Imagine, if you will, the young man going off to seminary, his ideals firmly in place. His place of employment is a dying church with a youth group of two, a church that wants young adults but doesn’t want to go get them. The church asks the world but will not lift a finger, and wonders at his frustration. The senior minister lost his faith long ago and now works to pay the rent, which, after all, is all his wife demands. He resents the young man, resents his success, resents his ideals.
Imagine, then, the young man crashing. At home the minister, who lives in the apartment upstairs, is a constant presence even when he cannot be seen or heard. At school, no one looks at one another, instead staring across the river, longing to be somewhere they are not and competing for prizes that are not there to be won. Friends are half a continent away. Depression comes in full force. The young man has walking pneumonia, but it is all in his head.
And so therapy and pills, tests and papers, prayers and hymns, therapy and pills. In time he improves, but the minister still lives upstairs.
But then the marriage to an old friend from home, an ally. They look to move out from the minister’s house. He writes for advice, but the bishop sends a rebuke intead.. Some friend are kicked out of the ministry for daring the prophetic edge of ministry, one friend after another. Embittered from years of faithful, faithless church work, he leaves the ministry, says good riddance, and weeps.
The young man and his wife are moved safely away. They begin to rest. But then she falls sick, falls in the night, and for a moment he thinks she is dead. Whatever was left of his Christian faith died that night, died for good. It is all dead now, and he is thankful.
Let him learn to rejoice in his misfortune. Let him wander to find friends who will comfort him. Let him seek after those who will call his name, who will know it even before he speaks.
I can relate to the young man.
His struggles with Christian faith remind me of my struggles with faith in my musical abilities.
I, too, lived in the same house as my supposed mentor. She was not happy with me. I had no faith in myself, so her lack of faith caused me to believe I wasn’t talented.
I left that town and did not make music. I listened to music — new music — and thought about it.
Two years later, I wanted to make music again. Only now the music was different. I had rested and healing began.
I still didn’t have much faith in my abilities, but I needed to express myself through music for my own happiness.
Smiles, encouragement, and my own growing sense of worth started to reduce the chasm of doubt inside me about my talents.
Now, people call my name when I am out shopping, because they know me from gigs. I have a following in this town and have made great friends here.
It’s good to hear people call your name.
It is good. We hope to close on a house on Wed. I’m hoping that will help me put down more roots, which should help with the name thing. If I had a piano handy, I might follow you with the music thing. But I hope you don’t doubt your talents there. You’re incredible.