A Thousand Tears

When it came to sex, I was completely ignorant. The only education I received was gifted to me by a woman who sat on the front row of my church. Midway through every Sunday morning service, she would unbutton her blouse, pull out her milk filled breast and commence feeding her fussy baby while remaining uncovered.

From my vantage point in the tenor section of the church choir, I had a front row seat for the “Great Reveal.” Granted, this had nothing to do with sex, absolutely nothing! But like I said, I was ignorant. The topic of sex was taboo for my Midwestern, conservative family.

Tragically, my naivety would be gravely assaulted when I was 12-years old.

Blind Spot

Thirty-six years ago, while my friends scarfed up homemade pancakes and farm sausages inside the hot, summer, church-camp cafeteria, I stood outside. My concerned parents towered over me, as I cowered in a blind spot beyond everyone’s view. With puffy, red eyes, a sick stomach and pointing fingers, I revealed how a camp counselor had sexually assaulted me a few hours earlier under the cover of darkness. He was a prominent deacon in the church my father pastored.

As you can imagine, the details I revealed had nothing to do with a naked breast and a fussy baby. It’s an understatement when I say, I was woefully ill-equipped in that moment. I still remember the extreme embarrassment I felt that early morning. I also remember being deathly afraid of my father’s reaction.

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As a 12-year old, I knew how powerful he could be. Two or three times a week, he faithfully honored God with his leather belt. He was determined to not “spare the rod” with me and my younger sister. I trembled with fear as to what he might do in response to the grave offense I struggled to convey behind the cafeteria. My chief concern was for him. I was afraid if he did what I knew he was capable of, he might go to jail, rather than my abuser.

To my utter shock, there would be no outbursts of anger, or welts and bruises administered. Apparently, such beatings were reserved solely for me and my sister.

In that moment, my parents briefly consoled me. They cautioned me to hush for now and invited me inside for leftovers. I remember eating privately in the kitchen, while my friends stood outside wondering what terrible thing I had done to warrant such isolation.

My imposed isolation didn’t end there. Hours turned into days, then weeks and months with little to nothing more being said.

Gag Rule

Ultimately, my father’s inaction served to embolden an already very brazen pedophile. For the next few years, every Sunday morning, Sunday night and Wednesday evening Deacon Scott would religiously follow me into the church restroom and crowd me at the urinal. As I peed, he’d quietly whisper in my ear, informing me what more he could have done and assuring me I would have enjoyed it. This was very traumatic for a pubescent teen.

He also told me the same had been done to him when he was my age, assuring me my future was inevitable; I would one day be just like him.

It goes without saying, those years were tremendously painful, mentally and emotionally. In many ways, his verbal accosting was worse than the physical, sexual assault. I was isolated with no protectors, no counselors and no safe place to retreat to, not even my own bedroom.

Terrorized by frequent nightmares, I’d would often awake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat with his haunting whispers looping endlessly in my mind. Adding to my silent torture was the fact that I frequently wet the bed, well into my teen years. I couldn’t control my thoughts. I couldn’t control my body. On every front, I felt hopelessly helpless.

Complicating matters, was the gag rule faithfully enforced by my parents. No one could ever know anything, not even my innocent, naive sister. And if my abuser spoke to me, I was instructed to ignore him, saying nothing in return. My parents poured all their energy into controlling me, and only me. Apparently, they had determined, dealing with Deacon Scott was futile.

Channeling Pain

Eventually, during my high school years, I found an outlet for my grief through music. I taught myself how to play the guitar and write songs. For the first time in my life, I was in control of something. Music enabled me to take charge of my thoughts and emotions. It was a medium through which I could channel my repressed pain and create beauty. There was an unexpected bonus also. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t being told to be quiet.

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By the time I was 17, a handful of my original songs garnered attention from some small-time music insiders. I was elated when I got the phone call from a producer offering me a chance to record in a real studio. One week later, when the contract arrived in the mail, I trembled with excitement. However, my parent’s reaction was less than enthusiastic.

