Pastors are intimately aware of how people often approach them differently when they discover their line of work. My favorite is when people apologize for dropping an f-bomb in front of me, especially when that person wouldn't blush for saying the same thing in front of their grandmother. I was troubled by this at first. "Hey, I'm cool (not). Swear away."
Since I got over that dynamic, the question of how to relate to people in a congregation still remains, give or take the awkward apologies in social settings. A pastor does not operate in a clinical setting (unless they are some sort of licensed therapist). Yet, a pastor carries an expectation of presence in the midst of life's most turbulent times. The connection is powerful. I know I must be proactive to find friendships outside of church life, lest I lose perspective from fusion. If I minimize the connection with people in the congregation, there's an incarnational loss of shared faith and practice.
Because I live away from the interim ministries I serve, when I leave the congregation, a majority of the relationships essentially end. While we serve together, we have a shared focus. That does not mean there are not opportunities for friendships in the future; however, the relationship changes, as does the proximity. When I am no longer the pastor in a congregation, I do not officiate at weddings, funerals, baptisms, do pastoral care, or address congregational dynamics. I do not want to create triangles involving me, the called pastor, and others in the congregation. This situation is challenging to navigate. There is reciprocal value in the pastor-congregation member relationship. I deeply appreciate the support, camaraderie, service and learning shared in congregational ministry. Once again, the dynamic is changing because I will no longer be the pastor at First Lutheran Community Church in Port Orchard after March 7. I value the connections of yesterday, and maybe there will be connections tomorrow. But the relationship will change. I am still learning what that means, and a pray for what my colleague Marcia Carrier called, "a space of grace" as I see members of the congregations I have served in the future.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The Church and Longevity--do Congregational Ministries Jump The Shark?
God's love endures. But why must the Annual Women's Ministry Pig Roast endure?
God's grace endures. But why must the 10am Thursday Bible Study endure?
God's wisdom endures. But why must the monthly trip to the soup kitchen endure?
Endurance is overrated in congregations. Maybe because belief in a God with enduring qualities creates a desire for people in a congregation believe that their ministry should endure forever.
I'm not saying that fellowship, Bible study, and serving neighbor are not important, but that endurance in congregational life is often lifted above everything else. Ministry needs to be evaluated, and people need to be given permission to let go, or at least give away leadership.
I'm a little melancholy that two of my favorite television shows are going off the air this season. I find great story telling, writing and acting on Big Love and Friday Night Lights. These shows have lasted about five seasons, and they will not jump the shark. The shows will end with me wanting more and being energized about new opportunities to learn from new stories in the future, instead of being disillusioned with what used to be and where it is now.
Do congregational ministries often jump the shark because of the attachment to endurance? Would ministry be better served putting a particular program to rest, then re-start, re-focus and re-energize working toward a shared value, such as education, fellowship, or serving the neighbor? Do some of your endurance ministries end in disillusionment because of over attachment to endurance itself? I often return to a favorite proverb: be clear about the ends, and flexible about the means. Ministries are usually formed because passionate people responded to a calling to meet a need, use their gifts, act upon values. That passion serves people, and many lives are affected in a positive way. Rather than lament that endurance failed, give thanks for the lives that were impacted.
God's grace endures. But why must the 10am Thursday Bible Study endure?
God's wisdom endures. But why must the monthly trip to the soup kitchen endure?
Endurance is overrated in congregations. Maybe because belief in a God with enduring qualities creates a desire for people in a congregation believe that their ministry should endure forever.
I'm not saying that fellowship, Bible study, and serving neighbor are not important, but that endurance in congregational life is often lifted above everything else. Ministry needs to be evaluated, and people need to be given permission to let go, or at least give away leadership.
I'm a little melancholy that two of my favorite television shows are going off the air this season. I find great story telling, writing and acting on Big Love and Friday Night Lights. These shows have lasted about five seasons, and they will not jump the shark. The shows will end with me wanting more and being energized about new opportunities to learn from new stories in the future, instead of being disillusioned with what used to be and where it is now.
Do congregational ministries often jump the shark because of the attachment to endurance? Would ministry be better served putting a particular program to rest, then re-start, re-focus and re-energize working toward a shared value, such as education, fellowship, or serving the neighbor? Do some of your endurance ministries end in disillusionment because of over attachment to endurance itself? I often return to a favorite proverb: be clear about the ends, and flexible about the means. Ministries are usually formed because passionate people responded to a calling to meet a need, use their gifts, act upon values. That passion serves people, and many lives are affected in a positive way. Rather than lament that endurance failed, give thanks for the lives that were impacted.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
After the Vigil: Imagining Ministry Location
One of the last places I ever thought I would "do" ministry was at Wal-Mart. Over the years I've heard other ministry stretches. Laundromats, baseball games, red light districts, and state fairs (to name a few) are places colleagues have gone in the name of outreach, and ministry "beyond the building."
I'm not against any of the aforementioned places as venues for spiritual connection. Sometimes my imagination limits me in what kind of connection can be made with God and others. Limits on ministry sites have more to do with my lack of imagination than appropriateness of locale. I ascribe to the observation that we don't have many stories of Jesus in the worship space or the education wing of the local synagogue in the Gospels--therefore I try to imagine places outside the church building for connection with God and others. That is the example we have from Jesus. Sometimes it takes a prompt from the Spirit to recognize the opportunity.
When my colleague, Sarah Roemer, from Spirit of Life Lutheran Church (Port Orchard/Olalla) and I talked about response to the shooting in Port Orchard about 1 month ago, we considered hosting a vigil at a church (Or maybe only I really did. Which one?). The church building then seemed like the wrong place to be. Sarah moved us toward meeting at the Wal-Mart parking lot, at the site of the shooting. Pastor Sarah met with the Wal-Mart management for permission, I started getting the word out. Monday night, Wal-Mart parking lot, candlelight vigil. None of the things that made worship comfortable for me were present, and my blood pressure raised. Before long, a few tweets marked by the hashtag #POShooting gave us phone calls from local news outlets, and big portion of the vigil promotion was handled by television.
I had an interesting conversation with a reporter about the frequency of vigils in television news coverage. If you're in this line of work (television journalism)you end up covering a lot of vigils, especially the night shift, he told me. I turned that statement over in my mind all Monday afternoon. One might think that with all the vigils in response to violence, that violence would subside, or that people might question the importance of vigils.
Why do a vigil?
The section in the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew with the beatitudes seemed appropriate for the vigil: blessed are those who mourn...
That part was easy, but I continued reading. "You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven (Matthew 5: 14-16 NRSV)."
Light in Jesus' statement is a given for his followers. We ARE the light of the world. The vigil was an opportunity to share light. In gathering together at the sight of the violence, people had an opportunity to overcome their fear and reclaim the space for peaceful gathering and living. Even at a Wal-Mart parking lot. Even when appearances say that vigils don't matter. I know that vigils do matter. My imagination was tweaked that chilly, rainy Monday evening. The time was not comfortable, the place was not comfortable, but it was a common, public space where fear abated and the light of Christ was shared.
I'm not against any of the aforementioned places as venues for spiritual connection. Sometimes my imagination limits me in what kind of connection can be made with God and others. Limits on ministry sites have more to do with my lack of imagination than appropriateness of locale. I ascribe to the observation that we don't have many stories of Jesus in the worship space or the education wing of the local synagogue in the Gospels--therefore I try to imagine places outside the church building for connection with God and others. That is the example we have from Jesus. Sometimes it takes a prompt from the Spirit to recognize the opportunity.
