hallway season

So now that my formal leave request is submitted and we have announced to the congregation and etc etc, I can answer the big question:  what on earth am I going to be doing after June 30?

Some of you are familiar with our itinerant appointment system in the United Methodist Church.  Some of you are not.  Let me explain briefly:  I am an ordained elder in full connection with the Tennessee Conference of the United Methodist Church.  Essentially, this means I belong to one of the strongest unions still in existence.  It's a closed shop.  I am tenured.  Unless I do something ridiculously unethical (or choose to surrender my credentials), I will retain that tenure for the rest of my life.

The covenant that I have made, in exchange for this lifetime guaranteed appointment/job/minimum salary, is that I will itinerate.  This means that the bishop and cabinet will assign me to a church somewhere within the geographical confines of middle Tennessee.  I get some input into this decision, but at the end of the day:  I am assigned.  There are a hundred reasons why John Wesley thought this was such a good idea in the late 1700s, but that's not really what I'm gonna talk about today.

There are some accommodations that can be made in the case of those who need to take leave, while retaining full connection in the conference.  You can be placed on leave (involuntary), or take voluntary leave for transitions or the care of family.  I have submitted a request for one year of voluntary family leave, to begin July 1 of this year.  After seven years under full-time appointment, I will not be taking an appointment for 2017-2018.

So, what will I do with this year?  

1)  work with an area church and Vicki's elementary school to complete my Doctor of Ministry project, which focuses on increased engagement and investment in neighborhood schools to stem the tide of charterization in middle Tennessee.

2)  spend pretty much all of July on an epic family road trip, touring the West.

3)  complete a 200-hour yoga teacher training at Kali Yuga Yoga from August through November.

4)  take my daughter on her first trip to New York!  To see my best friend and her baby and her husband and Brooklyn and see the Thanksgiving Day Parade.  This is such a rite of passage for us, introducing her to The City.

5)  spend a lot more time with my son and daughter, cat, dog, and chickens.

6)  take a German class at Vanderbilt (modern languages . . . ugh).

7)  apply for about 15 more Ph.D. programs in Religious Studies/Theology.  Including reapplying to Stanford.

8)  take my kids to DC in May of 2018 for my graduation at the National Cathedral.

Big questions I've been asked:

1)  How can I do this, financially?

I am by no means independently wealthy (have you seen my house/car/life?!), but I have enough saved from inheritance and cheap living that I can afford to do one year this way.  We won't be able to live extravagantly, but I can take a year to breathe.

2)  Will I return to church ministry?

I have no idea, honestly.  I am trying to be as open as I possibly can.  I have spent a lot of my life rushing through whichever door opened easily and quickly, because I couldn't stand the ambiguity and discomfort of standing in the hallway.  But this is my hallway season.  This is the time to stand and observe the doors and see which one cracks open and which one shuts and which one can be the door that is wisest and most accommodating for all three of us.  Perhaps I am accepted to the perfect Ph.D. program, and that is the door that opens.  Perhaps I am not, and I realize that God is pulling me back to the church.  Perhaps God pulls me in some other direction entirely.  I have to take the time to see.  There is no substitute for time, not even hard work and determination and grit.  Not even pushing as hard as I can.  I have not done a good job in my life of respecting the role that simple, observant, engaged time plays in any given situation, and now I need to do that.

3)  Will I miss City Road?

Um . . . yes!  This place has been my home in ministry for the last five years, and they have seen me through some of the most horrific and celebratory times in my life.  They have seen my son born, my marriage disintegrate, my heart be broken about seven times.  They have seen me grow as a leader and a person.  They have accepted my vulnerabilities and flaws.  This church is far from perfect, but the people here are as good as any people I have met in my life.  They have cared for me in a way that is truly Christ-like:  challenging and nurturing and trusting.

This is an exciting season for me.  I am somewhat terrified, but I feel ready.  Open and ready and accepting.

career day

It was sophomore, or maybe junior year of high school.  (So, 2000 or 2001.)  In a ritual familiar to high school students everywhere, we were invited to find some adult who would take us along on a day in their work environment.  Ideally, it would be something that we saw ourselves doing.  I was fairly uncertain about what I wanted to be doing with my life, aside from reading a lot and talking about ideas.

I was super-interested in the idea of skipping school for a day, though.  So I asked my youth pastors from Lawrence First UMC, the inimitable Jan and Mitch Todd, if I could come along with them for a day at seminary.  (This was when St. Paul School of Theology was still its whole own free-standing thing in Kansas City, before it became just another tentacle of the Church of the Resurrection Octopus.)  They were both studying for the Master of Divinity degree and it seemed like they could give me some pointers about ministry as a career.