Unknown to me, they had already determined my future, and it involved preaching, not singing. In the days which followed, they built a very strong case as to why I should tear up the contract and “surrender to the high call” of ministry. In a few short weeks, after being worn down mentally and emotionally, I humbly submitted. As God required of me, I honored my parents by tearing up my recording contract and leaving for the “preacher boy school” they had chosen for me.

A Thousand Tears

Despite their choice college being extremely conservative and controlling, the experience was very liberating. For the first time in my life, I had some distance between me and my parent’s stern rule. It was wonderful, but also terribly confusing. During my critical developmental years, I had never been allowed to express myself, explore and discover who I am. Every hour of every day, my parents had dictated who I was, who my friends were, what I could or could not do, who I dated and what I was supposed to do with my life… then and forever.

The only momentary sense of discovery or freedom I had ever experienced was with music. So, to cope with my confusing emotions, by day I attended my “preacher boy” classes. This made my parents happy. But at night, I’d quietly slip out with my guitar and perform my original music at coffee houses and small venues. This made me happy.

Eventually, the inevitable happened. I wrote a song about my abuse, using an fictional female character as the lead voice. I entitled it, “A Thousand Tears.” It felt safe to tell my story as her story. Years later, looking back at that song, I can admit it wasn’t a great song. But, because I was so emotionally vested in the lyrics, my live performances were very moving.

The response it evoked from listeners was not something I was prepared for. I remember the first time I performed it live, there was a line of college students waiting for me just off the stage after the show. They weren’t there for pictures or autographs. They were there to share with me their own stories of terrible abuse, betrayal and cover-ups. Apparently, my song had given them permission to break their silence. I was wrecked by their stories. I had never been allowed to have a voice, let alone be someone else’s voice.

In between my freshman and sophomore year, I returned home for the summer as a very different person. The courage and openness of my peers had empowered me. My parents sensed my new confidence and clarity, and it frightened them. Little did either of us know how serious of a threat I posed to the fragile reality they had carefully guarded for so long.

Watershed Event

Shortly after returning home, I was asked to sing and speak at our local church on a Sunday morning. Without question, I said yes and stepped on the stage with guitar in hand. I sang “A Thousand Tears” and then delivered a sermon which called out abuse of every kind. This was a “checkmate” moment for me.

The church was packed and sitting near the back surrounded by kids was Deacon Scott. On his face was the familiar part-glare and part-grin, which seemed to say, “Your body and your mind… are mine.”

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My father, the pastor of the church, had unwittingly made a big mistake that Sunday by surrendering his pulpit to me. My maturing songwriting skills had made me a very good wordsmith. I knew how to build a thought up to a critical point, and then make it pay with a heart stirring hook. Before my sermon was complete, I had successfully pulled on everyone’s heart strings until no eye remained dry.

That morning from the platform, seeing a literal “thousand tears” gave me some closure. But what happened after the service turned my checkmate moment into a watershed event. Just as my college performances had empowered abuse victims to share their stories, a handful of young men in the church, my age and younger, began talking. All of them had similar stories to mine, and what tied our stories together was Deacon Scott sitting in his usual spot with his tearless half glare, half grin still on his face.

I wish I could tell you he was rushed out of the church and into a jail cell, and everyone lived happily ever after. Sadly, I cannot. Just as my parents had silenced me years earlier, the young men speaking out for the first time were each shut down by their parents. Even though I had not specifically told my story, only fictionally referencing abuse through music and a sermon, it was clear to everyone. I was the instigator.

With my father’s church in turmoil, my mother a nervous wreck, and board members unwilling to dismiss Deacon Scott, I was barred from the pulpit and promptly disowned by my parents.

Making a Difference

I returned to college and tried to finish, but I had lost my motivation. I was beginning to doubt whether I really had to be a minister. Long story short, because I was a very good speaker, I eventually fell into a successful career as a full-time minister. My career took me coast to coast and around the world. I even got to record with some amazing musicians and eventually become a published writer.

As a pastor, whenever I encountered abusive situations, I never hesitated to alert the authorities. Right now, one pedophile is serving a 30-year sentence because I refused to stay silent. Also, by advising church staff around the nation to do background checks on all volunteers and staff, countless sex offenders were removed from Sunday School positions, youth groups and various small groups. This was my small contribution in trying to combat an institutionalized epidemic.