When my colleague, Sarah Roemer, from Spirit of Life Lutheran Church (Port Orchard/Olalla) and I talked about response to the shooting in Port Orchard about 1 month ago, we considered hosting a vigil at a church (Or maybe only I really did. Which one?). The church building then seemed like the wrong place to be. Sarah moved us toward meeting at the Wal-Mart parking lot, at the site of the shooting. Pastor Sarah met with the Wal-Mart management for permission, I started getting the word out. Monday night, Wal-Mart parking lot, candlelight vigil. None of the things that made worship comfortable for me were present, and my blood pressure raised. Before long, a few tweets marked by the hashtag #POShooting gave us phone calls from local news outlets, and big portion of the vigil promotion was handled by television.
I had an interesting conversation with a reporter about the frequency of vigils in television news coverage. If you're in this line of work (television journalism)you end up covering a lot of vigils, especially the night shift, he told me. I turned that statement over in my mind all Monday afternoon. One might think that with all the vigils in response to violence, that violence would subside, or that people might question the importance of vigils.
Why do a vigil?
The section in the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew with the beatitudes seemed appropriate for the vigil: blessed are those who mourn...
That part was easy, but I continued reading. "You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven (Matthew 5: 14-16 NRSV)."
Light in Jesus' statement is a given for his followers. We ARE the light of the world. The vigil was an opportunity to share light. In gathering together at the sight of the violence, people had an opportunity to overcome their fear and reclaim the space for peaceful gathering and living. Even at a Wal-Mart parking lot. Even when appearances say that vigils don't matter. I know that vigils do matter. My imagination was tweaked that chilly, rainy Monday evening. The time was not comfortable, the place was not comfortable, but it was a common, public space where fear abated and the light of Christ was shared.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Another untimely review: Winter's Bone
Decades of my life passed by before I had any awareness of what rural meant. I used to think a small town consisted of around 10,000 people.
Then I moved to Kansas for college. Mile after mile of grain fields passed by my windshield. Abandoned houses, farm implements and rusted vehicles dotted the landscape--some remnants of the farm crisis of the 1980s. I guessed that people moved to the cities. As a college student, I merely passed through, hoping to learn something about a sharply contrasted life from the middle and upper middle class homes along the shores of the Puget Sound and Lake Washington at some point, but my eyes were fixed on Lawrence. I inquired about rural areas, and my friends from the small towns couldn't understand my curiosity.
Years later, my family moved to South Dakota. Very similar landscape to Kansas, butI learned more exploring the smaller paved arteries many miles off the well-traveled thoroughfares of the Interstate. I traveled to Hudson, South Dakota, site of my first interim congregation. I became accustomed to the abandoned buildings, closed schools, and stares weighing upon me that might as well been a painted sign on plywood that said, "you don't belong here." It actually didn't take long before I was welcomed, sharing in unfamiliar cuisine, chatting at the local garage, and getting my haircut at the local hairdresser and learning more from her about local culture than I ever would as a pastor. The hospitality of neighbors taught me the questions I could ask, and sometimes I received an earful merely standing somewhere, curious, without asking anything.
One day a local resident dished out matter-of-factly that some people get high by placing hubcaps over cow pies. They bake the cow pies under the hubcaps in the hot sun, drill a hole in the hubcap, and suck the gas through a garden hose. I try not to waste my time with disgust, I continue to ask...why?
That story of the resourceful high and the why behind it still haunts me as I watched a deeper story of Ozark rural blight in the film "Winter's Bone." Though rural blight in the film is hard to ignore, the relational variables of secrets, adversity, and courage carry the plot.
Ree is a 17-year-old young woman patching together a family in tatters while negotiating the terror plots and lies of her local kin branded in a meth ring. Ree is the clear hero of the story, but the question I asked throughout the film is, will anyone take courage with her? Some of those closest to Ree are enemies of positive changes, illuminating the human condition. I think about people in my life and the places where I serve and their prospects of making positive changes in their lives. Whether the story I observe is addiction recovery, congregational change, or personal achievement, the resentment associated with moving to a better place in life brings destruction from people who are supposed to be supportive and wise. Ree is learning the ways of the world and wise beyond her years. But in many ways she is a child, and she meets allies when she least expects it--Ree is a local hero who also learns the importance of interdependence.
I continue to think about this film. After serving 10 congregations, what was affirmed in this story is that both poverty and secrets kill. There is no clear path to wholeness in the stories of poverty and secrets, but the church would go a long way to put its energy into being generous and present as opposed to shaking its head. Easier said than done. God, have mercy.
Then I moved to Kansas for college. Mile after mile of grain fields passed by my windshield. Abandoned houses, farm implements and rusted vehicles dotted the landscape--some remnants of the farm crisis of the 1980s. I guessed that people moved to the cities. As a college student, I merely passed through, hoping to learn something about a sharply contrasted life from the middle and upper middle class homes along the shores of the Puget Sound and Lake Washington at some point, but my eyes were fixed on Lawrence. I inquired about rural areas, and my friends from the small towns couldn't understand my curiosity.
Years later, my family moved to South Dakota. Very similar landscape to Kansas, butI learned more exploring the smaller paved arteries many miles off the well-traveled thoroughfares of the Interstate. I traveled to Hudson, South Dakota, site of my first interim congregation. I became accustomed to the abandoned buildings, closed schools, and stares weighing upon me that might as well been a painted sign on plywood that said, "you don't belong here." It actually didn't take long before I was welcomed, sharing in unfamiliar cuisine, chatting at the local garage, and getting my haircut at the local hairdresser and learning more from her about local culture than I ever would as a pastor. The hospitality of neighbors taught me the questions I could ask, and sometimes I received an earful merely standing somewhere, curious, without asking anything.
One day a local resident dished out matter-of-factly that some people get high by placing hubcaps over cow pies. They bake the cow pies under the hubcaps in the hot sun, drill a hole in the hubcap, and suck the gas through a garden hose. I try not to waste my time with disgust, I continue to ask...why?
That story of the resourceful high and the why behind it still haunts me as I watched a deeper story of Ozark rural blight in the film "Winter's Bone." Though rural blight in the film is hard to ignore, the relational variables of secrets, adversity, and courage carry the plot.
Ree is a 17-year-old young woman patching together a family in tatters while negotiating the terror plots and lies of her local kin branded in a meth ring. Ree is the clear hero of the story, but the question I asked throughout the film is, will anyone take courage with her? Some of those closest to Ree are enemies of positive changes, illuminating the human condition. I think about people in my life and the places where I serve and their prospects of making positive changes in their lives. Whether the story I observe is addiction recovery, congregational change, or personal achievement, the resentment associated with moving to a better place in life brings destruction from people who are supposed to be supportive and wise. Ree is learning the ways of the world and wise beyond her years. But in many ways she is a child, and she meets allies when she least expects it--Ree is a local hero who also learns the importance of interdependence.
I continue to think about this film. After serving 10 congregations, what was affirmed in this story is that both poverty and secrets kill. There is no clear path to wholeness in the stories of poverty and secrets, but the church would go a long way to put its energy into being generous and present as opposed to shaking its head. Easier said than done. God, have mercy.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Mainline Recovery
I didn't learn the term Mainline Protestant until my seminary days. During seminary, I increased applied dexterity of its usage, as I observed professors and students analyzing, discussing and lamenting both perceived and documented denominational relationships, strengths, weaknesses, cultural influence, history, theologies and mission partnerships.
Calling the denominations of Mainline Protestantism "Mainline," is similar to identifying myself an athlete, even though I haven't been a competitive athlete since the 1990's. My ability level has changed ever since I needed reconstructive knee surgery in 2004. I was an athlete at one time, but I would be delusional to call myself an athlete now, even though I still participate in fitness. I still put together enough training to race or prepare my body for a physical test of some sort, but I am no athlete. The fact that I am no longer an athlete does not deny my humanity. I still need to practice faithful stewardship of the body God gave me--I have other endeavors in which to serve God that require energy, thought, discernment, articulation, concentration, and occasionally a need to run. My body still needs to be at its best. But I am not an athlete.
