Eharmony...for Ministers and Churches.

As I progress through the Search and Call process I’ve started calling comparing it to E-Harmony. (Although, really, I’ve never been on a dating website because Cory and I met and married just when those sites started to gather momentum.) Not long ago I had a phone interview with a church quite some distance from where I live now. I was just as excited, jittery, and nervous and felt just as awkward as I remember first dates being. It’s tough to interview over the phone. So much is lost in translation—so much communication depends upon unspoken expression. This process has of course got me thinking about how best to represent myself—but also how to do that in the most authentic way possible. How much of my quirky humor do I let shine through? Was I too confident? Not confident enough? Where is the line between being sure of myself and hubris? (Cory likes to tease-kindof-that I am not overburdened with humbleness).

Many years ago the first Senior Minister I worked with, Jan, made an offhand comment to someone about how one had to have a strong ego to be a minister. At the time I didn’t really understand, but that has stuck with me through the years—and really we do have to have a strong sense of self. A strong sense of who and where God is calling us to be and the strength of character to follow through with that call.

I think about my character a lot these days. As in, what are my best traits, my worst (groan). Just a couple of days ago I sought advice from my last senior minister and mentor, Gary, who suggested that each interview and contact in the search and call process is an opportunity to learn something about both myself and my call. I am trying to fully embrace this process…as awkward and exciting as it can be. I imagine this is just the beginning of the potential ups and downs of this process. And I continue I try to remember to ask… ‘what am I learning’…instead of ‘where am I going.’

And in the Meantime...

Recently I’ve been officiating funerals for families that do not have a connection to a faith community or minister. It’s an interesting way to be in ministry at the moment…I feel that in a small way I’m still providing ministry for folks who are in need of compassion and heartfelt presence. I’m looking for ways to be active in ministry while in the search process for a congregation, while not having an actual real honest to goodness ministry ‘job.’ It’s a strange space to be in, frankly. How can I continue to be in ministry while I’m in this period of transition? What good can I do and how can I grow?

A friend has suggested that I call this time my ‘sabbatical’ and I have to say that has really stuck with me…I do believe this is a time of renewal for my spirit, a time of reprioritizing goals and praying and contemplating what is next in ministry. That’s a tough thing to try and figure out…it seems as if I’m in an undefined space…what is next. There’s some pressure in that space. I feel that as a modern professional woman I need to be active in my called profession. And yet, there is value in waiting to see what happens next. Sometimes it doesn’t feel as if that’s ‘ambitious’ enough, while other times it makes sense. But, really, I’ve never been very patient…and so it’s a tug of war in my head between the two.

I have my ministerial profile in circulation, and that process can take quite awhile. Meanwhile, I continue to serve because if I don’t have even brief moments of ministry then I tend to have a bit of an identity crisis…I have preached a Sunday in a small congregation whose minister was ill. I’ve officiated a few funerals, Joy and I have finished up our manuscript on our book—clergy women and their personal experiences with miscarriage through infant death…so it remains a busy time and that makes me feel good about where I am.

Since I have my ministerial profile in circulation I’ve spent a lot of time in thought and prayer about where I’m to go next. I’ve been praying for that congregation, even though I don’t know who they are yet. And, I’ve been asking myself—what is my ministerial identity…am I a chaplain? Am I a congregational minister? Is it possible to serve as a chaplain within a congregation? Where do I fit in the broad scope of ministry? How can I use my pastoral care skills in a way that honors what I love about being a chaplain, but in a congregation where I feel called next?

And, in the meantime…it’s been nice to be useful.

  

Breaking the Rules

Have you ever been afraid of doing something that you think is a good idea in theory, but maybe not in real life? This coming Friday, January 30^th, 2015 is my last day as a Palliative Care Chaplain. I’ve spent the last two years in this wonderful ministry and have found it deeply profound, full of grace, mystery, heartache, forgiveness, sorrow and love. I have learned about peace, acceptance and courage from my patients and families. I have learned humor, perhaps even a twisted sort of humor, from my colleagues.  And, yet, I’m leaving. There is some grieving there. I have some amazing colleagues and friends.

While I’m grateful to be not just any chaplain, but a Palliative Care Chaplain, I long for something different. I’ve been in worship the last two years as a participant in the church, but not as a minister. I accept now that the church calls my name. I miss the relationships, the creativity, joys and even the frustrations of being a congregational minister. I miss the rhythm of the church, from Advent through Ordinary Time. I miss the excitement of waking on a Sunday morning knowing that worship is today, when the doors are thrown wide open and folks come in looking for something, needing something that they can’t find anywhere else…

I left the church looking for ways to minister in pastoral care, and I’ve found them, in abundance. But, I also know I need more balance with other areas of ministry. And, I’m finally at a place where I accept that where I’m at right now isn’t where I need to be in the future.

So, what’s so scary about that? I broke all the rules. I gave my two weeks’ notice before I had anything else lined up. Crazy, right? What’s it mean to be a minister and not have an actual ministry job? Except, I think right now, it can mean anything. It can (and I hope) it means I’m open to wherever I’m called. Here’s the thing. Once I said the words out loud I felt free. A burden had been lifted from my being and it felt so right and good.  I feel like I’ve taken a risk in life and in ministry and instead of being afraid, I feel at peace. And, it’s wonderful.  


