Minefields and opportunities in learning for pastors and congregations

The field of continuing education for pastors and congregations presents both minefields and opportunities for reaching a goal.

What are the minefields:

1. Cost. My congregation was faced with an opportunity for an educational event for both me and 2-4 leaders from the congregation. I won't go into all of variables for attending, only that attending is about as close to being a "need" without actually being a need. The event is semi-annual, with the next event gathering in Houston, Texas. Round-trip airfare, tuition, hotel and other expenses, we were probably looking at $2-4K to make that trip. I pondered the opportunity cost for that trip for several weeks. I go to the training because it's part of my job, and the training does have value. For others, I'm asking individuals in my congregation to invest at least 4 days away from work and family.

2. Efficacy. I have heard some great theologians, teachers, leaders and preachers over the years at educational events. Some presentations were a waste of time. Sometimes this was the speaker's fault (delivery, under prepared), sometimes it was mine (I can have a bad attitude), sometimes it was the planner(s) of the event. Sometimes the responsibility is shared. Some speakers had a profound effect on me during that particular moment--it was something I needed to hear. I didn't necessarily require that person's words would profoundly change my life every day for the next 10 years, only that their insight was part of my overall sustenance and encouragement. It's like a feast. Feasts everyday can lose their meaning over time. Occasionally shared, feasts are the spice of life. I think about this when I reflect on events where I've heard Will Willimon, Sandra Day O'Connor, Martin Marty, and Maya Angelou. These kind of speakers draw people to come to conferences. These are wise people, and their words can be helpful and insightful. However, in my experience, these kinds of events don't necessarily elicit much change in my work. From some learning events I have returned home with some books, a binder full of materials, or have my email inbox filled with Power Points and documents. Rarely do I look at these documents ever again. That may be just as much about my habits as it is about educational philosophy, but I also know that I am not alone in owning a bookshelf loaded with books, boxes and binders holding the dusty hope of personal and organizational renewal.

After attending Unconference11 in May, the minefields of education became clearer to me about how I would invest learning time and resources in the future. Rock star quality speakers are not required (but hey, if they want to come and participate like everyone else, great!).

Where are the opportunities?

Connecting communication technologies (social media, blogs, web) provide key components to any learning and change opportunity. Learning is just as much about relationships as it is information. This is not an educational newsflash--many educational approaches gain leverage through relationships. However, I have observed that in church circles, there's still a lot of weight placed in bringing a big name speaker and implicitly inflicting death by Power Point for an educational event. The problem is, if I want the material I gain to truly take root, there needs to be relationship networks ready and available to take my enthusiasm as a convert and weave it in to the fabric of my life. #Unco11 #Unco12 #chsocm (specific Twitter linked communities) have provided access and friendships with other learners so that I gain support, insight, challenge, and an opportunity to share as well.

As I look at the minefields and opportunities for goal reaching in continuing education for pastors and congregations, I fear testing my own theories. I want to host an educational event. I believe that communication strategies for pastors and congregations are important in their work of sharing the Good News of Jesus. I don't need to host a big top event. It's time to trust the relationships I have built and that God will be present in not only where two or three are gathered, but will gather again as the relationships continue.

Loyalty Admired in Alberta with the Edmonton Oilers

I am an Edmonton Oilers hockey fan. I continue to learn about loyalty.

Though I don't dissect roster moves or organizational strategy with the Oilers like I do the Seattle Mariners, when the conversation turns to hockey, I have a reference point with the Oilers. I began following the Oilers when I was about 10-11 years old, watching CBUT out of Vancouver in my homes in the Puget Sound area. With Hockey Night in Canada and The National with CBC News, I became acquainted with Canadian life. My youth soccer team also participated in game exchanges between the two countries, and I traveled to Surrey and Vancouver, BC. My interest in Canada grew to where it is a hobby to follow Canadian life now in politics, culture and sport. During my early teenage years, I latched on to the rage in Canadian NHL hockey--the Edmonton Oilers, and I grew to enjoy watching Wayne Gretzky, Jari Kurri, Mark Messier, Grant Fuhr, Kevin Lowe, Craig MacTavish and Esa Tikkanen. They were a great team--an NHL dynasty. After Gretzky left, I continued to follow the team through thick and thin (and very thin right now).

