I was looking for a sign from God, and wrote this poem

Confessions:

I ate the cheesecake.
I left my notes at home.
It was not the dog's fault.
I don't know everything.
I need a sign from God sometimes,
just the tiniest little sign.
Just one word,
or a splash of water,
a piece of bread, broken
and multiplied.
Multiplied! 
I need to see just a small piece
of forgiveness,
a little resurrection.
Just one word
Multiplied.
I don't know everything.
It was not the dog's fault.
I left my notes at home.
I ate the cheesecake.
Forgive me.

How I Measure

I have a wedding this weekend.  It is my first wedding here, in my new-ish call.  The couple at whose wedding I am officiating are fairly new members of the congregation.  She came and visited not long after I started.  A little later, he visited as well.  I have some affection for the first few people who showed up, the same hot summer that I did.

I took three young people to make chalices on Saturday.  They are going to make their first communion at the end of April.

I have a baptism on the same Sunday, at the early service.  It will be my third baptism, although my first baby.  The first baptism was a three year old, and the second was five.  A boy and a girl.

There are two 8th graders who are getting ready to be confirmed this summer.  I haven't been involved in most of their confirmation instruction, but we are going to get together and design their confirmation service.  They are going to pick the songs and the scripture readings and think about what else they might want to have in their service.

One wedding.  Three first communions.  Three baptisms.  Two confirmations.  That's what I get excited about.  That's how I measure, even.

There are probably better ways to think about this.  I could think about new ministries we have started, except that we are moving slowly and we haven't started any new ministries except for our tiny first attempts at cross generational activities.  I could think about successful stewardship campaigns (which by the way, we had, this fall), or I could think of new members, or I could think of new songs we have learned.  I could measure by the strangers I have met (which would not be a bad way to measure, actually), or the new places I have been.

But I don't.

I measure:  1 wedding.  Three baptisms.  2 confirmations.  Three first communions.

I measure:  the girl who got to help serve communion for the first time on Maundy Thursday, and says:  "I want to do that again!"

I measure:  the woman who said that her granddaughter had her first sleepover the other night, and she invited her friend to our church.

I measure:  the two girls who love to sing Holden Evening Prayer together, and sing so that everyone can hear them.

I suppose that the best measure is transformed lives.  That is what we are about.  But sometimes transformation is not visible to the eye.  It is what goes on inside, and it could be happening, even when I have no idea.  All I can see is the outstretched hand, the singing voices, the little hugs, the food left outside the church door.   All I can do is trust that God is using us, even me, to bring transformation.

1 wedding.  Three baptisms.  2 confirmations.  Three first communions.  And in so many other, ordinary ways, God is transforming us.

That's what I trust.  That's how I measure.

Between

My last Sunday in my congregation was May 31st.  Technically (and really) it was my last day as a pastor there, although (truth be told) I haven't quite moved everything out of my office yet.  Some things happen suddenly, and other things take more time, it seems.  I had meant to be done earlier, but it turned out that there were things hiding under things, and the books and papers multiplied while I wasn't looking, and there were the unintended pauses while I remembered, and said goodbye, again.

I have been called to another congregation, in another state, some distance away from the state where I live now.  They have asked me questions and I have asked them questions, and we have visited with one another and even begun to dream, a little.  I now have a (still mostly empty) apartment, and three boxes of my books have arrived at the church.  So I have a place, although I am not there yet.

I went to church on Sunday, and enjoyed sitting in the pew with my mother, singing hymns and listening to someone else's sermon (which was good, by the way, and I'm not just saying that).  I enjoyed it, but I had this sort of uncomfortable realization that I missed the feeling I have when I am leading worship and preaching, and then just afterwards.  It's a hard feeling to put my finger on, exactly.  I have worshipped with them, and together we have borne witness to the truth.  It feels a little like how I imagine the conductor of an orchestra might feel.

I have been on vacation before, and technically that is what this is:  a few weeks of vacation before I begin again.  But it feels different somehow. I am between congregations.  My old congregation is not my congregation any more.  I realized on Sunday how much of my identity has become bound up in the rhythm of my week.  I am not sure this is entirely a good thing.  It is not bad to find purpose and meaning in my work, and to derive satisfaction from a job well done.   But I wondered on Sunday if I need it a little too much, and if the between time is a good break, to help me to remember to receive and to be.  

Unrealistic Expectations

As part of my work, I have meetings and conversations with couples prior to their weddings.  We don't just plan the ceremony.  We also use an inventory which purports to measure the couple's "Strengths" and "Growth Areas".  The inventory gives us many possibilities for conversations that we can have about their relationship.

Some of the possible strengths (or 'growth areas') named are:  Communication, Conflict Resolution, Relationship Roles, Family and Friends, Spiritual Beliefs, Children and Parenting.

You get the idea.

