by tashmcgill | May 29, 2015 | Church, Leadership, Youth Work
To my long-time love;
It has been a long time since I seriously considered calling it quits on our relationship. Even though I no longer depend on you, the Church, to tell me how to live, or to provide connection with other people of faith—I’ve stuck to the belief that somehow, we are better together than we are apart.
I am facing a choice because I don’t know if you are good for me anymore. The best way I can describe it is being ‘unequally yoked’. It reminds me of advice you gave when I was a teenager; warning me about my relationship with people who didn’t share the same faith or convictions.
Yes, I do think we are unequally yoked and it’s not me, it’s you. Monday to Saturday I have been listening to the edges of society where God’s Spirit is hovering. I feel myself being stretched and enlarged until Sunday, when I have to squeeze back into the shape and size you want me.
I never thought it would be possible, but maybe I’ve outgrown the shape you made for me. I’m bigger than you can handle, in so many ways.
Embracing the sacred and divine Feminine
I’m tired of broken promises and false hopes of shaping the future. I am a capable, intelligent, strategic and compassionate communicator and a visionary for the Church. Stop offering lip service to honouring and empowering women to lead and have a voice within your walls. You don’t need to tell us you believe in women, just let us lead not because of our womanhood but without regard for it.
We’ve known each other too long for you not to trust me now. When I say to want to contribute, don’t make me jump through hoops and knock on doors. If you don’t trust me, say it straight and let me move on. The power of my sex won’t change.
Embrace me, a reflection of the sacred Feminine in the real world—intelligent, gifted, passionate and willing. Embrace me or say no. Your ‘no’ won’t ruin me as much as chasing your ‘yes’ has.
Staking a claim for the significance of every human being
The political and sociological debates you engage with around LGBTQ issues let me know you’re thinking and talking about it.
I want you to start turning from conversation to action. How you respond to this group of people is going to define our future, the future of your relationship with me as well as ‘Them’, as you so often refer to my friends and fellow spiritual seekers. Straight people are leaving the Church because the tension you’re asking us to hold is untenable. We must live out our words.
But I think I know something you don’t. I’m The Generation. We’re all just in it together, one generation defined by being together and alive now.
Disrupt the conventions
I’m tired of hearing about the ‘Next Generation’. Did I slip straight from the ‘next generation’ where I was ‘full of potential’ to being past my use-by date in my thirties? You just don’t look at me the same anymore. I can’t seem to hold your interest.
But I think I know something you don’t. I’m The Generation. We’re all just in it together, one generation defined by being together and alive now. Young people aren’t any more likely to bring about hope than older people. We are all as close as each other to the grave, because life changes in a moment.
Disrupt the conventions and assumptions. I’m not suggesting you need to give up your hope for the cool kids, those twenty-somethings you’re so pleased to have held on to, but every denomination I’ve encountered is trying to engage with the ‘next’ generation while pacifying the baby-boomers who are still largely paying the bills.
Defining the relationship
When I try and talk this through, you say ‘you don’t want it to be over’ and that I need you, as much as you need me. I have to disagree. I carry Church in my pocket. My smartphone is all I need to read the Bible, download teaching, listen to worship tracks and even journal my prayers. I can tithe to Christ-centered causes and I can ‘fellowship’ in community via Facebook, Twitter, blogs and text messages. I can Skype and Facetime to pray with people I care about and sometimes, church happens around my kitchen table or fireplace. It happens Monday–Sunday.
I don’t know where we go from here. It’s not an ultimatum; it’s just a chance for us to be honest with each other. Maybe we’re both stuck, not knowing how to be what we need from each other. Where should we go from here?
Originally published for Christian Today.
by tashmcgill | Nov 29, 2014 | Church, Mind, Spirituality
I recently celebrated my birthday with a backyard bash for friends and family. And because I think it’s always important to add moments of emotion and poignancy to an event – I asked a few dear friends to share a few words.
They captured almost every facet of who I am with their words and memories; it was sweet and it made me glad. Without weddings, funerals and birthday parties we would rarely have the opportunity to review the world’s opinion of us.
There was one phrase that stood out in particular: “What I love about Tash is that she manages to be a person of deep faith without being a weirdo”, or words to that effect.