The nomenclature of "Mainline" remains stuck in both academic and ecclesiological parlance. This usage is also delusional much like any self-identification as an athlete. Just because the denominations of the Mainline have been in decline for the better half of a century does not take away that these denominations are still part of the body of Christ. They still have an opportunity for faithful service in the name of Christ. Like a professional athlete, it's challenging to give up the broad social influence it once had. Professional athletes retire over and over again, hoping to regain a sliver of influence they once had, because it feels good (ask Brett Favre and Michael Jordan). Mainline Protestant denominations still approach their contexts recognizing their denominations have been in decline for decades, but energy is focused on who or what is to blame. A sense of entitlement of broad social influence rings in writing and speeches of Mainline Protestant denominational leaders--this entitlement showed in worship wars and the living on the back end of the church growth movement, as well as today's battles over human sexuality. Denominations of Mainline Protestant traditions continue trying to catch lightning in a bottle, hoping to grow the church. We love to stack our delusions on top of each other.
I do think my Mainline Protestant colleagues are turning a corner. Maybe we're progressing through the stages of grief and embracing a spirit of faithfulness. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, I never understood the culture of broad social influence of Mainline Protestantism. I saw remnants of this during my years in the Midwest, but like any individual or group in recovery, there's a desire to name the hurts of the past. I still think "Mainline" is delusional. I've tried to create my own terminology to identify the past. I tried "20th Century Brand Protestantism," which receives the occasional courtesy laugh, but doesn't enter into conversations. Mainline Protestants are in recovery, and in the midst of discovering how God desires us to participate in the body of Christ and follow through in faith, we'll occasionally need to talk about what was. As long as we recovering Mainline Protestants aren't delusional about our applications and place in society, we can call our collective traditions what we want, and I'll stop pulling out my hair. I can't afford to do that, anyway.
Calling the denominations of Mainline Protestantism "Mainline," is similar to identifying myself an athlete, even though I haven't been a competitive athlete since the 1990's. My ability level has changed ever since I needed reconstructive knee surgery in 2004. I was an athlete at one time, but I would be delusional to call myself an athlete now, even though I still participate in fitness. I still put together enough training to race or prepare my body for a physical test of some sort, but I am no athlete. The fact that I am no longer an athlete does not deny my humanity. I still need to practice faithful stewardship of the body God gave me--I have other endeavors in which to serve God that require energy, thought, discernment, articulation, concentration, and occasionally a need to run. My body still needs to be at its best. But I am not an athlete.
The nomenclature of "Mainline" remains stuck in both academic and ecclesiological parlance. This usage is also delusional much like any self-identification as an athlete. Just because the denominations of the Mainline have been in decline for the better half of a century does not take away that these denominations are still part of the body of Christ. They still have an opportunity for faithful service in the name of Christ. Like a professional athlete, it's challenging to give up the broad social influence it once had. Professional athletes retire over and over again, hoping to regain a sliver of influence they once had, because it feels good (ask Brett Favre and Michael Jordan). Mainline Protestant denominations still approach their contexts recognizing their denominations have been in decline for decades, but energy is focused on who or what is to blame. A sense of entitlement of broad social influence rings in writing and speeches of Mainline Protestant denominational leaders--this entitlement showed in worship wars and the living on the back end of the church growth movement, as well as today's battles over human sexuality. Denominations of Mainline Protestant traditions continue trying to catch lightning in a bottle, hoping to grow the church. We love to stack our delusions on top of each other.
I do think my Mainline Protestant colleagues are turning a corner. Maybe we're progressing through the stages of grief and embracing a spirit of faithfulness. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, I never understood the culture of broad social influence of Mainline Protestantism. I saw remnants of this during my years in the Midwest, but like any individual or group in recovery, there's a desire to name the hurts of the past. I still think "Mainline" is delusional. I've tried to create my own terminology to identify the past. I tried "20th Century Brand Protestantism," which receives the occasional courtesy laugh, but doesn't enter into conversations. Mainline Protestants are in recovery, and in the midst of discovering how God desires us to participate in the body of Christ and follow through in faith, we'll occasionally need to talk about what was. As long as we recovering Mainline Protestants aren't delusional about our applications and place in society, we can call our collective traditions what we want, and I'll stop pulling out my hair. I can't afford to do that, anyway.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Music as pastoral care and building the community of faith
The battle over worship in this congregation started in 1967 when _________________ played a guitar in worship. The war has gone on ever since.
That was a statement of an elder member of a congregation I served as an interim when I asked about the stories related to conflict over worship. One might call it the Thirty Years' War. The "Worship Wars" don't have the acrimony they once did even five years ago. I never understood the approach of the Worship Wars in "Mainline" Protestantism. Arguing over preferences produces no clarity, no mission, no deeper connection with the Divine.
I am not a worship scholar. I wouldn't even call myself gifted in worship methodology or theology. But I ponder the effects of music on my soul and my longing for God, desiring healing and wholeness, and where I see Christ. I have to provide the musical connection with God for myself, because the church for 30 years has been more interested in arguing about style preferences than offering to build my relationship with God and others in their spiritual growth. Recently I've been thinking less about my musical preferences and HOW I am connected to God and others by a particular song.
1. The role of testimony. Preachers and other deliverers of the Gospel can appropriately share their personal stories about the activity of God in their lives. I find meaning in that connection--why can't it be done with music? Case in point--a pastoral care song for me is from Melody Gardot's Who Will Comfort Me. The song is good in and of itself, but it means even more in light of Melody's own path of healing. Gardot faced brutal injuries and the healing setbacks and triumphs in her life come out in this particular song. Testimony brings out a tradition of the Psalms. Sometimes lament, sometimes victory. Sometimes confidence in God's presence, sometimes longing questions and frustration. Who will comfort me?
2. Songs of confession and songs of intercession. Years ago I had numerous opportunities to preach for the St. Dysmas prison congregation in the South Dakota State Penitentiary. I had some great conversations with the worship band. Though they loved playing worship music and praise songs, the jam sessions revealed more about their walk with God. What saddened me was that they thought their jams had no place in the worship service. One band member and I had a discussion around Molly Hatchet's "Flirtin' With Disaster." The song provided an entry point for this young man's story, his crimes and sins, his incarceration, and his relationship with God. I always thought it was a good song, though not a favorite. The song is now a favorite because it is an opportunity for me to pray for this young man--for healing, for forgiveness, for a newness of life each day, and a new start when he gets out of prison.
Unfortunately, my work with the Worship Wars of the past 30 or so years has been more about addressing conflict and congregational dynamics. In this season of my life, I hope for articulation of music as pastoral care and faith community building.
Excuse me--while I commute home tonight and listen to tunes from my iPhone, I will be in a place of worship. Through Christ, creation (music) and relationship--God heals.
That was a statement of an elder member of a congregation I served as an interim when I asked about the stories related to conflict over worship. One might call it the Thirty Years' War. The "Worship Wars" don't have the acrimony they once did even five years ago. I never understood the approach of the Worship Wars in "Mainline" Protestantism. Arguing over preferences produces no clarity, no mission, no deeper connection with the Divine.
I am not a worship scholar. I wouldn't even call myself gifted in worship methodology or theology. But I ponder the effects of music on my soul and my longing for God, desiring healing and wholeness, and where I see Christ. I have to provide the musical connection with God for myself, because the church for 30 years has been more interested in arguing about style preferences than offering to build my relationship with God and others in their spiritual growth. Recently I've been thinking less about my musical preferences and HOW I am connected to God and others by a particular song.
1. The role of testimony. Preachers and other deliverers of the Gospel can appropriately share their personal stories about the activity of God in their lives. I find meaning in that connection--why can't it be done with music? Case in point--a pastoral care song for me is from Melody Gardot's Who Will Comfort Me. The song is good in and of itself, but it means even more in light of Melody's own path of healing. Gardot faced brutal injuries and the healing setbacks and triumphs in her life come out in this particular song. Testimony brings out a tradition of the Psalms. Sometimes lament, sometimes victory. Sometimes confidence in God's presence, sometimes longing questions and frustration. Who will comfort me?
