The Death and (hopeful) Resurrection of Ben Price

I am an optimist. So when change happens, I am inclined to look for the best. I recently celebrated my 29th birthday with my two kids and wife, in a house that I own, and I counted by blessings. What I haven't done is taken time to mourn all that I have lost as these changes have transpired.

They say the first stage of loss is denial, and I think that those with an optimistic bent are the masters. This whole time while I have trying to embrace this new life of adulthood, parenthood, homeownership--whatever the life change--I haven't let go of all the things that can no longer be part of this new life. Or more precisely, I haven't let go of the expectations I have held in my former life.

So I am trying to live this new life and carry around the remains of my old life, insisting that I should be able to have my cake and eat it too. But instead of embracing the new with joy and passion, I have, on too many occasions, found myself conflicted, frustrated and angry. After wrestling with these emotions for more than a year, this is my simple observation: I cannot embrace this new life fully without mourning the loss of my old life fully. And I have not finished mourning because I have failed to declare the old life dead. So the following is the eulogy of Ben Price as he once was.

Change is Slow

In sports, they talk about teams that can "turn it on" whenever they want. So a team can come out flat and get behind, only to flip a switch and surge past their opponent. Of course, inevitably, teams that begin to believe this myth about themselves, in the moment of truth, cannot, in fact, "turn it on" (as evidenced by my beloved 2006 Pistons). This is the epitome of denial. "I haven't lost a step, I'm just saving it for when I need it." "I am not out of shape, I have learned to work smarter, not harder." "I only need to be one step faster than the other guy."

My old life was lived in a series of sprints. I turned it on when I needed to, and laid back the rest of the time. Every project, every ministry, every relationship was an all or nothing, balls to the wall dash. And, to be honest, I had the skills to back it up. But this new life, it is hard and constant and all the little things bleed together into one, long, uphill marathon. If I live this new life like my old one, I am gonna burn out in the first 500 yards.

So I am killing off my expectation of instantaneous results and acknowledge that change is slow; and any meaningful change is going to be hard and take a serious commitment to slowly walk in a new direction for a long time.

Flexibility is Less & Responsibility is More

A long time ago I was on a family vacation to the Locks in the UP of Michigan. One of the tour people was explaining how these huge tankers had to plan their next move miles out because it took so long to turn or slow down or speed up these ships because of the enormous weight they carried.

My old life was like a WaveRunner. I could change direction on a dime, speed up, slow down, whatever, and do it all with little planning at all. I could do it because I their wasn't much weight to my vessel. Just me and my hopes and dreams. Then I got married and turned in my WaveRunner for a sailboat. Another person's life and hopes and dreams--a little more weight. But man, we could still move. We went where the wind carried us and it was smooth sailing as long as we were communicating with each other. Now I have two kids, more lives and hopes and dreams, neighbors, financial responsibilities, a community I am responsible to, even a dog. So, while I may not be a tanker yet, this new life is a pretty big boat.

This all sounds silly, but there is a point: Every decision I make in my new life carries a lot of weight. I don't have the luxury of changing directions at the last minute--too many people have boarded this boat with the expectation that I am going to deliver. So I am killing this old expectation that I can chase every fancy and pursue every option. The sky is no longer the limit--the limits are real and I need to acknowledge them.

It's Not About Me

It is tempting to say that I have always known this. And on a theoretical level it is true. We know that the universe doesn't revolve around us, but it doesn't stop us from living like it. I don't mean we are self-centered or unaware of the people or problems around us. It is just that in my old life, I set the agenda. I plotted the course and as people's lives intersected mine, I interacted and tried to help and paid attention. I listened and learned and changed, but all the while, I felt like it was my life I was leading; people had their influence, but my life was really still about me.

Then I had kids.

I never really appreciated Paul when he said, "the life I live is not my own . . ." I don't know that I am yet really living for Jesus, but I know this, I am no longer living for myself. It is like I have become a passenger on someone else's boat. (Should it frighten me that it might be piloted by a two year old and a six month old?) Well, I am not just a passenger, I am a sailor. I still have work to do, I still have responsibilities and decisions to make. But it isn't about me. I might even be the captain, but this isn't my boat anymore. (Oh, that I could say that my love for Jesus was as real as my love for these little ones. Maybe that is what they are here to teach me.)

No, the old life is dead. I have killed what was left of it. Now I can properly mourn what I have lost. I know some of you will think this is elementary and no big deal. "Get over it and grow up like the rest of us." And yes, I know I am stating the obvious. But that is the thing, the obvious was there all along, and I just kept pretending it wasn't there. So I have named my fear. I am Peter Pan. With a family that needs me to grow up. I will certainly miss Neverland.