Confession: the words made me nervous for a moment. It was a diverse crowd filled with work colleagues, old friends, friends from the bar and clients. And while I don’t try to hide my spirituality any more than I try to thrust it upon people; there were a lot of people there I’d never ‘fessed up to my faith in front of.
Unwittingly I’ve stumbled on one of my greatest insecurities. I’m afraid of being alienated from people I genuinely care about because my spirituality is misunderstood or inaccessible to people.
One of the most poignant reminders was a conversation at my local bar. I couldn’t tell a lie so I had to ‘fess up to being a person of faith with a couple of regulars as the topic of conversation turned to all things spiritual. I watched the walls of defense slide into place as the conversation turned and the casual easiness of our camaraderie fell away. It wasn’t anything I’d said or done, but the risk it posed. Sometimes our history has done too good a job of shaping the myth.
My fear is that when people have experienced personally or witnessed from afar, a singular or communal failure on the behalf of traditional or even modern Christianity, it creates unnecessary distance and wariness between us. Mistrust and unease are the by-product of those experiences, often rightly so. I don’t really care so much about evangelism (that’s an inside word). I don’t care about converting you or anyone to faith. I really don’t. I care about people having the freedom to engage with their own spirituality, discover meaningful truth and communities of expression that support that. A steady, life-long, flexible engagement with spirituality. None of that is about conversion, yet so often that seems to be the greatest fear people have, thus my greatest fear is that people will assume that’s what my goal is.
My goal is simple: he tangata, he tangata, he tangata.
“Ask me, what is the most important thing and I will tell you, it is people, it is people, it is people.”
My fear is that I will be robbed of relationship with you because of other people’s bad history.
Still – this is not a story about my sense of loss or alienation. This is a story about coming out spiritual, defining what I mean when I say it. I’m not religious; if religious means living by prescribed belief and without ongoing engagement of my intellect. It does mean the applied force of my humanity and intentional engagement with the earth, the air and the heavens. It means engaging with other human beings and listening, looking to the universe in all her signs and wonders. Yes, I believe in God. I am open to how that is expressed.
A non-Traditional Spirituality
I spend a lot of time with people and in places that ‘good Christians’ aren’t expected to be found. I don’t regularly behave in a way that people might expect or demand. I’ve regularly got myself in trouble with organised faith communities for not holding to the party line. The trouble is – when you don’t fit easily into the Church’s idea of faith and you don’t fit easily into the world’s perception either… well, that can be a difficult path to walk.
I have found enormous comfort in the spiritual rituals of our ancestors; both Maori and European. I have found meaning in the faith of my Muslim, Buddhist, Baha’i friends. I have found centering and powerful emotional connection through yoga as much as through boxing. I believe that the world is full of signs to point us on the way. We came to define coincidence and serendipity by experiencing and describing those circumstances. The world is full of signs – from the tui that sings in the trees outside my window no matter where I sleep to the reminder of the ongoing rebirth and rejuvenation of creation that happens constantly beneath our feet while we talk about the demise of the planet.
I believe there is no greater way to discuss or describe music and the arts than to engage the part of the human soul that reaches outside of itself to a higher or deeper expression. I have seen a birth. I believe in a creative power in the universe. Even if our engagement with that creative power is no more than to acknowledge the mystery of it, to resign ourselves to not understanding the complexities of the world in which we live – I would rather that, than to cast aside the possibility.
I am smart. I know church history. I am learning and engage with broader faith practices than simply the Judeo-Christian traditions. I know, better than many but less than my scholarly friends, the critical errors of church polity that have caused so much friction and fracture within communities that should only thrive in serving a wider society. That’s probably why I’ve been so afraid of losing the opportunity to connect and engage with people if I wear my spirituality on my sleeve.
I’ve been struggling for years to walk the line – not to deny my spirituality but also to run a mile from becoming a proclamation-based, traditional Evangelical. The core of my fear is my dislike of traditional evangelism. I am actively engaged in the exploration of what faith means in this world. My challenge, is to be honest about how little I like to publicly own my faith, despite the enormous amount of time I spend with people who don’t have connection with traditional Churches or spiritual contexts. In the darkest of nights, I’ve questioned whether in fact, I am a fraud.
