When my daughter saw that the newest Star Trek movie was coming out around her birthday, she insisted that seeing it become part of her birthday celebration.  It didn’t any arm-twisting to get me to agree to the request.  I would have gone to see it anyway.  I had very high hopes for Into Darkness going into the film.  I thought the initial reboot movie was a lot of fun, lens flares aside, and I was looking forward to seeing what JJ Abrams would do with the franchise now that the bridge movie had been successful.  While I left the movie entertained, it wasn’t what I was hoping for.

Now, there is a typical reaction that people who are fans of the original, or “Prime,” universe must automatically fault the Abrams reboot.  I’m not one of those people.  The first movie so clearly created it’s own reality that I was excited to see how they’d keep the familiar forms in their new universe.  Given that the look of our technology is actually more “futuristic” than that props of the original series, or even Next Generation, by this point the new direction was a breath of fresh air.  I’m also a JJ Abrams fan in general, and I enjoy the blend of action and thought in his films and TV shows.

So, my saying  I was disappointed by Into Darkness is not because I felt it undermined my beloved archetypes.  In fact, I enjoyed his take on Kahn and the final act of self-sacrifice by which the ship was saved. Giving Spock the iconic “Kahhhhhnnn!” line was a genius way of making that character be more in touch with his human side.  My major disappointment sprang from how many archetypes JJ Abrams crammed into the film.  There was no need to shove a Tribble into sick-bay, or for Dr. McCoy to reference doing a c-section on a Gorn.  The gratuitous references only served to tie the Abrams reboot to the memory of the Prime universe.  While I appreciate the nod in the direction of long-time fans, I really wanted JJ Abrams to go off on his own direction.  Perhaps the most glaring of these Prime loaners was Spock’s use of the “Needs of the many” quote (which actually adorned a poster).  It felt more like a photobomb sent in from the Prime universe instead of a line Spock would have said in that moment of the story – as if the Spock from Wrath of Kahn was jumping around in the back of the set yelling, “Hey, our second film had Kahn in it too!”  Any two or three of these would have been fine.  The inclusion of Kahn was handled very well, and the Gorn line gave McCoy a chance to shine in a film where he’s horribly under-utilized.  Jettison the tribble and the other photobombed lines and I think the movie would have become better.  Abrams doesn’t need to cater to old fans, he needs to focus on making new ones.

I might have felt better about the movie had the plot been more solid, and less cliche.  Admiral Marcus was a cartoon-character of an adversary – little more than a Daily Show caricature  of Dick Cheney in a bad outfit.  The character was cold, paranoid, and ethically deficient.  While I might wonder how such a person rose to become the head of the fleet, the version of Starfleet presented in the film is so unstable I find his presence a bit more plausible.  Characters rise and fall in rank with almost comical speed, and the ineptness of Starfleet in Into Darkness a joke used to create convenient plot-points.  As in, “He knows the top officers will be meeting in this room, right now….”  That’s just plain dumb.

The plot had transparencies so blatent it was sad to see them in action (“The tribble will live, I tell you, live!”).  It also had holes in it which were so large the Enterprise-E could have flown through them.  How is the Enterprise able to sail through the Neutral Zone without even an hint of detection?  They were heading for Kronos. Also, how was the enterprise able to send a transmission to New Vulcan when they couldn’t even contact Earth from orbit around the Moon?  I know the captains of the ships were all incapacitated by the above alluded-to assault, but none of the other ships in Starfleet were stationed around Earth going, “Hey, what’s the unidentified vessel doing there attacking our flag ship?”  Speaking of the plot, just watch the last half of Star Trek: Nemisis and you’ve pretty much seen it.

In all, I was entertained by the movie, but I wasn’t impressed by it. Had I known what I knew above I would have been quite content to wait until it came out on RedBox.  Despite it’s strong points, it simply wasn’t worth the expense of the theatre.