I've been "released"

So, my pastor called and I was "released" from our church today to pursue another faith community if I so chose. It was an interesting conversation. You know how pastors can sometimes use "pastor speak" to say all the right things while they are really saying something else altogether? So while saying, "we want you to do whatever it is that you need to do for your family" what is really being said is "we don't want you to be part of our community any more." Or more precisely, we don't want you in the "inner circle" anymore. Yet it is said in a way that allows for complete deniability because it is couched in pastor speak.

I can't say that I necessarily blame him, but it was definitely a first for me. I've never been "fired" as a volunteer before. The worst part of me adds it up like this: You aren't leading anything, you aren't tithing regularly, and you aren't even helping in the nursery anymore, so you aren't of use to us anymore. Since you aren't in our "target audience" we would prefer if you just left if you aren't going to help us do our thing.

Like I said, I can understand where he is coming from, I have become increasingly useless over the last few months, but does that mean that I should be "released" from the community? In essence we have been written off because we are part of a demographic that "should" be serving the community rather than being served. I mean that is really what is being said here right? We are middle class, "stable," educated white folks so we must have it together. We just lack commitment or vision or we are just plain lazy and selfish.

Apparently the time frame for being useless is about 6 months before being dismissed. That is one thing I hate about church planting, you don't have time for your people to have a bad year. At an established church, you can weather those down times because there isn't the same sense of urgency for everybody to bring their "a" (or "b" or even "c" game) all the time.

So throughout this whole thing I have been very understanding. We were coming to a change in season, to be sure, and change is hard. We had drifted apart philosophically, and that bled into ministry, I get that. I hated the direction of Sundays and life groups but I knew that was about my preferences. All of this I can take blame for and feel ok with.

Here is what got me: We have had a significant amount of life change in the last 6 months both in our family and our extended family. Not everything I am going to go into here, but we had to make some tough "no-win" decisions about what was best for our family. As I am sharing my concerns and frustrations with a leader in the church who had called me out, he has the nerve to say this, "Ben, you create your own crises." Aside for the brilliant piece of pastoral empathy, I thought, "well if you mean we make decisions then live with the consequences, then yes I take partial responsibility for these crises." But what a thing to say while you are bawling me out for not being active enough in the church. No "how can we help you through these difficult times" or "oh my, you are up to your eyeballs in hospital bills and home repairs and utility debts, maybe we can help with that." Or even, "that must be tough, can I pray for you?" No, Ben, you create your own crises. Beautiful.

This was the first time that I really said, "This really isn't the kind of community I want to be part of." This was two weeks before being "released." So I guess we were on our way out anyway. But it still stinks to get fired right before you are gonna quit, ya know? Guess they felt the same way.

I wish Jesus had had kids

Kids change everything. I have been thinking recently about how I am supposed to be as a disciple. I'm frustrated that Jesus wasn't a dad because I wonder what he would have done. It feels like, at least at this stage, I have to choose between my family and everything else. I don't feel like I have time for both. You put your time in at work and when you come home all I want to do is love on these two little people God has entrusted to me. I want to spend my time with them while they still want to spend it with me.

But where does that leave me when it comes to being a disciple? Should I be doing this AND helping the poor, reaching the lost, loving my neighbor, and participating in the work of the church? I know the answer is yes, but I don't know how many people do both well. I think it is harder than we think. I know so many Christian men that have regrets about fatherhood. It has been less than two years since I became a father and I have yet to feel like I can do "church stuff" without taking away from "family stuff."

Or am I just an emotional glutton who cannot get enough of the love my children give me? Is it not so much about their needs as my wants? At the end of the day, am I going to always feel like I have neglected something? What do I do with those regrets?

Is there a life in this society where it is possible not to compartmentalize things into "Family," "Ministry," "Work," & "Church?" How do we lay people live the kingdom life & feed our families? Is bringing the kingdom to our jobs and homes enough?

In a slightly related topic:

Right now it is so difficult to go to church on Sunday because it has nothing to do with the rest of my life. I get little out of it other than a sense of guilt that I should be doing more or giving more. It is a huge exhaustion to get two kids under two ready by myself (Julie works) and then take care of them once I get to church as well. I don't know how parents do it. I feel like asking other single parents to do this is almost laughable. Who in their right mind would volunteer for this kind of headache with so little of a payoff? There has to be a better way to be the church and have a family. I have a feeling I am in serious transition on my beliefs again.