Wrong Picture Retake

I have become really appreciative of United Methodeviations.  Dan Dick’s blog usually features some of the best writing in United Methodism.  I also appreciate his UM-specific focus.

Recently, he told an all-too-familiar story of a young clergyperson leaving ‘the ministry’.  She was the kind of pastor the church desperately needs…community focused, passionate, intelligent, committed to quality and articulate.  She has since taken on directorship of a crisis intervention center.  (Now that’s ministry!)  Dick’s 6 points of reflection on this clergyperson’s experience has led me to reflect on my own experience as a new-ish young adult clergy.  My reflections are not answers to this clergyperson’s pain, simply what I have thought of since reading her letter.

The first thing that I thought of that I do somewhat well is that I do not assume that the people in the pews are Christians.  How often in preaching does the parishioner think that they are the ones in the parable who Jesus is reaching out to?  For instance, read the story of blind Bartimaeus.  Many parishioners, if they can see themselves in the story at all, will see themselves as Bartimaeus–blind, needy, crying out to God.  How often as a pastor, have I wanted them to be and become like Jesus (i.e. Christian) and reach out to others who are crying out?  In such a circumstance, both the pastor’s wish and the parishioner’s cries are true.  They are needy, blind to the ways of the Lord.  In fact, the well-worn butt-print in their favorite pew is indeed part of their problem.  Getting them out of the seat requires divine intervention.  But this presents a problem for the pastor: as one motivated to be like Jesus, as one aware of the Bartimaeuses outside the walls of the church, as one aware that neither Jesus himself nor ministers are to be lone rangers, we are constantly looking for partners in ministry.  Early in my ministry, I looked to my parishioners, on whole, as partners in ministry.  With a little experience, I have learned that all stages of grace exist in the church-those unaware that God is working on them, those still not sure if they accept it, those justified but ignorant of the next steps, a few walking toward sanctification and even a few pretty darn close to perfection.  Taking this nuanced perspective has proven fruitful for me.

Like the woman, I too prefer being out in the community.  I have really enjoyed working with Habitat and our local homeless outreach.  In fact, as I write, I am giving serious thought to skipping tonight’s Admin meeting for tonight’s homeless coalition meeting.  Three years ago, I would have really resented the Admin board.  But I can now see that both meetings have their value.  While it is clear to me that they are not equal, it is also clear that one can go on without me (the homeless coalition) while the other needs pastoral guidance.  Also, over time, I have come to love the folks at the Admin meeting and with guidance they often get to a more faithful place.  It may be that my participation at the Admin meeting will produce a net-gain for the kingdom of God.  I am not worried that my absence at the homeless coalition will be a detriment to them.  Of course, I may think different by the time 7PM gets around.

Furthermore, while I have had a sometimes-luke-warm attitude to visitation, I have learned that attention to pastoral concerns can build trust.  Of all elements crucial to pastoral leadership, I think trust is unmatched.  Even if the church does not much like me, trust provides momentum for other areas of ministry.  When one spends the time to visit, hear the stories (even in their Xth telling), give time to their concerns, even the petty ones, one is letting that person know that the love you preach about is real, and often comes in a human face.  This has proven valuable to me.  I tend deep to be a big-picture guy, even as I can articulate a theology that reaches deep into the soul.  I also have a tendency to view people in a big picture way.  How easy it is to talk about the oppressed or the needy and still maintain a distance.  The visitation, that invaluable one-on-one time has become a necessary counter-balance, so that compassion is not some sort of theory, but a real and saving presence in the world.  I wish I had known this early on.

I guess it’s true that, as Dick says, I was given churches that were decaying.  As I read his Vital Signs, I see many attributes in the decaying church chapter in my churches.  As far as authority to change it goes, I think that one of the most important tools is one I learned in seminary…self-differentiation.  This is a family-systems term in which one remains essentially connected to a system (i.e. a church) and yet one is not totally defined by that connection.  I think I do relatively well at letting others own their issues, even letting the congregations I lead own their own issues.  This doesn’t mean that I am dispassionate.  Nor does it mean a totally live-and-let-live attitude.  There have been times in which I just used my authority to correct and set the church on a more godly path.  There have been times in which I had such little trust, that my authority was impotent to effect change.  Even then, I found the freedom to use it–if only to make my own position clear.  I desperately want the vital church…but I understand that the kinds of people attracted to Jesus tend to be troubled, harassed, ill-suited to the rest of society, etc.  Why should we expect a church with such people to be a well-oiled machine?  One of my spiritual role models is a UM clergy who is well-established in his career.  At the same time, he serves on few Conference committees, is never a candidate to be a DS.  Before I had met him, I had always felt within me a sense of the ‘freedom of Christ’.  When I met him, I better understood some things about this.  #1–this person must be deeply connected to the Lord: prayer becomes necessary and the word prayer is written on every day in his calendar.  #2–this person must have an appreciation for the ironies of life.  Rev. M. often laughs at the crazy things that the church does yet fully accepts that he is part of the church.  For many of my colleagues they carry the scars of church life with a crushing cynicism and a biting sarcasm.  For Rev. M. his church-deprecating humor is both a self-deprecating and a hopeful humor.  #3–The ‘Christian freemen’ must accept the power to choose.  When the UMC dealt with the aftermath of Judicial Council decision #1032, I was attending seminary at the time.  Many of our classmates were seriously debating leaving the church.  Rev. M. gave a serious laugh and declared “nobody can tell me who I can and cannot receive in the church”.  I sensed at the time that Rev. M. was at once declaring his position, feeling the Lord’s presence and preparing to fight, if need be.  I saw within all of this the great power of choice.  For my decaying churches, I can choose to help them die peacefully, or I can fight tooth and nail for a renewal of their vitality.  This means everyday choosing to believe or depart.  Thus far I am believing.

