A Pastor's Work

At the end of every week, I try to look back and take a little stock of what I've done in ministry. Many weeks, I end up beating myself up mentally for the things I haven't gotten done, even though I usually end up working 50+ hours.

But this week, I'm thinking about the variety. Hospital visits. Calling on new guests in worship. Staffing concerns. Counseling sessions. Worship planning. Finance figuring. Theological reading. Pastoral calling. Hanging out with parishioners.

It feels like something caught this week, like I was in a groove. I prayed more. I had more fun. Maybe it started with this past Sunday, when my husband danced as David in worship. He came in (after we stayed up far too late trying to choreograph the sucker...I may owe him my first-born child for agreeing to do it!) to the strains of "Nelson Mandela's Welcome to the City of Glasgow. And the celebration just went on from there.

So maybe I have two things on my pastor's work list from now on:

1. Pray
2. Have fun

Because somehow all of it this week was fun, even the finance committee meeting when we found out that the church is at a breaking point money-wise. Even in the midst of hard conversations with people whose lives are out of balance. Even in the midst of not having enough hours in the day to get absolutely everything done.

And what might happen if every week, I find the fun part of what I do in every circumstance. Because the truth is that we are actually made to have fun with what we do. We're made to watch in wonder as God works...and marvel at what God does. And be ready to move, sing, pray, work, watch, ponder, and cry when God leads.

Yay! I get to be a pastor!

Watermelon Sunday!

Many people have been intrigued by the facebook comments on Watermelon Sunday! A few months ago, I was trying to think of something fun to do in July when churches in the Valley (not just mine!) seem to go into the doldrums in terms of programming and attendance. So I tossed around a few ideas and decided to go with a "Beat the Heat" month. First up--the Sunday immediately following Independence Day. How better to celebrate than with watermelons?

But how to incorporate them into the service? I put out a call on facebook, and many people responded with stories from their childhood as well as suggestions. Dropping the watermelon off our bell tower. Seeing how many people get scared if I eat watermelon and drink milk at the same time (apparently it has a superstitious reference). Rolling the watermelon down the center aisle.

I did get a great suggestion from Leigh Gregg to go find a bunch of different melons and then let the kids try to guess what color the inside is based on the outside of the melon. That worked so well because I was able to find Crenshaw and Canary melons (the outside of both is very yellow, but the inside of the Crenshaw is light orange like a canteloupe and the inside of the Canary is mottled green/orange), both a regular honeydew and an orange-centered honeydew (they look completely alike outside) and a regular watermelon and a yellow-meat watermelon. That last one was probably the most dramatic as it's something more familiar to the kids that they had never seen before--it was just golden yellow as I picked it up and showed it to them.

Still, what to preach? Did I want to try to incorporate the fruit?

Then I started doing some research on the watermelon. The earliest crops were actually grown in Africa over 5000 years ago. Seeds were found in the tombs of Pharoahs. And the people of Israel, while wandering in the wilderness, actually name melons as one of the things they miss about Egypt in Numbers 11:5 (when they are whining about manna).

One of the coolest things about watermelons is that they actually are an incredibly important source of water in the desert parts of Africa. In fact, some people have used them as their primary water source in dry times and cultivate them just for that purpose. And so I got to thinking about Isaiah 35:1-10 and the streams in the desert that God will bring about. This picture was a sign of hope at a time when Isaiah wasn't offering much hope. But there they were--the life returning to a place of dryness.

Now is a watermelon what I think Isaiah meant by "streams in the desert"? Nope. But I also wonder how many times we miss the streams that are provided for us to sojourn in the desert for awhile longer. Not the great stream and life overwhelming that Isaiah 35 (and Isaiah 65 and other texts of Zion) promise us, but a "foretaste" if you will. In sort of the same way communion gives us a taste of the feast to come--so watermelon will always remind me now of streams in the desert.

The second cool fact I didn't know about watermelon vines is that they require the presence of bees in order to bear fruit. They are inter-dependent. One of the lectionary texts for this day talked about Jesus sending out people 2 by 2. He was very specific in telling them everything that they couldn't take. In the end, I can almost hear the question of the disciples: "Well, Jesus, what can we take then?" And I can hear him replying: "Each other." We require the presence of God and each other so many times in order to bear fruit. We don't make it on our own very well. So we ask the question--who is on the Journey with you? Are they helping you bear fruit? Watermelon will always help me to remember that I can't go it alone if I expect to bear fruit!

