the question of guilt in ministry

When i has the official title of "minister" at a church, i somehwat took it for granted. I spent hours pouring over books, spent hours looking at curriculum, spent hours studying Jesus's relational ministry. The years placed into it, I expected a filling of fullfillment, for my heart to be constantly softening, and for my world to be seeking the warmth of God's love always.

Part of the issue was that some of the teenagers in my group had read the blog, seen the words and listened to their parent's interpretation. My priest recognized that my words were more from intellectual study during my time in theology school, but those that had decided I was unfit (and their children that treated me like the town leper) did not sway so easily. It was difficult to hold youth with these students that so easily gossiped behind my back and see God in their faces.

In the end, I left. I feared the church would split over their position on me because of a misunderstood blog. You see, at one point I listed reasons why people contemplate suicide, and ended it along the lines of, "but to commit suicide you'd have to give up the hope that God holds some greater knowledge as to the rest of how your life should play out." Well, some were in a fizzy because of the mention of committing suicde, others believed me to be emotionally corrupt, while others stood by me. In the end, it was a decision made with God at heart that this church could not divorce over something so silly. They had divorced before, and I wouldn't be the reason they divorced again.

Eventually I turned in my resignation, and told the students. It was heartbreaking, especially as the students who hadn't been a part of the situation found out more and subsequently blamed their peers for my departure. It was painful, but I knew I'd go down in the history books of that sweet little church's damned ministers who posed a threat to their sacred children's lives. Well, at least in some minds. Others were still far helpful.

But this brings me to the here and now. I feel guilty not knowing how to respond to those students who hurt me. My intelligence says their innocence should have been the excuse for their ignorance of action, but I still cannot truly close that wound. The wound that these students and their parents left is something I cannot surmount easily. And in fact, brings me to tears quite regularly when I think of the people. It is the last church I truly felt home in, as I now wander aimlessly searching for that feeling of home again.

Perhaps I am far to grudging, and perhaps it is a grudge I still hold, but I cannot help but feel guilty when a mention of their name sends me reminisicing into those moments of sheer hurt. I hope one day there is no grudging feeling, and no holding back of myself for fear of being burned again. I do truly hope it, because then only will the guilt subside.