As far as being supported is concerned, I guess that I have been on both ends.  While a US-2, while serving at the GBGM, my conference was a non-presence to me.  While in seminary, as I was seeking to advance in the ordination process, my home district chose not to supply me with the mentoring assistance I needed (which the Discipline mandates).  For the longest time, I felt as though my conference didn’t want me.  I watched my wife transfer in (after having been mentored from afar while in seminary), be fawned over by Cabinet members (rightfully so) and advance quickly while receiving much support and appreciation from the District and the Conference.  I finally demanded to be given a mentor.  My mentor found plenty in me to support and approve.  He helped the best in me come out.  He got me past the district level after convincing them that their issues with me were their issues.  When I got to my BOOM interviews, I was received with warmth.  My interview team asked questions expecting good answers, an expectation I most often thrive under.  They asked me about being in a clergy couple.  Professionally, it was one of the most satisfying feelings.  I knew that I knew the gospel and I got to demonstrate my best.  Now I am a provisional elder having waded into the 1st of 3 years of group processing.  Ever since my time at the GBGM, I have allowed the church to be human, have recognized that its humanness and its divine-ness are never far apart.  The connectional system works when we choose the connection (sometimes in spite of the system).  As a young clergy, being supported has made all the difference for me.

When I first arrived at my appointment, I heard a lot of excuses about why I was leading the church in the wrong way.  Like the woman who is leaving the clergy, I heard a lot of resistance to smart Christianity.  I got ‘compliments’ on my preaching like how I made them think.  There was regularly a hint of sarcasm in such a remark.  I asked my church to read a book that I thought was simple enough for them to understand, yet challenging to them (How Good Do We Have to Be by Harold Kushner).  During a discussion, one fellow brought this formula on how to tell how ’smart’ a book is.  The formula included adding up the number of multi-syllabic words.  Ironically, it was a very clever way of saying give us something easier.  I knew intellectually that I was more educated than most of my parishioners (largely elderly housewives and blue-collar guys).  I was right to resist their resistance.  At the same time, I did need to diversify the manner of the message.  Though they are blue-collar, they are smart.  They know systems, people, history, etc.  On top of this anti-intellectual attitude was something even more sorrowful…very little imagination.  There was more to the want for something easier.  For a population that was seeing itself die, seeing its church die, there was a spiritual poverty that had forgotten what it means to hope.  They needed more young people, yes…but not for institutional reasons.  In two of my congregations, the dumb luck of having families with kids show up has provided a real shot in the arm and the responses are what you might imagine…joyful, hopeful, thankful and gracious.  AND, to top it all, a certain imagination has emerged from them that belies their age and their institutional condition.  I am treating this like a gateway drug–that if they are ready to imagine, they might be ready to ReThink church.

It saddens me that the church is losing a clergyperson it really needs.  At the same time, I don’t worry.  Firstly, I know that God is not going to let the gifts of that woman go to waste.  God has invested so much in her; God will continue the good work in her.  So losing hope is needless.  I also know that God will preserve a church right for God’s image.  It may not contain a cross and flame.  But it will be grace-oriented, smartly Biblical, passionate for missions that heal and restore, committed to the dignity inherent in us all, willing to love God with heart, soul & mind, and fearless in its love of neighbor.  I pray that we have ears to hear and eyes to see all that God is still doing.

Photo: “Broken Church” by chad davis

Money Matters in Church

I stepped off of the pulpit area to speak to the congregation.  This is not totally unusual.  But on this particular Sunday, the priestly role blurs with the pastoral role.  I am still called to lead, to help others pray, confess, praise, repent, convert, sanctify and serve.  Today, though, the topic was a prickly one: money.

Strangely, the passage around which we worshiped is one of my favorites and one often cited in stewardship sermons.  I cannot really say why though, given my struggles with the matter at hand.  I can handle the woman at the well, for I get being an outsider.  I can handle Jacob wrestling with God, for I have wrestled with God and have the existential limp to prove it.  But the poor widow, the one who gave all that she had, everything she had to live on, well, I don’t quite get that.

Prior to Sunday, the district superintendent preached on this passage at the monthly district clergy gathering.  He challenged us pastors to pastor like the woman: give all that we have.  He contrasted the widow with the scribes, as Jesus did.  He made sure we realized that the scribes were the preachers.  I knew that already, but it was okay to hear it again.  The DS even read the passage in a manner that sounded more United Methodist than Jewish.

Gathering a week later for worship with non-pastors, of course, is different.  And the dichotomy between the scribes and the widow greatly paralleled the dichotomy between the clergy (me) and the parishioners (them).  So I exited the pulpit purposefully.  I am confident that I was not trying to escape the passage, nor was I wanting to join “them” in a slight way of escaping the burdens of leadership.  It was that my own iniquity around the topic of money necessitated that I leave the monolithic authority of the pulpit and find another way to lead.