2. Songs of confession and songs of intercession. Years ago I had numerous opportunities to preach for the St. Dysmas prison congregation in the South Dakota State Penitentiary. I had some great conversations with the worship band. Though they loved playing worship music and praise songs, the jam sessions revealed more about their walk with God. What saddened me was that they thought their jams had no place in the worship service. One band member and I had a discussion around Molly Hatchet's "Flirtin' With Disaster." The song provided an entry point for this young man's story, his crimes and sins, his incarceration, and his relationship with God. I always thought it was a good song, though not a favorite. The song is now a favorite because it is an opportunity for me to pray for this young man--for healing, for forgiveness, for a newness of life each day, and a new start when he gets out of prison.
Unfortunately, my work with the Worship Wars of the past 30 or so years has been more about addressing conflict and congregational dynamics. In this season of my life, I hope for articulation of music as pastoral care and faith community building.
Excuse me--while I commute home tonight and listen to tunes from my iPhone, I will be in a place of worship. Through Christ, creation (music) and relationship--God heals.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Salary, pension, insurance, oh my! The next chapter awaits...
Once in awhile I share a conversation with a pastor 30-50 years older than me (though it's been a few years). With a little digging I can find a story about a struggle to provide the basics of life for their families. Salaries were small. Health insurance didn't exist. A pension? Unthinkable. Inevitably, I'll find a story about how a pastor was compensated with food. A pig here, several chickens there, 6-months supply of venison there. I'm glad I do not have to live like that.
I consider life's needs as I approach my next ministry chapter. I will no longer be compensated sometime in April, and I'll have to find a way to contribute to the household without piling thousands of dollars in the family coffers (that go out as quickly as they come in). I may have a few supply preaching opportunities. I'll clip more coupons and more closely watch the grocery budget. Exercises in leisure time will be dances in frugality. We've done this before and we can do it again. This chapter of ministry does not begin with worry.
I'm thinking about the two and three chapters ahead. I think back to earlier chapters, recalling my colleagues and friends retreat from challenging their congregations for fear of losing their health insurance, not receive a much-needed raise, or be forced into retirement sooner than they imagined. Maybe leadership decisions are not directly related to home balance sheets on a day to day basis, but the decisions where a pastor might overlook a ministry issue for self-preservation accumulate. Congregations also collect these behaviors in the name of self-preservation--not wanting to offend Jane and John Pewsitter for fear of losing their offering.
I never wish for a day I will be paid in pigs. I'm thankful for the church contributing so that I can make a good living. But I don't want to compromise a calling or a decision because my daughter needs a treatment or my wife needs glasses. Congregations do not want to limit their leadership in order to meet a budget, but the make their own compromises. With self-preservation in the backdrop, I wonder what will be the title of my next chapter in ministry. I ponder finding a "non-ministry" job that can help my family thrive while leading a ministry during the after work hours.
The church will never be void of politics, power struggles or leadership failures if pastors find their incomes in places besides the congregations they serve. As the dreams of God cascade through my mind about the justice, kindness and humble connections with God and neighbor, I wonder if I should put more energy into fulfilling my call rather than keeping my call. Congregations and pastors are spiraling downward in a whirlpool of self-preservation. Ministry should not suffer because of that spiral.
This is one reason that I am thankful for the struggling economy; would I even be thinking about self-preservation issues without it? Would I be thinking about boundless mercy of God or the benefits of comfortable living?
I consider life's needs as I approach my next ministry chapter. I will no longer be compensated sometime in April, and I'll have to find a way to contribute to the household without piling thousands of dollars in the family coffers (that go out as quickly as they come in). I may have a few supply preaching opportunities. I'll clip more coupons and more closely watch the grocery budget. Exercises in leisure time will be dances in frugality. We've done this before and we can do it again. This chapter of ministry does not begin with worry.
I'm thinking about the two and three chapters ahead. I think back to earlier chapters, recalling my colleagues and friends retreat from challenging their congregations for fear of losing their health insurance, not receive a much-needed raise, or be forced into retirement sooner than they imagined. Maybe leadership decisions are not directly related to home balance sheets on a day to day basis, but the decisions where a pastor might overlook a ministry issue for self-preservation accumulate. Congregations also collect these behaviors in the name of self-preservation--not wanting to offend Jane and John Pewsitter for fear of losing their offering.
I never wish for a day I will be paid in pigs. I'm thankful for the church contributing so that I can make a good living. But I don't want to compromise a calling or a decision because my daughter needs a treatment or my wife needs glasses. Congregations do not want to limit their leadership in order to meet a budget, but the make their own compromises. With self-preservation in the backdrop, I wonder what will be the title of my next chapter in ministry. I ponder finding a "non-ministry" job that can help my family thrive while leading a ministry during the after work hours.
The church will never be void of politics, power struggles or leadership failures if pastors find their incomes in places besides the congregations they serve. As the dreams of God cascade through my mind about the justice, kindness and humble connections with God and neighbor, I wonder if I should put more energy into fulfilling my call rather than keeping my call. Congregations and pastors are spiraling downward in a whirlpool of self-preservation. Ministry should not suffer because of that spiral.
This is one reason that I am thankful for the struggling economy; would I even be thinking about self-preservation issues without it? Would I be thinking about boundless mercy of God or the benefits of comfortable living?
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Getting my vision checked helps me participate in revelation
I picked up my new glasses the other day. I like to hear responses about new things.
"I didn't know you wore glasses!"
"You always had such good vision when you were younger."
True. I remember some eye tests from my teenage years. My 20/10 vision was a badge of honor, especially as a baseball player who took pride in an ability to take a pitch and hit about anything in the strike zone or near it. If I was fooled into swinging I could at least foul it off. I wasn't much for power, but I hit a lot of singles and doubles, and could take a walk. I linked a lot of my success to my gift of vision. I worked hard and cared for that gift. I took a lot of batting practice. I ate a lot of carrots to give nutrients to my eyes. Eventually, I conquered some fears and developed an ability to reach base by getting hit by pitches--visualizing where the ball was going to hit my body gave me the judgment about whether being hit would hurt me. Just get on base, baby. Some of my most admired hitters were rumored to have better than 20/20 vision--Rod Carew and George Brett. Their vision gift allowed them to play the game of baseball at a high level.
After receiving my first pair of glasses last year, I've learned a few lessons about vision. Some of these reflections may apply to the Christian life, or to life in general. I tend to look at these kinds of things in light of Christian spirituality, but if you want to use the imagery for vocation or relationships, be my guest.
1. My ability to see has probably been deteriorating for years. Once the eye stops growing in teenage-early adult years (as I've been studying my eye condition, presbyopia) the lens loses elasticity, and the eye begins to lose its ability to focus. The brain is quick to pick up on this change, and the loss of focus may not be noticed for years. This development in my life makes me think of my own vocation and congregational vocation. I remember when I first started recognizing my focus problems, I said to myself, "But I have better than normal vision! I have 20/10 vision! Maybe I haven't been getting enough sleep, or I need to be more attentive to nutrition. But I have 20/10 vision. This isn't really happening to me. I'm special." If I continued to cling to that old identity, I could eventually put myself in danger, or maybe my family or someone else. I could miss out on seeing something important, or lose my zest for learning and living because reading became more challenging. Congregations often take on the identity of their youthful experience, when they were filled with boundless energy and their creativity flowed. Friendships were growing. Ministry programs teemed with both resources and insight. Lives changed. People were cared for. The building couldn't contain the excitement. Then the ability to see the world around them changes, and they maintain they still have better than average vision. "This isn't really happening to us." The congregation loses its elasticity, unable to make adjustments to the world around them. They become rigid and start making statement familiar to many involved in the church, "we've never done it that way before."
