A Crisis of Church

I think I may be gearing up to make another major life change. 

I don’t think I am having a crisis of faith.  I think I believe what I’ve always believed.  I believe the Bible is truth, although it may or may not be always factual.  After all, wasn’t Jesus often inclined to use stories to teach His truths? I believe in one God, in three forms- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  I believe that I am a child of God and that I live within the grace of His embrace.  I believe that Jesus is my Savior.  I am committed, with the strength of the Holy Spirit, to living in a way that glorifies God and demonstrates the love of Christ.  I believe I am called to live an ordinary life with extraordinary love, in the name of Jesus. I believe that, in addition to my Christian obligation to follow in the footsteps of Jesus, the secret to being my happiest, most authentic self is to model faith, hope, and love in all I do.  I believe I have often failed to live in such a way and that I will continue to fail.  I also believe that God always forgives me, because He loves me just that much.  I believe He will use all things, including my failures, to teach and strengthen me so that I may be ever better. 

So the problem isn’t really faith.  I would say it is more that I am having a crisis of church.   

I grew up Catholic.  For most of my life, I believed I would always be Catholic. The Catholic Church felt like home for my faith.  Over the past several years, my certainty that I would always be Catholic has faded.  There have been several times when my connection with Catholicism has cracked and worn very thin.  

During the priest sex abuse scandals, my loyalty wavered, almost to the point of disintegration.  In my own life, I had a connection with three different priests accused of molesting children. By their own admission many years after the fact, these men were guilty of sexual behavior that harmed children.   It was difficult to continue to believe in the goodness of my chosen church at that time.  Still, I reasoned that it might be throwing the baby out with the bathwater to leave the church over the actions of some priests and church administrators.  It also felt somehow disloyal to consider leaving my church home in its darkest days.  I knew many good, brave priests who worked hard, despite public vilification, to shepherd their people through hard times.  I reasoned that, regardless of what some individuals had done, my faith still felt fed by the liturgies and sacraments and fellowship in my parish.   

Then, a daughter of one of my best friends was getting married.  The family was Catholic. The daughter and her fiancé went to the required pre-marital counseling with a priest at their home parish. The pre-marital counseling basically consisted of the priest advising them not to marry…. solely because the parents of the fiancé were divorced.  Instead of just advising them of the possible pitfalls, helping them develop tools to create a strong marriage, and celebrating their love, the Church- in the person of this priest- discouraged the couple… from Catholicism.  The couple married outside the church.  They have now been happily married for almost ten years and have two beautiful children.  This experience bothered me, but, again, I thought of it as the actions of a particular priest and not necessarily a reflection on the policy of the larger Catholic Church. 

I began to feel even more disconnected from the Catholic Church when I found that, more and more often, preaching about social justice issues became preaching about political issues. I understand that how we behave and what we do to help others are vital issues for Christians.  I also understand, after spending a lot of time in thought, study, and prayer, that social justice and moral issues are rarely as definitive as we would like them to be.  When we act, the consequences of our actions are often wide-reaching and unexpected, in both positive and negative ways.  Moral dilemmas are called moral dilemmas because they are complicated.  I began to feel that the Church was ignoring the complications and preaching societal mandates with no consideration of the various layers of implication and how to address them.  First of all, men must change before kings must change so I’m not sure that preaching for political agendas is what Christ had in mind.  Secondly, it felt like preachers were implying that the Christianity of anyone who felt differently must be suspect.  I think a good preacher can and should challenge a Christian to ask herself if she is living as Christ would have her live, but not presume to know exactly what that life should look like.   

When we were getting ready to move, I thought it might be a good time to consider other Christian denominations instead of registering at the Catholic parish in my new town.  I did some research on the internet, but my gut objected rather strenuously.  When we moved, I did start going to the Catholic church and felt happy with that decision.  I felt fed there. The Catholic church provided me a sense of stability and home that comforted me as I navigated all the changes in my new life. 

