The Tears of Things (And the Trouble with Me)

It's Me, Hi. I'm the Problem.

Hey Friends,

Just wanted to give you some disclaimers.

First, this is going to be a long, long post. I know short-form is very popular… but I prefer writing essays and novellas, apparently. And what kind of preacher would I be if I didn’t go long? Remember, when the preacher says “final point” or “Lastly” or “In conclusion,” that just means they’re on Part 4 of 5 in their sermons.

Second, this post is split into two parts: the first part is for everyone, the second part is for the paid subscribers.

It has been… an interesting season.

The latter part of 2024 knocked me off-kilter.
So much so, I was diagnosed with (moderate) depression right before Holy Week — as if that’ll help with my depression.
I made a short video about it—take a look before continuing.

I didn’t realize how angry I was until after the diagnosis, when I sat and waded through everything. In fact, I was even more angry that I was diagnosed with depression and that it was because of the Episcopal Diocese of Texas (EDOT from here on out). Well, more angry at myself for letting an institution like EDOT affect me that much. It was more of an ego thing than anything else.

You know when you get your feelings hurt by someone you didn’t think had that kind of hold over you? And then you feel stupid for feeling that way? And maybe even ashamed that they got to you because you thought you were stronger than that? Y’all know what I’m talking about, right?

If not, I found a perfect 65-second video to explain the phenomenon.

But I sat with it, letting everything course through me, feeling it, assessing it, and processing it.
And after all was said and done, I was left with a hue of sadness.

Thankfully, I was reading Richard Rohr’s The Tears of Things. In it, he writes that the prophetic repertoire is a three-act movement: anger → sorrow → hope.

He insists prophetic work doesn’t start or end with indignation. Anger is only the doorway. The real work begins when anger gives way to lament—a grief that softens the heart, clears vision, and prepares us for compassionate prophetic imagination. Rage without tears stays stuck in accusation. Tears, paradoxically, free us to act rightly.

So I felt ready to discern how to move forward… except I kept asking myself, What’s next?

I started to see why this bout with the institution left me so dejected. And, of course, I had to admit I played my part.

I could’ve reacted differently. Approached things more respectfully. I definitely could’ve held back on sending some emails.

In every place I’ve been—United Methodist or Episcopal—I’ve had a hard time keeping my mouth shut. And I think I figured out why.

I’m not super into Enneagram. I’ve taken a few tests and gotten different results. (For reference, I do know I’m an INFJ. Shout out to the old Myers-Briggs crew. Our age is showing…)
But I think I’m an Enneagram 8. (Or a 3. One time it came out as a 6. Am I doing this wrong?) Anyway, here’s the Enneagram test I took because maybe it’s the test, no?

A friend once told me she figured out her number by reading the core fears of each type. She resonated most with the fear of being wrong, so she knew she was a 1.

So I looked up the fears. Here’s what I found:

1 – The Reformer: Fear of being bad, wrong, corrupt, or defective.
2 – The Helper: Fear of being unwanted, unloved, or not needed.
3 – The Achiever: Fear of being worthless or seen as a failure.
4 – The Individualist: Fear of being insignificant, invisible, or without identity.
5 – The Investigator: Fear of being overwhelmed, invaded, or depleted.
6 – The Loyalist: Fear of being without support, security, or guidance.
7 – The Enthusiast: Fear of being trapped in pain or deprived of joy.
8 – The Challenger: Fear of being controlled, weak, or vulnerable.
9 – The Peacemaker: Fear of conflict, disconnection, or being overlooked.

And there it was. Number 8. That fear of being controlled? Yeah. That hits.

Not being in control and being controlled are two different things—at least in my head. And I resist most when I feel like I’m being controlled.

In 2024, I felt micromanaged (read: controlled) about things in our church life that didn’t need input from people above my pay grade. And it’s important that I clarify that it’s what it felt like to me. You know what they say: in every situation, there are 3 sides: your side, their side, and what actually happened. You have to take this ride with me knowing that this is simply and only my side.

Anyway, that’s where it started for me.
And instead of putting out the fire… I flamed it. I didn’t pour gasoline on it—but I kept stoking it.

There is only one common denominator in all my institutional dust-ups (including seminary): me.
As the modern philosopher and poet Taylor Swift once said: It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem, it’s me.

But there was one difference this time.
After all that took place between Bishop Carcaño, myself, and my family, we left Southern California. (I still miss you, by the way.)
After what happened with Bishop Jones, I left the UMC and joined EDOT.
This time, after the dust settled… I was still at EDOT.

Honestly? It felt like I peed in the pool… and then just stayed in the water.
And I stayed there too long.
I needed to get out.
But I didn’t know how, or where, or what, or who, or when, or why (did I get all the fundamental q’s in journalism? Also, it’d be really helpful if actual journalists asks these fundamental questions whilst reporting…).
That uncertainty was crushing.

In the meantime, I was just floating—no vision, no energy, stuck in the work already entrusted to me.
Double shame: I couldn’t focus on the present, and I had no idea how to move forward.

I started exploring. Knocking on doors. Seeing what was out there.
But that just added to the angst.

Father’s Day 2025 was also our Confirmation Sunday.
Driving to church, my anxiety was through the roof.
If I stay, what happens?
If I leave, what happens?
The anxiety was bigger because in less than two weeks, I had a meeting with our Canon to the Ordinary to discuss what’s next for all of us: myself, Mosaic, and EDOT.

Then the last confirmand walked up: a teenager from a family that means a lot to me and to Mosaic.

When the bishops (yes, two bishops—one active, the other retired—and two canons — one retired, the other active) laid hands on him, it hit me. I knew.
The work here isn’t done.
God’s not done with this chapter of our lives.
You can actually see it hit me in real-time in the liturgy video.

Was that always the answer? Did I just miss it in the noise of my anxiety?
Was I fighting God this whole time?

Either way.
I heard.
And I’m here.

But I also had to face a truth I didn’t want to admit:
I was burnt out.

I had all the signs but refused to see them because admitting burnout would have wrecked my pride. (Isn’t it wild how far we’ll go to protect our fragile ego?)

So yes—I was burned out.
Everything caught up to me.
I needed to hit reset so that I could re-set my vocation.

This was a very longwinded and roundabout way to say that:
Our Bishop’s Committee has graciously given me the entire month of September off.

I don’t know exactly how I’ll spend it.
Maybe I’ll frequent many coffee shops.
Or… the same one many times.
Maybe I’ll catch up on some reading. Or start a massive writing project I probably won’t finish. Maybe I’ll just let myself really go and binge shows with some Peanut M&Ms and Gummy Bears.

I don’t know.

But I can breathe.
I can see what life—and this ministry—might look like again.

I’m just grateful.
For my wife and family.
For my friends.
For Mosaic.
For my colleagues.
For EDOT.
For the hard lessons learned.

For the first time in a long time, I’m excited about what’s next.

So. Here’s to
Renewals.
Rest.
Resets.
Rickrolls. (Please tell me how many you fell for. Also: sorry not sorry.)
And Rove. (Okay, that one was really bad. But I had a rhythm going.)

Here’s to LOVE:
Remembering we are loved—and called to be love.

Footnotes (For Paid Subscribers)