2. If I didn't embrace a new way to see the world around me, I would miss out on some of the things that God is revealing. My first pair of glasses last year were a disaster. I went to an optical dealer (who shall remain nameless) who set me up with a pair of glasses that not only did not fit, but a prescription that continued to give me headaches. I was told by both the professionals and by friends that I would get over the headaches, just hang in there. The technology was there to help me, but I also had to take some ownership of the change, find another path and professional and say, "this isn't working. I need to try something else." Now I have a pair of glasses that not only fits my head, but hasn't given me a headache in three days (along with a really big plus--my wife says they look good on me--that I look "distinguished," giving me that look that I'm looking good). Embracing what God is revealing in the world is linked to a personal and congregational fear of failure. Once personal or congregational life deteriorates over a period of time, then a fear of failure to see and try new things can be the next obstacle, exacerbating the deterioration. Once I embraced the idea of wearing glasses, then went through the hassle of getting them, and then they didn't work, I considered giving up. I didn't want to deal with the headaches. But I was driven to see better, beyond the pain, and I tried the experience again. I am pleased with the results and ready to move forward.
For a more amusing version for movie lovers, consider Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite--he spends most of the movie wondering what could have been and ruminating on the past, rather than looking toward the future. Rico is rigid about his understanding of the past, which inhibits his future.
I continue to return to the Baptism of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark and how the voice of God and the identity of Jesus is continually expanding its revelation--to Jesus himself, his followers, and the world. Being stuck in a previous identity and fearing the work of the future inhibits participation in the ongoing and expanding revelation of the power of God. I know I don't see perfectly, but I know that God is revealing anew all the time. I want to see it, and I have to be flexible with my vision in order to participate in the revelation of God.
"I didn't know you wore glasses!"
"You always had such good vision when you were younger."
True. I remember some eye tests from my teenage years. My 20/10 vision was a badge of honor, especially as a baseball player who took pride in an ability to take a pitch and hit about anything in the strike zone or near it. If I was fooled into swinging I could at least foul it off. I wasn't much for power, but I hit a lot of singles and doubles, and could take a walk. I linked a lot of my success to my gift of vision. I worked hard and cared for that gift. I took a lot of batting practice. I ate a lot of carrots to give nutrients to my eyes. Eventually, I conquered some fears and developed an ability to reach base by getting hit by pitches--visualizing where the ball was going to hit my body gave me the judgment about whether being hit would hurt me. Just get on base, baby. Some of my most admired hitters were rumored to have better than 20/20 vision--Rod Carew and George Brett. Their vision gift allowed them to play the game of baseball at a high level.
After receiving my first pair of glasses last year, I've learned a few lessons about vision. Some of these reflections may apply to the Christian life, or to life in general. I tend to look at these kinds of things in light of Christian spirituality, but if you want to use the imagery for vocation or relationships, be my guest.
1. My ability to see has probably been deteriorating for years. Once the eye stops growing in teenage-early adult years (as I've been studying my eye condition, presbyopia) the lens loses elasticity, and the eye begins to lose its ability to focus. The brain is quick to pick up on this change, and the loss of focus may not be noticed for years. This development in my life makes me think of my own vocation and congregational vocation. I remember when I first started recognizing my focus problems, I said to myself, "But I have better than normal vision! I have 20/10 vision! Maybe I haven't been getting enough sleep, or I need to be more attentive to nutrition. But I have 20/10 vision. This isn't really happening to me. I'm special." If I continued to cling to that old identity, I could eventually put myself in danger, or maybe my family or someone else. I could miss out on seeing something important, or lose my zest for learning and living because reading became more challenging. Congregations often take on the identity of their youthful experience, when they were filled with boundless energy and their creativity flowed. Friendships were growing. Ministry programs teemed with both resources and insight. Lives changed. People were cared for. The building couldn't contain the excitement. Then the ability to see the world around them changes, and they maintain they still have better than average vision. "This isn't really happening to us." The congregation loses its elasticity, unable to make adjustments to the world around them. They become rigid and start making statement familiar to many involved in the church, "we've never done it that way before."
2. If I didn't embrace a new way to see the world around me, I would miss out on some of the things that God is revealing. My first pair of glasses last year were a disaster. I went to an optical dealer (who shall remain nameless) who set me up with a pair of glasses that not only did not fit, but a prescription that continued to give me headaches. I was told by both the professionals and by friends that I would get over the headaches, just hang in there. The technology was there to help me, but I also had to take some ownership of the change, find another path and professional and say, "this isn't working. I need to try something else." Now I have a pair of glasses that not only fits my head, but hasn't given me a headache in three days (along with a really big plus--my wife says they look good on me--that I look "distinguished," giving me that look that I'm looking good). Embracing what God is revealing in the world is linked to a personal and congregational fear of failure. Once personal or congregational life deteriorates over a period of time, then a fear of failure to see and try new things can be the next obstacle, exacerbating the deterioration. Once I embraced the idea of wearing glasses, then went through the hassle of getting them, and then they didn't work, I considered giving up. I didn't want to deal with the headaches. But I was driven to see better, beyond the pain, and I tried the experience again. I am pleased with the results and ready to move forward.
For a more amusing version for movie lovers, consider Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite--he spends most of the movie wondering what could have been and ruminating on the past, rather than looking toward the future. Rico is rigid about his understanding of the past, which inhibits his future.
I continue to return to the Baptism of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark and how the voice of God and the identity of Jesus is continually expanding its revelation--to Jesus himself, his followers, and the world. Being stuck in a previous identity and fearing the work of the future inhibits participation in the ongoing and expanding revelation of the power of God. I know I don't see perfectly, but I know that God is revealing anew all the time. I want to see it, and I have to be flexible with my vision in order to participate in the revelation of God.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Finding a place on the road to calling between sentimentality and utilitarianism
As an interim pastor, my job is to manage expectations. I find congregations either dripping with sentimentality about their past, a congregation entangled in their own details, or at least an interesting combination of the two. My present interim congregation, First Lutheran Community Church in Port Orchard, Washington, is voting to call their next pastor this Sunday, February 13. Dating and engagement images (hello, Valentine's Day) are inevitable. So much excitement! So much curiosity! So much imagination!
I wonder what treasures of God's word can be uncovered to lead the congregation through the end of their valley of the shadow of death to the glorious epiphany that will be their call--a chorus of angels with a prelude aria leading to a crescendo where the entirety of heavenly hosts joins the angel chorus and loudly proclaims, "This pastor! This pastor! This pastor!"
Take a vomit break, if you choose.
There's a God-element to a calling, as there is a human element. These elements are intertwined in a chromosome-like double helix. If all callings were perfect, congregations would not falter. A calling is an agreement to a ministry and leadership relationship. A means to which we hold ourselves accountable to the work that God gives us. A commitment to help each other grow as children of God. Pastors and congregations are not saviors to one another. Sometimes a calling leads to conditions that are harder, not easier.
Take Numbers 11 for example (my sermon text for Sunday). Moses complains to God, because he feels the isolation of ministry and leadership. God provides a calling to elders, and ministry conditions not only not improve, they deteriorate. That doesn't mean that ministry partnerships and shared leadership are failures, but it does cause us to check our expectations and drive us toward seeking God in the midst of our challenges, and be formed by the wisdom of God rather than cling to our unreasonable demands, selfish preferences, and skewed expectations. Numbers 11 is a text about the importance of calling and the provision of God, but it is also a check on our expectations and a reminder about our dependence on God, and not the call itself. In Numbers 11, the sentimental notion of call is out the window, and even the utilitarian one. The call is linked to God, and it doesn't mean ministry will get easier. But it does give us something with which to work, and God is present.
