Well, I am finally able to sit down and write a bit after my experience at the event of the year, the Outlaw Preacher’s (re)Union 2011.  I have to say I went into this not knowing exactly what to expect.  Prior to coming to the event I have spent the last 4-6 weeks in a fog and have experienced what one could only describe as complete and total burn-out, or maybe disenfranchised depressive mode.  Basically, I have been experiencing a period of just simply not caring about things I used to care dearly about. I stopped caring about my relationships to people who disagree with me both theologically and politically and just said whatever I wanted to say despite the protests afterwards, I unfriended people who were unfriendly and I cared very little about other’s feelings on the matter.  I have felt the progress of my little community come to what looks like a complete halt, and have felt helpless to do anything to get it kick-started again.  I had given up on even trying. A week before this event I made the mistake of letting my dear friend Kathy Escobar know that I was coming and she seemed really excited at the possibilities of seeing me.  That, I decided, a day or two before the event, was the main reason I had to go.  I had already committed to her and my carpool buddy, Katie Joe Suddaby that I was coming.  To not go would have meant letting down these two wonderful women.  I could not do that, but for the life of me I did not see how I would get anything out of yet another pastor's conference. So I went, not really knowing personally any of the folks who considered themselves Outlaws.  I went not expecting my heart to be jump-started.  I went not expecting to be welcomed as one of them.  I went, because I told others I would go.  And that again was the only reason I went. When I arrived at the conference center in Burns, Tennessee I was greeted by people that I have only really known via the internet.  I remember extending my hand to the first one and they just smiled at me, nodded and then reached across the distance and pulled me in for a hug.  That first hug was a bit of a shock to my system.  I put my arms around this fellow and lightly patted the back of his shoulders reaching up to do it and thought to myself this is different. See, people in the North are not very big on hugging.  Or at least that has been my experience.  Then one after the other as I met people I had known online, I would get hugged.  Then they would introduce me to a friend of theirs from the group and they would hug me, then total strangers introduced themselves to me in mid-embrace. After the first day was complete, I was hugged by at least 20 different people, most of which I had never met.  Each day brought on more, and you know what?  Something inside me, in the deepest part of me began to break.  It was the shell of not caring – the battle scars and calluses that I had built up over the last few months began to crumble and fall away.  It was as if each new person had this sort of power to just pull back the veneer and reveal the heart that I once had for people.  Once I could actually see it and feel it pumping, I remembered. I remembered why it was I ever got into this racket they call pastoring.  I remembered that it was originally about people.  It was about being a good listener.  It was about being a person ready with a hug at a moment’s notice.  It was about ars moreindi (the art of dying).  In the last few weeks before this event, I had not been much good to anyone.  I had been running on auto-pilot and the plane was running out of gas quickly.  The oxygen masks had fallen from their places in the passenger area and the passengers were dying and too weak too even grab them and pull them over their heads.  The whole thing was about to land hard in a field and explode in a flash of flames and power.  And the interesting thing – again I was on autopilot and asleep at the wheel.  I had no idea how serious it was, but for a few hugs. Hugging So what is so powerful about a hug?  Well think about it with me for a second.  When you hug someone -- and I don’t mean one of those hipster Christian side-hugs, I mean a full on two arms wrapped around your back, pulling you in and your chest touches the other person’s chest – that kind of hug -- you are telling the other person “I trust you.” Think about it, you are exposing your vital organs to them.  You are opening your gates and lifting your defenses completely and telling a person, look, here is my chest.  Two inches in and you’ve got my heart.  Any sharp object you possess could cause me a huge amount of damage, if not death itself, but I trust you to return the gesture and open yourself up to me. When you hug someone you are in a sense touching heart to heart.  It is warm, and if you stand there a while, chest to chest, you can feel their pulse.  Releasing after a hug is a given, that also requires trust on the hugger’s part.  A person with ill intent could actually squeeze the life out of a trusting hugger, because once they are able to squeeze the air out of you, all they have to do is hold that position for a little bit longer until you pass out.  Yet, every hugger takes that chance. Trust can heal a person So, what really seemed to be happening at this event was that I had multiple people who trusted me enough to open their arms to me.  They were vulnerable in this act and I returned the gesture over and again in the same spirit.  It was this trust that made me remember that although there is not a whole lot of hugging going on in my community, they do trust me.  They trust me implicitly to care about them.  It was this trust from others that began to heal me, and it is my trust of others that also heals them and helps them to remember that deep down, they are good, just like God created them. [caption id="attachment_703" align="alignnone" width="1280" caption="Pastor Nar"] [/caption] Being Known Another thing that happened after the hug, was questioning.  Each person asked me who I was, where I lived, what I do, whether I was married, why wasn’t my wife there, did I have kids, how long I had been a pastor, and everything in between.  They wanted to know me, not just know of me or know my vitals so they could walk away. They were interested in who I was.  Each of us want to be known.  We want others to at least care enough about who we are to give us their time and attention just for a little while.  These folks were skilled knowers.  I began to awaken to the fact that for a while now I have not bothered to get to “know” anyone new.  I have been stagnant at best when it came to meeting new people, but here I was being made known to one person after the other and feeling the benefits of being with someone who actually cared about who I was, over and again.  And I began to remember who I am. I am a pastor So, it was through these close personal experiences that I have been redeemed.  I have been plucked out of the fire of discontent, out of the jaws of self-introspection and frustration, depression, anger and exhaustion.  I have been saved, by the Outlaw Preachers and I am a pastor. I have been a pastor now for several years, but again for the last few months I have been no one’s pastor.  I am refreshed and ready to get back to work.  I understand that for the most part there is this huge segment of the church that will never see me as a pastor, because I subscribe to ideas that are very different than theirs in regards to how to treat the least of these, and because I stand up for the weary and because I don’t think of myself as highly as they think I ought to, I don’t fit in to their views on what a pastor should be.  I have been told to my face that I am very “unpastor-like.” Regardless of the folks who think otherwise, I am a pastor and I take this very seriously. Outlaw Preachers Outlaw preachers are not necessarily folks that broke the law and are somehow wanted by the police.  We are Outlaws, much like Jesus was considered an Outlaw by the powers that be of his time.  We are Outlaws because we would give up Heaven and all talk of heavenly rewards to stand by the least of these and those marginalized by the church, because we believe that Jesus would be right there with us as opposed to driving a platinum colored moped down some fictitious gold plated roadway above the clouds. We are Outlaws because we don’t fight for a Christian nation like so many of our other brothers and sisters in Christ, because we don’t buy into the idea of a Christian government.  We think the government will always be corrupt no matter how you label it, and we trust in a different Kingdom all together -- one built upon serving and generosity, love and compassion.  One that is about Jesus’ will, not ours.  One that is devoid of anything that looks like power, and one that is based on sacrifice. We are Outlaws because even when we disagree on these things, we can still come to the table and eat together and hug each other and say, “so what, I love you.” I am an Outlaw  See, there I said it.  I am an Outlaw.  Thanks again to all of my new and better friends.  I hope to interact with you regularly.  Thank you for your hugs and your support and friendship and your willingness to look beyond my crazy ideas and beliefs and see the real me and accept me for who I am.  God bless you.