Almost nine years ago, I checked off a line on my unofficial bucket list and made the trek to Edmonton with my wife, eight months pregnant. We flew into Calgary for my brother's wedding (I was jazzed he was marrying into a Canadian family), rented a car and fulfilled my longtime dream of attending an Edmonton Oilers home hockey game. Melanie was a good sport to attend this sporting event. Not a sports fan, she uses these opportunities to sample local cultures, exploring the arenas and stadiums to test cuisine and people watch. However, she noted it was hard to explore during the game because no one left their seats outside of intermission. About 90+ percent of the fans were wearing an Oilers sweater (jersey), or some other Oilers garb. The only other experience close to that in the 'States for professional sports was the St. Louis Cardinals Baseball Club--but Edmonton even had them beat. Melanie almost felt she couldn't leave during game play because eyes were glued to the game. The Oilers lost the game to Brett Hull and the Dallas Stars, 5-4 in OT, but if my hockey allegiance was ever in doubt, it was solidified that day.

During my recent trip to visit my brother and his family (Jimmy is working on his dissertation in Sports Management at the University of Alberta), we took in the must of every trip, an Oilers hockey game. The Oilers are a poor team this year. They are a team in transition--getting younger and faster, but also suffering a significant amount of injuries. Some nights they are barely competitive, and we saw them soundly defeated by the Los Angeles Kings, 2-0. It wasn't even that close. The Oilers have the worst record in the NHL this season, but the fans still turn out, they still watch the game. They pay high prices for tickets, beer and other concessions. Their sweaters aren't cheap, either. This game made me notice something that would surely be present in the United States with a bad team. US professional sports fans tend to vote with their feet. They tend to not show up for a bad team. The ones who do show up will boo their team. During the game we watched, the Oilers would have earned loud derision from the fan base. But not in Edmonton that night. They still lined up at the souvenir boutiques on the concourse to purchase a tactile piece of hope--new sweaters depicting the numbers of their developing heroes: Taylor Hall, Jordan Eberle, Magnus Paajarvi, to go along with their current stars, Ales Hemsky and Shawn Horcoff.

Sometimes I question blind loyalty, but I admire the loyalty on the banks of the River Saskatchewan to the Oilers. Though the team heroes are admired, it is also recognized that players come and go. The team and what it provides are the focal point for community, encouragement and camaraderie. These points are not lost on the hockey fans of Edmonton, Alberta. I wonder in the midst of such social phenomena whether there are equivalent applications for my life in the church. How much loyalty is too much? When does loyalty blind people to the opportunities of the future? How does God work in the midst of community? These were good questions for me to ponder as I admired my very small part in a community to which I admire from afar through my television, computer, and the occasional visit.

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.

Remembering Dave Niehaus

This post is not meant to imply that I can't distinguish the difference between baseball and faith. I would never preach a sermon series on Dave Niehaus (though I have a sneaking suspicion some of this reflection will appear in my Sunday sermon). However, the death of Dave Niehaus and recognizing his impact on my life and thousands of people across the Pacific Northwest and baseball lovers across the country stirs reflection on similarities between what Dave Niehaus embodied and what I imagine the pastoral life to be.

For 34 seasons in games that spanned 6 months of the year, from spring training to the painfully infrequent, yet jubilant playoff appearances, Dave Niehaus shared with his listeners what I seek in myself as a pastor. Dave's signature voice was both the backdrop and forefront of my family's life since I was 6 years old. It is not a token statement to say that Dave radio depictions of a simple game taught me hope, joy, belief, wisdom, encouragement, storytelling, camaraderie, teamwork and passion.

I began to hear Dave's voice sitting in front of the console radio at my Grandparent's house in Renton. My parents attended the opening game, my father thrilled that baseball had returned to Seattle. He told me stories about the Seattle Rainiers and Seattle Pilots--his stories and memories of heroes, woven with stories of his own father, a man I never met. Beginning with my evenings in front of the console radio, I began to hear stories of my Gram, who listened to Portland Beavers baseball games with her father at their home in Camas, Washington, along the Columbia River. I was attached to Dave's voice almost instantly, developing my own heroes through his story telling. They weren't great players in those early years, but they were still my heroes: Ruppert Jones, Bob Stinson, Bill Stein, Diego Segui, Craig Reynolds, Enrique Romo, Rick Honeycutt. I wanted them to do well, just as Dave did. Dave even made food sound better with his distinctive voice--Darigold dairy products, and Langendorf Old Fashioned White Bread. Dave's voice was everywhere in our lives: as we participated in life's daily activities, travel, yard work, play, family gatherings of all kinds, and the frequent visits to my Grandparent's house. Dave's words became the words of my brothers John and Jimmy as we played wiffle ball wherever we could.

