Pastor X came to talk to CCCF (our fellowship) tonight. He came late so did not join us for dinner, and he moved his talk before singspiration, probably because he needed to leave shortly after. I know Pastor X is a good pastor. I hear he is passionate and strong, unmoving in his convictions, and has a way with frightening people to a start. He is young, good-looking, and a dynamic speaker. Tonight I will not mince my words. Rightly or unrightly (and probably the latter), I do not take to Pastor X.
Unlike other speakers, he does not insert himself into the fellowship nights. He comes, preaches, and then leaves. In some ways then, he is detached, not fully vested in the sheep he has been asked to lead that night. At the surface, one cannot fault him - he is asked to preach and he does his job. But one cannot help but feel that he has missed the mark. Because in asking him to come and preach on those Mondays, one is not asking him merely to deliver a message; one is asking him be a pastor; one is asking him to fellowship, to love. Granted not all who attend CCCF on Monday nights belong to his large church. But as a shepherd, he is to love his sheep - no matter if they are black or white, whether or not he sees them weekly in his fold. They are there.
I have a thing about people who do not commit wholeheartedly. I have a thing about people who come late, leave early, or attend only when it is convenient, when they feel like it. I have a thing about committment, about priorities. It speaks volumes about people's characters - whether they are committed to serve, sacrifice their own comfort, give their time, and ensure that the job is done to completion. It is, as always, about the heart.
But there is something I have failed to mention. Looking at Pastor X in the audience tonight, I was myself, dressed head to toe in my outdoor gear, gloves over hands, back-pack on and computer shoulder-bag slung across, standing in front of my fellowship members, on my own way out. As this year's librarian, I came early to document the book database. But I was planning to leave after dinner, after announcements, in order to get home in time to do some preparation for tomorrow. I would miss out on singspiration, the talk, and prayer clusters. I was operating on my own time.
My image is graphically etched in my mind - it is almost hyperbolic. Any time I need to brave the cold, I am about four times my regular size. I wear six layers, full-out hat, scarf, gloves, and two bags. It borders on being ridiculous. When I found out tonight that announcements would be done at the end of the talk and singspiration, I was asked to pass on my book announcements to the President. But as I dressed myself and tried to pass him my slip of paper, he asked whether I would do it before leaving, on my way out. You see, just as the fellowship had rearranged their schedule to suit Pastor X's convenience, so they had done for me.
My own image haunts me, and appropriately so. The juxtaposition of my fellowship members, sat down and ready to quiet their hearts before the Lord, and me, upstanding in my bright orange hat and large coat, clearly ready to go. Tonight, that image represents my own selfishness - overgrown and self-indulgent. I could have stayed. I could have come home at 11:00 pm and worked until 1:00 or 2:00 am. People do it all the time. They sacrifice. It is about committment. But I choose my own comfort - I choose to ensure that I am home by latest 9:00 pm on weekdays so I can shower and rest and get ready for the next day. I choose my own comfort.
The guilt that I have been feeling this year has been enormous. It has been on my mind quite a lot. The idea of sacrifice, of commitment, of feeling so bad when I say 'no'. How can I ask people to let me move on? Having always jumped at every opportunity to cook and serve last year, I've felt the need to move onto graduate life this year. But trying to extricate myself from undergraduate fellowship has been so difficult. I feel like I disappoint so many people when I do not go on Fridays. My choice for this is because I would like to spend time with people I hardly get to see, because they do not go to church and because they are not Chinese. This year I have decided to committ to Saturday graduate bible studies. And that is a committment that I have made. It is one committment that allows my mind and heart to rest.
I see the apathy in the undergraduate fellowship. I see my friend broken from the stress of apathetic members. And I want to help relieve that stress. And I become so upset at junior members who will not step up to take those leadership positions, to keep the fellowship going. I am unrightly upset because I feel that it is because of this apathy that I am burdened with this guilt, that I feel like I cannot go, that I am letting people down in leaving. And yet I go. That is the worst of all. But I cannot keep returning to fill a place that one day someone younger needs to fill. I cannot keep going back.
I want to move on. And I think it is okay to move on. But there are ways of doing it, of transition, of letting those you leave behind know that you're still there for them while you take a step forward. This evening I was upset, upset that no other graduates who have slowly stopped coming to the undergraduate fellowship have been singled out. But upset fades as you realise that you are yourself at fault. I wish I knew the steps to take to grow. I wish I could love sacrificially. I wish I could step up to the plate and not buckle under so many expectations.
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