The passage in Mark is a stunning indictment on both clergy and the institutions of religion.  What is our purpose?  Are we really serving God within these gigantic stones?  What is nice is that parishioners typically don’t think along these lines.  But isn’t it right that all of us confront these elemental matters of money within the church?  So I began with a survey which asked the following 5 questions…

1. How would you characterize your church’s attitude to money?
2. When you give money to the church, what outcome do you hope to see?
3. What biblical/Christian/moral teachings guide your approach to money?
4. What should the church expect monetarily from its members?  What about guests, visitors, newcomers?
5. Why is it hard to talk about money in the church?

I also handed out envelopes for the offering.  I asked the people to think about question #2 as we are taking up the offering.  They could write it one the envelop, pray over it, etc, but in any case, let us make sure that the offering is a spiritual matter.  We took up the offering first then dove into the survey.

Have you ever begun a sermon with a lie?  I have.  I told a joke that in seminary, we were taught that when giving a sermon on money, the pastor ought to take up the offering first!  (Enter your yucks here).  In reality, for all the thought my seminary gave to economic disparity on a macro level, for all the ways we were able to talk down the rich and talk up the poor, my seminary did very little to help me talk to my churches about money.  And in the end, those macro justice matters are often composed of millions of everyday, small exchanges of money (connect Wal-Mart to the sweatshop).  Notably, my salary is based on the consistent offerings of $10-20.

Remarkable were the conversations that followed.  What outcome do we expect when we put money in the plate?  I had been reading Dan Dick’s trilogy on money in the church as well as his book Vital Signs.  So often, the things in the church are so routine that their meaning is often way in the background, if not altogether lost.  I put money in to keep the church open.  To pay for the roof and the heat and the pastor. Some answers were very thoughtful and challenged me.  I think of the offering in a very practical way.  I want you to be paid appropriately, to have adequate health care.  With those things taken care of, you can lead us more effectively. A few things there piqued my attention.  Firstly, most people understood the connection between the offering plate and the pastor.  I took for granted that the congregation took that for granted.  Most of them do not.  I also heard that there caring for me was so that I could better lead them.  Out in the open, the source of my income was placed in direct connection to the quality of my leadership.  A version of this happened in all 3 congregations.  I took note that I didn’t feel criticized, demeaned or that I was a disappointment…though certainly I have disappointed some.

In each congregation in a slightly different manner, I got to a point in the sermon/conversation where I spelled out simply and confessionally 1) that most of the offering goes to me, 2) whenever I give attention to that fact it makes me nervous, 3) that I want to be worthy of the support and 4) that I worry about devouring widows’ houses.  In the end, I don’t think that I devour widows’ houses.  But I know that when I slack on the job, that I am, in a sense, stealing from the church.  This talk was last week, and this week I began praying a different prayer over the offering… “Lord, multiply these gifts (something I always say) and help us to be faithful in using these gifts for your kingdom (the new part).”  I also drew a sharp line between what we put in and what outcome we hope for.  The outcome speaks to our hope for the church as well as a mutual commitment for getting there.

Question #5 got some interesting responses.  Talking about money in church is difficult because ‘it’s none of my business what people give and it’s one’s offering is personal between that person and God’.  I talked about how the widow’s offering was Jesus’ business and recalled that Jesus often spoke of money.  In a teaching angle during the sermon/conversation, I mentioned the Markan frame that surrounds this episode.  The opening frame is Jesus riding triumphantly into Jerusalem on a small donkey and, upon returning to the Temple, cleanses it from money changers.  He speaks openly about the corruption of the scribes.  They devour widows’ houses.  Jesus sits down across from the treasury and watches how subtly this takes place.  The frame closes with Jesus leaving the Temple pronouncing judgment against it.  According to Mark, he never goes back.  I tried to teach my congregation that I don’t want them to give their last dime to the church.  I would rather they have enough to live on.  And I affirmed that I have enough to live on…that their support for me and M. was sufficient and a blessing.

Since each of the 3 churches I lead had slightly different money matters before them, I left the sermon open-ended.  I must say that this ‘message’ was as important as any I have led thus far.  It should not be overlooked that the majority of the message’s content was provided by parishioners.  At the same time, it should not be assumed that this was a message that left people feeling uplifted and encouraged.  One thing that I noticed was that the attention level in all 3 churches was high.  Another was that the seriousness of the tone was a good seriousness.  I think that there was plenty of meat in the message that people of all faith levels felt faithfully challenged.  I also observed really high levels of trust in the room.  From these observations, I learned some key things:  1) I was surprised how many people trusted me and other parishioners, 2) serious topics can be presented in church, 3) the longevity of my tenure has yielded some new opportunities (I’ve been a 2 churches for 3.5 years, the 3^rd church 2.5 years) and 4) God can lead us through many difficulties if we proceed with faith, hope, grace and courage.  Not a bad Sunday.

Photo:  “Offering Plate, Candle in Window, Wreath” by rmathus

Lectionary Preaching

So I have been hosting my quarterly sit-down with the lectionary, to schedule out worship for Advent and Epiphany.  Firstly, it is weird to think about Epiphany in October.  The colors in the leaves and the Indian Summer taking place about now is quite different from the black, gray and white of January.  I am still going through my current preaching sweep and enjoying this swath of Mark with a bit of Hebrews thrown in.

