I Quit. Finding Myself in the Clouds of Culture [June 6, 2024]

[Yesterday, Oct 20, 2024, I commented in my sermon that I had divorced from the old me. It reminded me of my journal entry on June 6 of this year. I wanted to share it here with a few edits.]

You can’t spell Culture without “CULT.”

I’ve heard many witty turns like this in my life, but few speak to the undertone of humanity like this one. I’ve been writing, thinking, expressing, and engaging for a few years now in ways that I am not accustomed. Some of you have even asked if I was leaving the faith, forsaking the truth, or abandoning the ministry. This week, someone stopped me in town and asked, “Are you still a pastor, James?”

To the normal attributes of society’s monikers, I no longer fit the mold of what ‘pastor’ even means. Yet, the majority of the world thought I never did. I’ve always been on what most would call a “fringe” with my thoughts, interactions, and inquiries. While the views of the world used to strangle my life from me, today, I no longer have any concern about how others think and view me, good or bad.

This is good.

In my youth, I remember a prominent Bible teacher saying once that when we are in the midst of a storm or in the clouds of our trials, we are unable to see direction, much less detail. He then used this image to evoke the truth of God’s sovereignty by saying that when a plane flies above a storm, it can escape its turmoil; God, on the other hand, is not escaping; he is navigating – and our lives are the vehicle. Ultimately, God is over the storms, clouds, and fog in our lives and can see clearly, not because He is looking, but because He is leading.

If I were to bundle all the information I have learned in my lifetime, it would fill the Earth. Yet, as I parse this into pockets of wisdom, a couple of thimbles would suffice to contain the information, but the cosmos could not hold the value.

Together (you who have been walking with us), we have endured much pain and fear over the years. Twenty-six years has been a long time to serve the Lord’s people in ministry, yet it often feels like it’s just begun. Savannah, Brunswick, Roanoke-Salem, Berkeley, Oakland, Union City, Newark, Hayward, and now Claxton have housed Robyn, me, and our children during each season of life. We’ve met and known thousands of people inside and outside the church. We’ve seen pain like no one could imagine and rejoiced silently in times of great reprieve.

Learning to relate to people is something we pick up unconsciously. Sometimes, like some of my childhood mentors, we learn specific things to do and say while growing our manners and mannerisms that help us to accommodate the cultural norms of whatever society we call home. As children, we pick up on ways to get affection, feel secure, and meet our emotional needs, and by the time we are busy in our teen years doing our “things”, we’ve already succumbed to massive programming in every aspect of our lives, our thoughts, and our desires.

When I officially entered the ministry in 1998, I was regarded as one with great passion, insight, and wisdom beyond my years. I always heard about my skills and abilities and how I had a ‘gift’ to interact with people and lead them. I took to hearing these words, and from them, I built my purpose and, moreover, my worth. Yet, I never really knew myself.

Finding ‘me’ was something I had never contemplated. Mainly because the world in which I lived (the evangelical culture) had no difficulty providing a pre-packaged identity package that was generously handed out at every breath. It was also very ‘weak’ and ‘blasphemous’ to engage in any thought around these things, even though Moses, David, Joshua, Abraham, Peter, Paul, and John all had similar introspection.

“That mind stuff, thinking too much, psychobabble, is of the devil.”

Maybe. But so is a majority of the Christian Culture.

I could segue here into all the negatives of every minute encounter of life, but in the spirit of the biblical narrative, I can say quickly that it’s been tough. After several cycles of what I now see as abuse, I’ve decided to call it quits.

Before I explain, let me say that there is a sense that everything I have experienced is partly my fault. I didn’t know how to engage; I didn’t know how to confront in kindness, so I didn’t. I put too much value on what I thought was peace and love when it was really enablement. And I allowed everything to happen to me that did. I have my faults. I take full responsibility for them. I also must say that I am not responsible for other people’s lies, terrorism, intention of destruction, and maladaptive behaviors. Every person is responsible for their own behaviors and how they deal with and respond to their emotions. NEVER let anyone else tell you differently.

So I quit.

Actually, I quit on March 4, 2023. That is the day I was found.

No, it’s not the day of my spiritual birth. I don’t know when that was. I have believed the gospel of grace since before my 9th birthday. Anyone who says otherwise is a serpent, claiming to be God. Like anyone who tries to tell you when you were or were not ‘saved,’ whatever the hell that means anymore.

The journey has been hard. But it has been good.