Then there is this one:  "Marriage Expectations."  The idea is that if your expectations for marriage are "realistic", then this is a strength for you.  If your expectations for marriage are "unrealistic", then this is a growth area.

I've been using this inventory for a long time, and I'll tell you what:  I can't think of one couple who scored well on "Marriage Expectations."  Not one.  They all thought that their partner would never disappoint them, that nothing could make them doubt each other's love, that the romance would never fade.

I've taken to reporting these results with a preface:  "Marriage Expectations is a growth area for you," I explain.  "But as far as I can tell, it is for everyone.  Maybe no one would get married if they had realistic expectations."   We laugh about that a little, and go on to discuss their results, bursting their marriage pre-conception balloon, but as gently as possible.

I can't help thinking that the same dynamics could be applied to pastors and congregations.

I realize that there are a number of problems with this analogy.  No, I am not married to my congregation.  We aren't even dating.  But it is a kind of relationship, and I think that congregations have expectations of their pastors, some based in hope, and some based in tradition, and based in some sort of mythic golden age.  They might have expectations of what their pastor will look like, or what kind of a personality she will have (or even whether their pastor will be a 'he' or a 'she').  They might have expectations of what kind of leader their pastor will be, or how he will pray or sing or preach.  They might have expectations of what their pastor can or will do:  bring back the fifties, attract young families, be great with youth or old people, evangelize the neighborhood.

Some of these expectations will (possibly) be unrealistic.

Pastors have expectations of congregations, too.  They have expectations of what their congregations might look like, their piety, their worship life, their eagerness to come out to a Bible study or help with soup suppers or go on a mission trip.  They have expectations (perhaps) about a congregation's faith or their doubts, their neediness or their strength.

Some of these expectations will be unrealistic.

Maybe that's natural.  Maybe it's part of all of life, or at least, every relationship.  We do our best to tell the truth, and to hear the truth about each other.  But in the end marriage, friendship, and entering into every kind of community is a leap of faith.  We love each other and we hurt each other.  We soar and we fall flat on our faces.  We blame each other during the rough patches.  The romance fades.  We are bound to disappoint each other, sometimes.

So we continue to harbor unrealistic expectations.  That's just the way it is.  Only one thing is needful:  not to lower expectations, but to take another leap of faith, and practice forgiveness.

In 1991 I Wrote This About My Call

I was looking for some old Lenten monologues I wrote based on Mark's gospel, and I came upon the "Endorsement Essay" that I wrote for the seminary and for my denomination.  Here's what I wrote:


SINCE childhood, I have been nurtured by many stories from the Bible.  There have been picture Bibles at bedtime before prayers, stories told by Sunday School teachers, lectionary readings preached from the pulpit.  A few of these stories have stayed with me and become mine, to comfort as well as afflict me.  He is a story about some of the stories that have become companions with me on my journey.

Story #1
It was a dark and stormy night, and the little boat was rocked by waves.  The disciples had all they could do to keep afloat, for the wind was against them.  When they saw Jesus walking across the lake to them, it was somehow not so reassuring, but just another eerie thing in the middle of the night, the kind they would have nightmares about sometimes after witnessing Jesus cast out some particularly terrifying demons.  "Don't be afraid!" he called, and it was about as easy to stop being afraid as it would have been to stop breathing.  Impulsive Peter, however,  put all sense behind him.  The man knew no fear.  He leaped from the boat and found himself, to his surprise, walking on water.  It didn't last, however; it couldn't last.  Peter feared he fell; he failed.

It was August 30, 1981.  My palms were sweaty, my mouth was dry, I felt somewhat numb.  I was in church, being commissioned as a missionary to Japan, and I listened intently as the minister told this story.  I identified with Peter.  I was leaving for Japan the next day, and I was not packed yet.  I felt ignorant, foolish, unprepared.

"But I never feel prepared!"
It was at a winter retreat
that a student said it,
I was pleased when a counselor replied,
"But we walk on water all the time."

It is well to be prepared,
but we dare not forget that we are never fully prepared
for the tasks that are most worth doing.
The tasks that are worthy of us, as persons,
are often beyond us.

--Gerhard Frost, "Bless My Growing"

As I prepared for ministry of service in Japan, I feared that I had gotten in "over my head" as Peter did, and was about to drown.  But I also began to suspect that "over my head" was just where God wanted me.  I began to suspect that a life in response to God's grace was a life of risk, a life of continual dependence on the Voice that calls out over the waves, and the strong Arm that reaches us when we are drowning.  We are continually drowning and being raised to new life, and since that first drowning, we need not fear the others.

It was May 19, 1957.  I was only one month old, and this time, I did not jump in.  I was pushed!  When my parents brought me to Augustana church that day in obedience to God's Word, I'm sure they did not suspect what adventures would follow.  But as the minister poured water three times over my head in the strong name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I was assured a lifetime of getting in "over my head."  It is a lifetime of grace for all of our a ventures, of daring to risk because of the God who dares to go with us.