There is much about the historic and the modern Church that disappoints me. But I will not quit it, for transformation is only made possible from the midst of her. I will not quit. I wrestle, argue, get frustrated as much, if not more than those who hate the Church. But I won’t give up on it, because the idea of a community of people committed to the same values of serving humanity should be the most successful humanitarian work on the planet.
I work really hard to not be a spiritual weirdo. To be grounded, relatable and approachable while still exploring and expressing my own spiritual beliefs and journey. Those beliefs are prone to change from time to time, but my values largely are not.
“Feed them, clothe them, love my sheep.”
It’s a paraphrase of a conversation between the prophet known as Jesus and one of his most passionate (and at times, hapless) followers, Peter the fisherman, and those three verbs are practical expressions of the values I hold most dear – people, hospitality, love, generosity and nurture. That’s what I’ll value the rest of my life, regardless of how my spiritual beliefs and expression may change.
So what do you think? Is my fear ungrounded? My insecurities for nothing? I promise, I’m not what you’d expect – but only you know what that is.
by tashmcgill | Oct 21, 2014 | Church, Culture & Ideas, Leadership, Spirituality
My commitment to my community was questioned the other day. People wondering whether or not I was ‘all-in’ were finding it tough to entrust me with some influential positions. It was diplomatically posed: if you’re not here (present) with us, how do we know if you’re really with us (committed)? The exact phrase was ‘people have the sense that if you’re not doing something here, you’re not always around’. The subtext: how much of you being here is about us, and how much is about you?
Right across society, it’s usually those who demonstrate their commitment and loyalty that earn the right to be influential. Our commitment to being present is a show of loyalty. Particularly in churches, there are lots of ways you can be involved, but you have to be ‘all-in’ in order to have influence. But what does ‘all-in’ really mean?
It’s how we test Ambition. People want to know how much you’ll give before you want or need to get something back. Most people want influence and power. In the church, that looks like positions of authority, which usually come with microphones.
Think about it. People who demonstrate how ‘all in’ they are, tend to wind up in influential positions. We’ve created a culture where you have to earn your way into those positions; for lots of reasons.
Good reasons
- If you’re going to be endorsed or giving a position of influence, you’ve to got to be trustworthy
- We don’t want you to influence in an unwise direction
Bad reasons
- Those with influence don’t always like to share
- People don’t like to be outshone or overshadowed
- To maintain the chain of command
- No chief wants to give influence to anyone who might not be loyal
We create systems to ensure that trustworthy people make it through the hoops and untrustworthy people fall out. The trouble is, it’s easy to abuse those systems to make sure that only people who’ve proven their loyalty sufficiently make it through. But loyal to what? You ask me if I’m all-in, but what do you want me to be all-in to?
What does ‘all-in’ really mean?
I’m all-in to the purpose of making a good change. I was raised to make a difference and I take it pretty seriously. I’m all-in to being the best I can be, in the place where I’m likely to make the most difference. And often, I don’t find those places inside the Church. For lots of reasons.
Here are 5 times I was All-In
- I was preparing to take teenagers to Eastercamp instead of the church prayer event.
- I was at the 21st of a young person who’s like family instead of church conference.
- I went from the Maundy Thursday service to the corner bar and talked about the meaning of Passover with friends
- I helped a single mum and her 4 small kids move house instead of being at church that weekend.
- I had a house full of teenagers watching movies and making food, instead of being at Sunday night church.
I don’t spend much time actively pursuing the pulpit. I’ll never turn it down, but I don’t intend to chase it. I’d rather have my life and actions speak of meaning and purpose. Because I love to communicate, I relish the opportunity to share my observations and conversations with others. I’ll spend my time engaging in meaningful conversation, always prepared to do my bit for the Church, but I won’t be there for the sake of being there, if my sense of purpose is beckoning me somewhere else.
Here’s the truth – there are hundreds of people in the pews every Sunday, Thursday and Friday who will give their all to the Church at the cost of places where they could be more meaningful. Church services are often club sessions for people who feel comfort from being with the like-minded to be encouraged, affirmed, you name it. It’s a good thing. But it shouldn’t be the ultimate expression of our faith.