But sitting here, I am once again baffled by the Lectionary.  I know; there is a logic to it.  I am sure that many who are smarter than me can tell me why the scriptures fall as they do.  At the same time, I do have an advanced degree in theology, and yet the rationale for the Lectionary’s current form is beyond my intellectual grasp.  I ain’t the smartest cookie, but I ain’t the dumbest either.  Furthermore, I know that I “get” the intellectual/theological stuff a bit better than my average parishioner.  That is no slight to them, they know why flowers grow and why peppers are both hot and sweet and what to do with screaming babies, etc.  But this is my realm and the lectionary regularly leaves me underwhelmed.  How, then, must it seem to those in the pews?

I believe in the Lectionary.  I love the concept.  I love that reading the breadth of scripture is important to the church.  I love that churches read and worship around the same text from week to week.  I love textweek.com altogether.  I loved doing Lectionary Haikus.  I understand that covering this much ground necessitates a plan.  I even love the notion that folks sat down together and hammered out a plan.

But…

Why must we begin the Christian year with the apocalypse?  Why does Advent require a Delorean?  Why are all those great parables and prophetic teachings tacked on to the end of Epiphany, where they will be overlooked for 6-15 years on end, depending on how the moon rolls?  I am not so naive to think that America’s humiliating biblical illiteracy is due to the lectionary, but it seems to me that the lectionary doesn’t always help regular people get the Bible better.  I have long thought about devising a shadow lectionary…one that highlights those passages left out by the RCL–either by politics or chronological irrationality.  And isn’t the lectionary supposed to help these matters?

One matter of difficulty, whose blame cannot be put on the RCL, is the Christian calendar’s make-up.  The chronology of the Christian year, in terms of Jesus at least, begins with the apocalypse (which hasn’t happened yet [or has it]); shoots over to the year before Jesus’ birth; then, thirdly, gets to the first part–his birth; then sees him baptized, tempted, calling disciples; then gives us a short or medium glimpse of his life, depending on a lunar dictate; always truncated just in time to see him transfigured (which I already talked about this month); then persecutes, tries, and kills the poor guy, who stubbornly raises up on the third day as if to say “I had a life you know”, lest we assume that we crucified him while he was still wrapped in saddling clothes; then walks about just long enough to restore Peter and embarrass Thomas; ascends to heaven, just before the Holy Spirit arrives, even though John says that happened on Easter; then we get to fill in the BIG, BIG blanks called his ministry to figure out why we celebrated his birth and why he died; all ending with Jesus on his way back to Jerusalem for that whole passion thing, which we already celebrated and ending with him crowned king of kings and Lord of lords, which, in a democracy, can hardly be considered significant.  Then we eat turkey and start all over again.  I’m sure that I butchered this a bit, but is it anymore butchered up here than in the real thing?

So for Advent, year C, emphasis on Luke, we start with signs of Jesus’ second coming, apparently to mimic the signs of his initial arrival–stars and all.  Real clever.  Then we get to hear the adult John the Baptist yell at all the sinners, apparently a gimmick to get the hell-fire preachers to use the lectionary (what better time to pound the pulpit than when everyone is fat on eggnog).  As we near the big day, we hear more from John the Baptist, which I’ve always took as a mimicry of Moses and Aaron, denying being the Messiah.  Finally, week four out of four the waiting game begins to subside and there is a pregnancy.  All of this means that you’ve got to cram the rest of the story into your Christmas Eve service, which is difficult given the garland and glitter distractions that dominate that particular time of year.  How does one get kairos time out of such a convoluted chronos time?  Given the narrative nature of the gospels, cutting and slicing and splicing the story like this has to have a detrimental effect on our understanding of scripture.  The natural ebbing and flowing that is inherent in the written story is subverted.  It seems that Lectionary-based worship cannot benefit from the one of the most significant and compelling aspects of the narrative–the plotline of the gospel.  The natural plotline of the story–from the character development to the building of tension to the climax of the story to the various conclusions (i.e. Mark’s unfinished business, Matthew’s Commission)–was thought out carefully 2000 years ago, and has stood the test of time.  It seems to me that the Lectionary, as it currently stands, does not capture this.

This year, I am thinking of a more novel approach.  Just follow Luke’s lead.  Advent 1–The Silencing of Zechariah; Advent 2–Gabriel visits Mary; Advent 3–Mary visits Elizabeth; Advent 4–The Birth of John the Baptist, featuring Zechariah’s song; Christmas Eve–The Birth of Jesus.  Why reinvent the wheel when the story that’s been handed down for 2000 years takes us directly and faithfully to the incarnate, living, circumcised, baptized, hopeful, prophetic, enigmatic, resolute, persecuted, crucified and risen savior?

A bright spot–I love the scheduling of the alternative texts.  I love how the lectionary creators have offered up thoughtful prophetic readings during Advent.  Each year offers up prophetic readings during Advent that add tremendous insight into the nature of the Christ.  Actually, how often do people preach on the prophetic readings during Advent?  It seems easier in Lent.  Also, it has been regularly fruitful for me to follow the Epistle lessons during ordinary time.  I have utilized James this fall as children’s sermon material to really nice effect; and I have employed blocks of Pauline letters to address underlying matters in my congregations.

The caveat–I know it is a tool.  And the lectionary’s worth to me is measured by its ability to offer insightful scriptural passages at the right time.  Perhaps trying to squeeze everything into 3 years is part of the issue.  In the end, does this tool aid or obstruct one’s ability to understand, worship and follow Christ?  As with all human things, take with a grain of salt.