Story #2
Job was a Good Man, God had said so Himself, so it came as somewhat of a shock when he found his fortunes turning from good to bad and from bad to worse.  He lost everything; first his fortune, then his family, even his wife, last his health.  No one understood it, least of all Job, although some of his friends who thought they had it all worked out came over to try to enlighten him.  "Comforters," they were called, and some of their responses sounded reasonable, though none of them were very comforting, and Job did not find them compelling.  In the end, Job demanded an explanation from God himself, and though he didn't get one, he did get God, the creator of the Universe, right there, at this bedside.

I first read the story of Job, all 42 chapters of the Revised Standard Version, the first day of my senior year of high school.  It was an assignment.  I didn't understand it much then.  But by the end of my senior year, I had begun to take a liking to this gutsy questioner.  By the end of this year, I too was beginning to question God.  Confronted by issues of human suffering, the Holocaust, the Atomic bomb, I found it difficult to believe in an all-powerful but all-loving God.  Trips to the library to learn more about Jesus did not bring answers but still more questions.  In the church, which I continued to attend despite my doubts, I found no answers either.  But I found something.  I found God who promised to be with us "where two or three are gathered."  I found that the Christian response to suffering was not an answer, but a presence.  As Job discovered, answers did not sustain me.  But God has sustained me and continues to sustain.  Within the bread and the wine, within the gathered community which sings, prayers, confesses together, God is present.  Sometimes the community believes for me when I cannot believe.  Sometimes another is weak when I am strong.  I know we don't always get answers, but I know that the Creator of the Universe has come right here, among us.

Story #3
Jonah went to Nineveh to preach repentance, but it certainly wasn't his idea.  In fact, the indentations in the sand were pretty long and deep where God dragged him kicking and screaming.  In case you had forgotten, the first thing Jonah did when God called him was get on a boat going in the opposite direction.  After that, he ended up spending three days in the belly of a great fish, reconsidering his original plan.  That's what you get for trying to run away from God.

I like Jonah.  I think I am a lot like him.  He was stubborn and resistant, pretty convinced that he could not preach the Word, especially to Nineveh.  Jonah knew his weaknesses and used them as excuses to run away from God's call.  I find I have been the same way.  "I can't serve you, God," I have argued.  "I am not a leader.  I am not assertive enough."  (Indeed, I will have to learn to be more assertive as I grow in ministry.)  But my argument, unfortunately, did not impress God.  "You're crazy, God", I countered, "I am too much of a people-pleaser to preach your Word prophetically."  (And it's true, I do need to learn to be less concerned about how other people see me.)  But God was as stubborn as I was, and this argument did not work either.  "O God," I persisted piously.  I am not disciplined enough in my own life of prayer and Bible study to lead a congregation's spiritual life."  and God granted that it was a true confession, but did not give up calling me.  I began to hear another voice beneath all of my excuses, and this one was a still small voice, reminding me that along with all my weaknesses, I also had gifts to bring to ministry.

One of these gifts ironically, grows out of my own stubborn delay in recognizing Gods call.  Because of that, I have had many experiences as a lay person, struggling to integrate faith and life.  I have often sat in the pew on Sunday morning and thought, "That's nice for you, Pastor, but how do I live out my Christian faith in my life and at my job?  What do I do on Monday?"  I want to hang onto that experience as I plan worship and preaching.  I have also sat on church councils and know the good, the bad and the ugly about church politics.  I believe that lay people can teach me as well as learn from me.

Another of these gifts is a love for stories and for writing.  Clarity of expression is important to me.  I know that words and stories have power.  I also know that people are stories to be read and enjoyed.  I want to learn to read people and learn from them and be sensitive to their struggles.  I know that the Word is not just words on a page, but the word of speech, of touch, of sight and of sound.

Another gift I bring is my nurture in the Lutheran tradition, with respect for the power of baptism and the Triune God who commands it and acts through it.  Yet I have grown through a variety of religious experiences, Lutheran and not:  summer campfires, charismatic worship, reading in mysticism, cross-cultural experiences, and insights through art, music and literature.  I have learned that God speaks to us in a variety of languages to different people.  All these resources I might bring to worship, preaching, teaching, and counseling, now that I have gotten out of the belly of that great fish.

Story #4
In the Beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  He was in the Beginning with God; all things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made.  In the Beginning was the Word.  And the Almighty Word leapt down from heaven, took on human flesh, eating and drinking and laughing and weeping with us.  In the End the Word was crucified by us and for us, but that was only the Beginning.  In the Middle the Word healed and forgave, spoke in riddles and walked on seas, multiplied loaves of bread and divided the house of Satan, and wear generally misunderstood and underestimated.  In the Middle, almost nobody understood until the End.  But that was only the Beginning.  In the Middle was the Word, and the Word is in the Middle.  In the Middle, we continue to misunderstand, get it wrong, trip over our shoelaces and miss the point.  And in the Middle we continue to hear the Word, "Given and shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins, who is, in the middle of our middle, still eating and drinking and laughing and weeping with us, although we often don't understand until the End.