When I left the Pacific Northwest to pursue my own vocation and baseball life in the Midwest, I didn't realize how much I missed Dave Niehaus until I listened to broadcasts in other cities. The other cities had their signature broadcasters and calls, and were endearing to their fans--Herb Carneal and John Gordon in Minnesota, Bob Uecker in Milwaukee, Denny Matthews in Kansas City, no one I heard outside of Vin Scully in Los Angeles and Ernie Harwell of Detroit was in the league of baseball story tellers extraordinaire like Dave Niehaus. I appreciated the broadcasting craft, but the stories and telling of the game inspired in me a love for baseball and a passion for engaging life. Dave's words became a way that my family and friends brought some poetry and passion to our conversations. My friend Bret and I sometimes greeted each other with Dave-isms. I was thankful to have Dave's voice ring through my house in South Dakota once I could lounge on a summer day, with my wife Melanie joining my daughter in the backyard with a Mariners game streaming on my laptop from mlb.com. I was ecstatic to return to the Pacific Northwest in 2009 and reacquaint myself with more regular Niehaus contact. After hearing that the Mariners had traded for Cliff Lee during the 2009-10 off-season, I started to spout off Dave-isms in the car with my daughters on our daily commute.

"Ninety-eight mile an hour, high octane, GAS!"
"Swung on and belted!"
"Get out the rye bread and the mustard, Grandma, it's GRAND SALAMI time!"
"Diabolical. That stank!"
"Loooooowwwwwwwwwww, ball 3"
"Fly, fly, away!"
"My, oh, my!"

My 4-year old daughter sometimes echoed my exclamations, but sometimes she had to tell me to stop.

My family and friends imagined what it would be like if the Mariners ever won a World Series. I stated Dave Niehaus would spontaneously combust or die joyfully on the spot. Even if the Mariners staged a dramatic win 34 games out of first place, Dave shook the broadcast booth with his jubilation. He might not be able to contain himself.

In 1995, I thought the Mariners might get to that point of collective ecstasy. I was serving a congregation in Copenhagen on my pastoral internship. In the age before widely available Internet, I had to scour any piece of news to get my hands on the daily work of the surging Seattle Mariners. I lamented that I couldn't connect with Niehaus' words, but well over a decade of listening to Niehaus produced imagined descriptions in my mind's eye. My mentor and friend Steve Bain invited me to his home to spend the night so we could watch the playoff broadcasts in the wee hours of the morning, trying to contain ourselves just enough so that we wouldn't stir his sleeping family. We watched the national/international broadcast, all the time wishing or imagining we could hear Dave. Bleary eyed, yet joyful, I went to my work after watching the games, having slept maybe 2 hours. Good thing I was young at the time.

For the years 1995-2003, the Mariners often shaped the discussion of baseball excellence. They were the only example of "glory years" for the franchise, and even then, only about half of those years they were playoff teams. But Dave had a special lilt and enthusiasm in his voice during those years, and in some ways, I was most happy for him, because Dave was always present for the public and the Mariners, I felt he deserved some actual joy instead of hopeful joy (if those can be distinguished).

It was the other years of baseball that I learned more from Dave Niehaus. The Mariners have often been a bad baseball team. But my family has always been willing to listen, because Dave was always willing to lead the team and share the stories in his signature way. Listening to Dave in spring training and throughout the year, he always told a story of hope. He lived a life that said passion matters. Learning the facts matters. Encouraging the team matters. Seeing the best in people matters. Celebrating victories matters. He anticipated something good happening in every pitch or swing of the bat. It didn't matter that Dave's judgment of a batted ball was sometimes completely off, believing a lazy fly ball had home run potential. His hope and belief in what was possible for the Seattle Mariners was often endearing, yet on the whole, inspiring.

In some way, Dave Niehaus gave me a sense of interim ministry through all of those losing seasons. Dave gave me insight on how to go into a place and tell stories of hope in the midst of what appears bleak. That is part of my job in interim ministry, things that Dave did as a baseball broadcaster. To celebrate the daily joys of life. To offer wisdom and encouragements to teammates. To report on the context and goals of the organization. To live a life of thankfulness when many are tempted to dwell on the negative aspects of collective life. Jesus is my ultimate example of this kind of life. I do not know Dave Niehaus' faith, but he reminded me and highlighted to me some of what I am called to do in life.