Then we closed the service by serving some of the sweetest and juiciest watermelon around (I love roadside stands in the Valley!) to everyone as they left. It made me excited to see how something as common and as a part of our 4th of July celebrations might actually be able to point back to the Original Freedom Plan...and give us hope for our future.

In other news, the bread I used today was a recipe slightly modified from a Baking in America recipe attributed to Martha Washington. It was spiced with mace, nutmeg, cloves and rose water! Yummy! The original recipe used about a pound of currants, but obviously, since this is communion that would have been bad. I also added more flour (to give it less a "tea bread" feel...it still uses yeast though!) and baked it free-form instead of in a pan.

Next Sunday we're going to go for a Dip in the Pool (exploring the waters of baptism)! I love worship!

Forgiveness? Reconciliation?

John Shea writes:

There is a long-suffering lady
with thin hands
who stands on the corner of Delphia and Lawrence
and forgives you.
"You are forgiven," she smiles.
The neighborhood is embarrassed.
It is sure it has done nothing wrong
yet everyday, in a small voice
it is forgiven.
On the way to the Jewel Food Store
housewives pass her with hard looks
then whisper in the cereal section.
Stan Dumke asked her right out
what she was up to
and she forgave him.
A group who care about the neighborhood
agree that if she was old it would be harmless
or if she was religious it would be understandable
but as it is...they asked her to move on.
Like all things with eternal purposes
she stayed.
And she was informed upon.
On a most unforgiving day of snow and slush
while she was reconciling a reluctant passerby
the State People
whose business is sanity,
persuaded her into a car.
She is gone.
We are reduced to forgetting.
"Prayer for the Lady Who Forgave Us"

Blanket forgiveness without repentance? I'm not sure about it.

But there is something very beautiful in the woman's assumption that we all need forgiveness. And there's something very true in all the passerby's assumptions that each one of them is the only one who doesn't.

I wonder what happens in worship when I pronounce forgiveness of sins. Do we feel that? Do we know we need it? Does it leave a pathway open for reconciliation? Or does it just make us upset?

Getting back in the swing

I've had a full year in the appointment to St. Mark UMC in McAllen. I've commented to so many people that I kept forgetting going into it that the first year of any given appointment is one in which you feel like the visitor they handed the keys to and said, "Well, guess you're in charge!"

For the first time ever since I came into full time ministry, I'm taking the week after Annual Conference off for vacation. And I'm thinking this week about what it means to get back in the swing of things.

The swing of things will be more familiar now. I won't have to guess or as about nearly as much. Maybe a rhythm will develop that will be helpful for everyone.

The swing of things will also be seductive. It will be easier to do things "just like last year" without stopping to contemplate whether that's a good idea or not. It will be easier to ask only the same people because I'm pretty sure they'll say yes. It will be easier not to risk. But I'm not sure that's how the kingdom comes.

I was watching the choir at one of our annual conference worship sessions. They swayed back and forth to the rhythm, but at one point, the pianist added an extra beat and they got turned around. They didn't break--they just kept going in the new pattern, the song kept moving and we all kept singing along with them.

Here's my hope for "the swing of things"--that we could add just an extra beat somewhere, get turned around and keep swinging together for the sake of what God calls us to do.

meetings

I just have to say that I love meetings for the most part.

I love getting together with people over lunch, talking about their lives and how faith related to them. And how they relate to faith.

I even found a large-group meeting this weekend stimulating.

Long drives in the car, not so much.

These are all changes from when I was younger--back then, if someone had mentioned the thought of driving a lot on a regular basis, I would have taken that every time. I loved the freedom of the open road and the car and the getting to somewhere.

Now...I guess I like getting somewhere with someone else, instead of just by myself.

Connect

I've been pondering lately what it means to be "connectional." I currently serve on my conference's Order of Elders Advisory committee, and we have talked about "lone rangers" and the affect they have on the greater connection of our Annual Conference, both within the orders and within the whole body, as some churches are also seen to be "lone rangers".

When I say "connectional", I believe that it means that the health of my church cannot be sustained only by sacrificing the health of other churches.