It wasn’t until my mid-40’s, when I finally realized, I didn’t have to be a pastor. I could be and do anything I wanted. After burying one child and raising four amazing, inspirational kids, my wife and I have successfully transitioned into very satisfying, profitable careers.

Currently, what has me troubled and up late at night is: misogyny, gender discrimination and pay inequality in the business world. Concerning these things, I’m beginning to find my voice.


Part Two: It’s Called Consequences


 

Need A Job?

Post 20+ years in ministry, I landed a good job with a billion dollar company. Currently, I am an interior decor project manager working with leading franchises around the world.

As much as a job can be, it’s fulfilling. I enjoy the people I work with and the creative aspects of decor. I’m salaried with freedom to work from home when desired and I’m building a retirement that will hopefully be “golden” in 20 years.

Average Me

I was 45 when I left ministry. I have some college but no degree. I have no background in design or engineering. My computer skills are average. With Mac, I’m exceptional; Microsoft, the preference in business, I hate! I had some experience in the trades before ministry but nothing recent. 

The question I’m most frequently asked by former clergy is: “How did you get the job you got?”

Hmm…

Initially, I exhausted all my leads from current and past friends. One was a business owner who was eager to hire me, but not for the reasons I thought. He offered me base pay and wanted a commitment that I’d counsel him at least 2 hours a week.

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Hmm… thank you, but no. I had lost valuable years of accumulating $$$ in a 401k. I couldn’t consider base pay and free “on-the-side” counseling.

Those few months were very rough. I was so depressed, and didn’t know the first thing about writing a resume. I also struggled with self-condemnation, dwelling on how I had “thrown my life away” and put my family in a terrible situation.

Eventually, I reconnected with a friend who’s a business consultant. He had been active in my church when I first planted it, but had left shortly after. Life took us in different directions.

Not a Loser!

He helped me process my predicament and sort through my “woe is me” emotions. He also helped me uncover the hidden gems (my skills and life experience) from what I thought was only rubbish! Together, for a few weeks we worked on my resume.

He shared with me that most professionals have at least three to six different resumes, each tailored for similar but different positions. We identified that my collective experience screamed MANAGER! Then, he taught me a new language. Religion was my native tongue. Business was not. I needed a translator, and he was that!

FACT: I had preached with translators around the world, but had never put two-and-two together. Translators paraphrase the message, and by de facto direct the conversation which follows. Learn how to translate and you can be the one leading and directing the conversation, even when being interviewed.

We started by listing my pre-ministry jobs and highlighting my skill sets. Have you ever participated in safety meetings, time studies, board meetings, interventions? That’s called problem-solving!

We then tackled my “gap years” in ministry. 

We identified my ministry experience as a specialization in non-profit management. We listed out a few of the projects I had been part of: building projects, community-helps programs, weekly presentations, capital campaign initiatives, overseeing staff & volunteers, hiring, firing, etc.

FACT: Charitable initiatives are very popular with small and large companies. Few people have experience in coordinating and leading these initiatives. As a former clergy, a.k.a. non-profit manager, having past experience with charity drives is a big plus.

Highlight This!

The initial goal of my resume was not to be exclusive about my past work experience; it was to highlight my worth and value. We kept it focused on my managerial experience, including buzz words such as, problem-solver, solution-oriented, positive, team player, etc. Because I didn’t have a completed college degree, I attached a link to my Strengths Finder summary.

The primary goal was not to oversell anything. It was to peak interest, and to get me into an interview where I would have face-to-face time. As a former minister, I knew I had the people skills to deal with that!

To make a long story short, the next interview I went to with my resume lasted for an hour. I was anticipating questions about my non-profit experience, but to my surprise, it never came up! Instead, we talked about family, marriage, music, movies and a host of shared interests.

When I left the top floor to find my car in a parking garage below, I wasn’t sure I had even interviewed. Two weeks passed until I received a call back inviting me to take a tour of the production facilities. This lasted for two hours, and the conversation was much the same. My head was spinning with bewilderment.