The church has changed at lot over the years as well. I took a picture on Sunday and I’m struck by just how different it is. New faces have become part of the family, others have moved on because life-transitions, and more than a few departed in reaction to the mistakes and fumbling which are inevitable with a young pastor. More than anything, though, I’ve buried quite a few people – too many people. I hope they are pleased with what Central is becoming.

When I first arrived Central was in crisis. It wasn’t in crisis because the people were awful or because the church was a relic, and I want to make that clear. Central was in crisis because the system which helped keep people in relationship had ceased functioning. The creaking of the gears made it afraid to move, lest a failure create more conflict and begin yet another exodus from the congregation. Ten years later we’re still a congregation in crisis, as is just about every small church, but the nature of the crisis has been transformed. The web of relationships we call Central Baptist is no longer in crisis because it’s afraid to move against creaking joints. Rather, our crisis is about discovering who we’re meant to be. In a real sense Central Baptist Church, which is over a century old, has hit adolescence – again. I don’t take much credit for this. All I did is learn patience, grow in love, and allow my natural obliviousness shield me from the natural storms of emotional upheaval. I’ve done what I was supposed to do.

I know many pastors sometimes feel a mild resentment towards the congregations they pastor because they feel beholden to them. While it’s not healthy, it is understandable. Being dependent on one’s “employer” for salary, community, and even housing can become overwhelming – especially if the congregation likes to point those realities out to the pastor. Ten years in, having experienced many of the ups and downs of pastoral existence, I can honestly say one truth. I am, indeed, beholden to the people of Central Baptist in many ways. Not because they’ve chained me down, but because they’ve set me free. I’m free to learn, grow, write, teach, and challenge. I’m free to imagine, play, and dream. Most of all I’m free to try, and just as free to fail. That last gift might be the greatest blessing the living web we call “Central Baptist” has given me. I hope I’ve helped you be free in Christ as well.

We continue to have much work to do as we move through congregational adolescence together. We have to learn who we are called to be, and embrace our calling with maturity and wisdom. As the process moves forward I need to celebrate accomplishing what I should have been doing, continue doing it, and figure out what I need to do. What an amazing voyage.

• Sneezing
• Headache
• A feeling like gravel has been poured into my eyes
• Irritability
• Loss of singing voice
• Feeling “detached”

Over the years I’ve tried taking many different kinds of allergy medicine, and these curbed most of my symptoms[1]. With the exception, that is, of the “detached” feeling I am blessed with during allergy season. That symptom was actually strengthened by each of the medicines I tried, knocking me out and making me worthless for most of the day. At least I didn’t have a headache!

So, during allergy season I’ve essentially had a choice of being a miserably irritable jerk, or an aspiring Rip Van Winkle impersonator. Great choice, huh?

This year I have begun taking homeopathic medicine for my allergies, and for the most part it’s been doing a wonderful job. My irritability has been reduced to manageable levels, I don’t have a persistent headache, I sneeze a whole lot less. Best of all, this is the first Spring for a long time in which I have not utterly lost my singing voice. I’ve combined the homeopathic medicine with saline spray for my nasal passages and allergy-focused drops for my eyes. The combination makes me feel almost normal.

I say “almost” because I remain feeling rather detached. This feeling emerges into my life in two different ways. First, I’m constantly confusing the thoughts I’m having in my head with what I’m saying to someone in front of me. So if I’m thinking of clouds while trying to ask my wife how her day went it will come out as, “Hi honey, how were the clouds?” The other emergence of this symptom happens when I’m driving. Now, having ADD, I will not infrequently find myself driving merrily along lost in the thoughts in my head only to find I’ve gone several miles in the wrong direction. It’s annoying, but it’s rare. This allergy season, however, my ADD driving moments have reached epidemic levels. Any time I get a thought stuck in my head before getting in the car, I invariably find myself going the wrong way. The worst instance thus far happened this past Monday as I headed out to see an early showing of Iron Man 3. As I drove I got a song stuck in my head [2] and found myself going to the wrong mall. Frustrated, I continued on my way by picking an alternate route. The song got stuck in my head again and I found myself making yet another wrong turn. It’s not enjoyable. As near as I can figure, my allergies must do something to take my ADD to a whole other level – a level in which even coffee can do nothing to combat.