Last Sunday, something else happened… probably the “something” that is going to send me looking for another church.  The priest started his homily by telling the congregation that he recently received an invitation to a family member’s wedding, but was adamant that he would not be going because the couple in question were both women.  I don’t think my reaction was spurred so much by the fact that the priest believed that homosexual behavior is outside God’s law.  I think a reasonable, prayerful Christian could legitimately deduce that gay marriage is morally wrong.   Personally, I see the scriptural concern with it but also think we might need to explore the issue from a wider perspective.  I think we might need to consider other scholarly interpretations.  I also think that just proclaiming homosexuality wrong does not fulfill our duty.  Even if we believe that the Church cannot legitimately bless a gay marriage, does that mean that we must deny compassion to approximately 10% of God’s family?  Are there other options, outside of proclaiming gay marriage to be scripturally acceptable, that would allow civil and legal rights for partners who are not sacramentally married?   My biggest problem with the homilist was that he was so certain that his position was correct and, however limited, sufficient. Certain to the point of smugness, it seemed to me.  Not only was he telling the congregation what his position was, he was telling us that his position represented the only truly acceptable position for a good Christian.   

You could argue that all of these incidents represented the behavior of some human beings within the Church and do not necessarily reflect the totality of the faith.  You would be right.  Also, none of these incidents except the clergy sex abuse scandals are really big deals in and of themselves.  The thing is, I always believe people should attend Christian worship services to help lift up their souls.  Even when I was working in the church initiation program for people thinking about becoming Catholic, I told them, “You should go where your soul feels fed.”  All I know is, in that moment when the homilist started rolling his eyes about the invitation he received to his family member’s wedding, I felt fed up instead of fed.  

Now the journey begins.  I don’t know if I will find the spiritual nourishment that I crave in another Christian denomination, if I will eventually find my way back to the familiar Church that has been home all my life, or if I will go my own way for a time.  I only know that God will lead me and that I will be listening for His call.  

Have any of you moved on from the church of your childhood?  What drove that decision for you and how has the change worked for you?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can send me an email at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a  blessed day!

Terri 🙂

Force of Habit

We tend to think of habits as bad things, like smoking or saying “you know” incessantly.  Our new year’s resolutions often focus on these bad habits and strategies we can employ to break them.

At their most elemental level, however, habits can actually be handy tools to help us manage all the tasks and information we must navigate to live in our complex modern day world.  They act much like shortcuts on a computer desktop.  With one mental click, habits get us where we need to be.  Habits complete tasks efficiently that, without those habits, would take several more mental clicks to accomplish.  For instance, how many of us, when we come to a red light, go through the following mental process?

  • A red light means I must stop the car.
  • I must take my right foot off the accelerator pedal.
  • I must move my right foot to the brake pedal.
  • I must push the brake pedal with my right foot.
  • I must keep pressure on the brake pedal until the light turns green.

No.  I’d venture to bet that, for most of us, the concept of braking when we see a red light is so habitual, we are able to stop the car almost unconsciously when we see a red light.  This braking habit saves us mental energy and, arguably, even makes us safer drivers.

You may argue that our brains can complete the above braking analysis so quickly that not much is gained in the habit process. The fact is, though, that our habits take us on so many of these shortcuts, the cumulative benefit can certainly be significant.

Recently, something happened at my water aerobics class that reminded me of this.  Several months ago, the turbo-charged octogenarian who teaches the class broke her ankle.  She was not able to teach the class.  The usual substitute teacher also had some serious medical issues keeping her away from the pool.  Another lady, Mary, had been attending the class, doing the same routine of exercises, for more than a decade.  She generously agreed to take over the leadership responsibilities.

Everything went well until the day Mary didn’t show up for class.  All of a sudden, there were a dozen people calling out bits and pieces of direction.  Everyone seemed to be communicating a different order of the exercises.  No one was in charge and everyone was in charge.  We were all spinning about, listing around in the water, doing some version of the exercises most of us have been doing between one and three times a week for years.  We looked like an aquatic version of the keystone cops.  While I contend that it really doesn’t make a lot of difference what particular actions we do during water aerobics class as long as we are moving, the chaotic spectacle we presented that day was still a bit alarming.  To say nothing of the danger of drowning.

