by Randy Walker

Life may be a journey, but it also feels very much like a steep climb at times. Sometimes we fall down, get up, brush ourselves off and continue our climb. There are times when we consider our chosen paths, its obstacles, and the difficulty of the climb. We may look for easier paths, or we might look for ways around obstacles even if it means backtracking around them. Other people can make suggestions or even help us climb, carry us, or otherwise help us along the
way.


Imagine the following scene: you are hiking a mountain trail that leads to the top of the mountain. You are picking your way around obstacles, stopping to rest and absorbing the beauty around you when, suddenly, you are confronted by a group of people who berate you over the path you have chosen. They insist you are on the wrong path, and that you will never reach the top, or they implore you to choose their path because you are headed for destruction. Perhaps you are curious, and you ask them to lead you to their path. “Oh no, you cannot hike our path dressed like that,” they say. “You need to shave and get a haircut before you join us on our path.” Sound familiar? I can’t recall encountering such a group on a literal hike up a mountain, but when used as a metaphor for life journeys, it begins to make sense.

There are plenty of people who eagerly use every opportunity to tell people with different spiritual or worldviews how the same are on the wrong path, and how the only way is their way. Often, self-righteousness triggers indignation toward those people who are different from them. When this happens, informing turns to berating and seeking fault just to make them feel superior to others.

Proper 23B/Pentecost 20
Mark 10:17-31


by David Henson

I am the rich young ruler.

And so are you. 

In the context of our world, we are all rich young rulers. If you make a mere $34,000 a year, you are part of the elite economic class, the wealthiest of the wealthy, the top 1 percent of humanity’s 7 billion people.

In this light, there a few passages in the Scriptures more troubling than Jesus’ exchange with the rich young man in the gospels. As the world’s rich, few of Jesus’ words sting more than his words to the rich man.
 
We can believe that the meek will inherit the earth, that we should love our neighbors, that we should turn the other cheek, that we should pick up our crosses and follow Jesus. We can keep these commandments, much as the rich young ruler kept all the commandments.

But give away our wealth? Live in solidarity with the world’s poor and oppressed? There is no way to read the story of the rich young ruler without a sinking feeling in my spirit, because I know Jesus is talking to us.

Like the rich man in the story, we are the ones who have, who have amassed fortunes and possessions more than we can count. Possessions we love, protect, serve, and spend money to insure against loss, rot, theft and damage. In our consumeristic culture, we are not what we eat. We are what we buy. We are defined by our possessions, and we define our worth by what we can possess. Our closets full of clothes sewn with injustice define us as rich young rulers. Our pantries and refrigerators with food seeded with environmental degradation and human oppression reveal us as rich young rulers. Our multi-car garages filled with cars barely a year, two years old, proclaim who we really are.

We are the world’s rich young rulers, pushing around shopping carts and ruling the world with hegemonic purchasing power.

Like he tells the rich man in the story, Jesus speaks to we Christians today who so fastidiously try to live into our faith. Jesus tells us to leave our wealth, to give it up, to share it with the world and, in doing so, follow him into an eternal life.

And, to me, our true identity as the world’s wealthy is why we spiritualize this story. We want to blunt the edges of Jesus’ sharp rebuke of wealth so we can barely feel it prick our skin when, in fact, it should gouge us to the bone. 

by Randy Walker

I am an agnostic who was born and raised in a very strict Christian fundamentalist environment. God was portrayed as a demanding enforcer who lashes-out and destroys if His demands are not met. People were viewed as evil beings that should not breathe God's air unless he gives them the right to do so. Ever heard the expression, "not fit to tote guts to a bear"? I did, as a child when it was orated from the pulpit during a sermon. The preacher was referring to people in general.