Can I Work With You?

Another two weeks passed and I was hired. Turns out, from reading my resume they were confident I had the managerial chops they were looking for. Their chief concern was:

Is he personable and likable? Is he a good fit with the other team members? Will they enjoy working with him 40+ hours a week?

This explains why my two interviews were so casual and conversational. That was 3+ years ago, and obviously my employer’s initial hunch proved correct. They enjoy me and I enjoy them. Last night, my direct report and I split a bottle of wine and 4 small plates with desert, reminiscing about life, work and growing older.

Let’s Try It Again!

After I had been employed for a year, my wife and I decided to create a resume for her. She had zero college and no trade skills. However, she’s confident, smart and possesses exceptional communication skills. She got her face-to-face interview with the same company and was hired as a salaried PM like me. Presently, she’s killing it, and has been tapped to be the lead in her department soon. Why? Because she knows how to get people to work together.

A year later, we did the same thing with my daughter. She has some college and a brief job history. She’s smart, a quick study, amiable and a good communicator. Long story short, she was hired as a customer service representative. After one year, she is being promoted to a salaried project manager position! Why? She has a good work ethic and is willing to tackle difficult projects others freak out with.

This past week, my 18 year-old son got word he’s being hired to work in the production plant. He’s excited, because after 6-months the company will pay for schooling as long as he’s employed and has good grades. He sees his future in IT and software engineering. Why did he get the offer? He had exceptional references, via dad, mom and his sister.

A Growing Trend

For us, things have worked out very nicely. I realize not every company out there is willing to hire people with little to no experience. But there is a growing trend right now prompting many companies to take a chance with people that are lacking experience, but are kind, responsible and willing to learn.

The economy is good right now; demand is high, and companies are desperate for good workers. As a result, the hiring environment is far more open to giving people like you and me a chance. We just need a little re-educating behind the scenes, learning how to translate our previous experience in a format that is appealing.


RESUME TIPS:

In preparation for creating your resume, I’d recommend taking a personality test. Even if you have done so in the past, take it again. Many of us have taken “gifts test.” That was then; this is now. A lot has changed for you since then.

I’d also recommend taking the Strengths Finder test. The results will help you understand how to translate your religious experience into a more business friendly vocabulary. You’ll also learn a lot about yourself in the process!

When formatting your resume, don’t be afraid to try a variety of styles. There are numerous free resume templates online. If you have a Mac, Pages has great templates. That’s what I used.

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Once you’re satisfied with your resume, update your LinkedIn profile. It’s important to have an online presence. Once I completed this, I reached out to a handful of friends and asked them to endorse me on LinkedIn. Don’t be afraid to ask. Most people are willing to help, even if they don’t agree with you. I gave them a deadline and followed up. Soon, I collected a handful of references, and posted them on my profile in a PDF attachment as referrals.

Once you’ve completed these things, you’re ready to interview. If you don’t have any leads, consider a temporary job service. I used Seek Professionals. They were highly motivated to get me an interview and super great to work with. They will also provide counsel on how to tailor your resume for a particular job posting. They get paid when they place you!

Once you land a decent job, the panic ensues as how to keep that job. Consider these tips.

JOB TIPS:

  • Be a good listener — Practice active listening by asking clarifying questions.
  • Resist divulging your past Your past is your past, not your present.
  • Enjoy being you without a ministerial title — You no longer represent an ecclesiastical order or position; you represent you.
  • Display willingness to learn — You’ve made this transition in life because you are a natural seeker and learner. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. Keep learning.
  • Take responsibility for your mistakes — Confession is in your wheelhouse. “Hey, I screwed up! I have a plan to remedy the situation. What do you think?”
  • Avoid work politics — You’ve had plenty of experience with power plays and position flexing. Therefore, you know how to spot it when it’s happening and how to avoid it.
  • Complete tasks in a timely manner — Deadlines are nothing new to you. Think Saturday night before Sunday service, and for some, multiple services.
  • Enjoy yourself — Console yourself with the reality that you are doing something very few have had to do. Celebrate the small things. Every day is an opportunity to keep moving forward.
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T & LA at work

Splash! Splash! Splash!