Today I need to visit my 87-year old Gram and tell her that Dave Niehaus died. For 34 years his voice filled their house. That voice was second only to my Granddad. I remember during a baseball pilgrimage with my friend Cameron in 1991, we visited Tiger Stadium in Detroit. I knew my grandparents were listening, so I sent a message to the press box for Dave to greet June and Jerry Zubrod in Renton listening to the game. I knew he was glad to do it and my grandparents were thrilled to hear their names said by Dave. My mother saw Dave just a few weeks ago and shook his hand. He was gracious and hospitable, full of smiles and looking well. I'm glad she was able to show him some level of appreciation for his place in our family's life.  It seems fitting that connection was made.

Thanks to Dave Niehaus and his family for sharing his gifts with the Pacific Northwest for 34 years. My life has been inspired and made better because of his gifts. I am sad, but I am thankful. This has been said many times over the past 18 hours, but fly, fly away, Dave. Thank God and thank you for the memories.

Living Month-to-Month

I appreciate the thoughtfulness of the Council at First Lutheran Community Church of Port Orchard.

My contract for service at FLCC ends August 31, 2010. I alerted the leaders almost three months ago that my contract was ending in the near future and I desired preparation for the next chapter in our work together. Not having an interim pastor for over 20 years, they weren't aware of the end game of interim ministry. Though a call committee is formed, no candidates have been interviewed. We have a few months to go. The Council did not feel confident in bridging the gap without a consistent presence in preaching and worship from a lead pastor. I suggested that we go "month-to-month."

They looked at me as if to say, "Really??? You would do that?" One leader said, "Pastor Joe is being very gracious." I'm not gracious, only experienced.

Interim ministry is approximately 50 percent month-to-month. The first few months of interim ministry are tenuous. These can be like a middle-aged man going to the doctor--kicking and screaming the whole time. The congregation does not want to pore over the darkness of its X-rays, they only want to know who the next pastor will be and know when they start. I understand that impulse--therefore I know during the first few months, we could both say the relationship is cancerous and must end. Once that feeling has dissipated, the basic familiarity that comes from sharing the Gospel of Jesus Christ together become a fine edge of respect, anxiety, knowledge, self-examination and vision. Interim pastor and congregation become willing partners, invested in each others well-being. That lasts about six months, give or take a few months. Once a pastoral search group is formed, thank you and good-bye can come about any time. Sometimes a candidate can move through the process rather quickly. Other times search teams and candidates labor and sputter. With each candidate and opportunity, both congregation and interim pastor realize the time is short. Back to month-to-month.

In my seventh interim, I know the month-to-month personality. My family and I have a month-to-month lease on our rental. Some people wonder if this pattern of living is good for my family. Maybe, maybe not. What are the standards for evaluating this life? Congregational economies are flailing. 20th Century Brand North American Protestantism is teetering in its corporate life. I don't look at the faces of congregation members and see economic confidence. Security and stability as we know it in our lives on this Earth is a bit of an illusion. If my job ends and Melanie's job ends, would it be a good thing to have a mortgage? If Melanie and I don't have work in a few months, we have very few debts to pay. We can make it and not panic. All I can do is the best I can to care for my family and neighbor, and share the Gospel. What remains, remains illusory. Our understanding of stability is entwined with multiple cultural, political and familial perceptions. I'm praying to God that I can be faithful and trustworthy in the resources and gifts God has given me. Maybe a day will come when we look more in a year-to-year or decade-to-decade vision. Now, we live month-to-month.

Technically, what month-to-month means is that the congregation-interim pastor relationship can end anytime with 30 days notice. This was always the case, but when leaders and I signed the original contract, we remained committed to work together for at least a year. No there is no illusion of a longer commitment. That is adequate and appropriate.

Month-to-month, the people of FLCC and I will wait for the new Lead Pastor. At this point in our lives, month-to-month we will look at the world anew, giving thanks for what we have and the opportunities before us. In month-to-month living, I am reminded that my security comes from God in Christ.

The Cautionary Tale of the Whitman Mission

While I lived in South Dakota, I read about anything I could about the Pacific Northwest. I missed the connections to the familiar, comforting, yet mystifying land. I missed the mist on my skin that dampened me, yet didn't get me wet. I missed the salty air that reminded me of the bountiful sea and all its creatures, both familiar and alien. I missed the evergreens that served as green sentries that guided my paths. Though I could only visit my beloved Washington about once or twice per year, through the research and story telling of others, my own stories, memories and observations were fertilized for a time when I would not be part of the Pacific Northwest diaspora, but a participant observer replanted in my land of origin.