The central religious premise was "fear," fear of God, fear of life, fear of other people, fear of Satan, fear of....one's self. Everything other than going to church and reading the Bible was- or had the potential to be sin. We had no television set in our house for years because TV's were called evil, of the devil, and if you had one in your home, you were in danger of hell fire! The only music approved for listening was performed in- or condoned by the church. Certain hairstyles and makeup were sure to provoke the wrath of God on anyone who wore them. In my mind, God was a capricious being who watched everyone, relentlessly, and pounced at the first shadow of a transgression. I did not hear about love or a loving God until I was an adolescent.

By that time, I had grown weary of the confining environment I had endured as a child; it felt like a boa constrictor around my torso, squeezing the very life from me that it claimed to preserve and save. Instead of feeling liberated, and more importantly, supported and safe, I was full of fear, anxiety, and anger. I became an angry teenager and eventually an angry and confused young man. This anger carried over into my adult life, and I was the cause of misery for those I loved the most. Unfortunately, my pent-up anger led me to places I should never had seen, much less been a part of. I have been violent, and I have received violence. I've heard the wails from the depths of an insane mind and witnessed the violence of the criminally insane. I have been to the brink of suicide more than once in my life. It can be said that I have been to the abyss, where I looked into it, and even placed my head inside it, and lived to tell about it. While I have faced my demons (figuratively speaking) and I am at peace with myself, these events have left me with "baggage" that cannot be unloaded...only lightened, and then to a limited degree. A positive outcome is that I am now a more empathetic and compassionate person than my loved ones or I ever dreamed I could be.

by Randy Walker

We agnostics are misunderstood and often shunned. Type “agnostic” into any search engine, and all kinds of insults and critiques will populate the window. We are called non-committing, afraid of confrontation, spineless, and so on. I encountered one forum that labeled us as lacking certain male reproductive organs. The point I am making here is that because we choose doubt over certainty, we are accused of not taking a stand and choosing the easy way out. I assure you: this is not true.

In fact, accepting the agnostic label means being rejected by both theists and atheists. Some theists lump atheists and agnostics into one category; while most fervent atheists slam us for not fully accepting science as absolute proof that God does not exist. If pleasing others and being accepted is important to someone, then being agnostic is not a good choice. It is a path littered with uncertainty and often-hateful resistance. A good comparison might compare agnostics to middle children. When there are three or more children in a family, and especially when there are only three children, the middle-born child feels overlooked and invalidated. Obviously, this may not always be true, but such feelings are real even if they are distorted perceptions. Being agnostic leaves me feeling overlooked and invalidated, sometimes, because I do not seem to fit-in with theists or atheists.

So, what is agnosticism and how did I “wander onto the agnostic path”? A more complete explanation of my personal journey will follow in later post. This post will provide some history of agnosticism, and how it has benefited mankind.

Reliable sources credit the English biologist, Thomas H. Huxley, with coining the term “agnostic” in the late 1860’s. At first, Huxley defined an agnostic as anyone who flatly refused to clearly define seemingly unknowable concepts, such as the existence of a higher power. In later years, however, Huxley’s definition of an agnostic evolved: “That which is unproved today may be proved, by the help of new discoveries, tomorrow.” There are hints of wise men who were agnostic, despite the term not being yet coined, thousand of years ago: “To know is to know that you know nothing. That is the meaning of true knowledge.” – Confucius (551-479 BC). From another wise source, “I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing.” – Socrates (469-399 BC). There is a strong tendency to view agnostics as cynical, uncaring and narcissistic. Perhaps, some agnostics are such jerks, but just like all Christians (or any person of a chosen faith or religion) are not pious, self-righteous jerks, not all agnostics are close-minded, narcissistic cynics. A more modern definition of an agnostic can be found in the book: Agnosticism: The Battle Against Shameless Ignorance, by James K. Wall (2011): “A person who seeks the truth because they do not assume they already have it.” (p. 2).

The final entry of my sabbatical adventure away from the Church entitled: "Church No More."