I’m not writing this for “allergy relief suggestions.” Thank you, but for the most part I’m good and it’ll all be over soon(ish). I’m writing this for my fellow allergy sufferers. I’m feeling your pain, hang in there!

Well, that’s not entirely true. It’s just that the spaces in which I’ve felt I’ve fit in have been so rare that when I say, “I don’t fit in” it feels true. As I’ve said on this blog numerous times, I’m not good with small-talk and social situations make me feel extremely awkward. As I’ve gotten older I’ve become better at putting on a good show, for the sake of others as much as for myself, but in any crowd I’ll eventually find a corner in which to hide. Typical social convention and I are acquaintances, not friends.

Today I was pondering those rare times in which I really “fit” and I noticed something I’d never quite seen before. The times in which I’ve felt the most socially comfortable have been when I’ve spent much time with other people who frequently found themselves not fitting in. I suppose I could write that off as “misery loves company,” but these spaces were more than ragtag grouping of misfits because no one else would have them. Rather, they were spaces in which not fitting in wasn’t frowned upon. Instead, it was lovingly chuckled over.

As I’ve said, these spaces have been relatively rare in my life. I thought I’d list some.

The LMH dorm

The LMH dorm saved my life in so many ways. It was my first opportunity to knowingly take responsibility for my education, it was the place where I finally heard Jesus calling me to follow him, and it was an amazing group of misfits. Living in a dorm while in college, after all, is normal. Living in a dorm while in high school is a little weird. When you realize that just under a seventh of the total school population dormed, it’s even weirder. “Dormies” were people who never went home because we were home. We ate, studied, played, fought, and wandered the route 30 corridor together. We were people who’d wander into the school wearing socks or sporting bare feet to get help from a teacher, and pretended that Friendly’s was part of campus. We had “sneak nights,” and campus-wide pillow fights, and planned all sorts of odd escapades. While we all had other friends in school outside the dorm who were just as close, when given a chance we Dormies tended to enjoy being odd together. Only a fellow Dormie, after all, could sled down the driveway after an ice storm. The LMH dorm was perhaps the first space in which I really loved being part of a group.

Campus Chorale

Another LMH staple, Campus Chorale, became a safe space for me while at the school. If the dorm was full of crazy misfits, Campus Chorale was filled with an amazingly diverse group of people who got together only because we loved to sing. Our director, Clyde Hollinger, was simply one of the best people I’ve ever known. To him, Chorale was not a class or a performing group – it was a ministry. He pushed us to stretch our abilities, and gently nudged us together so we could function as a whole. When you looked at the overall makeup of the group it was obvious we were comprised of several different social circles. The groups weren’t adverse to one another, but the differences were wide enough that coming together as a group should have been more difficult than it was. But Mr. Hollinger took a bunch kids of who were incredibly different from one another – and made us into a group. We may have not been the most talented Campus Chorale ever – but as the group became safer and safer I’d contend we may have been one of the most heart-felt.

Eastern Biblical Studies Department

Take two years of incoming students interested in studying Biblical Studies and Theology. Add a new professor who happens to be a Patristics scholar, and a mix in a whacky assortment of professors who thought that college should be challenging. Shake them around for a while and you get the group of people I studied alongside of throughout my years at Eastern. While I loved the LMH dorm, and grew so much with Campus Chorale, it was at Eastern that I found the element for which I was created. Suddenly I found myself surrounded by people who also felt a little out of place in “normal” situations. It was at Eastern we discovered we were natural academics, realized that academic passion was not normal, and didn’t care. Yes we had all sorts of typical college experiences, but what I treasure most about my time studying Bible and Theology at Eastern were the insane conversations we’d have at the coffee shop, skipping a class because the professor from another class ordered me to sit down and keep talking over a lecture, and the competition to acquire as many books as possible (yes, Jim, you won – my ADD hyper-focus isn’t as strong as yours).