Years passed before I made a connection between God and the land. I knew that God created the heavens and the Earth, but I was directed in my thoughts toward an understanding that God cared more about humans than the land itself. As I studied the Old Testament in seminary, I realized the land is a much more powerful character and player in biblical story and that place matters throughout scripture--though the land and place are not widely researched in theological circles, I have come to appreciate the distinctive nature of place sociologically and theologically. John Inge (a bishop in the Church of England) and Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann address theological questions of place and land.

While reading a Pacific Northwest history by Carlos Schwantes, I encountered a new story to me, the story of a massacre at the Whitman mission in southeast Washington state, near Walla Walla. On November 29, 1847, 13 people were killed at the mission site by peoples of the Cayuse and Umatilla tribes. Numerous interpretations of the events surrounding the massacre exist, but the story represents many tensions for me as a local theologian, pastor, student, and native of the Pacific Northwest. The Whitmans came to the region prepared to deliver their way of life to the Cayuse and Umatilla peoples--a way of life that included Jesus Christ, their own culture and agriculture. My impression of the Whitmans is that they saw their work as operating in a single direction. They were the givers and the aboriginal peoples were the receivers. I don't perceive much listening going on, only telling. Naturally, the Cayuse and Umatilla resisted ways contrary to their own way of life, especially so since they did not adapt to row crop cultivation well. It was challenging to learn about Jesus when row crops were seen as a path to Jesus. The Whitmans and their coworkers were carriers for a measles epidemic that wiped out half of the local tribe population. The tribes responded to these developments with violence, and the missionary endeavors in the area were ended for well over a generation.

I still have a lot to learn about the Whitman mission story. It may become a topic for deeper study in my future. On my recent family trip, my family and I visited the Whitman Mission National Historical Site (part of the National Park system). I hope to return when I have more research time and search some of the archives at nearby Whitman College. I learned much from this story and my own understanding of Christian ministry and mission. Some factors remain in my ongoing consideration:

1. The local religious landscape in the Pacific Northwest has always struggled to support Christian ministry and cultural endeavors related to Christian ministry for centuries. Though it is no longer at the bottom of the of the list of percentage of religious adherents (Maine is now at the bottom), it takes significantly more work for Christians to gain influence in the region than in other places where I have lived and worked.
2. Is there an appropriate balance between Christian ministry as proclamation and listening? In my early studies of the Whitman massacre, it appears that the actions of the Whitmans moved more toward proclamation than listening and understanding the Umatilla and Cayuse peoples. The Whitman story provides a cautionary tale for me on many levels. I believe in God's redemptive work through the Church, but am I the appropriate proclaimer? I find myself much more interested and driven to understand than to proclaim. Understanding is a relative term--it seems sometimes that the more I learn, the less I understand--but understanding is more about posture than accomplishment. Interim ministry for me has been a ministry of understanding congregations (again, understanding is relative), and using that understanding for the people of God in a particular place to follow their calling in God's preferred future for them.
3. Though it takes great courage and energy to make a proclamation (Marcus Whitman made several round trips from the mission to the East Coast to garner support for the mission in a time where such distance travel was tiring, dangerous and often deadly), sometimes I think it is much harder to listen, learn and understand--because the other cannot be controlled. The Whitmans did not have an opportunity to learn this lesson; they were killed before any change took place. This is part of the conflicting understanding about mission--I make quite a presumption when I think I know what is best for a group of people I serve, whereas we can take the opportunity to build relationship and name that God is already in that place, and together look at the Bible and look the culture and prayerfully see where God is together in hopes of imagining and living God's preferred future for that particular community.

I sometimes wonder whether these thoughts, experiences and learnings make me the right kind of pastor in this day and age, or whether I should find a different path to ministry. A colleague and friend once posed to me the key differences between proclamation and understanding and their relationship to vocation. I believe the distinction between proclamation and understanding is important, but the relationship to vocation is not so cut and dried. I may never feel comfortable in my vocation. I am provoked to proclamation, yet driven to understand. Through the Whitmans I read a cautionary tale, and I am alerted to the consequences on either end of the continuum of proclamation and understanding.

A game of interdependence

Last week I returned to the United States after a week with my brother and his family in Edmonton, Alberta. I always enjoy a trip to Canada. Though many American creature comforts cover the landscape, some distinctly Canadian features offer some alternative perspective to American cultural hegemony and worldview. I value perspective as a theologian and in my life in general; I sharpen my critical thinking skills when forced to look at something in a different way.