Good Company

“Because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him.”
–John 6:66–

Beware Preacher! of ever using a quotation from Jesus to illustrate a matter within the pastoral trade.  We are not shepherds, but sheep dogs at best.  But it is nice to know that the shepherd, despite St. John’s penchant for idealizing the Lord and his work, actually lost some sheep.  Let it be a praise to the Lord that the grace made known to us in Jesus Christ was extended to these lost sheep anyhow, lest anyone, or anydog, return them to the fold.

It seems doubly cruel that this kind of reflection comes at Charge Conference time.  Though largely a matter of denominational maintenance, I usually get a certain melancholy during this time of year.  The reflection on the past year necessitated by this practice is less humbling in the classical sense and more humiliating in the common sense.  Nothing like looking in the rear-view mirror and seeing a steaming pile of iniquity with your name on it.  Let this be our background image for today.

It is against this backdrop that a brief conversation arose regarding one who had left the church.  Both the inquiry and the following discussion were innocent and nothing that was said was disrespectful or untrue.  It was accurately stated that the person left the church because worship was not inspiring.  As the only worship planner in the room, I felt the spotlight as people bumbled to make deflecting remarks before talking around the matter and returning to the agenda.  I think most persons were aware that there were other factors in this departure, but the reason stated was right.

All jobs come with failure.  When I was loading trucks for UPS, I frequently overlooked next-day-airs that wound up costing the company money.  But losing a parishioner fails God; fails the church that, at 40 members, can’t afford losing any; fails the rest of the parishioners who are left wondering if they too should seek greener pastures.

One of the difficulties is that the departure took place over a year ago, and yet the loss is still felt on at least a portion of the congregation.  And I am still responsible for it.

All day, I have replayed the 15 second exchange from last night.  I have about 2-3 things I wish I had said.

• I wish I had explained all of the conversations between my and that parishioner, not just the ones they know about.  But I guess confidentiality sometimes means taking the blame.
• I wish I had explained just how tiring it is to preach and lead worship.  I forget who, but someone described preaching as peeling away one’s skin…one is just so raw and susceptible to criticism afterwards.
• I wish I had explained that bringing energy to worship is a communal responsibility.  Yes, the pastor has to be prepared and hopeful, but parishioners unprepared to worship is its own problem.
• I wish I had explained that one must wisely choose how to use one’s energy, and that some efforts are so fruitless that it is wasteful of human energy (such as trying to win that person back).
  • Though I wonder if I should have made better effort to reclaim that person (ala the Good Shepherd).
• I wish I had explained that I am human and mistake-prone.  Most, if not all, in the room last night understand that .
• I wish I had explained that when faced with a seemingly incurable situation, it is wise to ‘let go and let God’; to humbly submit the matter to God, confessing that I am powerless to remedy it.  This is pretty much what I did.
• I wish I had explained that there are other churches and that the fact that the one who left has found another church is good news, though maybe still painful to us.

Instead, I just maintained my silence until the matter had passed.  Of course, it has yet to pass from me.

Just as I was ready to hit the Publish button, I scanned through and saw this post by William Willimon.  In it he briefly reflects on the possibilities of the presence of conflict in the congregation.  This doesn’t change my responsibility for losing a parishioner.  But it does allow me to claim that not all is lost.  That is good.

Listening

On my current ear infection and related matters of life and ministry.

For he is our God,
and we are the people of his pasture,
and the sheep of his hand.

O that today you would listen to his voice!

Last Monday I called my general practitioner seeking help for clogged up ears.  I heard the nurse on the other end inform me that the doctor’s schedule was full.  But she agreed to listen to my symptoms and possibly call in a prescription.  Later in the day, I drove across town to pick up the prescription, only to hear that it cost $100.  This was after my insurance agreed to pick up the first $25.  I couldn’t believe my ears.  I thought the gunk had mangled up the man’s words.  I was wrong.

It is hard to operate with muffled and distracted hearing.  I have been amazed as to how many tones one hears at any given time.  What has been frustrating is not so much what I can’t hear, but the fact that I can only hear part of what I am used to hearing.  For instance, I cannot hear all the tones on the piano while singing hymns.  The highest I can get, the lowest I can get, the middle–I can’t quite get.  To make matters worse, because of the clogged ears, all of my internal sounds are amplified (it’s a lot like after you’ve been flying).  So when I sing, I can REALLY hear myself, even though I am actually being quieter than usual.  During hymn singing at church, where I am used to leading the singing, I (a) can’t really hear the piano and (b) have a distorted understanding of the sounds I am making.  One of my musicians is used to guiding her accompaniment by my singing.  That’s been tough recently.

I am driving with my windows down to make sure I can hear everything.

When I walk I can hear, internally, the impact my feet are having on the pavement.  When I trimmed my beard yesterday, the sound of the vibrations of the trimmer buzzing my cheek was almost deafening.  Apparently, my clogged ears have aided the percussive impact of my snoring, so my wife says.

Today, I accompanied my wife to the obstetrician’s office today.  The midwife was so awesome.  She listened so well and answered all of our questions thoroughly.  It seemed clear that she loves her job.  She placed a jellied-up microphone on M.’s belly and we heard a heartbeat, 160/minute.  The little booger kept moving around.  Apparently, we’re having a dolphin.  We then went to the nurse who explained all that we needed to know about insurance, coverages, expenses everything.  Before we even expressed our concern about financing the beginning of a family (potentially quite expensive for clergy, we’ve heard recently), she allayed our fears and answered questions before we could even ask them.  We are really grateful for this practice and so impressed with them.