I wonder what treasures of God's word can be uncovered to lead the congregation through the end of their valley of the shadow of death to the glorious epiphany that will be their call--a chorus of angels with a prelude aria leading to a crescendo where the entirety of heavenly hosts joins the angel chorus and loudly proclaims, "This pastor! This pastor! This pastor!"
Take a vomit break, if you choose.
There's a God-element to a calling, as there is a human element. These elements are intertwined in a chromosome-like double helix. If all callings were perfect, congregations would not falter. A calling is an agreement to a ministry and leadership relationship. A means to which we hold ourselves accountable to the work that God gives us. A commitment to help each other grow as children of God. Pastors and congregations are not saviors to one another. Sometimes a calling leads to conditions that are harder, not easier.
Take Numbers 11 for example (my sermon text for Sunday). Moses complains to God, because he feels the isolation of ministry and leadership. God provides a calling to elders, and ministry conditions not only not improve, they deteriorate. That doesn't mean that ministry partnerships and shared leadership are failures, but it does cause us to check our expectations and drive us toward seeking God in the midst of our challenges, and be formed by the wisdom of God rather than cling to our unreasonable demands, selfish preferences, and skewed expectations. Numbers 11 is a text about the importance of calling and the provision of God, but it is also a check on our expectations and a reminder about our dependence on God, and not the call itself. In Numbers 11, the sentimental notion of call is out the window, and even the utilitarian one. The call is linked to God, and it doesn't mean ministry will get easier. But it does give us something with which to work, and God is present.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Using the tools of the communication trade
My father was never much of a fix-it guy. We didn't have many tools lying around the house. Not much tinkering with cars or small engines or household appliances in my boyhood home. No spare bolts, wires or springs. I've used enough hand and power tools in shop class and through experimentation to get by. I don't necessarily enjoy using tools, but I appreciate the ability to use them.
My stocked tool box relates to congregational ministry, and I love to find tools to help me navigate, learn, and connect relationally. I've been picking up as many tools as I am able since 1998. Some tools I use more than others. My favorite tools recently relate to social media--blogging, Twitter and Facebook. I'm encouraged about what is possible through these tools. What is different about these tools is the open access--so many of the other tools I've used over the years require significant amounts of hours and resources of training and other start-up costs. Then the materials sit on a shelf, to be used rarely again, if ever at all.
I've been frustrated to see that the use of social media to connect is in limited use--at least in comparison with some of our Full Communion partners in the ELCA. I especially find PCUSA folk all over social media: Rev. Bruce Reyes-Chow, while serving as Moderator of the 218th General Assembly, offered important leadership concerning the use of technology for the church. I am in full agreement with him about blogging as a spiritual practice, appreciate his presence on Twitter, and his thought-provoking work with Carol Howard Merritt on their podcast God Complex Radio. I'm looking forward to gathering with many of these folks who take seriously their communication methodology of many different backgrounds (and hoping for a few more ELCA people) at Unconference 2011 in May.
My contention is not that the church will be "saved" by technology (I'll stick with Jesus), but these tools are as important to connecting people with God and one another as much as the telephone, sound amplification, and the printing press. Communication tools provide access and make the priesthood of all believers a more tangible reality than mere words. Social media encompasses several useful communication tools. Social media also happens to be where the Digital Natives communicate and congregate. Jesus went where the people were; he made few references to going to the house of worship. So I'm going to go where the people are.
I'm not making any revolutionary statements here, but it's what I've been thinking about, sometimes keeping me up at night. I'm reaching out to my colleagues and sisters and brothers in Christ (especially in the Pacific Northwest and the West Coast) in 20th Century-Brand Protestant churches (formerly known as Mainline Protestants) to gather our congregations out here to help teach the tools of communication. A conference, a webinar, a podcast, a traveling road show, a workshop--I don't care. I want to partner with some of my colleagues in the Pacific Northwest and serve others and use the tools available to all of us. I look forward to your ideas and feedback.
Not only are these tools for communication building the new front door to being church, but in many ways, they already are church.
My stocked tool box relates to congregational ministry, and I love to find tools to help me navigate, learn, and connect relationally. I've been picking up as many tools as I am able since 1998. Some tools I use more than others. My favorite tools recently relate to social media--blogging, Twitter and Facebook. I'm encouraged about what is possible through these tools. What is different about these tools is the open access--so many of the other tools I've used over the years require significant amounts of hours and resources of training and other start-up costs. Then the materials sit on a shelf, to be used rarely again, if ever at all.
I've been frustrated to see that the use of social media to connect is in limited use--at least in comparison with some of our Full Communion partners in the ELCA. I especially find PCUSA folk all over social media: Rev. Bruce Reyes-Chow, while serving as Moderator of the 218th General Assembly, offered important leadership concerning the use of technology for the church. I am in full agreement with him about blogging as a spiritual practice, appreciate his presence on Twitter, and his thought-provoking work with Carol Howard Merritt on their podcast God Complex Radio. I'm looking forward to gathering with many of these folks who take seriously their communication methodology of many different backgrounds (and hoping for a few more ELCA people) at Unconference 2011 in May.
My contention is not that the church will be "saved" by technology (I'll stick with Jesus), but these tools are as important to connecting people with God and one another as much as the telephone, sound amplification, and the printing press. Communication tools provide access and make the priesthood of all believers a more tangible reality than mere words. Social media encompasses several useful communication tools. Social media also happens to be where the Digital Natives communicate and congregate. Jesus went where the people were; he made few references to going to the house of worship. So I'm going to go where the people are.
I'm not making any revolutionary statements here, but it's what I've been thinking about, sometimes keeping me up at night. I'm reaching out to my colleagues and sisters and brothers in Christ (especially in the Pacific Northwest and the West Coast) in 20th Century-Brand Protestant churches (formerly known as Mainline Protestants) to gather our congregations out here to help teach the tools of communication. A conference, a webinar, a podcast, a traveling road show, a workshop--I don't care. I want to partner with some of my colleagues in the Pacific Northwest and serve others and use the tools available to all of us. I look forward to your ideas and feedback.
Not only are these tools for communication building the new front door to being church, but in many ways, they already are church.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Why I joined Facebook (finally)
I was never going to join Facebook because my friends said I should. I find it challenging enough to strengthen my primary relationships. I don't need Facebook telling me every time I log on about connections I need to be making. This introvert is overwhelmed by those thoughts.
I think an introvert, non-Digital Native makes reflective choices about how they are going to be present in public through social media, and I took a long time reflecting on what it meant for me to participate on Facebook.
What drove me to make the move? I think it's been over two years since I began receiving invitations. I don't expect my joining Facebook is a big deal to anyone else, but it had to make sense to me.
1. As a pastor, I am a communicator. That is my job. Jesus went to the people, and I am attempting to follow that example. Communication is also part of what makes me who I am. As a steward and student of communication, I can make choices about how I communicate (how frequently, the kinds of things I choose to post, etc.). However, I was persuaded that I could no longer afford to make the choice not to communicate in some ways at all.
2. The Social Network film inspired the sociology and communication student in me.
Seth Godin gave me a Facebook caveat reminding me to be a good communication steward, which my brother stated much more succinctly, "Facebook is a time suck." I don't need to contribute to the noise in the world, but make my communication count. Godin doesn't spend time on Twitter or Facebook. He puts out the only blog in which I read every entry.
I'll still enjoy seeing my friends on Facebook. It was fun to shock some of them by joining.
I think an introvert, non-Digital Native makes reflective choices about how they are going to be present in public through social media, and I took a long time reflecting on what it meant for me to participate on Facebook.
What drove me to make the move? I think it's been over two years since I began receiving invitations. I don't expect my joining Facebook is a big deal to anyone else, but it had to make sense to me.
1. As a pastor, I am a communicator. That is my job. Jesus went to the people, and I am attempting to follow that example. Communication is also part of what makes me who I am. As a steward and student of communication, I can make choices about how I communicate (how frequently, the kinds of things I choose to post, etc.). However, I was persuaded that I could no longer afford to make the choice not to communicate in some ways at all.