I remember as a child watching the CBC on Seattle cable television, my only source for ice hockey and curling. Though my enjoyment of these sports never reached the level of baseball, college football or basketball--I would choose watching curling or ice hockey over golf or auto racing if given a choice.

During the 2010 Winter Olympics in Vancouver, I heard or read more than one American say that if they set their mind to it, they could become an Olympic-caliber curler. It's just shuffleboard on ice, so the critique goes. Though curling does not require world-class physical condition or athletic ability, I found my baseball sensibilities awakened by the interdependence, skill and agility involved. Curling requires a different set of gifts to compete at a level of excellence. Yet curling is accessible enough that one can participate and enjoy at any skill level, like golf or bowling. If a different set of gifts is required beyond mainstream activities, the activity is devalued: "it's just shuffleboard on ice." After two hours of curling at the University of Alberta curling rinks (picture above), I was sore from sweeping and in admiration of the agility required in throwing and sweeping.

My primary interest in curling is the interdependence--inspiring thoughts about team work and life in the Church. Even as a newcomer, my team still depended upon my contribution. My success was celebrated, I learned during several teaching moments, and my abilities were challenged. I learned a new sporting lexicon (skip, house, hammer, button, etc). All was shared with grace. This shared grace and challenge is what I hope for in the communities of faith in which I serve.

(If you're wondering about my success, I scored a double take-out on my third throw. That's not two take-out orders of poutine, but I knocked out two opponent rocks on one throw. Those granite rocks are HEAVY.)

40 day journey with Martin Luther: Day 5 "True" Prayer

"God...wants you to lament and express your needs and concerns...in order that you may kindle your heart to stronger and greater desires and open and spread your apron wide to receive many things." --Martin Luther

I am culturally conditioned regarding the word "true." Often it is used to set someone over and above someone else, such as someone is a "true fan" if they do such and such a thing. Or a "true Christian" is someone who ascribes to particular doctrine or dogma. Luther appears to depict true prayer as someone who prays in earnest and with discipline. Earnest seems helpful on this occasion because method is left open and therefore examining self before prayer for intent becomes important.

Journal reflection:

"When do you feel closest to God?"

I feel closest to God in movement. It can be running, walking, driving. More of my senses are engaged--the beauty of surroundings, the sound of my breath and possibly music, the sound of animal life, human life and wind. Sometimes I smell something baking, the evergreens or the damp air. In a moving car I feel peace as the rubber rolls along the pavement. The car movement is calming and engages my brain in a powerful way. In these movements my brain engages in keeping balance, but after awhile my prayer directs me toward the important things of the day. Giving thanks helps me keep focused on the important things.

"Describe a time when your "whole heart" was at prayer. What feelings were evoked in you?"

My prayers for "whole heart" prayer don't seem all that focused. It usually comes in a time of distress. When things aren't right with my wife or daughters--illness or danger. My attention toward them and to God are in deep earnestness. If I'm thinking and praying about them, does that make it a whole heart prayer? Is prayer about focus, or earnestness? I don't know. But there is a feeling of total dependence. Maybe that is whole heart prayer.

40 day Journey with Martin Luther (Augsburg Books) Day 3: Listening in Prayer

"If such an abundance of good thoughts comes to us we ought to disregard the other petitions, make room for such thoughts, listen in silence, and under no circumstances obstruct them. The Holy Spirit himself preaches here, and one word of his sermon is far better than a thousand of our prayers." -Martin Luther

"...they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts..." from Acts 2. How often do I eat a meal with a glad and generous heart? I think my food is only nutritious when I eat with others (especially at home) and eat it with a glad and generous heart. This is a good piece of scripture for me today.

Question for reflection:

Reflect on times when you have simply been silent during your devotions?

A time of simple silence is a devotional rarity to me. I suppose I should create that space more often--but the fact that I am even in a space for prayer is an accomplishment. Now that I have kept up a discipline for several days (both morning prayer and devotions) I have grown. The point when I have space for true silence and listening in prayer will be another growth step--but not right now. The only place I have ever encountered long silence and prayer is on a long drive or walking a labyrinth for a ministry retreat. This prayer is bountiful, and it takes at least 30 minutes to get in a space of true listening. I define true listening as an emptying out of my thoughts--thinking through all of the things that I think are important at that given time. Thirty minutes is the minimum, but it can take several hours. This is why a long drive, a change in perspective, and the emptying of my thoughts becomes a time when the Holy Spirit enters in and the Holy Spirit preaches to me. This can take place as many as 4 separate occurrences on a solo drive from 12-48 hours of driving. The labyrinth is also a good way to empty thoughts and focus on the preaching of the Spirit--I'm not sure why this kind of walking works, but it does--the weaving path, full of surprises and guidance leading to a center of prayer and listening.