It was a fun, if unremarkable, day of poking around the library and sitting in on classes and eating lunch in the refectory.  I filed it away in my memory box and moved on with life.  I was accepted to Columbia a year or two later and proceeded to do a lot of reading and talking about ideas.  (And a whole lot of other much less responsible stuff.)

In a few more years, I found myself in my own theology classrooms at Vanderbilt Divinity, studying for that very career that Mitch and Jan had led me into.  I poked around the library and sat in many classes and ate lunch in the refectory.  When I graduated, I moved into full-time ministry.

And there I have been for the last seven years.  In churches that have loved and supported and infuriated and challenged me.

This morning, after I dropped off Todd at his preschool and I was driving over to church, I remembered that Career Day for some reason.  I realized:  I had always thought I was going on that day to learn about becoming a pastor.  But what I really did was wander around an institution of higher education.  I was doing the work of an academic on that day:  reading, studying, germinating ideas, discussing, writing.  And today, that realization is freighted with meaning.

let it be

This year, for the week I turned 32, I decided to head for the hills.  I had booked four nights at the Hermitage at St. Mary's Sewanee.  I was feeling emotionally drained, tense, anxious, not eating much, and had suffered some significant personal stresses lately.  I left the number for the center with Jeff, kissed my kids good-bye, asked a neighbor to feed the chickens, packed some clothes and books, turned off my phone, and retreated into the silence.  I was both excited and terrified.  Would my mind be too loud?  What if I got lonesome?  Wouldn't I get bored?

I made the 1.5 hour drive, threw down my bags, observed a breathtaking misty sunset over the bluff, and set off to find something to eat.  I turned the wrong way out of the center and drove to Alabama before turning around and coming back.  Life with no phones - how did we survive?

As I was scaling back up the mountain, "Let It Be" seeped into my ears from the stereo.  "When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me . . . there will be an answer:  let it be."

Let it be.

I scampered into a little burger joint in Sewanee just before the kitchen closed.  I ordered a cheeseburger and a beer.  I finally felt hungry - for the first time in months.  I drove back to the Hermitage and drank some wine and drifted off.  I had troubling dreams.  But I did sleep for hours and hours.

I don't remember much about the next day.  I did some hiking and a lot of reading.  I did my prayers in the morning.  After I made a big steak and Brussels sprouts for dinner, I sat down in a chair and cried and cried.  There is someone I miss cooking for, and I don't think I will ever cook for this person again.  Food is love for me.  Making it and sharing it.  Knowing just how someone likes things.  Kneading the dough that will rise into the bread that will become the French toast.  Stirring the milk that will be pressed into the paneer that will get mixed with spinach and yogurt.  Perhaps I have been avoiding eating because it reminds me of these meals that will go unshared?

I slept with the windows open that night; that's a tradition I've been keeping on the night before my birthday for at least 20 years.

On my birthday, I went into town and read for awhile after I hiked some of the backtrails on campus.  I went to evening prayers at St. Mary Convent, and met a community of women who immediately became special soul friends.  Also one man (a priest), who is dedicated to their Benedictine way of life, but lives nearby with his wife.  A huge storm blew up during prayers.  The sky had that greenish cast that all Kansas schoolchildren fear, because it means one thing:  tornado.  The poor little convent dog, Penny, cowered under the kneelers.  I waited out the storm and walked home.

The next morning the air was fresh and the ground was spongy.  My prayers had a theme of peacemaking and reconciliation.  Ouch.  It can't be forced, can it?  One of the appointed readings was 2 Corinthians 5:18-19:  "All this is from God, who reconciled himself to us through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people's sins against them.  And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation."

All day long I pondered:  how does it all fit together?  Peacemaking, forgiving, forgiveness, reconciliation?  Is there an order to it?  How do I know that I have forgiven someone?   I went to the noon office, and - surprise - 2 Corinthians 5:18-19 was the reading from the Office.  Am I getting the message?

I went into town to read at the coffee shop again.  Over the speaker:  "There will be an answer:  let it be."  Ah.  Ask forgiveness, and there will be an answer.  Let it be.

That afternoon, I went to hike the Perimeter Trail around the edge of the Sewanee University property.  I got about five miles in and realized I had completely lost the trail.  The daylight was fading.  No phone, no map, no compass, no flashlight, no water.  Why did I think this wasn't going to be a big deal!?  It wasn't too cold, and I wasn't too panicky - yet.  I found a gravel road that I was sure must lead somewhere.  Followed it about a mile.  Then, I was rescued by an Episcopal priest and her husband, out for an evening jog.  They were the first people I had seen in miles.  I realized that I don't have time to waste in asking forgiveness.  I got home, showered, got the feeling back into my hands, went into town, and tore into a huge order of fish and chips.