Photos courtesy of Joy Freeman

Baking the Sacrament of Hospitality

One of the things I enjoy doing is baking bread. I long ago gave up my bread machine and started teaching myself the art of baking bread by hand, from scratch. It is a hobby that I love. Part of why I love it is because it is something that I can share with others to nourish their bodies as well as spirit. So when my church offered me the opportunity to make the bread for communion each month, I accepted with a glad heart. At the time I had no idea what this once a month baking would teach me about hospitality. You see our communion table needs to accommodate multiple food allergies and sensitivities. So I set out to find a recipe that would accommodate our needs so that no one would be excluded from or singled out at Christ’s table. For several years now this inclusive bread has graced the communion table of our church and other tables.

As I have taken on this task, it has caused me to reflect deeply on what inclusion at the table means and what hospitality at Christ’s table looks like. I have come to the conclusion that hospitality of Christ’s table is more than just providing bread that all can partake of. It goes deeper than that. By having the same loaf of bread that everyone can eat from we create community. Community is shared when we break and eat of the same loaf. When I eat from the same loaf of bread created for someone with special dietary needs, I am reaching beyond my own ability to eat what ever I want to connect with them in their place of need. It may seem like such a small gesture, but to those that have this need the symbolism and meaning of this deep hospitality is not lost and it connects at a spiritual level.

                  Recently this act of inclusive hospitality was expanded a bit. My daughter is still learning what it means to be a follower of Christ, so she partakes only of the grapes provided during communion for the youngest at the table. This has not stopped her from showing an interest in helping me make the bread each month. So the first Saturday in November she and I went to the kitchen and embarked on the journey of me teaching her how to make the bread. This went beyond just showing her how to measure each ingredient and mix it together. It meant teaching her why we use each type of flour that we do; why there is no dairy or eggs. I was teaching her that the table of Christ is there for everyone, no exceptions, and that the hospitality of the table means that we do our best to be sure everyone is invited and can partake. This is why we make the bread we do and take such care in making it.

                  Another tradition of hospitality that my church engages in is that there are two loaves of bread, one for the table and one loaf to share with a family to take home. In the past, I have been the one to give the bread to a family. This time I had my daughter take the bread over to the chosen family. Not only did she get to help make the bread, she got to participate in the hospitality of giving. The joy on her face at being included in such an important tradition reinforced to me the importance of finding a role for even the youngest at Christ’s table.

                  So now I have a new first Saturday of the month tradition, baking communion bread with my daughter. She has a new role at the table, delivering hospitality. And as we continue in this tradition, I cannot think of a better or more hospitable way to teach my daughter about communion and its meaning.

“Sit Still, You’re Fidgeting!” Reforming my Pastoral Identity

About a year and a half ago I ended a congregational ministry position and began a new ministry in palliative care chaplaincy. While I am sure I made the right decision, and working as a chaplain had been a goal of mine for several years, the transition was still challenging and surprising.

To say that these are vastly different would be underestimating how my ministry has changed.  But, that isn’t what has made me the most uncomfortable.  Becoming a congregant has been what’s most uncomfortable. 

The church we left was my first ministry position and we were there for ten years. It is the only church my three children have ever known.  Two of three were born into and dedicated into that community.  My oldest was baptized in the small concrete baptismal in the basement (by me).  It’s the community that supported my journey through seminary, watched my children grow, and wholeheartedly participated in their formative Christian education.  It’s the community that helped me when I had cancer.  It’s the community that held its breath and lifted its prayers through a very difficult, dangerous and joyful pregnancy. 

We belonged there—all of us.  Everyone knew who we were and they welcomed us in a way that only those that belong somewhere understand. Was it perfect? No, but it was home. 

So, I was anticipating that of course we would all grieve what we had known.  What I was not anticipating was how difficult it would be for me to begin somewhere new. I never have difficulty “chatting people up” as my husband says.  But this new church felt so different, so unfamiliar, so…new.  And newness is uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to do with myself, how to act, what to say (quite a change for this extrovert!)

Everything felt out of place and all wrong. The sermon was in the wrong place, communion was different, the songs were strange…and they sang the doxology all wrong. I didn’t know when to stand or sit, I had to shake hands with folks I didn’t know. I’d try to look like I belonged, but really I felt glaringly out of place.  AND, eventually at some point in the service, I’d have to sit still. In the pew.  Like everyone else. As if there was nothing else I could do. One Sunday my husband looked at me and whispered “sit still!” “What?” I said.  “Sit still, you’re fidgeting.” I didn’t even realize it.  I didn’t know what to do, so unfamiliar was I of being in a pew.

I’ve realized, after some time has passed, that I’m reforming my pastoral identity. What does it mean for me to be an ordained minister who is a congregant…who does not have an active staff role? Who am I among them? Where do I belong? What can I offer my new community that will fill both the need for me to minister and their need for my skill set?

Because it’s not easy to figure out…I’ve had to re-learn what it means to be a participant in the life of the church in an entirely new way.  And, I’m getting there. After a year and a half it’s better than it was, the songs are more familiar, I’ve found a few niches, and know a few names.  I’m beginning to feel that I belong.  But, it’s still hard to sit still…and I’ve learned that it’s good to be uncomfortable sometimes…