diligence. She lasted about a year, then got forced out. After she left the parish, three of us got together: her, me, and Allan Andersen. We traded stories about how toxic the priest was—and I remembered some of the ugly stuff from when Allan and Mike McKinley were negotiating the lease with the Montessori people in the basement. All the accusations that were flung at them. 

Anyhow, all that is behind. I'm in a good place now, and I don't expect to ever be on a Vestry or serve as a treasurer. Shelby has become a good home.

Almost

I began a blog series of responses to the corona virus and at first I planned on putting it all here. Then I thought again. I'm planning on publishing the address and this has a lot of negativity about St. Matthew's, so I finally put it all on "Curt's Trail." Better choice.

Back again

My very Protestant tradition never emphasized giving up anything for Lent. I never dreamed that this year for Lent I would give up both my health and organized religion.

That's the way it worked out.

I got sick just after Ash Wednesday, and Holy Saturday was the first day I remember getting out of bed and feeling pretty OK. A few aches and pains, and a lingering cough, but in general I'm about 99% back to normal in health. The main lingering problems are that 40 days of near-total inactivity have taken their toll on my muscle tone and strength. I look like a little old man. Now I need to do a self-enforced physical therapy regimen.

Ash Wednesday was also my last day at St. Matthew's. Just after that, I decided I had finally had it and submitted my "I'm outta here" letter. Of course, it couldn't be that neat and pretty: Ever since then, for several hours a week, I've been involved in church business, unwinding my many involvements with the church. But in general I'm done. For the duration (largely because of health and depression) I simply had nothing to do with organized religion. All during this time, Daniel Orr, the priest of the church in Shelby, has been sending very welcome emails asking about my health and welfare. I don't think he was trying to recruit me; his interest in my well-being seemed very genuine. The result, though, was that the first time I pulled myself together to get to church was Easter, when I ended up in Shelby.

Sick day

Today (Monday) I finally took a sick day. My sister said, "You never do that!" True, but I had a pretty good fever on Sunday, so I cancelled. Today it's mainly aches and a cough. Hope I'm back together by Wednesday.

Today, with some distance on the thing, I began pondering the teaching ministry of St. Matthew's. Adult Sunday School never happened. I suggested it several times, but the response was that (a) everyone is over 80 and it's asking a lot just to get them to church by 10, and (b) many of them are out of here like a bullet out of a gun with the last hymn, and besides, you couldn't do a lesson after coffee hour! I have noticed, though, that Lenten evening lessons were well received, so it's not a universal allergy.

There's been a children's Sunday school, off and on, for years, but apparently the focus is entirely on getting them up to speed on the Sunday liturgy.

One result is a real biblical illiteracy. I remember when someone handed a Bible to a Vestry member and asked her to read something from Mark. She was totally lost. Had no idea where to find it.

I think this is the fruit of Bishop Spong. If one believes the Bible is a bunch of foolishness, why make it a centerpiece of the church's teaching?

So why did I stay? Well for one thing, there is Bible spread all through the morning liturgy; it's not like Grace Fellowship, where the Bible reading was "my favorite three verses that I read a couple of weeks ago anyhow." For another, in spite of Kay's personal attacks, I did get three or four chances a year to preach or teach. I really did think I could improve things, though my preaching was almost always on "Morning Prayers" days when only 18 people would show up.

Slogging along

Yesterday, I quickly read over a couple of years of personal journal entries. I'm amazed at the similarities I find, especially in springtime (mid-March and slightly later) entries:

• The weather sucks. It's grey, rainy/snowy/icy and I don't feel like going anywhere.
• I'm sick.
• Teaching a bunch of low-skills students who do not give a hoot about the subject is frustrating.
• I'm lonely.

Can't do much about the weather. I'm not sure what to say about the sick part, though some of it is certainly related to emotions. (My nurse/practitioner thinks SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder, might be worth looking into.)

Lonely is an ongoing problem, not too likely to go away, but I'm going to push myself to take myself out on dates, etc. (especially after the current health problem calms down).

Obsessing over wrongs. I tend to do that, licking old wounds. Sometimes it has to be done. Doing it now. But eventually I need to stop—perhaps to be forceable about it because it's an addiction.

Boring students, bored teacher. My 8:00 class yesterday was sort of an illustration. This gang never has been great at attendance, but when 8 came around there were three. A few more drifted in. I think the real key here is:

1. Don't take it personally. Some of these kids are in their last two months of college and they know it.
2. Do some content that I think is fun and interesting. Some of the students will come along. The rest are lost anyhow.

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One interesting discovery was that, after a particularly strong public rebuke from the priest, I was asking myself whether I should simply leave the parish.

On Criticizing the Church

I guess I'm still in the phase of reverberating. I don't know if my exit from St. Matthew's is permanent, and I certainly don't know if I am permanently walking away from the whole Episcopal Church. I do notice, however, that the administrators of the Episcopalians on Facebook page have urged people to moderate their personal attacks. Kay's attacks on me aren't the only ones, but they were pretty strong. I'm not going to put this material on Facebook—too risky—but here is my estimate of a hierarchy of personal/corporate attack:

1. John Doe is an idiot. Definitely out of line, whether it's "he's an idiot" or "you're an idiot." The writer should face some sort of censure.
2. John Doe said/did stupid things. This one is borderline. If the "John Doe" is a local private person, definitely out of line, but what about public national figures? If Bishop Spong has published a book with which I disagree? I think the key here is to address issues, not personalities. Bishop Spong might be a fine person, but it's the content of the book that should be addressed.
3. My parish/diocese did stupid things. Again, out of line because it's often an appeal to get some sort of majority opinion to override the local decisions. If the Vestry decided that the Sanctuary Lamp should have a red glass and you wanted a blue one, complaining on Facebook isn't the right avenue.
4. I don't understand. (OK—maybe I will post this one.) I've gotten barbecued—repeatedly—for just not knowing stuff. Sixty-four years of Presbyterianism followed by eight years of Episcopalianism mean that I constantly run afoul of the old-time correctness police. But this is not a sign that I hate the church. Even education in a Protestant seminary did not prepare me to know that "Mass" is an appropriate term for the Sunday morning event, that "acolytes" are not necessarily pre-teen children (though all the pictures one finds of acolytes depict them this way), or that "sanctuary" is the wrong word for the big room where the congregation sits on pews and sings hymns. It's not a sign that I disrespect (or even hate) the church; it's a sign that when I write, I work from previous experience and often do not know that I must consult the Episcopalian Dictionary to clean up my act.