I wrote this letter while on a retreat at St. Benedict's Retreat Centre this summer. The words of the letter poured out of me in a single draft--yet each time I read them I realize how much of my story they capture. It has been harder than I expected to work out how to live into these words well, and in many ways I am still learning day by day what that looks like. And I have kept this learning process mostly to myself, reluctant to share this journey I've been on for the past several months, often for fear of the possibility of doing so hurting the ones I care about. But I didn't write these words to be kept to myself, so I offer them here in the hope that anyone who reads them will receive them hearing the love with which they were written, and will handle them with care, recognizing that many parts of the journey they represent are still raw and tender.
June 3, 2016
Dear Friends in the MB Church,
I am so sad to be writing this letter. I had hoped that it would never come to this, that my commitment to the Mennonite Brethren at baptism would be a 'til death do us part' kind of commitment--that was my hope, my intention.
When I discovered the MB church as a 'new' Christian at 20 years old, I loved what I found. I loved the sincerity and passion with which people followed Jesus. I loved the way that being Christian was not just a Sunday commitment but a way of life. I loved everything about sharing faith stories and immersion baptisms. And I loved how I got to see Jesus in you and through you.
You were the family who encouraged me as a follower of Jesus when my own biological family didn't always get it. You invited me into ministry and walked alongside me as I discovered my gifts and found places to give them expression. You welcomed me as a youth leader and trusted me with your kids and their friends. You affirmed my gifts and my calling--encouraged me to preach, and lead worship, and preach some more. And I loved it. And you loved me.
And it's funny, but I don't know exactly when everything started to change. I do know that the older I got, the more the fact that I remained single started to feel like a "problem." When I wanted the church to be the place to help me imagine what a fulfilling life as a single person could look like, instead I heard suspicion, words of caution born out of fear, and resounding silence. And more and more I noticed the elation when engagements were announced--especially engagements of 'older' couples. And I became aware of how many small groups were open only to other couples.
Then there was the time a leader I loved and respected told me, out of kindness I believe, that "the congregation would take you more seriously if you weren't a single woman." And the first time someone I really liked told me that she believed women shouldn't preach because it was too intimidating for the male leaders God intended. And the conference leader who said that single women couldn't hold leadership positions because men might be attracted to them.
But it's not only my gender, or my marital status--although these words wounded me more deeply than I admitted. More and more lately, I've been disappointed and saddened by our interactions with one another as brothers and sisters in Christ. This fall, our study conference on sexuality was an opportunity for study and dialogue together that I looked forward to. And family, I'm not naive--I fully expected us to disagree! But I grieved over the angry words and accusations fired around at one another, and I was deeply disappointed that any opportunity to ask the hard-but-real questions was lost in the process. It felt like we forgot, above all else, our call to love one another.
Since then, I'm hearing about conferences developing procedures to remove individuals and churches from the conference--and I grieved that it has come to this. I've heard suspicions about my own ministry that come to me in a round-about way--but nobody has asked me directly.
I'm not sure how all this has happened. The tent has moved further and further away--and I'm not in it anymore, and nobody seems to be listening to the voices of those standing around bewildered, wondering what's going on.
I fear this is good-bye, dear church. I fear that I am no longer truly welcomed here, and that nobody would listen if I tried to explain it anyway.
I'm so sad--I'm losing my family, and I didn't want that any more than anyone else ever does. I have felt grief just at the idea of this for a long time now. But I have also come to realize that my call is to love God with my whole heart, soul, mind, and strength, and to love my neighbour as I also learn to love myself. I need to go where I can live faithfully into that calling, even if it means leaving behind a host of other things I love in the process.
May God continue to walk with us both--the God who is familiar with all our ways and who hems us in behind and before. I trust God is able to lead us both in the way everlasting.
With love (and I do love you),
Kathy