And that is only the beginning.

A Particular Story

A year ago last June, my husband and I traveled to South Dakota to help celebrate the Centennial of one of the three churches I pastored back in the 1990s.

I had not been back in 14 years, though I had thought about them often since leaving.  They were a good parish, a farming community out on a prairie unfamiliar to me.  It was a gracious place to begin ministry, though sometimes I had critiqued myself, thinking that I had not done enough "big" things while I was there.

I wondered what it would be like, to see them again.  I wondered what the community would be like as well.  It's not so easy for rural communities these days:  with farms getting larger, towns get smaller.  I remembered the many funerals, the handful of new members and baptisms, and wondered what it would be like when I returned.

I was pleasantly surprised to see this church, still small, but teeming with children.  Some of them were the children of my former confirmation students.  Some were faces I didn't know.  There was a sense of hope and vitality, a sense of health.  Later on, someone told me that in this small congregation (membership is just under 200) there are 57 children in Sunday School this year.  The church attracts:  particularly young families.

Ever since that summer day, I've been thinking about this congregation, and about the sense of vitality that I found there.  I've been thinking about what makes a congregation resilient, able to bounce back when their are challenges rather than continue to contract.  I have also been considering that growing congregations are not all necessarily large:  there are growing congregations in every size.  I wondered if it was DNA or habits, or something else that mattered.

Here is what I came up with.

1.  This congregation sees each of their pastors as uniquely gifted, and uses each pastor's particular gifts.  Even mine.  So someone came up to me on the Sunday I visited and showed me a copy of a contemporary worship service I wrote while I was there.  They wanted me to know that they still use that service, although they had added to and expanded to what I first put together.  Every year they purchase a couple more copyrights to favorite songs.  Every year the book gets a little thicker.  They took the gift I offered them, and they made it their own.

2.  This congregation has necessarily become lay driven.  This reality is borne out of the challenge that they often got new and first-call pastors who did not stay very many years.  But because of that, they have become a lay-driven congregation.  I never had all of the ideas.  I was just one of the leaders, adding my vegetables to the soup.  I had the idea that we should help serve a meal to hungry people at "The Banquet", but there were plenty of other things that happened that had very little to do with me.

3.  This congregation is inter-generational by nature.  There is no nursery.  The children belong to the congregation, and everyone supported and looked out after them.  The largest service of the year was always Easter Sunrise, which the youth group planned and executed every year (no sermon).  I was also impressed when the leadership board decided that they should cash in some savings in order to build a lift.  They wanted their church basement to be handicap accessible.  The impetus for this move?  a child in the congregation who had Muscular Dystrophy.

And, most important....

4.  This congregation has a Particular Story.  Well, I suppose that every congregation has a Particular Story, a story that makes them who they are, whether everyone in the congregation even knows it or not.

I didn't learn the story for a long time, and I didn't learn it all at once.  I learned first about the cemetery four miles west of the church.  Then I would hear references to "The Pleasant Church."  Finally I learned that there had once been two churches -- the one in town that I knew, and a beautiful, old country church west of town, founded by Norwegian immigrants.

One terrible day the country church burned to the ground.  I don't know if there is anyone alive yet who remembers the story of the fire, but there were some people who remembered it still when I was pastor.  Their voices fell still when they told the story of the fire at their beloved church.

Both churches were still lively and bustling at the time; yet even so, the congregation made the decision not to rebuild, but to create a whole new congregation, together with the people of the church in town. The town church was re-named to reflect the belief that they were now a new community.

My telling does not do justice to the Particular Story of this congregation:  the hard work, the hope, the persistence, the joy.  It is a story of death and resurrection.  It is a story of what happens when the worst thing you can imagine happens -- and you find out that it is the not the worst thing that can happen to you.

Last fall, a house two blocks from my current congregation burned to the ground.  Almost everything was lost.  Our faith community, along with others,  took a door offering for the woman and her family.  When I talked to her on the phone, she said the fire was, "the worst blessing."  It was an odd thing to say, but I think I know what she meant.

A particular story.  That is what this congregation has.  It has a particular story of "the worst blessing."  It has a story that tells them that when the worst happens to them, it is not the worst that can happen to them.  It is a story of death by fire.  And it is a story of life from God.

In Praise of Uncertainty

The thing I want to know is:  how can they be so sure?

There is a group of pastors participating in an act of Civil Disobedience in October 7.  To be perfectly honest, I am not one of them, though I am not totally opposed to pastors engaging in civil disobedience on occasion.  I did once stand up with a group of pastors and other religious leaders who were pleading for fair treatment for undocumented workers.

