No Good Place To Stand

by

Our middle daughter is a Taylor Swift fan. She went to see her “Eras” tour. She is, by all rights, a big “Swiftie.” So, it’s natural that her mother and I have explained “who this Travis guy” is over the past few weeks. I’m not the biggest NFL fan, but I know Travis has won two super bowl rings and hosted Saturday Night Live. I know enough to know those things are culturally significant deals. Ordinary people don’t win one, let alone two Super Bowls.

Nor do most people get asked to host one of American television’s longest-running sketch comedy shows. In due course, we told her the Travis story. Her reaction was this, “he’s some football player.” And without missing a beat, she became a Kansas City Chiefs fan and, am I paraphrasing here, “Well, everyone is going to know who he is now.”

She was right. Swiftie Nation has adopted Travis Kelce; his jersey can only be purchased at 400% more than before rumors of his and Taylor’s relationship surfaced, and Travis and Taylor have given America a public fall romance.  We’ve also re-learned a valuable lesson: unless you’re standing next to the right person, at the right time, and at the right time, no matter how successful you are, most people have no idea who you are. Proximity to fame means fame, acknowledgment, and fame in and of itself.  Until you’ve been uber fame-adjacent, it doesn’t matter how many super bowls you’ve won or episodes of Saturday Night you’ve hosted. That’s how it would seem. Despite everything you’ve done in your life, it all comes down to who you’re standing next to and who’s standing next to you.

Maybe that’s how it is. Sometimes, it feels that way, certainly in the church.  One needs a point of reference to have an identity. After disaffiliation, you find yourself standing alone, searching for an identity. Even being Jesus adjacent isn’t enough. In fact, it can make things worse. That’s what got me to this point in my career.

If you stand too close to Jesus, people will become uncomfortable with you and our Savior. They’ll begin to see Jesus as the crazy uncle who makes everyone uncomfortable at Thanksgiving dinner. No one wants to be uncomfortable or be reminded of Jesus’ world-altering, life-changing idea for reconsidering how one lives one’s life. America wants to straight-jacket Jesus and send him packing as quickly as possible. If anything, we want a malleable Jesus that we can form in our image, a Jesus who affirms our decisions, loves what we love, hates what we hate, and is as American as apple pie and baseball.

In the days and weeks before you move on from the remnant who’s decided to head in another theological direction, it’s easy to feel like a nonperson, unseen and unheard, like no one remembers who you are, what you’ve done, or why you’re still hanging around church. Your presence as the pastor only made sense when you stood beside a cross and flame and the words “United Methodist Church.” When those points of identification are removed, ripped off walls, signposts, and the like, and it’s just you, denominationally naked behind a pulpit that once felt like home, your identity seems to vanish.

People who once readily asked about your life and family now walk by after the worship service, barely shaking your hand, making eye contact, and are unwilling to ask, “How’s it going?” You are unseen, anonymous, and being forgotten in real-time.

I am becoming a living, breathing memory in the present tense. I wouldn’t wish this experience on my worst enemy. All I can say is this: it sucks, and there’s no good place to stand.

To understand the context of this column, readers should know that the church where the Rev. Richard Bryant is appointed, New Sharon UMC in Hillsborough, N.C., has voted to disaffiliate from The United Methodist Church. The North Carolina Annual Conference will hold a special session on Oct. 7 to vote on disaffiliations.