Yesterday in church, people began sharing their joys and concerns in their usual way.  But something quietly unusual took place.  One woman shared about her sister, who had lost her job earlier this year.  She spoke of listening to her sister and hearing some optimism and hope in her voice.  This parishioner just started this wave of hopeful and important prayer-sharing.  This congregation is normally a little more tight-lipped when it comes to this kind of sharing.  I began wondering if this wasn’t the beginning of a more fruitful and trusting prayer time.  I’ll have to listen carefully this coming week.

After leaving the obstetrician’s office, I drove down the hill and I hear a popping in my left ear.  It’s the clogging trying to unclog–the bacteria from the ear infection moving about.  After I left the pharmacist without my $100 prescription, I spent 3 more days trying over-the-counter stuff and just generally hoping it would go away.  Then I went to the clinic, where the fellow just looked in my ears and said…”yep, good old amoxicillin, should take care of it”.  I am on day 4 of a 10 day prescription.  When I told him about the $100 prescription he said… ’sounds like a big pharma thing’.  Why are we trying to save an industry that pays doctors to prescribe medicines that people don’t need?  Like Usher says…let it burn.  One parishioner recently got a bill for hundreds of thousands of dollars.  Insurance covered $700.  Why we need more hearings on this is beyond me.

The Army Corps of Engineers is hosting public hearings to hear if people really do want to allow coal companies to blast the tops of mountains away, pushing debris into waterways, destroying watersheds and poisoning aquifers in order to get to coal that will be used for electricity, so that we do not have to take responsibility for the consequences of our actions.  Many people are gearing up to speak at the public hearing.  I wonder if anyone is gearing up to listen at any of these hearings.

Later today, I got on the running trail for the first time in many months.  It was a great day to be out–beautiful trees, good air, not at all hot.  But the ears were bothering me.  I couldn’t hear anything that came up from behind.  And of course, cyclists and skaters don’t announce themselves anyhow.  I was quite startled by one skater, whose motion was so side-to-side that he almost side-swiped me as he passed.  I set my watch for 3 minutes to run my intervals, but the tone of the watch’s alarm is in that range of tones that I can’t hear with the clogged ears.  So I ran over the 3 minutes several times.  I then held the watch up to my left ear and then my right to hear the alarm.  Who knew that there is an undertone to my stopwatch beep.  My left ear could only hear the bottom tone.  My right could better make out the top tone.  Who knew.

On the way back to the car, the beauty of the day overtook my desire to run and I just strolled as I am want to do.  I could only hear the faintest of nature’s sounds.  Then I heard something different, something near my heart.  “Take responsibility”.  This was not an audible thing, ala Field of Dreams.  This was not even a feeling of peace or conviction or anything else.  It wasn’t even a confidence of an attitude.  It was just a message–short and sweet.  ‘Take responsibility for my life.  Stop letting M. get ready for the baby alone…YOU get ready for the baby too.  Get your house in order, physically and metaphysically.”  You get the drift.  It was just the realization that life is not passing me by, but it is going somewhere.

Behold the still, small voice.

Page One: Mark 9:30-37

What do I say about greatness?  I feel as though greatness is not really for me.  And like John, I wonder if deep down inside, I just want thanked—by God, by the UMC, by my congregations.  In fact, it is rarely “deep down”.  And perhaps that is the problem.

This trade is so belief oriented, that one does not get satisfaction from the paycheck—though mine is generous and reliable.  The satisfaction must come from within—from that place that says “yes, you’re doing okay”.  In fact, that is one thing that is simply missing from the gospels, moments where Jesus expresses unadulterated appreciation for his disciples.  He seems to always be disappointed in them—like they’re prize, straight-A students.  Does he not know that they are fishermen, and poor ones at that?  And even during those rare moments of tenderness, Jesus only gives up gratitude when it is begged for.  “When are we going to get anything in return for ALL that we have given up?” Peter rightly asks.

I guess I want a nice Jesus, just like everybody else.  I mean, wasn’t he a cool bloke, who preferred a rag-tag army to the polished life of the temple?  “He sat down.”  He sat down to explain to his disciples the crux of the matter—greatness does not exist in this line of work.  Yes, somewhere down the line, somebody will invent bishops and high minded church stuff, but it won’t really amount to much.  Even those who strive for those positions of power and honor will find a heaping helping of work and a lion’s share of criticism under the miter.  So seek satisfaction in other arenas.

I have been a child among adults before.  Sometimes, as a “young clergy” I feel as though I will always be in that strange position.  It reminds me that we had a college student enter our church last Sunday.  He had always driven past the church and decided to just walk in.  I could see how uncomfortable he was, amid a sea of octogenarians.  And I felt like a totally inadequate pastor—that after 3 years I couldn’t build a diversified congregation such as one that would have folks like him already there, so that when folks like him enter, folks like him aren’t all alone, a complete anomaly.  Yes, on this night, I am owning this guilt, especially as attendance has not just lagged but evaporated.  Maybe I just suck at this.