2. The Social Network film inspired the sociology and communication student in me.
Seth Godin gave me a Facebook caveat reminding me to be a good communication steward, which my brother stated much more succinctly, "Facebook is a time suck." I don't need to contribute to the noise in the world, but make my communication count. Godin doesn't spend time on Twitter or Facebook. He puts out the only blog in which I read every entry.
I'll still enjoy seeing my friends on Facebook. It was fun to shock some of them by joining.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Another untimely review: Black Swan
I would not have seen this movie had my wife not wanted to see it. That's a good thing about being in a relationship--taken to places I would not have gone on my own. I have nothing against ballet as an art form, I've enjoyed a small handful of ballets in my lifetime, but when it comes to investing my entertainment dollar, ballet remains in the recesses of my mind, and probably aided by the dearth of ballet in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
My favorite film critic Ann Hornaday (Washington Post) once again prompted me away from resistance to Black Swan, and with an evening away from our children in Spokane, I was ready to take on a film labeled as dark.
If you have yet to see Black Swan, dark isn't the half of it. Any Saturday Night Live fan knows Natalie Portman can take on a dark side in the comedic sense. Any fan of drama/thrillers knows she can execute dark in the relational sense in Closer. Black Swan is not so much about ballet as it is about the inner battle of self. Granted, world-class ballet provides a high pressure backdrop for an inward battle, but this kind of struggle could happen in several professions. However, the contrast between beauty and ugliness in Black Swan is stark and chilling. Winona Ryder (first time I've seen her in an interesting role in years) and Mila Kunis are both up to the high bar set with Portman's performance.
What kept me thinking about this film a week after I viewed it is the presence of mental illness in the film and what a puzzle remains with mental illness. This film is not One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest in that the story operates as an expose of institutional mental illness, but an examination of triggers to mental illness and ruminations about environmental factors, namely extreme levels of competition and hyper self-image awareness.
What I enjoyed about this film also is that it seems so far away from my life in the church. But it really shouldn't be. I could not imagine knowing someone with such struggles as Portman portrays. I wonder how well the church shows grace in lives that are seen in Black Swan. For the time I watched the film, I didn't have to worry about it, but now a part of me is haunted by that possibility.
My favorite film critic Ann Hornaday (Washington Post) once again prompted me away from resistance to Black Swan, and with an evening away from our children in Spokane, I was ready to take on a film labeled as dark.
If you have yet to see Black Swan, dark isn't the half of it. Any Saturday Night Live fan knows Natalie Portman can take on a dark side in the comedic sense. Any fan of drama/thrillers knows she can execute dark in the relational sense in Closer. Black Swan is not so much about ballet as it is about the inner battle of self. Granted, world-class ballet provides a high pressure backdrop for an inward battle, but this kind of struggle could happen in several professions. However, the contrast between beauty and ugliness in Black Swan is stark and chilling. Winona Ryder (first time I've seen her in an interesting role in years) and Mila Kunis are both up to the high bar set with Portman's performance.
What kept me thinking about this film a week after I viewed it is the presence of mental illness in the film and what a puzzle remains with mental illness. This film is not One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest in that the story operates as an expose of institutional mental illness, but an examination of triggers to mental illness and ruminations about environmental factors, namely extreme levels of competition and hyper self-image awareness.
What I enjoyed about this film also is that it seems so far away from my life in the church. But it really shouldn't be. I could not imagine knowing someone with such struggles as Portman portrays. I wonder how well the church shows grace in lives that are seen in Black Swan. For the time I watched the film, I didn't have to worry about it, but now a part of me is haunted by that possibility.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Unplanned sabbaticals
In interim ministry, I often look at the calendar in anticipation of the next pastor's arrival. I usually exhale, much like the congregation. Sometimes my exhale lasts a few months after I say my thank yous and good byes to my partners in ministry. This will be my last unplanned sabbatical.
I always have a few projects and goals. Envelop myself as a house husband for a few months. Clip more coupons, find where I can buy the cheapest fresh spinach, work toward a deeper sense of household feng shui. Write more. Exercise more. Read more Bible. Facilitate more peace for wife and daughters through order, sleep better, and purge the stuff that creeps into the house, multiplying like termites. Too much plastic, too much paper, too many unused tools. They all sounded good at first glance, but they all clog my life as my pores clogged as a teenager. Sabbatical is more than rest. Sabbatical works like astringent.
I have a project that continues to provoke my soul, and it feels like make or break time. I don't need money. I only need time. I haven't given up on the dream of another degree. The formal path does not work for my family and me. If I am truly passionate about religion in the Salish Sea region, the research and information gathering beckons. It matters not whether others find it interesting, because it is the story of my life to be learned and told. My sabbatical is one month away. Intentional rest, intentional work. Outside of visiting my brother in Edmonton, I will avoid driving, for that has been my part-time job during my current interim ministry. Commuting alone (or with my daughters) by car kills me.
During my longer tenure as a house husband, I embodied a few lessons taught to me by monks in the District of Columbia and my spiritual director in Sioux Falls.
1. Raising young children is similar to a monastic life.
2. Manual labor is a form of prayer.
Though networking will be on my sabbatical agenda (the next ministry awaits on the other side). I hope the wisdom of God and my prayers and the prayers of those who love me will shape my next season of life and ministry. God saw that the creation was good in sabbatical, and I am visualizing the most fulfilling unplanned sabbatical yet. I know it won't completely go in the rudimentary plans I formulate today, but I know the Holy Spirit will move in those days.
I always have a few projects and goals. Envelop myself as a house husband for a few months. Clip more coupons, find where I can buy the cheapest fresh spinach, work toward a deeper sense of household feng shui. Write more. Exercise more. Read more Bible. Facilitate more peace for wife and daughters through order, sleep better, and purge the stuff that creeps into the house, multiplying like termites. Too much plastic, too much paper, too many unused tools. They all sounded good at first glance, but they all clog my life as my pores clogged as a teenager. Sabbatical is more than rest. Sabbatical works like astringent.
I have a project that continues to provoke my soul, and it feels like make or break time. I don't need money. I only need time. I haven't given up on the dream of another degree. The formal path does not work for my family and me. If I am truly passionate about religion in the Salish Sea region, the research and information gathering beckons. It matters not whether others find it interesting, because it is the story of my life to be learned and told. My sabbatical is one month away. Intentional rest, intentional work. Outside of visiting my brother in Edmonton, I will avoid driving, for that has been my part-time job during my current interim ministry. Commuting alone (or with my daughters) by car kills me.
During my longer tenure as a house husband, I embodied a few lessons taught to me by monks in the District of Columbia and my spiritual director in Sioux Falls.
1. Raising young children is similar to a monastic life.
2. Manual labor is a form of prayer.
Though networking will be on my sabbatical agenda (the next ministry awaits on the other side). I hope the wisdom of God and my prayers and the prayers of those who love me will shape my next season of life and ministry. God saw that the creation was good in sabbatical, and I am visualizing the most fulfilling unplanned sabbatical yet. I know it won't completely go in the rudimentary plans I formulate today, but I know the Holy Spirit will move in those days.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Shoring up the "family" in pastoral transition
As congregations emerge from a pastoral transition, the leadership begins discussion about what to do with those who have "strayed." People who further solidify their commitment to a congregation during a pastoral transition tend to believe that the public will be excited about their new pastor, as well as those who have lowered their commitment over the past few years. This part of transition is dangerous territory, mostly because this part of the path is thick with deeply rooted assumptions.