When I arrived at the pool for the next scheduled class, I was the only one present.  I checked the clock and saw that it was only about ten minutes before start time.  Normally, there are several people paddling about in the water by that time.  I wondered if I had somehow missed the memo that class was cancelled for some reason.  I figured, as long as I had roused myself from bed and was already there, I might as well try to go through the routine on my own.  After all, I could hardly do worse than in our previous class led by the Committee of Confusion.

Before long, a few more people wandered onto the pool deck, but it was obvious that the last session’s debacle had motivated the majority of water babies to stay home and wait it out until they heard through the grapevine that Mary was back.  Mary still had not appeared just a few minutes before the class was scheduled to begin.  One of our few regular gentleman participants, Bob, stepped gingerly out of the locker room.  Our male attendees are, for the most part, an extremely quiet bunch.  They are faithful and disciplined in their approach to the class.  They tend to huddle together and plow ahead with each exercise, trying to ignore the din of female chattering invading towards them from the other end of the pool.  You would think, given the attention that these guys actually pay to what they are doing, one of them would be a fine candidate to take the rest of us dilettantes in hand.    Bob, however, is a pretty reserved, introverted kind of guy.  I am convinced that he has lived in fear of being pressured to lead the class ever since our go-to gal broke her ankle.  I get it because I feel the same way.   I watched Bob scan the attendance in the pool, desperately looking for Mary.  Not seeing her, he took an instinctive step back, obviously getting ready to make a break for it back into the men’s locker room where he would be safe from pursuit.

Just as I saw Bob flinch towards the locker room, Mary appeared.  We were safe from disorderly water aerobic conduct!  Bob visibly relaxed and got into the pool.  Mary started the class in the familiar way and we were off to the races.  The entire atmosphere of tension disappeared and we began to move about the pool with more dignity and grace than the previous session.  We were all doing pretty much the same thing at pretty much the same time.  Maybe we didn’t look like the Russian synchronized swimming team, but we were at least managing to do water jumping jacks without causing a five-person pile-up in the shallow end of the pool.  I smiled to myself and thought, “I’m so glad Mary is back and we have a leader to make sure we keep on track.”  After all, I am that kind of person.  I don’t exactly belong in the men’s silent, disciplined huddle of water exercisers, but I get a little anxious when the chatter and disorganization of my side of the pool teeters from “fun” to “frenetic.”

I was so sure the improvement in the general flow and organization of the class was because Mary was there to give directions.  As the class continued, however, I realized something.  Mary was saying almost nothing.   She started us off and kept pushing rhythmically through the routine, but she was, in reality, giving no directions.  Even so, we were all happily hopping and bopping our way through the exercises in reasonable unison.

How was this happening?!  How could a bunch of people who could barely dodder through twenty minutes of forty-five minutes worth of exercises without a leader a couple of days earlier now whoosh through the entire class together, supplemented only by an almost silent leader? Then I realized Mary’s true leadership quality.  By eliminating the tension we experienced because of being leaderless, she allowed us to stop thinking and analyzing about what we were supposed to do.  Her calm presence gave us permission to just relax and replace the slower, less accurate thought processes with the power of the force of habit.

It is amazing how much more capable we can be WITHOUT thinking.

Do you have any activities that you are able to accomplish on “auto-pilot?”  Do you think you are more effective when you do them from “force of habit” or when you think more deliberately about what you are doing?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com. 

Have a great day!

Terri 🙂

Distance Lends Enchantment To The View. Or Not.

I struggled with writing this piece. The ideas seem to swirl around in my head without actually forming.  They tantalize, but, when it comes to pinning them down on paper, they morph and flit away.  I’m not sure why.  Maybe it feels a bit disloyal or ungrateful to question whether or not what you did for a living for over 33 years really made a whit of difference in the general scheme of things.   

Recently, I was speaking with a friend of mine who is still working.  She was feeling a bit down in the dumps because of the way things were going on the job.  She despaired because she was working as hard as she could, but there didn’t really seem to be any progress or, for that matter, any goal.  She put out fires every day.  She knew, on some level, that she was doing something important.  What she didn’t know was whether anyone in her organization knew or cared what it was that she did.  One of the points she cited as evidence was the fact that she was still called by a title that had been obsolete for over a year. 