Oh, but this is supposed to be one page on the passage.  “He sat down.”  Jesus didn’t yell at his pupils for not getting it.  “He sat down,” means that it was time devoted to teaching, that the growth and betterment of the men, women and children in front of him that was of importance to him.  I think by noting Jesus’ posture, I am feeling some of his attitude…that anger and disappointment were not the point of his correction.  Yes, the disciples were guilty of selfishness as they argued over their greatness.  But rather than lashing out, Jesus sat down and taught.  As Jesus was ambitiously redirecting his path towards Jerusalem, he stops in his old stomping grounds, the place where it all started, and he got back to the essence of the gospel—one must become the servant of all.

Page One is the first page I write for the sermon–one page, long-form, stream of consciousness.  It does not go in the sermon, it is a simple practice whereby I just write reflecting on what I have encountered thus far in the sermon-preparation process.

Lectionary Haikus: Greatness

Betrayal
You can bet on it-
Fearful silence

In middle
Grown-ups are scary-
But for one

Photo: “More Cheeky Kids” by spdl_n1

On the Cusp of Greatness

This is a draft of a post I was going to publish in September.  There are some thoughts here that, though no longer current, are worth archiving.

I am one week behind on the lectionary.  So this week I am studying up on Mark 9:30-37.  I am finding a lot of good stuff there.  I am also trying out a new sermon prep process.  Well, it’s not new.  I dreamed it up months ago, but have allowed myself so much busyness that I haven’t yet implemented it.  This process is a lot more thorough and study oriented.  One thing my counselor and I discussed was the authority that comes with the pulpit.  There is a certain power that comes with entering the pulpit well-informed.  For me, the quality of the sermon is usually indicative of the work I do on it on Monday and Tuesday.

So today, I am reflecting and analyzing my thoughts, beliefs and understandings of greatness.  This was the secret topic that the disciples were discussing as they followed Jesus from Galilee to Capernaum.  I thought, you know, my churches don’t really think that they are great.  If anything, they have an inferiority complex.  They wonder if the glory days are ever coming back, if such and such is ever coming back, if they are worth anything.  They wonder why God’s church could be so poor and so few.  I wonder if they wonder if God has judged them.  The decline has been a slow devastation to them.  It’s like an earthquake hit the church but took 25 years to knock everything over.  There is a certain “what’s happened?” psychosis.  So how does the attitude displayed by teh disciples speak to the attitude of the church?

I seem to have found differing sides of the same coin.  There is no greatness without validation.  Greatness is validated by her admirers.  A great artist may know he/she is talented, insightful and unique.  But it is the ooooh and ahhhh of the reveal that stamps the ticket.  I give the disciples credit for wanting their validation.  Yes, they had given up a lot to follow Jesus.  They were really, really nice blokes, even closing in on “virtuous”.  So it is without mystery that their desire for greatness was a topic of discussion.  In an equal but opposite vein, a church that has deteriorated for 25 years must naturally wonder if God is still calling them.  Are we just a club, or does the living God have a use for us?  We still gather here, pray here, look for meaning here.  Does God’s purposes apply here, yet?  I am hearing a certain pining in these questions, a certain yearning for validation…even validation from God.

Office Hours

8:00AM–Leave for churches.  Drop bulletins into 2 of 3.  Pray in one.  Scramble because I forgot my childrens’ message prop.

9:00AM–Church 1–Our only nonagenarian arrives as we pass the peace.  She is stopped by a sea of hugs, handshakes and well-wishes.  This group is so warm and loving.  Out of 18 in attendance, we had 3 children <9, one aged 94, one twenty-something (who herself is part a three generation family in the church), two ladies who are either married to or widowed from Catholics and two visitors.  Into my fourth year here, I find this group to be a tremendous joy.

10:00AM–Church 2–Prayer time here is especially poignant, which is saying a lot.  We pray for economic matters, family matters, community matters, congregational matters.  There are plenty of tears, but no hopelessness.  Out of 20 in attendance, 4 are white, 4 are African immigrants, 16 are black, 4 were children <11, one was a  WWII vet, one was 91 and still driving, one retired elderly couple was joined by there retired-but-not-really-elderly children, one is a college student, two are teachers by trade.  Entering my third year here, I find this group to be refreshingly optimistic and hopeful.  And they are always a joy to preach to.

11:00AM–Church 3–Preaching here is the best of the day, which is not usually the case.  In the cutting and pasting of bulletins, I got things out of order.  It is okay.  Out of 21 in attendance, we have two survivors of the Battle of the Bulge, 8 men, 5 couples, several cancer survivors, 10 grandmothers, one man with a double Master’s degrees in Sacred Music, one who survived brain surgery earlier this year and a man who is 87 and still runs his own grass mowing service.  I’ve always had a hit-and-miss relationship with this church.  But today, as I stood before them, I found myself realizing that they are God’s children.  Sitting down after worship for my regular front-pew 12:05PM exhale, I thought, God is not done with this congregation yet.  Into my fourth year here, I have plenty of gratitude for what I have learned from this congregation.  Better yet, today, I felt optimistic.

12:00 Noon–Wendy’s #1 + Christian Century + table in the corner with plenty of sun.  Really, all of these things go together.  I am always sweaty as I stand in line to order.  With so many shorts and T-shirts around me it was obvious that I and the girls behind the counter were among the few working on this day.  I feel sorry for the girls behind the counter on Sunday.  Yet I keep going back.  I need a more just ritual.