When I say "connectional", I believe it means that when I am only concerned about my own self or needs in the system and how I can get ahead, I should be questioned.

When I saw "connectional", I believe it means that I play a vital role in something larger...and I must recognize that the others around me also play vital roles.

When I say "connectional", I believe it means that I should be urging all churches to faithful discipleship--not just one-upmanship.

When I say "connectional", I believe it means that there will be times when I carry someone else's burden...and times when I can feel free to ask for help carrying my own.

When I say "connectional", I believe it means that God is in the midst of the connection at all levels, and I ignore that at my peril.

When I say "connectional", I believe it means that the connection doesn't need me to imitate and create a McChurch...it needs me to discern and act in my local setting in conjunction with the movements of the connection.

When I say "connectional", I believe it means that I have a right and duty to speak and to be listened to, heard and considered by the connection...and to listen and consider in return.

Just some thoughts. I wish that this was more natural to us, but this Body of Christ finds it far more easy and personally rewarding to think congregationally instead of connectionally and individually instead of within the understanding of the Orders. I wonder if we'll ever intuitively move in a different direction.

The pioneering spirit

Last Friday, I did a graveside service for a 90-year-old. Yesterday, I went to the funeral of a colleague's father, who was 95. And then I went and sang at the bedside of a woman who is in hospice (last stages of Alzheimer's).

None of them did I know personally, other than what their families have told me about them. But I've been listening more and more to "Vista", by David Wilcox, and I keep going back to the title track:

The mountains were high from the valley below.
Back in those days, they didn't know
what was waiting for them over the divide
and who would be the first to see the other side.
But you led the climb up to the cracks,
seeing it all ahead of the rest
Your expression showed the wonder of the place
Looking westward with the sunlight on your face

And the wide open vista...the wide open sweet Someday
Climbing over the ridgetop to finally see the view
that none of us ever have known
Crossing over to home...and the vista.

The flowers were bright here at your side
All of us came to say our goodbyes
Light of morning shines strong into the room
Your breathing changes, time is coming soon
I speak my love, I say my words
You squeeze my hand to say that you've heard
But in your eyes I saw the twinkle in the blue
Looking over the ridge, out into the view

Of the wide open vista...the wide open sweet Someday
Climbing over the ridgetop to finally see the view
that none of us ever have known
Crossing over to Home...and the vista
The wide open sweet Someday
Climbing over the ridgetop to finally see the view
and all of us go there alone
Crossing over to Home.

I love that juxtaposition of the pioneering spirit and the journey to a heavenly home. And it seems like a lot of our "pioneers" are beginning to go--the pioneers of civil rights, of various industries, of women's rights. I wonder if that pioneering spirit will be a factor in my generation. I wonder if anyone, when we go, will call us brave and those who moved forward into a more faithful place.

What mountain lies before me, and what will I do to climb it? I feel like so many times, I watch myself and others content to set up camp at the foot of the mountain. Are we so scared to see God, the great Someday...Home? I think there are a few climbers. Oh, that I might just leave the safety of the camp and just climb.

Busy

I'm not doing well in 2009 with keeping up the blog.

Things seemed to have spiraled here in the church, between the various organizations I have responsibility in and my calling as a pastor and wife.

But I wonder how much of that I choose.

I choose every day to be my husband's wife. Some days more graciously than others.

I choose every day to be a pastor. Some days more graciously than others.

I have tried to discern what God has called me to beyond the local church.

The choices I make have effects, not only on me, but on many others. My family, my congregants, my peers and colleagues, but also on myself. How do I go about balancing all of those in a healthy way?

And why is it that every time I try to make a decision I believe to be healthy, people keep telling me that realistically, I can't (or shouldn't) do it?

I'm preaching this Sunday on the cruciform shape of life, using 1 Corinthians 1:18-25. I'm pondering all of the ways in which the cross makes absolutely no sense, pays no attention to the "reality" of the day and flies in the face of conventional wisdom. But I wonder if it's even possible to break free from my own neediness (which translates sometimes into busy-ness) and the neediness of the church (which translates, somehow into creating more busy-ness than is either healthy or faithful) to get to a place in which I live life looking like the cross.

I'm being haunted by something just beyond my reach--that there is something more than working at "life in Christ". There is living into it, which is a different thing all-together.