It may seem somewhat trivial to angst over a title.  However, the title issue begged a bigger question.  To my friend, the fact that the agency did not recognize that the title was incorrect made her wonder about her duties, responsibilities, and accomplishments.  Was the time and energy she was expending being invested in the right things? What was she really supposed to be accomplishing? Did the organization recognize and value what she had simply adopted as her new role, without benefit of direction, once the job originally associated with her obsolete title was done?  How was she to get support and championship for what she believed needed to be done on an organizational level, based on what she saw from her perspective?  And the biggest question…. could her considerable efforts result in any “big picture” change for the greater good?

I tried to be supportive and the conversation made me realize that I have undergone a huge metamorphosis since leaving the world of employment.   Yes, I have navigated probably hundreds of everyday changes in my life as I’ve transitioned into the retirement world.  However, as I explained to my friend, there is actually one change that dwarfs all of the rest of them.  My perspective of my job has undergone a massive overhaul.  I think, when some people retire, they tend to see the job they left behind through rosier lenses than what reality would suggest.  In my case, it was exactly the opposite.  In my rearview mirror, the job was considerably less important than I believed it was when I was occupying it. 

It isn’t that I think what I did was unimportant.  I do believe that I helped a lot of customers and employees.  I think, because of my understanding, technical expertise, and leadership, most of the people in my limited sphere of influence had a better experience in life than they would have had if I had not been there, at least for a little while.  I can recall some of my efforts that had relatively big, tangible, positive impact on a few specific people. That is enough to make me feel great about what I accomplished in my career.

On the other hand, I think much of what I did was largely symbolic.  I am as big a believer in symbolic victory as the next person, but I do like to think that symbolic victories open the door and pave the way for more substantive triumphs.  I don’t completely dismiss the possibility that there are one or two people out there who may have truly benefited, in a very real way, from my employment.  However, I think most of my value was in listening, talking to people in a respectful way, and framing ideas so that they made sense to the other person based on his or her mindset.  I do believe all that is important in that it keeps the world turning a little smoother, but, let’s face it…. It doesn’t really change the price of tea in China.  From a big picture standpoint, I was basically irrelevant.

When I think of the tears I shed, the nights I didn’t sleep, and the harshness with which I chastised myself as I went through my career, I am now amazed.  What I have learned since retiring is…. It isn’t that big a deal.  Shocking, I know.

When I was working at my job, my brain knew that there were many more important things in life than whether I was a career star. There were more important things than having terrific office metrics.  There were more important things than getting a refund to a customer a few days faster than it would happen without my intervention.  There were more important things than supporting the career and personal growth of my employees.  It wasn’t difficult for me to name some of those more important things… faith, ethics, family, relationships.   Still, at some gut-wrenching, adrenaline-producing, crazy-making level, there was an undeniable force that drove my every action, emotion, and response during my work life.  It was that force that propelled me close to despair when I was not successful, even momentarily, in any of the “not so important” things.

Yes, being good at my job was very important.  It was critical that I be good enough at it to keep it and make a living.  It was also essential, from an ethical and self-respect standpoint, that I did my best.  It was important that I justify the trust my leaders put in me and the salary that the people of the United States were paying me.   However, meeting or exceeding every person’s every expectation of me truly was not that important.  First of all, it isn’t even possible to go through life without disappointing someone once in a while.  Second, sometimes people asked me for things that were not legal or ethical or reasonable.  Third, and it has taken me some time to realize this, some of those people didn’t even expect me to meet those stated expectations.  People were sometimes communicating what they wanted in an ideal world, but knew that what they were requesting was not realistic in any world in which we all live.  Somehow, I internalized all those requests as a sacred mandate.  I felt actual shame when I had to tell someone I had not achieved what they wanted.

I tried to explain this revelation to my friend, hoping that it would help her deal with her current work crisis.  She, of course, agreed with everything I was saying.  Intellectually, we all know these basic truths.  Hearing me say them didn’t make any difference to my friend.  It wouldn’t have made any difference to me when I was working, either.