1:00PM–Walking through the Lowe’s Garden Center, a favorite after church activity.  Meet Meredith at a restaurant because I forgot to wait on her earlier.  Have a strawberry lemonade as we discuss our churches’ reactions to the news that we are expecting our first child.  Here is one advantage to the multiple-point charge: five opportunities for us to be blessed and overjoyed by the church.  It was worth all the other stress.

2:00PM–Visit a parishioner with a web of issues: health, socio-economic, learning disability, unfortunate family dynamics, etc.  I am surprisingly energetic for such work.  This visit, I was met by this family’s graciousness, which allowed me to move past a mistake I had made with them.  Funny how this kind of thing works out.  None of this parishioner’s issues were worked out, and even the ‘ministry of presence’ angle was a bit lackluster.  Nevertheless, ministry happened.

3:00PM–Go to the 90th birthday party for one of my nursing-home-bound parishioners.  She is such a sweety.  A year and a half ago, she lost her ability to speak via a series of strokes.  But she is always smiling and genuinely happy.  Today, she just gushed with gratitude and cheerfulness.  I met a lot of her family.  I can’t believe how many photos they had of her wielding power tools, on four wheelers, kayaking…all while looking like she still does at age 90.  Bonus: being that she is the matriarch (both via longevity and her faith) of Church 3, I got more face-time with that church.  So many church people. family, friends…what a complete joy for her, for her kids, for her church.  I just love this woman!

4:00PM–Go to a children’s soccer game.  These two brothers from Ethiopia (from Church 2) LOVE futbol.  And they are so good.  I got to hang with their sister who was playing later.  All three are unbelievably smart, courteous, fun, happy and gracious.  Tough game against a good opponent but it was clear who the best players were!  I got to hang with their adoptive dad who is having a great time being a father.  I get the feeling that loving other people comes easily to these kids and to this family.  I know that this makes it easy to love this family.  They have been a great joy to the church.

5:00PM–Break at B/N while I check on email and await for the last thing at 6.  The sun at the soccer game was hot in my church clothes, so a little A/C and free WiFi were much welcomed.

6:00PM–Pull in to my last stop for the day–a potluck dinner to kick-off Building on Faith Week for Mon County Habitat for Humanity.  I sat with a fellow Faith Relations Committee member, a tremendous contributor to the team.  Her table of fellow Catholics was lively and comedic.  There is a paper prayer chain that will gain links throughout the week.  There were brownies, too.  I got to meet other committee’s members: Family Selection and Family Advocacy.  Just by shaking others’ hands, I understood a lot more about Habitat’s methods.  With the week commencing tomorrow, the Catholic table asked me to join them to build tomorrow evening.  Of all the work I’ll do this week for Habitat (and have done already), I had forgotten to sign up for the most important one: building a home in partnership with a family in need.

7:00PM–Ascend up the road out of the proper boundaries of my hometown of Morgantown, WV.  I do not always like the drive, but Sunday evening is the regular exception.  I crank up the Radiohead and roll down the windows.  The air is great this time of year.  I am often surprised as to my alertness and energy as I go home for the day.  Shouldn’t I be more tired?  And yet, I am appreciative, even at peace.  Plenty of work done.  Plenty of contact, which for such an introvert as me, is rejuvenating.  I think that I like being a pastor.

Childishness

One of the things that I have begun doing is a children’s message during Sunday worship.  I know, almost everyone does that.  I was so bad at these at the beginning that I stopped doing it.  Routinely, I would be under-prepared–even trying to figure out what I was going to do as I drove down the hill to church on Sunday morning.  Not good.

At New Year’s, one of my churches welcomed two new families that have young children.  I saw the mother’s enthusiasm for church and I quickly saw that I had to something to solidify their connection to the church.  I resurrected the children’s message with a renewed sense of purpose–it was not for the entertainment of the adults, it wasn’t even for the amusement of the children themswelves.  The children’s message’s purpose was even more direct–it was to include them in worship: to teach them the ways of the Lord; to reveal God’s grace and love to them; to testify that God speaks to children; to recognize that children have joys and concerns like the rest of us and they, too, need worship; they also need the community of believers to help them grow in wisdom and in stature.  Joyfully, with a renewed seriousness, returning the children’s moment to worship has been a very rewarding thing.

Given the seriousness of the children’s moment, I decided that I needed a new approach–one that would help me with planning and implementation.  So, just as I sit down quarterly and hammer out worship for the adults in the upcoming season, so too I take time to hammer out a children’s message series.  Treating children’s moments like a sermon series has opened up my creativity and helped me be organized.  Firstly, I taught the kids the Lord’s Prayer, one line per week.  We learned the line, talked about what it meant and led the church in prayer.  We have tackled the seven days of creation, children in the Bible and, this summer, the fruits of the spirit (yes, with fruit).  For fall, since I am preaching on the gospel primarily, children’s moments will take lessons from James.  I have just sketched out 12 lessons for Sunday worship through Christ the King Sunday.  It’s nice just to get this put together.  Now, all I have to do is do it.

The great thing I have discovered is that the Bible has a lot to say to children.  James is a no nonsense book that addresses envy, partiality, rich vs. poor, etc.  The challenge is to take these teachings and translate them to children.  One thing that I like about this is that it minimizes the temptation to make children’s messages cheap and gimmicky.  I presume that by doing real faith development with the children, that everyone will grow.  I know that I have already.  Tomorrow’s lesson comes from James 1:5-8–what should we ask for when praying to God?

Image:  “Orange balloon & a green dress” by Fountain Head