Through this writing I have realized I have not done this kind of prayer in several months. It was actually during last Holy Week when I drove through the Western Dakotas. I must make it a goal to visit a labyrinth or go on a long drive during this Lenten season.

Thanksgiving aftershock averted by restoration

Thanksgiving, Advent, and Christmas can be stressful times in a pastor's life. I still think it merely ranks #3 on the list of busy/stressful times of the year for a pastor. #1 is Lent/Easter. #2 is September programming kick-off time.

What carries me through the last two months of the year is that November and December carry a unique set of joys--images of light, harvest, new beginnings, abundance, hope, natural beauty, peace and gathering. Sometimes I go into December wondering how I can possibly complete the tasks in front of me. My Thanksgiving service sermon addressed that the path to God's restorative power in both individual and corporate life is through gratitude (at least according to Psalm 126). I've received more feedback on this sermon than any I have preached in three months at First Lutheran Community Church. The blessing of sharing that word was that we had an abundance of gifts gathered at the FLCC sanctuary that night. The people of four congregations (Elim Lutheran, Spirit of Life Lutheran, St. Bede's Episcopal and FLCC) contributed on many levels and came to celebrate the goodness of God. Psalm 126 had something specific to say to each congregation and individual, because in these days of darkness, both literally and figuratively, we all need God's restoration. Each congregation is dealing with their own darkness whether it's related to denominations, polity and theology, or finance and resources. Gratitude is a path to God's restoration.

This morning I had the gift of crossing the Tacoma Narrows with the expansive view of a blue moon, the snowy Olympic Mountains, the sun shimmering on the Salish Sea, the bridge reaching up to the sky as if praising God, and the evergreen trees standing like a welcoming and guiding sentry to those traveling to the Kitsap Peninsula. At that moment I had a concrete application of gratitude: if I ever took for granted the scenery God created for me to view and traverse as a youth, I will never take it for granted again. I think we know that gratitude is enhanced by singing, but it's one thing to know it, and another thing to do it. My three-year-old, Ashling, encourages me to loudly express that gratitude, "Sing, Daddy! Sing!" We've got our own song to express gratitude recently: "Alright" by Darius Rucker. Ashling is great at keeping me connected to restorative music. Psalm 126 reminded me about the power of gratitude, that gratitude is God's method of restoration. Ashling tells me to sing that gratitude--that gratitude is a practice, a discipline, and a joyful practice at that. After an evening church council meeting and a long list of tasks for the day, I don't approach them with dread or live in an aftershock from challenges and anxiety. That restoration gave me the opportunity to proclaim hope in the power of the Holy Spirit at work in the congregation while I met with a group of men from FLCC at their weekly breakfast. We talked about what God is up to--and they shared even more restorative encouragement to me. Thank God I am restored, and I'll be ready to go that well again.

Friendships are not low maintenance enterprises: learning on the open road

Writing is a lot like physical exercise--it doesn't take long for writing muscles to atrophy (figuratively). I haven't written anything longer than two sentences in over a week (at least tweets give me that), and I'm struggling to put ideas toward a future in type. Writing is not a low maintenance enterprise. If I don't do it at least three times per week, it becomes more difficult and much easier to descend on my priority list until it becomes a memory of something good. I notice the similarities in other disciplines--prayer, Bible reading and reading for leisure easily slip into the background. These activities represent my best self. Why would I dare let them slip?

My family recently returned from a trip to Sioux Falls. We made wonderful connections. Melanie and I reflected upon relationships that were 8-14 years in the making for me, for Melanie they are close to 20 years. These friendships didn't come easily--they've taken a lot of work. Sometimes the work is futile. Sometimes the only explanation we still have some friends is pure grace. We spent about half the time of our nearly 50 hours in the car talking about these relationships--stories, observations, laments and joys. I'm not sure we came to any conclusions, only that in the amount of time we talked--we affirmed their value and necessity. I saw three people who were my best friends in Sioux Falls, and I was able to see them all. I'm glad we had the time to meet--we knew about our families, our vocational paths, and some of life's simple pleasures. I haven't quite built that type of friendship here in the Puget Sound area beyond my family. I would say one has redeveloped--we already get together occasionally on a Saturday morning. It's strange coming back to the area of my younger days. I don't know what to make of friendships--they're fragile, yet they take a lot of work. They're also a source of grace and perspective. These friendships are a great companion to family.