I want to live, not just work.

Bread Upon the Waters

I have been working through some of my bread-making skills to help some friends pull together a Lenten series based on the stages that bread goes through as its being made. I pulled out again a copy of Peter Reinhart's Bread Upon the Waters. Peter Reinhart is a lay member of an Eastern Orthodox monastic order, but he's also one of the pre-eminent breadmakers and teachers in this country. Rereading through that little book reminded me again of how much of my own spiritual journey gets mirrored in the things I love to do.

This week, given the ways in which I have functioned and failed to function, the chapter on degassing (also called the "punch down") spoke strongly to me. In it, Reinhart speaks of running Brother Juniper's Cafe with his wife:

(page 65) "Despite [the support structures set up to help us be channels of grace as we ran our cafe], we had many moments of crisis and disagreement surrounding management issues, cooking choices, short-temperedness, and other manifestations of fatigue and stress. We often felt like play actors, putting on happy, cheerful, courteous faces for customers when inside we were grappling with upset and anger. There were times when we were actually afraid to pray to be used by God because it seemed as if we were setting ourselves up to realize our many inadequacies. We often wondered if we were failures...Despite the many difficult days and challenges to our personal sense of virtue and civility, we forged ahead knowing that our obligation to our customers was to model the courtesies that we espoused."

That line about not even being sure that we wanted to pray rang true with me. Sometimes I don't want to pray because I'm not sure I want to hear the answer...don't want to deal with inadequacy. I'm supposed to have competency, but I'm running out of steam for it as well. Sounds a lot like I need to let go. But what does it look like to be "punched down" for the sake of the Kingdom?

(Reinhart, pg. 68) "When we punch down bread dough, humbling it as a creation dependent upon the baker's beneficence and skill, it springs back, stengthened in flavor and character, building upon the fermentation already present. Letting some air out of the dough is a necessary passage if the dough is to become truly great bread. ...
There can be no growth, no evoking of the fullness of our own (or our bread's) potential, without enduring punch downs. They lead to humility. But humility is a powerful creative force; it is a manifestation of one of the energies of God, and what could be more empowering than that?"

Humility. Not a virtue I've ever sought after. Perhaps it's time. Perhaps it's time for all of us.

Emergent Merton

Last week, I was at Perkins School of Theology for Ministers Week. The topic this year was the emergent church, and as I've read a lot but never heard anyone actually talk about it in person, I went up. I felt behind the times while at the same time ahead of many of my colleagues, who are still discussing how to get a contemporary service up and running. It was challenging to take some things that I had been thinking even further, especially in how I communicate--communicate the Gospel, communicate about the church, and foster communication within the church and about the world.

But then in my reading today, I came upon this:

"The 'spiritual preoccupations' of this time--the post-Vatican II Conciliar years. ... I need perhaps to be less preoccupied with them, to show that one can be free of them, and go one's own way in peace. But thee is inculcated in us such a fear of being out of everything, out of touch, left behind. This fear is a form of tyranny, a law--and one is faced with a choice between this law and true grace, hidden, paradoxical, but free.

"An unformulated 'preoccupation' of our time--the conviction that it is precisely in these (collective) preoccupations that the Holy Spirit is at work. To be 'preoccupied with the current preoccupations' is then the best--if not the only--way to be open to the Spirit.

"Hence one must know what everybody is saying, read what everybody is reading, keep up with everything or be left behind by the Holy Spirit. Is this a perversion of the idea of the Church--a distortion of perspective due to the Church's situation in the world of mass communications? I wonder if this anxiety to keep up is not in act an obstacle to the Holy Spirit." (February 4, 1966)

I think this may be where I could run into trouble with emergent--not that it is inherently a trouble with the idea of emergent churches. It seems, instead to be something that is built into the system--that they don't read everything everyone is reading or know what everyone is saying--that it, instead, emerges out of who the community authentically is and what it is authentically connected to in the Spirit. But I will be tempted to read my way, to knowledge my way, to network my way into it because I am so thirsty for this kind of experience in all its creativity and vitality and out-of-controlness.

But where on the circle do I start?

I remember as a young girl trying to figure out when to jump into a game of double dutch. Maybe it's just a question of finding the rhythm of those who are already turning the rope.