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I stayed in varied places over the years following the professorship, being a Christian pastor and not knowing how to get out, or, maybe, I did and did not welcome the grace of a new beginning. Sometimes, we choose our known misery to the unknown - that is part of the trip, too, learning the consequences of not following our heart. I was trained to live in fear of the unknown of change. And, see, since a mid-teen, I had committed to being a pastor. That was the familiar. If I left, what would I do? Who was I outside this role?
In the pastor's life was a lot of suffering, thankfully not all, however. I remain thankful for the many blessings I received in that role, and for the many wonderful beings who were a gift of presence, and I, hopefully, to many. An intellectual, a contemplative, and an inclusive man, however, who adores Buddha and Krishna and Jesus and gays and lesbians ..., found much resistance and some mean-acting Jesus folk. I cannot blame Jesus, I cannot blame anyone, and do not want to. Fear often leads people to commit cruel acts against others.
As pastor, I found many persons did not want Jesus, they wanted "our Jesus," a "Christian Jesus." A church leader once informed me to stop talking about the "Christ beyond Christianity" ("Christ" had come to denote for me something more than the historical man Jesus, like to how "Buddha" is used in Buddhism for more than a buddha or Gautama Buddha the man); I said I would not. I kept on, and about half the congregation kept on doing what they could to push me beyond the borders of their little town: Fort Meade, Florida. They even marched in protest around the church grounds during a Wednesday night worship meeting. Finally, the bishop appointed me to serve a few rural congregations in North Florida. He did not support the opposition and stated so to me, but wanted to save me from the stressful mess. He said it would take a toll on my health, and it already had.
So, I ended up serving a loving and kind people, three congregations needing someone to be a healer. Their last pastor had been fired. He was arrested for domestic abuse - his arrest picture ending up in the local paper - and was accused of viewing pornography on his work computer and making sexual advances to young girls in the churches. Such a healing role fit my personality and graces. I served one other congregation, in South Florida, after serving these three.
Finally, I got out of the pastorate for good, in my early fifties. A ministry board at the local district level of the United Methodist Church, Florida Conference, after the church I served voted for my return with a unanimous vote, told me, "You don't fit." They prayed for me while we sat in a circle: a dead, faux feeling of words.
The "heretic" is gone; they had gotten rid of me, apparently a threat to the status quo. My area superintendent, somewhat like a bishop in the Catholic Church, disagreed with the committee of pastors. He told my church he did not have the power to reverse it, which he did not. No one from the United Methodist Church leadership, local or Conference, called to check on my well-being, to provide moral support, or to express gratitude for my serving them for twelve years. They just moved on like I had never passed their way. I moved on, too.
A wise insight was shared by an Episcopal priest and friend, Ron Sutherland, once saying in chapel during my professorship at the college, "When something becomes an institution, its main goal is survival, not the truth." Well, I am now so thankful that a group said, "You don't fit." My parents never taught me to fit in, and certainly the Jesus who had inspired me did not fit in.
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After being ousted, I spent about six years legally homeless, renting cheaply or receiving free board. I paid other living expenses through part-time work as a jail chaplain. I was living paycheck to paycheck, one day leaving the bank in tears not knowing how I would make it to the end of the month. All became calm on the drive home. A voice spoke, "It's all going to be okay." Calm clothed me. I knew it would be okay, and it was.
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