Why is it that it is so hard to put things in proper perspective when we are still working?  When we are in the midst of the fray, it is as if there is some biological imperative to do what we are being asked to do that somehow overwhelms the good sense with which we were born.  We surrender our brains to the mercy of an overheated sympathetic nervous system.  Some people are able to wrangle those adrenaline responses.  They are able to balance those biological “fight or flight” reactions with the power of their innate reasoning ability.  Passion versus dispassion.  I wish I could have mastered that skill.   I might still be working today, if I had.

People often think that I am a fairly cool customer.  I come across as a logical, reasonable individual.  I think things through, probably to a fault.  I plan and strategize. I tackle things one step at a time.  I used to say “hope is not a strategy” and relied on an abundance of hard work rather than talent to succeed.  I believed I would meet my goals if I, like Dory, “just keep on swimmin’.”   I was always more of a plow horse than a race horse.  I don’t think I ever really saw myself as passionate in my career life.

As I write this, it dawns on me that maybe I was more passionate about my job than I realized.  Maybe the reason I have had trouble making this blog piece sit still is because I miss my job a little more than I thought I did.  Or maybe not.  Passion does exact a price.

What do you think?  For those of you who are retired, what do you miss about your work?  If you are considering retirement, what do you think you will miss the most?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.  Have a wonderful day!

Terri 🙂

Stepping Up To The Plate

I am step-obsessed.

It all started when I got a new cell phone a few months after moving to Florida.  My cell phone was almost five years old, which is apparently unheard of in the modern world.  I never replaced the phone for two main reasons:

a)    I understood my phone and didn’t want to learn how to operate a new one.

b)    It was pink and I love pink.

Right after we moved, the old cell phone revolted.  I could hear the other person, but they often could not hear me.  I would have to traverse the outer limits of the front yard to try to find a small cell phone sweet spot.  Then, I would have to stand very still and scream into the phone to be heard.   It was incredibly annoying and drove me to tears of frustration more than once, especially before we had the land line installed.  You try calling the electric company to figure out why the power was not on in the house (despite said electric company’s insistence that it was) when they can only hear about every fourth word you say.  I’m sure I’m not the only one reduced to tears by the experience.

Because the problem occurred right after we moved, I blamed Florida for the reception of my cell company in our new area.  Since Max was getting decent reception and could be heard just fine with his cheapy prepaid cell phone, I realized I was paying a premium for not being heard on my considerably more expensive smart phone.  I decided I had to either go visit the cell phone company or become a hermit and cease contacting the outside world.

When I went to the phone company office, they explained to me that a five-year-old cell phone is basically a paperweight with a keypad.  Apparently, after some random period of time, the battery actually fails to charge.  The battery icon on the phone will look charged, but it doesn’t ever actually hold a charge.  The result is that you are always trying to make calls with a battery that is the rough equivalent of a phone you have after being lost in the woods for a few days.  Who knew?  Those of you who knew that cell phone batteries basically stop working after a couple of years, despite all appearances to the contrary, raise your hands.  So it is just me that didn’t know?  Okay, I can live with that, but why do they even have a little battery icon that looks charged if it is going to lie like a rug?

At any rate, I ended up buying a new cell phone and the kind man at the store made it work all nice and easy.  I immediately noticed how much better the new phone was.  Besides the fact that people could, you know, HEAR me when I called them, I now actually had great internet access.  I could easily and quickly connect to websites (don’t even get me started on the day I tried to buy Sea World tickets on the old phone as we stood outside the park- I ended up paying $50 more for the tickets than I had to because the stupid phone would not stay connected long enough for me to put in a credit card).  Email was fast and I could forward pictures by text or email without having to take a nap while I waited for them to send. I could check IMBD whenever I was at a movie or watching a tv show to figure out just where I had seen that familiar-looking guy before.  Any time anyone asked a random question, I pulled out my phone and googled.  I’ve always laughed at friends who seem addicted to their phones, but I was beginning to understand the appeal.

Then, I discovered apps.  To be honest, I had access to apps on my old phone.  I just never really figured out what my password was or how to add apps.  Now, with the nice man in the phone company office to help me, I was off to the races.  That is where the step obsession started.  It all started with a pedometer app. 