The next day, my last day, I went for morning Eucharist at the convent and shared spiritual conversation with the sisters (and father) over breakfast.  Sister Hannah gave me the literature about becoming an oblate.  Either they felt the same thing I did, or they just really need some more oblates.  Either way, the place already feels like home.

As I drove home that morning, I felt fresh and alive.  It felt as if it had been winter in my soul when I left, and that spring had come into my heart in those few days.  I did get lonesome, and bored, and my mind was too loud.  But I think that was the point.  Only once I learned to endure through those sensations, did I receive any insights.

dearly beloved

One of the sweetest privileges of the life of a clergyperson is being invited into people's lives at their critical moments.  At the birth of a child, at a deathbed, at a major surgery.  And at weddings!  Particularly being a young clergywoman, it's fun that I have been able to marry many of my friends.  I have now done weddings in Kansas, Tennessee, New York, Texas, Arkansas, and Indiana.  I have had to become familiar with how each state licenses their weddings, which is interesting.

I have so many fond memories of these weddings.  These are some of my oldest and closest friends:

Jimmy and Julie (I was lightly pregnant with Vicki)

Ryan and Michelle

Amanda and Paul (I was heavily pregnant with Todd)

Amber and Andy

Julianne and Parth

Chase and Carly (with my assistants)

And, this October, Stephanie and Sean!

Formal marriage is becoming a less-universal part of life for people of my generation.  I understand the reasons why, but I think there is something so sacred about coming together and vowing your love and dedication to one another in front of a group for support and accountability.

In my wedding homilies, I always try to emphasize the role of the gathered community.  The people who are present at this wedding are not just spectators, there to observe a pretty setting and have a great meal.  They are active participants who are vowing, with their presence and their words, to help this couple weather the storms that will come.

Marriage ain't easy.  If anyone knows that, it's me.  Sometimes it's a monumental struggle,  And sometimes it's better to call it quits.  But to make it, you need more than just each other.  You need all the people there to lean on.  Something about that just speaks to me.  And it's not lost on me that the people who supported me (and Jeff) the most through our divorce were . . . the people who were at our wedding.  They took seriously their covenant to help us dissolve our union (and care for the offspring of that union) with as much grace and love as when we made it.

on "being fed"

There is a phrase tossed around by church people these days, and it sort of just slays me.  I hear it often when people decide to leave my church, or, alternatively, when they are discussing what they like so much about our church.  "I left City Road because I just wasn't being fed."  "I love my church because I'm really fed by what happens there."

I think the concept of spiritual nourishment is vital to a church, and we experience it in a number of ways (most dramatically in the sacraments, but also in preaching, praising, fellowship, liturgy, and more).  Anytime we receive a fresh infusion of God's grace in our lives, our parched souls perk up.  So, this idea of "being fed" makes sense to me.  But I also object to the way the phrase is thrown around, for a couple of reasons.  I use my experience with my children as a way of explaining my objections:

1)  Only infants need to be fed.  At one time, we were all spiritual infants.  Paul has a lot to say about this (check out I Corinthians 3).  However, at a certain point, human development demands that we begin feeding ourselves.  In fact, each of my children was EAGER to begin feeding themselves.  They wanted to control what they ate, how much, when, and all the other factors related to eating.  Self-feeding is a developmental milestone - something the doctor asks you about at your baby's checkups.  Likewise, after we have "been fed" briefly, as spiritual infants, we take on the task of feeding ourselves.  This means that we practice the means of grace.  We immerse ourselves in scripture.  We fellowship with believers.  We become missional, having been sent out into the world.  We understand that God is the source of all spiritual nourishment, but it is up to us, as maturing followers, to feed ourselves from that bounty.

2)  If my children got to pick what was on the menu, they would eat craisins and chunks of butter for every meal.  Maybe with the odd bowl of plain powdered Parmesan cheese thrown in.  My job, as their parent, is to create well-balanced meals that offer a variety of nutrients.  However, I cannot force them to eat anything.  Point being, sometimes God puts things on the menu that are not particularly appealing to us.  This does not mean that they aren't nourishing and necessary.  My mom was a big fan of liver and onions, which is one of the most nourishing meals there is.  When it was on the menu, I regularly went hungry.  (Mom wasn't into making multiple meals for picky eaters.)  So, perhaps it's not that you aren't "being fed."  Maybe it's that you can't stomach what you need to eat.