Almost three months ago I (an ordained minster who has gone to church my whole life) walked away from church– for three months. It is what I've decided to do with my sabbatical. You can read about my initial thoughts on my blog or on The Huffington Post. As the journey unfolds, I will be blogging about it in this series entitled, “Church No More.” I hope you will not only follow along, but add your voice to the reflection by commenting or joining the discussion on my FB page.

They say you can never go home again. The thinking being, having left and experienced new things, you have changed and the people back home have continued in their lives just as you left them. Your experience of going back home again will necessarily be very different from your experience of home as you remember it, even though it may have changed very little.

In many ways, Church is one of my homes and I left it. I walked away for three months and experienced a bit of life outside of it. The three months are up and I'm going back home. This Sunday (September 2) is my first Sunday back.

The saying “you can't go home again,” probably originated from Thomas Wolfe's novel, “You Can't Go Home Again.” It's the story of an author who leaves his home, writes about it from a distance and then tries to go home again. It doesn't exactly go well. The folks in the town are none-too-happy about him airing their dirty laundry so publicly. So, you can't go home again.

Well, I'm going to try. Yes, I left the Church and wrote about it from a distance and judging from some of the comments and emails I received, some folks are none-too-happy about some of the things I said, but it's time to go back to the Church.

The good news for me is I'm primarily going back to church (little “c,” as in the church where I serve) and then secondarily to Church (big “C,” the institution). I love the folks at Vandalia Presbyterian Church. We're a small church with a big heart. I'm looking forward to seeing them all again and to doing ministry with them again. Here's the thing: I've changed. That worries me a bit.

Part 5 of my sabbatical adventure away from the Church entitled: "Church No More."


A little over two months ago I (an ordained minster who has gone to church my whole life) walked away from church– for three months. It is what I've decided to do with my sabbatical. You can read about my initial thoughts on my blog or on The Huffington Post. As the journey unfolds, I will be blogging about it in this series entitled, “Church No More.” I hope you will not only follow along, but add your voice to the reflection by commenting or joining the discussion on my FB page.


A little over two months ago, I decided I'd spend my three month sabbatical not going to church. Which might seem like a perfectly normal thing to do – except that I'm a minister. I've had some strange and wonderful experiences which I've written about, but possibly more strange and more wonderful than the experiences are the responses I've received.

From the very beginning the most frustrating response I get is not folks telling me I'll lose my faith if I leave church (and they have), or the ones telling me I can't begin to understand what it's like to be Spiritual But Not Religious (SBNR) in three short months (lots of those were also disturbingly aggressively worded), but rather the ones that say, “Oh, 'sabbatical!' Thanks. Now I have a word to call what I do! I stopped going to church years ago.”

“No!,” I'd think while unsuccessfully trying to figure out how to reach through my laptop screen and shake some sense into them, “You are not on sabbatical! The sabbatical I'm taking about has to do with taking a rest, not leaving. It's rest and recuperation – communion with God in a way that is restorative. It's not about leaving! Sheesh.”

More than two months into my sabbatical, I now have to say, “Boy was I wrong.” They are on sabbatical, more so than I am.

Sabbatical is about rest and recuperation. It is about communing with God in a restorative way. For a lot of church going people that is not the way they would describe Sunday mornings. I know it wasn't for me. Sure, it was at times. I certainly always looked forward to seeing people and we definitely experienced communion with God in the fellowship and worship we shared. Rest, however? Recuperation? A restorative experience? Uh, no.

“Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy.” In the Protestant church, Sunday is our Sabbath, but there seems to be far too little sabbath in the Sabbath. While there are exceptions to the rule, for far too many people, going to church is a chore. There's nothing restful or restorative about it. However, there is a pretty good chance that someone will make a remark about how you are dressed or shoot a sideward glance at you because you are singing entirely too loud or do any number of surprisingly judgmental things while they presumably gather to learn how to follow the teachings of the one who taught “judge not” and “love your neighbor.”