But this is different.

October 7th is Freedom of the Pulpit Sunday.  Pastors all over the country are going to speak from the pulpit on political matters, and even endorse candidates.  They take the IRS restriction on political speech from the pulpit to be offensive.  In acts of defiance, they are going to send tapes of the sermons to the IRS, daring them to take action.

And the thing I want to know is:  how can they be so sure?  How can they be so sure that they know who "God's candidate" is?

An acquaintance of mine, someone I knew long ago, and got re-acquainted with through the wonders of Facebook, told me that he would never go to a church where the pastor was afraid of the IRS.  He also told me that he would vote for the candidate who had broken the fewest of the commandments.  (I did not ask him, but thought, "How does anyone know which candidate has broken the fewest commandments?")

As for me, when I step into the pulpit, there are a few things about which I am certain, and many things of which I am uncertain.  I am certain that God calls me to forgive sinners, which means that there are sinners out there.  I am certain that God is hiding in the poor, vulnerable and unseemly among us, and that God's work gets done in the unlikeliest of ways.  I am certain that God calls us to do justice and love kindness.  And I will admit that I have certain opinions about the best policies to follow to make sure that we do justice and love kindness, but I am not so deluded as to think that my opinions are the same as God's truth.

The thing is:  I am not tempted to endorse candidates from the pulpit, but it's not because I'm afraid of the IRS.  It is because I do not believe that endorsing candidates is what a pulpit is for.  I don't think it's the preacher's job to tell the people in their congregation who to vote for.  I think any preacher who stands up and endorses a candidate from the pulpit is abusing the power of the pulpit.  I'm really sure about this.

There was a time long ago that I spent among the Certain.  They were fervent Christians who explicated the Bible, had prayer meetings, sang heartfelt songs.  There were some things I loved about worshipping with this group of people.  They were Certain about who was saved and they were Certain about who was not saved.  They were Certain about how we should live our lives, and what it meant to be a true believer.

It came to me gradually that there was an understanding that a person could only vote one way and be a Christian.  And I was certain that they were wrong about that.   I am certain that God works in our political system, and I am equally certain that God does not work through one party or the other.   God's in the mess, that's what I believe, and that's what I hope.  And that the love of God will eventually embrace and redeem us all.

If the IRS ever tells me that I can't preach the love of God for everyone, I'll be the first to send them a tape.

And folks:  if that time ever comes, that's when we will need to practice Civil Disobedience.  I'm certain about this.

Rev. Clarence Solberg: 1917-2012 "By Heart"

Today was the funeral of our beloved former visitation pastor, Clarence Solberg.  I didn't preach, but I wrote a few words that I shared at the funeral.  Here they are:

"By Heart"

A year ago at Christmas I was making a visit to my friend and colleague Pastor Clarence Solberg and his wife Jeannette.  I will tell you that sometimes there was a challenge when I would go to the Masonic Home.  the challenge would be to find them, as they did not stay put much.  They might be playing Bingo (which Clarence often won), they might be joining a sing-a-long, they might simply be out in the front lobby, where Pastor Clarence liked to shake hands and greet everyone he met.  This day, however, they were across from the chapel, sitting at a little round table.

Since it was almost Christmas eve, I decided to read from Luke 2.  For some reason, I had brought my confirmation Bible, the OLD Revised Standard Version, that day, and as soon as I started to read, "In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be enrolled"  -- Pastor Solberg began reciting right along with me.  Once in awhile he would drop out for just a few words, but he would come right back with the next phrase, all the way to the end of the Christmas story.  He was especially strong whenever I came to the phrase about the b aby, "wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger."

All of those many years, repeating that story again and again, had gotten the words of Luke, chapter 2 deep into his heart.  All of those years telling the story to his many  congregations meant that he knew the story by heart.  "God is with us."

That wasn't the only thing he knew by heart of course.  Sometimes he would recite the words of institution with me, or raise his hands and say the words of the benediction.  "The Lord bless you and keep you/the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you/the Lord look upon you with favor/and give you peace."  He was such a pastor; he lived and breathed his vocation, and knew it by heart.  His calling was to speak the Word, and those words were deep within him.

Memory work has fallen on hard times these days, but I can't help thinking how important it is to know things by heart:  the verses of a song, a piece of scripture -- who we are.  Clarence Solberg knew who he was -- he was a pastor, he knew it by heart.  (Of course he wasn't just a pastor, he was also a husband, father, grandfather, and proud owner of Toyotas).  I heard someone say that he tried his hand at farming -- he was even good at it.  But he wasn't a farmer.  He was a pastor.  He could be opinionated:  he let me know on a few occasions when he disagreed with me (just a few!).  And I remember early on that he told me he wasn't quite convinced about women pastors, "but you're ok", he said.  I think he finally came to the conclusion that the most important thing was to preach the gospel.  Gender:  not so much.