GCTS Apartments

I didn’t fit in to the Academic culture of Gordon-Conwell, but that was OK because neither did any of the people I lived with down in my apartment building. We weren’t cut from the proper GCTS mold so, naturally, we hung out together – and wonderful things happened. We played Final Fantasy 7 while discussing theology. We forsook the couches in our apartments so we could lounge in the hallway. We moved dozens of people in and out of the building every summer. We said tearful farewells, and walked with one another when we were hurting. I got my MDiv from GCTS, I learned about pastoring down on the set of Sanford and Son (don’t ask). Along the way, as if to celebrate not fitting in, someone started the “Rebel Brown Royal Film Society.” We’d watch terrible movies and laugh so hard we had trouble breathing.

My only regret about living there was I graduated the spring prior to the Halloween in which they decorated the entire building as Noah’s Ark.

Central Baptist Church

When I arrived here, ten years ago this week, I could not imagine what on earth I was doing here. It was a church which continued to suffer through the “worship wars,” had a broken social structure, and an organizational structure which was in just as bad shape. What Central needed, I felt, was an organizational specialist who could navigate through the various social mine fields which had been laid throughout the congregation over the years. Instead, they called me – a man who routinely blows himself up, socially speaking, simply because he can’t pay attention long enough to see the danger. Most pastors start out a pastorate by preaching happy, uplifting stuff. My first major sermon series was 8 months in Ecclesiastes, just because I thought it was so interesting. One year in, I was convinced I was either going to kill the church through my own social ineptitude, or I’d finally step on one mine too many and find myself ejected. I’m sure there were people who would have been delighted to see me tossed, and if I had the social awareness to realize how big that group probably was I may have given up (score one for social awkwardness).

Here’s the thing, my initial assessment of what Central needed wasn’t correct. Central didn’t need a social navigator, it needed a socially awkward odd-ball who blew things up by accident and laughed at his own mistakes. Central needed someone who would help the congregation embrace it’s own oddness, and cheer. I refer to Central as “The Land of Misfit Christians,” and that’s what we are. The place makes no sense whatsoever – and yet it works. I don’t think I’d like pastoring a church which wasn’t as wonderfully odd as this one. I mean, in how many churches will you find a woman sheepishly admit to her pastor that a friend taught her parrot how to ask everyone who enters he house, “Where’s the beer?”

So, to all the misfits with whom I have journeyed I say, “Thank you, and may God bless your journey.” May you all find keep finding spaces in which your oddness can sing for joy, and Jesus can keep calling you forward.

So, what am I afraid of? Simply put, I’m afraid of being left behind.

No, I’m not referring to the awful apocalyptic novels based on the equally terrible rapture theology prevalent in many Protestant churches. What I’m afraid of is putting down roots some place and then turning around one day to see nothing but tumble-weeds blowing around behind me.

As far as fears go, this is a powerful one for a pastor to experience – especially in a church desperately staving off decline. As with many smaller congregations, we suffer from noticeable “membership churn.” People come into the congregation for a season or two, and then get called away to continue their journey elsewhere. This really isn’t any different than what happens at a larger church, but when you have 40–60 people present on a given Sunday the departure of a family or two over the year is agonizingly noticeable. This is what sparks my fear, “Oh my gosh we can’t keep losing people.”

The worst I felt was a two summers ago when we lost about 10 people through a combination of moves, deaths, and congregational migration. My heart sunk, because I simply couldn’t see how the church could continue. Attendance was down, energy was down, hope was fading. I was at that moment many pastors get to at some point. I saw the light at the end of the tunnel was absolutely convinced it was an oncoming train.

That summer was a low point, but that fear gets acerbated fairly regularly – particularly on holiday weekends when folks take their long weekends and enjoy a nice break away from the community. I don’t begrudge people those breaks, but as I see even more empty pews on a Sunday the fear creeps in. People are free to move their religious setting fairly easily – they don’t have to change their address, employment, or social circles. If I were to do a similar move each of those would go into instant upheaval. If the congregation were forced to close, or if people decided my journey as the pastor of central had run it’s course, the pain of that upheaval would be all the more intense. This makes me afraid.