And that's just the tip of the tension iceberg that Sunday morning has become. Try breaking the segregation barrier in most churches. Try helping out where you weren't asked to help. Try suggesting a new way to do outreach or invite a homeless person to worship. How about questioning the biblicalness of the Trinity or asking why Jesus seems a little different in the Gospel of Mark and the Gospel of John? Ah! Feeling rested and restored yet?

Part 4 of my sabbatical adventure away from the church entitled: "Church No More."


A little over two months ago I (an ordained minster who has gone to church my whole life) walked away from church– for three months. It is what I've decided to do with my sabbatical. You can read about my initial thoughts on my blog or on The Huffington Post. As the journey unfolds, I will be blogging about it in this series entitled, “Church No More.” I hope you will not only follow along, but add your voice to the reflection by commenting or joining the discussion on my FB page.



I love the Church. I have literally been going to church my whole life– until two months ago. I stopped cold turkey. You can read about it in my article “Ain't Goin' To Church No More.”

Masses of people responded. It astounded me. Most ministers expressed concern saying things like, “My Brother, I am worried that you may be on a dangerous journey,” or, “I fear you may lose your faith.” Frankly, what I heard them saying was, “Faith is so fragile it needs the Church to enforce it,” which only made me more certain I was making a remarkably healthy spiritual choice.

Formerly church-going folk frequently told me things like, “There is a large disconnect between the 'Church' of today and the teachings of Jesus,”and “I have found God in a dynamic, deep way and I love God so much more and for real now than when I was unwittingly trying to fit in with my church culture.”

I've been away from church for two months now and I have to say, I am more at peace than I ever have been. My faith is stronger than it ever has been. My family life is healthier than it ever has been. My desire to seek out God and follow the teachings of Jesus is stronger than it ever has been. 

I do not want to go back to Church because life outside of Church is better. It just is. There's no dogma complicating the path to God. It is more than refreshing to escape the games church-folk play with the intent of establishing control and “rightness” on their part; it is life-giving to escape it. Being able to preach the Good News without worrying about which clique within the church will quietly use my perspective against me simply because they don't agree with me has allowed me to honor the call God  placed on me more than I could in an installed pastorate. 

Yet, with only a month remaining in my sabbatical journey away from church, I'm already having to consider what going back to church will look like. I still have a month of experiencing, listening and learning to go, but I can already tell you a couple of things. One, the Spiritual But Not Religious (SBNR) are right in their critique of the Church. We are fools if we don't listen extremely closely to them. And two, their consistent complaint that the church is hypocritical actually only diagnoses the symptom and not the problem.

Part 3 of my sabbatical adventure away from the church entitled: "Church No More."

A little over a month ago I (an ordained minster who has gone to church my whole
life) walked away from church– for three months. It is what I've decided to do
with my sabbatical. You can read about my initial thoughts on my blog or on The Huffington Post. As the journey unfolds, I will be blogging about it in this series entitled, “Church No More.” I hope you will not only follow along, but add your voice to the reflection by commenting or joining the discussion on my FB page.




I have a confession. (That's rich, right? A minister confessing.) I have a hard time telling people I'm a minister. Yes, really. I actually tend to handle it this way -- Person: “So, what do you do for a living?” Me: “I'm a minister... (appropriate pause), but not the kind you just pictured in your head.”

Sad. I know. Honestly though, it's worse than that. I'm even very resistant to calling myself a “Christian.” And I'm not even close to the only Christian who feels that way! It's so bad that I have this very conversation with people all the time. There seems to be some kind of “Believer-like-me Radar” which tells people it's safe to talk to me about not liking the“C” word –Christianity.

You'd be amazed at how many people resist calling themselves Christian –or maybe you wouldn't. Maybe you are one of us. The “C” word just isn't what it used to be. 