Pastor Clarence and I shared a fair amount of funeral ministry, so I can't help thinking that some of the words that we have heard -- and will hear -- were some of the most dear to him.  "When we were baptized in Christ Jesus, we were baptized into his death."  "What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear."  Saying them again and again, he came to know them by heart.

By heart:  it's also how many of us know Clarence.  We know him by heart.  There are many stories we could share.  I hope we do.  Memory work has fallen on hard times these days, but we know how important it is to know "by heart" -- not just words, but to know one another "by heart".   It is, after all, how God knows us.

"Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace, goodwill to all."

On Short and Long Pastorates

A while back, a friend of mine said to me, in a sort-of-an-offhand way, that she would like to talk to me sometime to find out "what it's like to stay in a church for a long time."

My friend doesn't feel as if she has stayed in one church, or one call for that long, or at least, she hasn't stayed in one place for as long as I have.  This is, by all accounts, "a long time."

I will say that at first the question puzzled me, a little.  Is staying in one place for "awhile" such an odd thing?  And is it a bad thing?  Or a good thing? 

I have heard people speak both admiring and disparaging words about long pastorates.  I've never heard anyone talk about pastors who leave "too soon", although I would think it's as tempting to bail out when we hit a rough patch early on as it is to linger too long if we think that things are going well.  

That being said, I think that there are both pitfalls and benefits to a long pastorate, both for the pastor and for the congregation.  The pitfalls are easiest to identify:  the temptation to identify a congregation too much with the personality of the pastor, the temptation for the congregation to depend on the pastor too much, and the temptation for the pastor to depend on the congregation as well.  There's also the temptation to rely on old patterns and things that have become comfortable when those patterns need to be adapted to a new reality.

But, I think there are benefits sometimes, to a long pastorate, to a pastor and a congregation wrestling together, changing together, as in a good long marriage which has weathered many storms and come out stronger.  I think there are benefits, if the congregation and the pastor are both healthy, can both look at what they need to do to continue to fulfill the mission in that place.   There's the benefit of really knowing each other, being able to get past those first romantic honeymoon years with one another, seeing each other (both pastor and congregation) for who you really are, both strengths and besetting sins, and then looking each other in the eye and saying, "But I believe God has called us to be his people in this place, anyway." There's something good, but really, really hard about that.

So, I'll answer my friend, who asked me, "What is it like to stay in one place for a long time?"

It feels good some days.  I know all of the names of the children.  I know many of the stories of the people who are here:  where they came from, what they have come through.  I have seen people come and go; I have grieved and celebrated, seen success and failure. 

Other days it feels hard.  I have succeeded sometimes as well as failed here.  I have made mistakes and had to say, "I'm sorry."  I have had to pick myself up and start over.  I have had to look at myself in the mirror honestly and admit what my struggles are.  Here, the people know me;  I can't fool them.  

But, sometimes the hard thing to do is the right thing to do. 

That's what I 'll tell my friend, if she asks me again.

A Few Thoughts About Leadership

Over the past year or so I've been thinking a lot about Leadership, Pastoral and otherwise.  Here are just a few things I've been thinking:

1.  Leaders Don't Know Everything.  I know it's tempting, when you are looking for a leader, to try and find someone who "knows what we should do."  But I'm not sure that is the best model for leadership, at least these days.  Rather than a leader who is sure that he or she knows what to do in every situation, what about a leader who is curious about what s/he doesn't know and listening to the people and the culture around her for ideas and strategies?  I think that curiosity and openness are under-valued qualities in a leader these days.

A parish member once said, "A Professional is someone who knows what to do when s/he doesn't know what to do."  Not a bad qualification for a leader too:  someone willing to say, "Actually I don't have all the answers, but I have some ideas for how we can find out."

2.  Leadership requires courage.  Absolutely.  You can't be a leader if you are not able to step out and take some risks.  And you have to know where the bottom line is for you, what is essential and what is not.

That being said, leadership does not mean standing alone.  And courage is not stupidity.  Leaders cultivate their courage by making sure there are people standing with them, behind them, alongside them, people who see a leader's vision taking shape and are willing to go there with them.   Leaders cultivate people who will have their back in times of stress; that's one place that courage comes from.

3.  Leaders listen and speak.  I think when we think of leaders, we think of speaking.  But actually, listening is just as important to the task of leadership.  What to leaders listen to:  leaders listen to stories.  And leaders tell stories.  They tell their own stories, and they tell stories of the past, present and future of the people they are leading. 

4.  Leading and Pastoring are both necessary, but they are not the same thing.  If you are a good pastor, do not mistake people's respect for you as their pastor, as a willingness to follow your leadership.  It is a separate skill.  I can't imagine being able to be a effective leader in a parish if you're not a good pastor as well.

5  Leaders cultivate hope.  It's not the same as optimism.

I hope to continue, and to develop this conversation.

