It was a tempestuous year wrought
with confusion and fear. It was my third year
to be working in full-time ministry, and I was
finding that I cared less about telling people
the story of Jesus, and more about making sure
everything, both internal and external, didn't
cave in. I was waking with anxiety, loathing my
job, and gasping for air.
I remember one afternoon sitting in a staff meeting
while notebooks were passed out. I held my breath
as the thick, ringed binder was placed in my lap.
It was heavy like a stone. I opened it and imagined
that this sinking feeling in my stomach might
have been similar to what Moses felt upon receiving
the Ten Commandments. Another list of requirements
that was impossible to maintain: update the website,
write quarterly thank-you letters, memorize bible
verses, organize a winter ski trip, raise more
money, spend more time with teenagers, spend more
time with Jesus.
As the forty or so staff members in the room slowly
worked through the list, each bullet point punched
tiny holes in the hull of my weakening resolve,
and with the stone tablet in my lap, I was dead
weight in a steadily sinking ship. I sat motionless
in the back of the room, eyes glazed as anxiety
puddled under me, slowly rising around my ankles.
In no time, the water crested the sides and began
spilling everywhere within me, consuming me. I
was drowning in feelings of failure.
Once at home in my room, I knelt on the floor
and wept. Condemningly staring at me was the list
- printed on colored paper with bullet points
sorted into digestible sections with informative
subtitles. It communicated clearly and articulately
my every failure as a youth director. Over and
over, I kept reading it while rocking back and
forth with my arms crossed over my stomach, asking
God to take it away. Finally breaking down, my
tears smeared the ink as I punched the paper and
yelled. "Go away! All of you. Go away! I
cannot do this!"
Sobbing with my face in my hands, anxiety flooded
me, and I finally sank. It was at this moment
that the words formed like rain from mist, pooled
in my eyes, and ran down my cheeks. "If this
is all there is to God, then I quit."
The struggle to bail water was over. I fell to
my face, lying prostrate as the carpet absorbed
my tears, and I eventually fell asleep wishing
never to wake.
Soon after that afternoon, I quit
full time ministry, and subsequently religion
all together. Like Moses, I ran away from a place
I had always known to wander in a wilderness that
I had never seen. But it was this wilderness that
I needed. God slowly began to restore my original
faith as I wandered, living with an ambiguous
mixture of fear and freedom inside of me.
While the land was barren and wild, I could finally
breathe deep and wonder out loud. For two years,
I shook my fist at religion, cursed the people
I thought were to blame, and asked hard questions
about the Christian life I had been living. It
was a season of bitterness and heartbreak, but
it was also a season of rejuvenation. While I
still held many suspicions about organized religion,
I understood that living independently apart from
a community of people was detrimental to my soul.
I needed to share life with people, because I
needed perspective and commonality. It was then
that God brought me here to the Oak Grove Abbey.
My experience here at the Abbey has been simple,
subtle, and profound. The communal living and
daily rhythms have provided a springboard for
me to flesh out the movements in my heart. Through
morning prayer, stories of hallowed saints, and
seasonal observances like Holy Week, God has gently
restored my faith, while the commitment to authenticity
and vulnerability to this community of believers
has grounded these rhythms in nurturing relationships.
So much so, that I have begun to let go of my
suspicions towards religion, and I can once again
bring the name of Jesus to my lips.
So that is my story. Similar to ancient oral traditions,
we at the Oak Grove Abbey believe there is sacredness
coupled with telling our stories, and thusly,
we have decided to share our story with you. The
seven of us have committed to one more year of
living in community, and appropriately, we have
also committed to using our gifts to tell the
story of Jesus as it relates to culture and us.
More than enjoyment, we hope that you find commonality
with our story, and that this compels you to a
deeper love for God the Father, Christ the Son,
and the Spirit most Holy.
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