People who have increased their commitment to a congregation during a transition tend to assume the strayed members think like them and share their enthusiasm for a new pastor. If the perspective was shared, they would have been participating in the transition process in the first place. Those who have different commitment levels to the congregation do not warrant judgment, and if judgment is present, membership efforts will suffer. The public will probably be even less enthusiastic about a new pastorate. They may be curious about a new member of the community, but the public won't come rushing in just because a congregation welcomes a new pastor. To think otherwise overestimates the public presence of a congregation, especially in an age where congregations on the whole (especially in the Pacific Northwest) have eroded in their influence over the years. Even for a congregation deeply connected to public life, the social capital of a new pastor takes months and years of relationship building, both in trust and partnerships. This doesn't mean that the congregation should curb their enthusiasm about their new pastor or cut short their efforts to make public connections. Rather, congregations should be open minded about their expectations of the community.
Another assumption related to people whose commitment to a congregation wavers is linked to the desire to bring people back into the "family." I have strong suspicions (theologically and organizationally) of calling a congregation a family. However, the desire to bring back people who have lowered their commitment level feels as strong as the pull to bring back someone to a family fold who is/was estranged. That feeling is exacerbated in the midst of decline. The desire to reconnect with those who have separated from congregational life is not necessarily bad, but the methodology and responsibility must be clarified. In every interim ministry I served, a congregation assumes shoring up the "family" is the responsibility of the pastor. I tend to disagree with the idea of putting a lot of energy into shoring up the family, because this work tends to be done out of a position of anxiety rather than strength. If congregational leaders look at contacting people who have left the family as a means to get their numbers and budgets to better levels, the congregation is traveling a path that will lead to more anxiety and their work to connect will lack authenticity. If the methodology is rooted in a relational connection and an opportunity to learn about relational and ministry dynamics in the congregation, then the foundation for ministry will be stronger. I also struggle with the notion of "shoring up the family" because it is nearly impossible to have a conversation with someone who is walking away.
Regardless of the philosophy and theology of congregational membership, what I believe is of paramount importance is that a new pastor and congregational leadership have an understanding about methodology and responsibility related to membership. I have observed that this variable is the source of partnership breakdown in the both the previous pastorate and the new pastorate as well, and this variable is magnified in congregations that have experienced recent decline.
People who have increased their commitment to a congregation during a transition tend to assume the strayed members think like them and share their enthusiasm for a new pastor. If the perspective was shared, they would have been participating in the transition process in the first place. Those who have different commitment levels to the congregation do not warrant judgment, and if judgment is present, membership efforts will suffer. The public will probably be even less enthusiastic about a new pastorate. They may be curious about a new member of the community, but the public won't come rushing in just because a congregation welcomes a new pastor. To think otherwise overestimates the public presence of a congregation, especially in an age where congregations on the whole (especially in the Pacific Northwest) have eroded in their influence over the years. Even for a congregation deeply connected to public life, the social capital of a new pastor takes months and years of relationship building, both in trust and partnerships. This doesn't mean that the congregation should curb their enthusiasm about their new pastor or cut short their efforts to make public connections. Rather, congregations should be open minded about their expectations of the community.
Another assumption related to people whose commitment to a congregation wavers is linked to the desire to bring people back into the "family." I have strong suspicions (theologically and organizationally) of calling a congregation a family. However, the desire to bring back people who have lowered their commitment level feels as strong as the pull to bring back someone to a family fold who is/was estranged. That feeling is exacerbated in the midst of decline. The desire to reconnect with those who have separated from congregational life is not necessarily bad, but the methodology and responsibility must be clarified. In every interim ministry I served, a congregation assumes shoring up the "family" is the responsibility of the pastor. I tend to disagree with the idea of putting a lot of energy into shoring up the family, because this work tends to be done out of a position of anxiety rather than strength. If congregational leaders look at contacting people who have left the family as a means to get their numbers and budgets to better levels, the congregation is traveling a path that will lead to more anxiety and their work to connect will lack authenticity. If the methodology is rooted in a relational connection and an opportunity to learn about relational and ministry dynamics in the congregation, then the foundation for ministry will be stronger. I also struggle with the notion of "shoring up the family" because it is nearly impossible to have a conversation with someone who is walking away.
Regardless of the philosophy and theology of congregational membership, what I believe is of paramount importance is that a new pastor and congregational leadership have an understanding about methodology and responsibility related to membership. I have observed that this variable is the source of partnership breakdown in the both the previous pastorate and the new pastorate as well, and this variable is magnified in congregations that have experienced recent decline.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Another untimely review: The Social Network
I am late to the Facebook party. For a few months, I've been a wallflower at the Facebook party, content to dance with my wife, who is my date to this party. To this party, I have brought a book, and a lot of other things to do.
Just because I'm not participating in the party does not mean I'm not interested in what is going on. I'm intrigued by the theories behind the interaction and relationships. I'm annoyed that social media is criticized for being a network of faux relationships. People are going to use Facebook, Twitter and the like, and the methodology of these relationships will evolve. I will do my best to observe the qualities of these interactions and offer theological and social science perspectives with as open a mind as possible. I'm not really sure Facebook is for me. I find the Facebook platform a bit overwhelming, like I felt about dances in high school and college. I have been a bit defiant about Facebook over the past two years, but I've chosen to be more of a curious observer and student of the platform rather than an outspoken critic.
The movie The Social Network has changed my perspective enough that I am willing to learn more about Facebook. I got to that point through the review of Ann Hornaday of the Washington Post. I enjoy her film reviews with Tony Kornheiser on Fridays, and her praise of The Social Network caused me to reflect on my relationship with social media more deeply. Rather than see Facebook as a mere toy, time-passer, or cultural fad, watching the film gave me a deeper sense of the connection between communication, relationships and commerce. We all make choices about our communication methodology. The call for a Christian is to discern how to make the way we communicate a reflection of the grace we have received. In that sense, Facebook is value neutral. However, the Social Network does not make any of the main characters, or even the folks with the bit parts look good. No character is glorified. What I find compelling is the craft and intelligence behind the platform, and what sin can do to any method of communication. The Social Network is driven by story and script writing (skillfully and enjoyably executed), and not reliant on the cache of the actors (though I agree with Hornaday that their skill should be recognized). For any student of human relationships and talents, The Social Network is a positive investment of your time.
If you think that The Social Network is not worth your time, at least learn from this review that the wallflowers at the party will go on observing while others are partying it up.
Just because I'm not participating in the party does not mean I'm not interested in what is going on. I'm intrigued by the theories behind the interaction and relationships. I'm annoyed that social media is criticized for being a network of faux relationships. People are going to use Facebook, Twitter and the like, and the methodology of these relationships will evolve. I will do my best to observe the qualities of these interactions and offer theological and social science perspectives with as open a mind as possible. I'm not really sure Facebook is for me. I find the Facebook platform a bit overwhelming, like I felt about dances in high school and college. I have been a bit defiant about Facebook over the past two years, but I've chosen to be more of a curious observer and student of the platform rather than an outspoken critic.
The movie The Social Network has changed my perspective enough that I am willing to learn more about Facebook. I got to that point through the review of Ann Hornaday of the Washington Post. I enjoy her film reviews with Tony Kornheiser on Fridays, and her praise of The Social Network caused me to reflect on my relationship with social media more deeply. Rather than see Facebook as a mere toy, time-passer, or cultural fad, watching the film gave me a deeper sense of the connection between communication, relationships and commerce. We all make choices about our communication methodology. The call for a Christian is to discern how to make the way we communicate a reflection of the grace we have received. In that sense, Facebook is value neutral. However, the Social Network does not make any of the main characters, or even the folks with the bit parts look good. No character is glorified. What I find compelling is the craft and intelligence behind the platform, and what sin can do to any method of communication. The Social Network is driven by story and script writing (skillfully and enjoyably executed), and not reliant on the cache of the actors (though I agree with Hornaday that their skill should be recognized). For any student of human relationships and talents, The Social Network is a positive investment of your time.
If you think that The Social Network is not worth your time, at least learn from this review that the wallflowers at the party will go on observing while others are partying it up.
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