Probably after Holy Week, though.

Why The Pastor/Parish Relationship is like a Marriage (sort of)

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, as our congregation will soon be in a discernment process regarding who will be our next pastor.  We will prayerfully listen to the Holy Spirit and to members of the congregation regarding our mission and direction, and think about what kind of leader we need in order to fulfill the mission that God has given us.  In our tradition, we interview pastors and then extend a call to a particular candidate, who will either say, "Yes," or "No."

To me, it sounds a little like the process we use to choose a life partner, except possibly for the part where each vows "till death do us part."

I realize that some denominations do not get a say in who their pastor will be.  In that case, consider it kind of like an "arranged marriage", where older and wiser parties choose a partner for you, based on each of your strengths and needs.  In that case, your parents, er, I mean your bishop tells you that you will "learn to love each other."

So, at the beginning, after all that prayer and all that discernment, and all that study (i.e. dating) and interviewing, the congregation is sure that they have chosen the Right Pastor.  Some people may even be so bold as to say that they have chosen the Perfect Pastor.  The Minister as well, is sure that s/he has said "yes" to the Right Church, the Church where s/he is supposed to be.

And then, somewhere along the line....just like in marriage....reality sets in. 

Which is not to say that everything goes wrong, but just that, some things go wrong.  Your partner leaves the cap off the toothpaste, or doesn't make ice cubes, or holds the wrong position about homosexuality, or turns out to have an off-putting sense of humor.  You absolutely got a pastor who is a brilliant teacher and preacher, but not someone who can remember everyone's name.  Or, your congregation is passionately committed to working for justice, but not to having enough money to pay the heat bills in the winter ( for example). 

Then, the question is, can you adjust? 

So, you didn't get a perfect pastor, and you didn't get a perfect congregation.  But the key to success is to be able to adjust to the reality of the flawed, but gifted people you really are.  As you work together, you will discover stumbling blocks and things you didn't know about one another.  You will discover that you were both putting on your best face to impress each other in those Early Days.

But here's the catch.  As you make adjustments based on Real Life, you will also discover (and this is absolutely guaranteed) gifts you didn't know you had.  Given the opportunity, and given the faith that this person, this congregation, with all of their faults, is still the Right One for You, you'll not only fall down on the job sometimes:  you'll also rise to the occasion, you discover new things about one another, new ways you can serve God together.

Just like in marriage, the key to a successful pastor/parish relationship is the ability to make adjustments.  Oh, and faithfulness.  Faithfulness is important too.

Lead Us Not Into Temptation

Early last week, I was on my way out of a local bookstore and coffee shop, when the proprietress thrust something into my hands. "Here, read this," she told me.

I took a look at the cover. It was a local publication called, "Lavender." The cover story was about a well-known (some would say infamous) pastor in our community. He has been well-known for his angry and vehement positions against Gay and Lesbian people in the church.

I didn't read the story right away. I was actually surprised by the headline, which proclaimed that this pastor "had something to hide."

Turns out, that Rev. Brock struggles with same-sex attractions himself. The article in question was by a "journalist" who infiltrated a confidential support group to get a story. Since then, the questionable ethics of "Lavender" have been as much a part of the story as the story itself.

I don't know Pastor Brock, but I've been familiar with his rants for a long time. He used to write mass letters to congregations in our region about abortion as well. He's also angry that we entertain any other position on Christ's atonement than the "correct" one, which is the theology of substitionary atonement.

Many have called Pastor Brock a hypocrite for deriding same-sex relationships publicly while secretly struggling with these same feelings. There's a particular part of the (supposedly confidential) meeting where he confesses that on a trip to Slovokia he "fell into temptation." Some have supposed that this meant that he "gave in" on that trip. But, not necessarily. Temptation to sin is not the same as succombing to sin. (Please be aware that I am not saying that I believe that homosexuality is a sin. I am just conceding that Pastor Brock does.)

However, it did start me thinking about temptation and sin, particularly as regards pastors. I remember once at a Bible study breakfast, saying something like, "Well, you know, I struggle with sin all the time." And though I didn't mention any specific sin, one of the men acted like it was still a little too much information.

One of the temptations that pastors face is the temptation to believe "the hype" -- that we are holy people, and because we are committed to the gospel and prayer and the life of the church, we are somehow immune to the struggles of other people. And it seems to me that when we are tempted to believe "the hype" ourselves -- that's when we are most in danger of abusing the power, the authority given to us. When we have to keep our struggles to ourselves, and pretend that we don't have any -- that's when we are most dangerous to ourselves -- and to others.

Unaffiliated

That's the fastest growing category listed for people in their religious preferences right now.