When I say “the day I was found,” it means I realized for the first time that I knew who I was. Compared to the life I had lived 48 years prior as an actor in a script nearly everyone else wrote, I could see myself. I saw myself in the mirror of my mind while laying in bed with a severe infection for sixteen weeks in 2022. All the people who loved me (with exceptions, I am speaking tongue in cheek here) didn’t love me; they loved me for what I could be in their life, not the real me. As a matter of fact, they never met me.

But I am not going there. I am here. The past is dead, and so is that man. The cloud in which I lived is now under my feet. I quit. And I will never return.

• I quit allowing others to impose on my worth, value, and identity.
• I quit accepting the status quo of Christian culture that reflects control over compassion and comfort in the gospel.
• I quit letting shame or guilt drive my decisions, choosing instead to act from a place of integrity and authenticity.
• I quit listening to fear in any form, knowing it does not come from God.
• I quit loving with limits, fearing vulnerability, or holding back from giving deeply.
• I quit hiding behind falsehoods or withholding my truth to avoid discomfort or confrontation.
• I quit suppressing my needs in silence, recognizing the importance of my voice in fostering trust.
• I quit overextending myself and losing sight of my own well-being in the pursuit of helping others.
• I quit being distracted by the past or the future, committing to live fully in the present.
• I quit shrinking back from fear and self-doubt, choosing to move boldly into every opportunity.
• I quit letting guilt or shame dictate my actions, instead making decisions from a place of conviction.
• I quit neglecting my mental and physical health, prioritizing my core well-being above all else.
• I quit scattering my energy across shallow connections, pouring myself into meaningful relationships that truly matter.
• I quit saying yes when I need to say no, guarding my boundaries and my time.
• I quit allowing anything to harm or jeopardize what truly matters, shielding what is valuable with wisdom.
• I quit living without direction, ensuring my actions align with clear purpose and vision.
• I quit tolerating confusion or ambiguity, relentlessly seeking clarity and truth.
• I quit ignoring understanding, always walking with wisdom to guide my steps.
• I quit listening half-heartedly, choosing instead to deeply understand before responding.
• I quit complacency, continually chasing knowledge and seeking truth in all things.
• I quit surface-level relationships, committing fully to intimacy and authenticity in every bond.
• I quit rushing through life, savoring every moment of the journey, good or bad.
• I quit accepting stagnation, committing never to stop growing, learning, and evolving.
• I quit leading from the sidelines, choosing instead to go first, setting the example for others.
• I quit grounding my decisions in worldly things, clinging firmly to Christ as my foundation.
• I quit impatience in teaching or guiding others, offering grace as they grow at their own pace.
• I quit self-centeredness, deepened my humility, and always put others before myself.
• I quit hoarding my gifts, instead being the blessing that others need with generosity and openness.
• I quit letting unresolved issues fester, clearing the air and addressing every elephant in the room.
• I quit allowing fear to paralyze me, using it instead as fuel to drive forward.
• I quit rejecting pain as weakness, recognizing it as essential progress in my growth.
• I quit standing by while others suffer, advocating for the weak and marginalized with boldness and compassion.
• I quit pretending to be invulnerable, knowing my strength lies in allowing myself to be seen.
• I quit giving up after failure, choosing to rise and build resilience through every setback.
• I quit letting circumstances steal my joy, intentionally choosing joy no matter what comes my way.
• I quit playing for performance, returning to the pleasure and freedom that play brings.
• I quit complaining, choosing instead always to build, create, and give thanks.

So, here we are.

After all the years of searching, fighting, and navigating the narrow path that led to an endless barrage of expectations, projections, and obligations, I can finally say this: I quit the noise. The noise of trying to fit a mold never made for me, the noise of a culture that celebrates control over love, guilt over freedom, and fear over truth.

Quitting isn’t about walking away; it’s about walking forward. It’s about leaving behind the person I never truly was and stepping into the man I’ve always been—known, loved, free. The clarity comes not from the clearing of the storm but from the decision to stop pretending I ever belonged to it.

I am found. I am here. I have quit pretending, and in that, I have finally began to live.

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The gospel is the proclamation of ultimate freedom, a freedom that comes not through our striving, but through Christ alone. In Him, we are freed from the weight of guilt, shame, and fear that so often binds us—even within the walls of our own faith communities. Culture and the cruelty of others may attempt to shackle us with expectations, with control, with judgments that distort the beauty of the grace we have been given. But in Christ, we are not bound. We are free to live authentically, to embrace each day as a gift, to live fully alive in the truth of who we are. Every day is the best day of our lives because, in Him, we are truly free. And that freedom gives us the courage to be true to ourselves, to love without limits, and to walk boldly in the light of His grace.