To be honest, I think it’s a fear many pastors share. It’s what gives us pause before we speak prophetically to our congregations, makes us painfully aware of who the “good givers” are, and makes us want to be liked by the congregation. So if I’m afraid, how do I do ministry? It’s an important question.

Fear can be debilitating. As I described above, I experienced the influence of fear a couple of summers ago – it locked me up for several weeks. I continue to have moments where fear gives me pause – both at Central and at denominational events. While some people would consider admitting such fear is a sign of weakness, I consider it part of the process of handing it over to God. Yes, I’m afraid of being left behind as the structures in which pursue my calling collapse around me. God, however, isn’t. I have a calling on my life, to help people grow in their pursuit of Jesus and his Kingdom, and the comfort of that calling from Jesus overwhelms my fear of circumstances. That’s the work of the Holy Spirit in, and though, me.

My fear is real, but Jesus’ hope is greater – and that is why I am able to continue on my journey.

What are you afraid of?

1. While I’m not alarmed by spiders, I don’t blame anyone who is freaked out by them.  ↩

Tonight our association held their annual meeting at a church which shut down several years ago. I’ve been in the building several times since it closed down, and it’s always depressed me — the musty smell, the empty space, the sheer amount of lost potential. Until tonight, however, I’d never quite figured out how the church collapsed so thoroughly. From all reports the church had a sizable endowment as late as the 90’s, and with some decent management it could still be doing significant ministry. So what happened?

The end-game of the church was, unfortunately, a story which has played out again and again in churches. A pastor is called without wisdom, severs the church’s relationships with other congregations and the congregants relationships with each other, and then moves on — blaming everyone else for the destruction caused. Yet, a church with the resources that this one had going for it needn’t have taken that path — a path often taken out of a sense of desperation. The reality of what happened to the church never fit with else I knew about it, until tonight.

During the meeting I wound up in a hallway I’d never paid much attention to before. On the walls were several dozen plaques, all dedicated to the same pastor. He was everywhere. The mayor of the town honored him, civic organizations honored him, religious organizations honored him, the church gave him plaque after plaque. From the dates on the plaques I gleaned the pastor had been there for sometime, at least from the 60’s into the early 90’s. When the scope of those plaques hit me I realized what killed the church. When the pastor left, the church just stopped. After showing the hallway to a friend and mentioning my insight, she pointed out another plaque with the pastor’s name on it. This one, dedicating an education wing, listed the dates of the pastor’s reign — 1947 to 1994. Forty-seven years!

As the sheer weight of that reign sunk in, I began to realize something else. The decor of the church was vintage 60’s and 70’s. the upkeep of the building looked like it had slowed to a crawl years before it closed, which was odd given the endowment the church had possessed. The church hadn’t stopped after the 47 year pastor left, it stopped at least a decade before he ended his reign.

Suddenly, the run-down and empty church was no longer depressing, it was frightening. We slip into stagnation so easily, and then entropy — organizational, spiritual, and physical — works it’s deadly power. Stability can be a wonderful thing, but when stability becomes the thing, the death cycle has begun. It’s a sobering thought.

Having read the article, I can’t help but agree that church too-often functions the same way.  Churches, of any theological stripe, are naturally “conservative.”  That is, they tend towards a static reality.  This is true of congregations all along the theological continuum – from fundamentalist and progressive.  Congregations tend to get locked into a mind-set, and deviations from it are typically demoralized or expunged, praise God.

What does it mean to be a “creative” though?  Often times, congregations make the assumption that taking part of the latest and greatest “new thing” means “being creative.”  Political protests, best-selling books, and worship music-style become the gage of a church’s “creativity.”  The problem is, this isn’t true.  In fact, most of what churches typically call “creativity” is really more of a sign of consumerism.

