Expectations

For several years in the late eighties early nineties, I worked as a deejay. That’s right, I was an on-air personality. I started off at an AM station that played southern gospel. The studio was in a trailer, and the transmitter was barely strong enough to reach the parking lot. This really didn’t present a problem, because nobody ever listened anyway.

After serving my time there, I built up enough of a resume to get a part-time job at a local 100,000 watt FM station that played top forty stuff. I was trained by some professionals that had been in the business for many years, and I learned greatly from them. I worked overnights, weekend shifts, and eventually every shift except morning drive. At one point, I was even able to create my own show and do all of my own programming. Needless to say, I loved it.

This experience ruined radio for me for many years. I was not able to just listen because I had developed a much more critical ear than the average listener. I recognized excellence, but I also recognized mediocrity… and the abundance of mediocrity drowned what little excellence I seemed to find.

I am starting to wonder if my experiences in church haven’t had a similar effect. I pray daily and ask that God would soften my heart and allow me to see things with a fresh perspective. I enter into new situations striving to be positive, working to see the good and not the bad.

And yet, just like years ago when I turned off the radio and looked for something else to meet that need, I have found myself walking away from churches still looking for more. I walk away more frustrated than when I entered.

For months upon months, I have been frustrated with what I perceive to be the American church. Maybe the problem is mine, and not the church’s. Maybe my expectations have been too high and I have been too needy.

Years ago, my father was trying to lead a family discussion. He was trying to help us resolve some conflict within the family, and he asked each of us what we could do to make the situation better. (My sister had already moved out, so it was just my mom, my dad, my brother, and me.) Dad went first and volunteered that he could help out by taking care of all the laundry. My brother added that he would make sure that his room and bathroom would stay clean. I tried to one up him by saying that I would keep my room and bathroom clean and keep the den vaccuumed and dusted.

My dad looked at my mom and asked, “Brenda… what about you? What can you do to make things run more smoothly around here?”

Without missing a beat, Mom addressed the root of the issue when she looked at my dad and said, “Well, I guess I can stop expecting so damned much out of you three!”

Maybe that is what I need to do with the church… stop expecting so damned much.