In fact, I’d go so far to say that the goodness I want to bring to the earth, has little to do with my church affliation and much more to do with the fulfilment of my identity as a whole person. I’d hate for anyone who has known me to reduce my actions on this earth to “well, that’s what those Church folks do.” Because there are not that many church people living how I live or doing what I do.
I spend my time pursuing people. People at my dinner table, people in the important stages of their lives, people in trouble, people in the world and sometimes people in the pews.
- The Church encouraged me to be in the world, making a difference. So I’m out there.
- The Church taught me that it’s important to serve. I did dozens of tests to figure out my gifts. I’ve been made to serve, so working is both giving back and fulfilment of all I was taught to be.
- Busyness is also an answer to loneliness. Being present with nothing to do highlights my loneliness in ways that don’t help me. Doing something meaningful with my presence is good for me.
I’m all-in. Are you?
by tashmcgill | Oct 14, 2014 | Church, Community, Culture & Ideas, Leadership
We live in a world where the contemporary sacred longs to be relevant and connected to the secular. In rural and small towns, this connection is easier to build in meaningful ways. In urban centres and sprawling cities, there is one resource that the church has in spades, that could revolutionise the way churches contribute to communities and cities.
What is that precious resource? Space. It is the one commodity that urban centres long for and churches have an abundance of.
If the broader contribution of the church to human civilisation is to patron the arts, then more of our spaces should be devoted to sharing space. Opening up space. People in cities and urban spaces are constantly constrained from pursuing their gifts, talents, business endeavours because urban space is so expensive and hard to access. Shared spaces and hotdesking in virtual offices is on the increase but what if the Church, in all those prime city and city fringe locations opened it’s doors to people who need space.
I don’t mean leasing our space either. I mean opening up the doors of our buildings in prime central real estate that often sit half unused and pouring that resource back into the communities that are longing for it. For the small and medium sized businesses that are in start-up mode, where every penny they can save on overheads can go into smarter and better products and services. Into innovation and invention.
We should splatter the walls of our cathedrals with the acrylics and plaster of our artists, sculpting, painting and making in the vast caverns of space that we devote to holy emptiness.
We should fill those spaces with good works. The works of hands and minds. There should be no caveat of Christian belonging either. Just being human ought to be enough to make use of the resources we provide – free internet, hot water, meeting rooms and desk space. Studio space. Creating and making space. So what if our bills go up slightly and we have to vaccuum more often? Think about the relationships we could build. Who cares if occasionally people take advantage? Think about the ones who won’t.
The point I’m making is that the Church mets week on week and searches for ways to be meaningful and build bridges into communities and cities in ways that contribute to broader society – when the easiest thing we could do is remember what the preciousness of our sanctuaries and spaces is all about. People.
I frequently recall the words of Mike Yaconelli, who wrote about the necessity of stained carpet. We worry so much about the straight lines and cleanliness in our welcoming space but there is an authencity to stains on the carpet and on the walls that says ‘humanity is welcome here’.
Humanity with all it’s mess and creativity. Our sanctuaries and buildings were always meant to be for people. Filled with people, resourcing people, providing help and shelter for people. Providing opportunity and support for people.
The Church often gets confused into thinking that in order to be meaningful it must be us that does the work. That the work must be of our hands. But often the greatest impact is had simply in what we can facilitate. What opportunities we create for others by our being.
by tashmcgill | Apr 7, 2014 | Church, Spirituality, Strategy
In my line of work, we call them the ‘pain points’. They are the often unspoken, yet overwhelming reasons why people don’t do something.
Whether it’s a simple online transaction, completing a survey, finishing an assignment or responding to email – everything from tasks of the daily grind to the really important, life-critical stuff (like visiting your dying grandmother), the reasons why we don’t get to it are usually because there’s a pain point somewhere.
At some point in the decision-making process, there’s a minute crisis point that causes such a level of discomfort or pain that we cannot continue past it. (more…)
by tashmcgill | Dec 30, 2013 | Church, god ideas, Spirituality
These are delicate words. Probably easy to be misconstrued. I expect they might be. Part of me wishes they will be.
I think I’d like to be unChristian. (more…)