Creatives aren’t fad-seekers, nor are they necessarily concerned with being part of the “latest and greatest.”  Some of the most creative people I know, in fact, are part of high liturgical traditions.  On the flip-side, some of the least creative people I know are concerned with using the most current songs/programs/public beliefs.

So what makes someone a Creative?  Simply put, a Creative is simply someone who is able to look at problems from  angels which aren’t typically considered by others.  From their unique vantage points, they are able to consider opportunities which others might not see, or solutions to problems which others wouldn’t consider.  As one might expect, Creatives create.  They write songs, think up new ways to teach people things they might think they know, or consider the best ways to communicate Truth to other’s.

While the article describes Creatives as “non-conformist” this shouldn’t automatically be interpreted as “unable to play nicely with others.”  At their best, Creatives aren’t hostile to the notion of conforming to an existing system.  Rather, their creativity allows them to work around and through conformity.  This tends to have two effects.  First, it allows Creatives bring their new perspective to others in a way which is not overtly threatening.  Second, it affords Creatives a way to highlight the strengths and weaknesses which a given system has.  Such highlighting is what allows Creatives to help systems to flex when confronted with situations it isn’t prepared for.

In the challenging transition which is facing many churches, it would be good if we encouraged Creatives to bring their different angles to the table without fear of the system closing in around them.  In this way our churches might begin to see opportunities where most see only obstacles.

Our over-all experience at Williamsburg was, as usual, spectacular.  We learn something new every time we go, and this trip was no different.  Of particular interest this trip was what happened in the public Gaol at the time the Colonial government collapsed.  We’ve known about the events surrounding the collapse of the government for years, but we’d never imagined what impact it would have had on the courts.  In the Colonial government the governor was the head of the high-court, which heard all cased involving felonies.  Without the governor to call the court to order, arrested felons continued to fill up the Gaol as they awaited trial – at the height of the problem there were around 70 people packed into a facility designed for perhaps 2 dozen. Not surprisingly, this led to some serious health issues.  These issues became so bad, and the wait for a “speedy trial” became so long, that some prisoners actually broke out of the Gaol prior to the establishment of Virginia’s commonwealth government. It’s yet another glimpse into just how disruptive the outbreak of the Revolution was to the social fabric of the Colonies.

One of the most interesting encounters we had in this historic area occurred in Charlton’s Coffeehouse as we sat down to sample some of their excellent drinking chocolate.  As we entered the public room, my son and I were invited to sit down by a man interpreting an Anglican priest.  We struck up a conversation and I steered the conversation to the possibility of a non-Anglican being called as chaplain to the delegates  who were putting together the framework for the new government.  As I expected, he blanched at the possibility (and was particularly put-off at my mention of Patrick Henry) – and then forgave my mistake because I was from New Jersey where we have no established Church.  He then went on to inquire as to why New Jersey didn’t just make the Presbyterians the established Church – as they seemed to be everywhere in the Colony thanks to Princeton.  When I replied, “Well, New Jersey also welcomes Baptists” he scowled and ended our interview.  What fun!  He was an amazing interpreter.

April is also Religion in American History month down in Williamsburg, which led to my last treat on the trip.  Thursday afternoon I went to a presentation on American folk hymns.  For an hour Timothy Seaman shared stories and performed several folk tunes which became attached to hymns as settlers moved West.  Of all the stories which he told, the most interesting is tied to the tune normally associated with “What wondrous love is this?”  Apparently, the tune is derived from a broad-sheet ballad first sold at the hanging of Captain Kidd!

Here’s the lyrics (from here):

My name was Robert Kidd, when I sailed, when I sailed;
My name was Robert Kidd, when I sailed;
My name was Robert Kidd, God’s laws I did forbid,
So wickedly I did when I sailed, when I sailed
So wickedly I did when I sailed.

These experiences are why we keep going back.  What the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation has accomplished is truly unique, and well worth the trip.

This past weekend I traveled to my almost alma mater to see my Parents, sister, and nieces in a performance of The Music Man.  It was the first time my parents ever did something like that, so there was no way I was going to miss it, but it was also the last show of the first choir director I ever had – there was no way I was going to miss that.  Monica was great to me when I was in Springfield.