A number of researchers over the last few years (most notably David Kinnaman and Gabe Lyons who published their results in unChristian) have found that the word “Christianity” has many more negative connotations than positive ones, at least in the minds of the general public. Want to try a few of them on for size? Hypocritical. Irrelevant. Antihomosexual. Judgmental. Okay, that's enough. I'm getting depressed.

I've been on sabbatical from ministry for a little over a month now. I decided from the very beginning that during the three months I'm on sabbatical, I will not go to church. I've never done that for more than a couple of Sundays in my whole life. Ever. And it worried me.

I'm finding that not only did I not need to be worried, but I don't actually miss church much.

I lost my joy. I suspect there are a few of you who feel the same way. Not that you aren't happy, but there is this deep place of celebratory joy which you once knew that really doesn't come around much anymore.

There was a time when I was a pretty joyful guy. Not “blind to the world's problems” kind of joyful, just “blessed to be blessed in the midst of this mess” kind of joyful. Lately though, I've found joy to be an increasingly difficult thing to come by.

The thing is, I have every reason to be joyful. I'm lucky enough to be married to an amazing woman – truly amazing. I couldn't be prouder of my kids who, in an age of “be different just like us” are very much their own kind of different simply because they aren't afraid of being themselves. My personal interests, like my blog, just keep getting better. I have some of the best friends in the world. Yet, I'm not the generally joyful person I once was.

It's a dull malaise that I just can't quite shake. I don't like it. Not one bit.

Recently though, I've been catching little glimpses of my joy making cameo appearances in the storyline of my life. I like it. A lot.

The question is, why now? Why not back then? 

I can't say that I have the complete answer yet, but I am beginning to have some insights to it. The first glimpse happened at the Wild Goose Festival in Shakori Hills, NC. Frankly, given the setting, I did not believe for one moment that it was where I'd start sorting out my joy. 

It was on a piece of tick-infested farm land with temperatures and relative humidity in the nineties. I'd gathered with  a bunch of strangers under an oversized, white tent that was purportedly meant to provide a venue for musicians and speakers to present their gifts, but it seemed to be equally adept at trapping the heat and humidity pouring off of all those gathered. Joyful, right? Admittedly, I wasn't so certain.

Part 2 of my sabbatical adventure away from the church entitled: "Church No More."

A few weeks ago I (an ordained minster who has gone to church my whole life) walked away from church– for three months. It is what I've decided to do with my sabbatical. You can read about my initial thoughts on my blog or on The Huffington Post. As the journey unfolds, I will be blogging about it in this series entitled, “Church No More.” I hope you will not only follow along, but add your voice to the reflection by commenting or joining the discussion on my FB page.

It might be that the thing which concerned me the most about leaving the church was losing my spiritual community.  It's not that I thought the spiritual-but-not-religious folk were helplessly lonely people wandering around seeking a spiritual community. Not at all. I  just assumed that it might be immensely difficult to find and plug into a community like that in the course of three months. I also couldn't help but think it would be just a bit – well, fake to seek out a community for the sake of observing them and then leaving a few months latter.  Not just fake but somewhat mean spirited and completely missing the point of community.

Here's the thing, I am a minister. I understand myself to be a person who ministers by following the lead and teachings of Jesus. (I also happen to follow the teachings of many other spiritual and/or thought leaders from Buddha to Neil deGrasse Tyson, but that's for another post some other time). Because of that, the idea of life without a spiritual community gives me the heebie-jeebies. (I apologize for using such a technical term, but a duck is a duck is a duck).

Why? Why do I break out in a heebie-jeebie induced sweat/panic-attack at the thought of having no spiritual community? Jesus. That is to say, at the beginning of his ministry the first thing Jesus did was create community. He marched himself down to the shoreline, yelled out to a bunch of folk (who would never really understand him or his teachings) to “follow me,” and they began ministering together. It would seem that for Jesus a prerequisite to ministering and doing the work of God (possibly even relating to God fully) is to be in community.

As I walked away from the church, I had no spiritual community. Heebie-jeebies for real.