How AA Meetings Destroyed My Chances of Being a Pastor

Over a year ago, I left a well paying job as a worship pastor in a church. The job was great on so many levels... a wonderful staff, the freedom to create, talented fellow musicians, and the spontaneous late night hangouts in the sanctuary while watching films like Dead Poet's Society on the big screen. I proposed to my wife in that building. I learned how to use a technologically advanced copy machine in that building, too. I wrote songs on the massive grand piano up on the stage every so often, as well. And on every Sunday beginning at 9:30am, I would sing my little heart out with a hundred or so attendees, many who were sipping on freshly brewed coffee that was served from an espresso stand out in the foyer.

I was there for just a little bit over a year and my reason for leaving was not circumstantial at all. My boss at the time- a good friend of mine- was and is such a quality human being... a man with a warm presence, an upbeat persona, and just a big kid at heart. The staff- 7 of us or so- were all very complimentary of each other, both in interaction and in personalities. Staff meetings were fun and always left space for the 7 different minds of the staff to come up with new ideas for Christmas services, family days, and ways we could make the church decorations look less 1992-ish. Truly, we were paint brushes on a stretched canvas of existing colors.

So why did I leave? It doesn't make sense.

Slowly, as I got more involved there, investing my life into the church, my heart began to take an uneasy shift. I don't know how to explain it other than to say that it felt like I was falling less in love with the product I was supplying, to the point where I was actually beginning to resent it. It probably had as much to do with processing my unattended wounds from church in the past as much as it did in processing my purpose for the present and finding hope for the future. It was a stew of emotional and aggressive chaos and although it didn't feel fuzzy and fluffy, it somehow felt invigorating and... well... correct.

I guess you could say that I was going through some sort of brutal awakening experience, where I was becoming aware of things that I was never aware of and angry that I had been blind to them all along. My days were a series of moments where I consistently wondered, "what the hell am I really doing?" and then bitterly realizing what the hell I was really doing. I think I felt a little bit like Peter Gibbons in the film Office Space, where he realizes one day that his life revolves around filling out TPS reports.

To the staff and others around me, I probably just looked like a bitter guy that was just wanting to fight "the man." My voice at the staff meetings began to reverberate with dissatisfaction rather than contentment. My arms were folded more often than they were open. And my eyes rolled more frequently than the rain drops fall onto the Seattle sidewalks. At the time, I wasthat guy, the guy I didn't want to be and yet the guy I knew I couldn't help but had to be.

[Enter AA Meetings]

I think that the game changer for me was when I began taking notice at the AA group that met on Wednesday nights in the church sanctuary. The group must have been about 200 or so people, twice the amount that trickled into that same space on Sunday mornings. They were of all addictions, yet no one looked any different than me. Before what looked like a town hall meeting took place, I would sit up on stage and play the piano or guitar as they walked in through the open doors. I'd play and sing renditions of Michael Jackson songs, old 70's rock and roll songs, and Beatle songs like, "Hey Jude." They loved it and they would give me an applause when I would finish each tune, as though I was Paul McCartney himself (this was the closest I ever felt to being a rock star). And as I left the stage, some would stop me and tell me how much it meant to them that they could experience live music for a small portion of their week. I felt like I was giving them a much needed gift and maybe putting a smile on their face was all they needed.

After I got done, instead of heading home, I would more often times than not, just sit in the back of the sanctuary while their meeting would go. I was mesmerized at how much they cared about each other and listened to each other. During the meetings, a couple of people would share their stories in front of the entire group and all of us would listen intently. You could tell that some people were gifted speakers and others were far from it, but their elegancy didn't matter. All that mattered was that each person would be known, supported, embraced, and loved. That was the atmosphere of those AA meetings... transparency and vulnerability being embraced by grace and understanding. There were more hugs given out at the end of those meetings than what I would imagine would take place at a hugging convention (it that even exists). Many times, I couldn't escape a random hug either. It was the purest sense of community I have ever witnessed.

Sunday mornings would come back around and I would always be the first one to step into the dark building and flick on the lights early that morning. As I would step into that same empty sanctuary, I would imagine... what if church today looked like the same Wednesday AA meetings that I was experiencing earlier in the week?...

What if instead of having the worship music that has lyrics that most people singing them probably don't fully believe, are aware of, or even comprehend, we listened to the sounds of nothing? What if instead of 3 point sermons with fancy power points, predictable thesis', and catchy titles, we had people standing in front of the congregation, sharing their raw story as we learn from them and in turn, all of us feeling valued and known? What if instead of doing the awkward get up for one minute and turn and greet someone next to you, we took an intentional half hour to have conversations with each other during that hour long service? And what if we actually came to church, not as people who needed to be reminded that we are sinners, but people who have already come to terms with our sinful nature and just want to be with others like us in a place of intentional recovery?

And that is why my heart fell off of its axis halfway through my pastoral employment during that time. I didn't believe in the vision of what we we were doing and I was angry about it. I was supposed to be invested in the church, yet I didn't really believe in what the church was doing anymore, especially on Sundays. I realized that really all we were doing on Sundays was creating more noise on top of the noise that we had been abused by all week and hoping that God showed him/herself somewhere in the chaos that we had created. I've come to know that the church is probably more scared of silence rather than the devil itself.

See, the thing about the typical model of the church these days is that in all of its good intentions, the design has created a huge space where people have and are becoming more and more lonely. Today, the church is about spectatorship and entertainment (and mostly unoriginal and poor entertainment to boot). It's about inspiring sermons and in turn, pastors are becoming the idols of worship. You could have a pedophile who is in desperate need to be known and cared for sitting right next to you in the pew and if he/she doesn't join a small group and doesn't have the courage to tell you about their need during your brief encounter in the foyer, you wouldn't know it. They would be just one more victim being pummeled by the noise of it all and being inadvertently degraded at the same time.

Much of today's church is designed to reinforce independence than it is to encourage vulnerable community. Just listening to a transparent teacher does not make you a vulnerable person. Although, it is safer (and more numbing) to go that route. This is why the largest growing churches in the U.S. in terms of attendance on Sundays revolves around excellent preachers. Christians are becoming obese on Biblical interpretations when in retrospect, they need to become hungry for life's recovery with others.

So where am I now? I'd say I'm halfway between knowing my need for recovery and actually taking steps in recovering. I think that's like the 4th step or something. Slowly, I'm learning my essence- the original me that is buried underneath the dirt of my past. I don't know if you sign up to be a pastor or if a pastor is just something that you are, but as my brother-in-law (who happens to be a pastor) says, "We are all just beggars."

I don't want to see the church destroyed by any means, I want to see a revolution... where the noise ceases and the billions of wounds begin to be noticed and tended to. I want to see community... where the commonality does not have to do with doctrinal belief, but of human suffering. And I want to see God... not by theory or information, but by the tending of my throbbing wounds.

** To avoid the possibility of damaging my relationships with pastoral friends/family of mine with this blog, I want each of you to know that I have thought of you in the highest regards as I have poured my soul into these paragraphs. Furthermore, I know that everyone of you have unique and amazing visions as you lead your congregations and communities in the Kingdom of God. Even if our visions may look different. With much love and respect, Rob.