When I arrived at the school for the performance, I dawned on me that it was the first time I’d set foot in the school for over twenty years. As that realization dawned on me, it  felt almost like I was transforming back into the scared and lost teenager I’d been while attending the school. Springfield was hard nut for me to crack  – I never felt “real” there – it’s one of the reasons my parents ended up sending me to Lancaster Mennonite to finish high school (for which I’m extremely grateful).

I’ve never been good with “small talk,” my ADD and introversion get in the way, but as I bumped into people who knew me back then I felt like I took social awkwardness to a whole other level.  My brain kept saying, “You know, you really aren’t that mumble-mouthed or socially uncomfortable any more,” but my body kept disagreeing.  When I was in that environment as an adolescent, trying to hide as much as possible was how I responded to stress.  Twenty years later my body remembered.  It was weird, and slightly alarming.

Don’t get me wrong, it was wonderful to see the stage, applaud my family, and say goodbye to an old teacher.  If I’d been able to audition for the show and be on the stage I probably wouldn’t have felt so odd, but in the audience I had no where to hide and so old behaviors crept back in.

As is my habit, I started thinking about people who get hurt at churches – and why they find it so difficult to come back to the same congregation after they begin dealing with the pain (if any church at all).  This “hurt” can be some kind of physical or emotional abuse, a relationship struggle, a bad experience with a pastor, a fight over style, or the decision to stop serving decaf coffee after worship.  No matter what it is, when people depart from a congregation because they’ve been wounded they rarely come back – even when the hurt has pretty much been healed.  Pastors often fret over these lost sheep, wondering how to get them back into the fold.  To be honest, I’ve not spent a whole lot of time pursuing the matter, I just hoped that people who departed would be blessed by God. I’ve also prayed that whatever hurts the congregation and the person caused each other (or the pastor and the other person) forgiveness could be found.  For the most part, it’s worked out OK. Having now felt the anxiety which comes with entering a place in which I was wounded I think I know why I’ve never done much to pursue people who have departed the church.

I’m starting to understand that people wounded by a congregation find it difficult to go back because when they are there, they regress.  That is, they tend to become the people they were at the time the wound was originally received.  It feels awkward, uncomfortable, and unsettling – so, they stay away.  I don’t blame them.

Sometimes, healing needs distance.  Sometimes, the survival habits a body forms in response to stress can do more harm than good – whether it be going back to a school, a church congregation, former place of employment, or even a house.  Sometimes we can be healed enough to grow and learn and thrive, but not enough to go back.  As painful as that might be, I think that just might be OK.

When I first picked up my Nexus 7, one of my biggest concerns was the lack of a decent markdown editor. Editors either didn’t have robust enough dropbox support, had odd quirks with the HTML rendering, or didn’t allow me to easily export the raw HTML for use as blog posts.

A short while after I got the Nexus I discovered a new editor called Write which was the best editor I’d found on the platform. Still, the dropbox support in Write was not what I needed – I had to import documents into the editor from dropbox and then export the documents back into dropbox to edit them on other devices. This left me working on different versions of the same document, documents which inevitably got out of sync. Still, the Nexus was a desirable enough form-factor for me to put up with this frustration.

Now I find I don’t have to.

Last week, I discovered a new markdown editor in the Google Play store called, “Draft.”  With it I finally had a markdown editor with the dropbox support I needed, quick markdown shortcuts, and which allowed me to copy clean HTML into WordPress.  In the short time since I’ve been using draft additional features have been added, key of which for me are persistent word count and automatic dropbox syncing.

With the arrival of Draft I’ve gotten one step closer to the Nexus working the way I need it to. Future updates to the hardware in this line, adding a rear-facing camera and video out, could make this a platform I’d be happy moving to full-time. If the apps develop in similar fashion, I may not even think twice before doing so.  If Accordance ever comes on to Android, I wouldn’t even blink.