For those who have been reading my Patheos postings, you’ve no doubt noticed I keep referencing Icarus, the mythological risk-taker who flew too close to the sun and perished from his tragic fall back to earth. The inspiration which sparked my recent article came from an Oscar Wilde poem:

Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight. For the greatest tragedy of them all, is never to feel the burning light.

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Bruegel’s “Landscape with the Fall of Icarus” (ca. 1558) is famous for relegating the fall to a scarcely noticed event in the background — red arrow [added by me] marks the spot.

Lately, I’ve been questioning why I’m obsessed with making inferences to Icarus. After all, it’s a tragic story traditionally accompanied with warnings for the over-ambitious and reckless. There’s even an attributed psychological term called The Icarus Complex: a person who is fond of heights, narcissistic and obsessed with fantastical, far-fetched, imaginary cognition.

Psychosynthesis ties this complex to those whose religious/spiritual ambitions exceed the reasonable limits of their own personalities. They are characterized by self-gratifying, attention-seeking behavior and obsessions with apocalyptic “crash & burn” predictions. Interestingly, they also have an emotional fascination with fire (e.g. burning sexual desires, moral works tried by fire, scorching eternal punishment, etc.).

To say the least, there’s enough with all of this to keep me busy for months, writing and making inferences!

The Red Arrow

As it concerns my recent articles, my chief motivation can be found in the painting above. Icarus’ fall (red arrow marks the spot) is depicted as an unnoticed non-event. Farmers, travelers, fishermen, sailing merchants, they all continue their day-to-day tasks, unconcerned with the tragic splash below.

So, what is it that best represents the uninteresting splash? Without knowing the painter’s intentions, I’ll attempt to offer my own insights.

Splash! Splash! Splash!

Maybe the uneventful splash is symbolized by all the rising/falling religious-spiritual fads, trends, obsessions, predictions and ever changing, contradictory dogmas? You know, the elusive transcendental stuff. If this painting were a contemporary work, we could theorize the splash to be the numerous rapture theories or Zionist Temple Mount predictions featured by Charisma Magazine each month.

Or, we could point to the televangelists’s hyper theatrics serving up hot, steamy love songs to God followed by oratory hell-laced admonitions to the Divine’s captive bride.

Or, our thoughts could turn to Oprah’s recommended reading list and all the eager Super Soul Sunday guru guests.

The splash of week-old TV ratings certainly constitutes as a non-event.

Cable specials about angels and demons, books left out of the sacred canon, dinosaur-sized giants, ancient aliens, Nessie and Bigfoot exposes and alchemy secrets revealed… splash! splash! splash!

The latest, greatest study bibles promising word-for-word translations, religious programming’s annual pledge drives, right and left wing talking points, political call to arms and Church/State promises to use your tithes and taxes to honor God and country… SPLASH! SPLASH! SPLASH!

Who Gives A Crap?!?

For many, if it doesn’t impact grocery and gas prices, vacation resort deals, or 401K gains… who gives a crap?!?

Week after week, month after month, and year after year, many have learned to ignore the splashes. It’s just entertainment after all, right? Umm…

I’m a romantic, so I like to think the splash is not Icarus sinking into Davey Jone’s Locker. I like to envision him getting close enough to the burning light of reason, he realizes his world is upside-down. He no longer fears falling and sheds his father’s wings. He’s actually flying; for real, he… is… flying!

Think Neo being unplugged from the Matrix.

My romantic self likes to think of the splashes as being all the social, religious, political, inhumane mechanical bodies–the dim promises of transcendent flight–plunging into the waters of stupidity far below. Like Icarus, I envision myself shedding my inherited biases to soar high, far above the superstitious storytellers, religious dogma and prejudiced contemporary philosophers.

Together, we live without regret in the brilliant light of free thought and discovery.

Have I peaked your interest?

More romantic, sentimental musings to come soon… #Icarusflew #noregrets

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Daedulus and Icarus drawing by Lyle Saunders – click pic for link