We talked a little about this during my ecumenical clergy lunch this noon. We talked about a lot of things, actually; we learned that the mayor of our city prays for us regularly, and vowed to pray for city officials as well (school board, police, firefighers, teachers, city board, etc.). We talked about the National Day of Prayer; one of our members is a Police Chaplain in Another City. He had been invited to a Community Prayer Breakfast that morning. When he looked at the website, he discovered that it was run by an extremely right-wing group; the speaker for that morning compares Obama to Hitler. So, he declined to attend.

But, I digress. Among all the things we talked about: how to work for the common good in our community, whether to be a part of the 4th of July Parade this year, someone mentioned that the fastest growing religious category right now is "unaffiliated."

Atheism is growing too, but "unaffiliated" people aren't necessarily atheists. Some of them may be; some of them aren't. They are people who don't affiliate with any religious organizations. They're not Lutheran or Catholic or Presbyterian or Baptism or non-denominational or even Buddhist or Ba'hai. They are 'unaffiliated.'

It seems to me that there are at least two (probably more) reasons for this, but two that I can identify. One I am very sympathetic to; the other, not as much.

First, people have become more and more suspicious of institutions. I'm sympathetic to this particular suspicion. Although the Catholic church and the priest abuse scandal has been much in the news lately, you don't have to search very hard to find different kinds of abuse of trust in other religious institutions. And you can certainly find instances where it seems that people were "using" the religious office for their own, less edifying, goals. Some people have a hard time with religious leaders who, for example, have their own private plane. Others have a hard time with religious hierarchy which protects the powerful at the expense of the weak.

So, people who wonder about the institution of the church, who have a hard time trusting for one reason or another: I get that. We are looking for autheticity, not bureaucracy. I am looking for authenticity, too.

On the other hand, I think there is very much an individualistic impulse in us, an impulse that resists working with genuine (but flawed) community. Community is life-giving, but also risky. When we live with other and let them get to know us, we can be blessed, but we can be hurt as well. It's tempting to opt out. Actually, I can understand part of this impulse, too.

A number of years ago I heard about a little church where the pastor had cancer. The church members supported and prayed for their pastor. They also gave several fundraisers to help defray the costs of his expensive treatments and travels to Another City. Then, it came out: the whole story was a Lie. The pastor had never had cancer. He used the money raised to go to Another City for vacation.

Or something.

Those of us who are disciples of Jesus who also affiliate with churches know both the blessing of living and working together, but also the pain of falling-short. We know when others have let us down, when we have been hurt, when our lofty ideas of what Christian Community is supposed to be about have come crashing down. And yet....

As for me, I struggle with wanting the church to be Better, but knowing it will never be Perfect.

An Atheist in the Pulpit

The January-February issue of Psychology Today has a very provocative cover. But that's not what attracted me to it, and why I finally bought a copy, as we were headed home from vacation. No, it was the feature article titled above, "An Atheist in the Pulpit", which begins with a pseudonymous Lutheran minister struggling to write a sermon and realizing that he did not believe in God any more.

The Lutheran minister goes to his bishop (a woman, by the way), who does not take him seriously. Either she does not believe that he really lost his faith, or she doesn't care (as long as he puts asses in the pews, as he puts it). The article doesn't specify exactly what happens to this particular pastor, but goes on to tell the stories of other pastors and religious people who finally decide to quit the fiction and call themselves atheists. By the way, in case anyone is worried, most of them are not pastors any longer. There are a couple who are Unitarians, and continue to find some place for religious practice in their life, if not what they call "faith." Most (including one former Pentecostal minister) are now as zealous in their atheism as they once were in their faith.

The article references the current spate of books by zealous atheists. An interesting subconversation is the idea that the belief in God is replaced by a kind of a "belief" in science and an awe of the natural world. Another subconversation is about the "two leaps": one from literalism and fundamentalism to a more expansive faith, and the second to outright atheism.

The article makes it clear that this is not simply about losing faith in the church, or the church's policies. This isn't just about the problem of "organized religion." And one of the illustrations is about Mother Teresa's serious doubts: she is either, the article says, "a phony" or "her trials actually make her religious life more meaningful." Obviously, I would be on the side of the second interpretation. But it does make you think, doesn't it? About two things (at least.) First, what is faith? In my interpretation, Mother Teresa has faith because, despite her deep doubts, she keeps going, she keeps working, she keeps doing what she believes God has called her to. That's at least part of my definition of faith.

And the second: What is your definition of God? What kind of a God do you believe in (or not believe in)? I'm thinking of the story NT Wright tells, about when he counsels students who tell him they don't believe in God. He asks: "Well, what kind of God do you believe in?" If they say, "a being who lives up in the sky, looking down disapprovingly at the world, occasionally intervening to do miracles, sending bad people to hell while allowing good peole to share...heaven", he would answer, "I don't believe in that god either."

What do you think? What are your doubts? Your faith? What God do you believe in?

And if you want to join in on a fascinating discussion of the Meaning of Jesus, go see Barb

image from here