During our return to the Puget Sound region, Melanie and I were reminded of what we left behind when we moved almost six months ago. We knew it would be different. We knew it would be difficult at times. I walked into our former home and was overcome with how I hadn't processed our departure--it was so frenzied and lacked reflection. I was a bit weepy walking into room after room, flooded with memories of bathing my girls, waking up in the middle of the night to care for our babies in their bedroom, watching Melanie work on her doctorate in our home office, places in the house where Melanie and I talked into the early morning hours, the birthdays and holidays celebrated, the neighbors we enjoyed. I used to work outside while the girls would play in the yard. We would stop to talk with the neighbors and spontaneously plan an evening together for some grilled shrimp, a beer and a fire in the backyard. We had a home.

I just realized that my time in South Dakota was the longest time I had ever lived in one place in my entire life. I lived in that house nearly 8 years. I lived in various spots in Renton, Bellevue and Olympia growing up. I then began my varied exile across the Midwest after I graduated from high school in 1988 (The Allman Brothers "Ramblin' Man" comes to mind). I have returned with my wife and two daughters to a place that is very familiar to me, yet I don't have the cadre of friendships to go with the family and vocation.

On this trip I gained new insights and empathy for what a congregation endures when it's facing a new season of congregational life. A life that does not include the same worship, pastor, small groups or friendships. It's really hard, and I can see how profoundly emotional and disorienting transition can be. One thing Melanie and I both articulated in all of our discussions is that our relationship with God and the power of God's call amazingly trumps everything that we hold dear that bears God's love. Our relationships and work over the past eight years were only possible because we followed our callings. The call came--and now we are here--in the Puget Sound region. This is a place for God to bear new blessings as we continue to discover how we can also be a blessing to the our family and the place to which God calls us anew.

A few brief thoughts--too long for a tweet, too short to stand on their own

I'm keeping these thoughts short today because I'm tired and I need to attend to my sick children.
1. Confirmation and the topic of confrimation still gets people all riled up in Lutheran congregations. I remember years ago reading something to the effect of Luther writing/saying, "If we are going to have Confirmation in this Church, you can be assured that God has no part in it." I need to look for this thought in Luther's writings and see how much I've butchered it. What it comes down to is that we are called out to help the people of God fulfill their part in the promises made in baptism. It's not about the rite of passage in and of itself or how much pain is inflicted. The question is--how are the promises going?

2. I appreciate the energy and perspective of the youth during the worship service and wonder why congregational life marginalizes that gift.

3. I think I have sermon series titles/themes: "How To Be Rich In A Troubled Economy" will run from October 25th-November 15th. November 22 we have an outside group coming to lead worship called "Liberty." Our sermon series from November 29-December 27 will be "Tell Me A Story: Bible Stories from the Birth of Jesus." I'm close to a theme for January, but I have some more thinking/praying/discerning to do.

4. It's been interesting following the Christianity 21 conference in Minneapolis this past week. I'm not exactly sure what to say about it, but many mission leaders whom I respect have taken part. I have just about completed the part of my life failing in my attempts to be cool, hip, or on the cutting edge. But I still try to be faithful, and I'm willing to try new things--hence I do things like Twitter and blogging, but I didn't break my back to attempt to get to C21. In earlier years, I would have attempted to do that. I trust that God will work through those in attendance, and that I will learn and be challenged in my own time. I am thankful I am not fighting a negative tide in this congregation.

5. I want my kids to get well and stay well. I hate to watch them suffer.

May the rest of your Sunday and week be peaceful.

I have a Good to Go pass

Each congregation I serve has some unique questions for me when I enter their lives. Some people ask about my family, or where I grew up. At First Lutheran Community Church I have received a single question several times:

Do you have your "Good To Go" pass?

I like saving $1.25 per trip across the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, and it has to save me a few minutes on my commute. I am now equipped with my Good To Go pass.

People also wonder how I'm surviving the commute from Federal Way to Port Orchard. Honestly, it seems quite short to me. This commute ranks 4th out of 9 congregations I've served for shortest commutes. I also preached all over the Southwestern Washington Synod this summer, and this commute is definitely short compared to Grayland and Winlock, and a hop/skip/jump compared to my longest commute--Sioux Falls, South Dakota to Presho, South Dakota--400 miles round trip.