I’ve tried pedometers before without much success.  I’ve either forgotten to wear them or they looked ugly or they didn’t seem to monitor the steps correctly.  I’d seen commercials for the new breed of electronic pedometers, but they were fairly pricey and I wasn’t convinced that either the pedometer or I would work consistently enough to merit the cost.  I thought that perhaps the pedometer app, which was free, was worth a try. 

I’ve read that a good goal for walking is 10,000 steps per day.  When I first started using the pedometer app, I was somewhat demoralized to discover that a good day for me was about 2,000 steps.  Fortunately, before quitting in despair, I saw an article on the internet that said most people think they walk far more than they actually do.  It turns out that 2,000 steps are pretty typical for someone who isn’t necessarily trying to hit a particular goal.  I started working purposefully each day to increase my steps.  I began hitting the 10,000 fairly regularly quite soon.  After a few weeks of that, I read that the 10,000 step goal wasn’t exactly the gold standard of walking.  Because different people have different strides, 10,000 steps isn’t really any actual measure of anything.  I found that many articles recommended 5 miles a day as the goal, as opposed to 10,000 steps. 

Now, for many people, the 10,000 steps and the 5 miles are pretty much the same thing.  I, however, have very short legs and walk mostly inside the house in front of the television set (which necessitates shorter steps than walking over a long, uninterrupted stretch of road unless I wish to bump into walls and furniture).  For me 5 miles is usually around 11,000 steps.  What a rip-off.  Here I had been walking 10,000 steps a day in good faith for weeks, but was still a fitness failure!  I did not lose heart, though.  I increased my goal to 5 miles a day and found myself successful with little extra effort.  In fact, there were days when I was walking much more.  When we were on vacation, it was not unusual for me to walk 7-10 miles a day. 

Another really interesting thing about the pedometer app is that it measures the number of flights of stairs I climb in addition to the steps.  I don’t climb a lot of stairs.  After all, I live in a one-story house and Florida is the flattest state in the union.  I wasn’t even aware of the stair climber feature until one day, after walking around a mall for a little while, I noticed that the pedometer was showing that I had climbed a staircase.  I was shocked and suspicious.  HOW DID IT KNOW?!!!  I didn’t even remember any stairs until I carefully reviewed my actions during the day.  Although I had not ascended any significant flight of stairs, I had been up and down a few steps numerous times on my walk.  That was just freaky.

I began carrying my phone with me everywhere.  I didn’t get out of the car at the mailbox without clutching it to me, so that the few steps I had to travel to get the mail would be captured.  When I go from the front of the house to the back to go to the bathroom, the phone comes along.  I get really annoyed when I realized I have been doing housework without the phone in my pocket or stuffed in my bra.  At one meeting of the book club, I couldn’t find my phone and got panicky because I must have walked at least 50 steps without it.  I was distracted through the whole meeting.  The other day, I almost cooked my phone when it came loose from its hiding place next to my bosom while I was taking a turkey out of the oven.

People laugh at my obsession with counting the steps.  However, it is working.  After a month or so of compulsive stepping, I began to notice that my clothes were getting too big.  At first, I thought it was my imagination, but when I could feel my shorts slipping down below my hips on a regular basis, I knew it was really happening.  When I had to hitch up almost everything I wore every time I moved, I knew I was on to something.  I had not consciously changed my diet or anything, but I was definitely losing weight.  In all, I’ve lost about 30 pounds since I became step obsessed.

After a few months on my 5-mile-a-day plan, I decided to up the ante. I confess my motivation for doing so was less than pure.  Right around the same time Starbuck’s started selling their seasonal gingerbread for the holidays, I decided I had better walk more.  I decided that my new goal would be to walk over 5 miles every day and to average at least 6 miles a day on a weekly basis.  I’ve been managing an average of about 6.5 miles a day.

Now the holidays are over and more than one or two pieces of gingerbread have found their way into my tummy, but I haven’t gained any weight and my clothes actually feel a bit looser than they did in November.  It must have been a step in time.

Have you ever “stepped up to the plate” with some activity and set a goal?  Did you become compulsive about whatever the activity was?  What was the result?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com. 

Have a great day!

Terri 🙂