That last phrase has become my retort when I hear that people "aren't being fed."  Consider this:  maybe it's not that you aren't being fed.  Maybe you just don't like what's on the menu.

Mood

It's time to move on, time to get going.

What lies ahead, I have no way of knowing.

But under my feet, baby, grass is growing.

It's time to move on, time to get going.

vicki jo's rules for school

As we left earlier than usual, fought traffic in the rain, and deliverd the kids to their various schools before I headed to start this D. Min. course, I mentioned to Vicki Jo that I was nervous about whether I would do well in this school that was meant to help me do my job better.  She matter-of-factly informed me of the "Five Rules for School" that would be my sure-fire recipe for success.  

1)  Listen to your teacher's words.

2)  Always follow all the rules.

3)  Always do what your teacher tells you to do.

4)  Always help your friends when they need help.

5)  Meet all the new people.

Pretty good, huh!?  I'm gonna follow them for these two weeks and I bet they will be the secret sauce.  

preparations

Reading like crazy, trying to get all prepped for the big upcoming two-week D.Min. course.  I came across this awesome quote in Bob Farr's book Renovate or Die:  "As pastors, don't forget your first love is Jesus.  Don't forget your second love is people because Jesus loved people" (22).  May it ever be true!  See you all on the other side.

the doctor is in!

Okay - not quite yet.  Or not for like three more years.  That is, if I can keep up and finish the program.

It all started back in August.  I received an email from Tom Laney, who is a friend, a pastor, and an administrator at Vanderbilt Divinity School.  He led the fellowship program that funded my final year as a seminarian as a Turner Scholar.  So, I see that I have an email from Tom, and immediately open it, expecting a friendly shout-out.

But I was confused.  As I read down the list of other recipients on this email, I saw about thirty names.  These were the names of very high-profile United Methodist pastors in my area.  District Superintendents, successful church planters, leaders of some of the largest churches in middle Tennessee.  One of these things is not like the other played in the back of my head.

And the message was also perplexing.  It said something along the lines of:  We are so excited to meet with you in Jackson this month, to discuss the opportunity put forward in our previous communication.  Previous communication?  What?  I had seen no previous communication.

So I emailed Tom back right away.  Thank you so much for the inclusion on this illustrious list, but . . . uh . . . I think you have the wrong person?  I'm not even sure what you're talking about?

Tom replied.  He said there was no mistake, except I was somehow left off the original email.  This was an opportunity I wouldn't want to miss, he said.  I needed to make plans to be at this two-day meeting in Jackson at the end of the month.

So I did.

I packed up the kids and my grandmother-in-law and headed to Jackson.  They stopped off at her lake house for the overnight and I went on to Jackson.  (And Todd proceeded to get a horrendous stomach bug that he eventually passed through our entire family. . . cue mega parental guilt.)  When I got there, I gathered in a church classroom with this lovely group of influential people from the Nashville Episcopal Area.  I saw Dr. Meeks, a presence who guides my ministry almost every day.  I saw Tom.  I saw the Bishop.  And I heard about an opportunity that I couldn't possibly deny.

See, the Bishop said, we all know that we are in some kind of trouble.  We will be facing a large-scale retirement as our Baby Boomer pastors age, and we are staring into a leadership vacuum.  Many of you in this room will be forced to take positions for which you are not ready.  That should make you nervous.  This is a chance for you to be better prepared, and to form a cohort of friends that can last throughout your careers.  

(Or something like that - don't quote me.  It's not like I was recording!)

The details ran something like this:  4 two-week sessions over the next two years (January 2015 in Nashville, May 2015 in Memphis, January 2016 in DC, May 2016 in Pulaski); another year to write the final project; graduation May 2017 at the National Cathedral, with the degree of Doctor of Ministry.  The program is through Wesley Theological Seminary.  The focus is on Wesleyan Theology, Mission & Evangelism.  Coursework and reading would be done ahead of the sessions so we could intensively devote each day of the sessions to conversation and teaching from 9 am - 5 pm.  There would be opportunities for worship, fellowship, recreation, and learning in the evenings.  And it would be paid for.



Wait, what!?

Paid for.  Tuition, lodging, food, travel.  Everything but books.  Paid for.  By the generosity and dedication of people who support our church and its leaders.

Paid for.  This kind of program regularly costs people in the tens of thousands of dollars.  It is not something I ever thought I would be able to achieve.

As I looked around the room, letting this information sink in, I saw similarly amazed pastors.  Pastors of all stripes - men and women, black and white, conservative and as liberal as they come.  The only thing we have in common is that we all love our church and look forward to what God will do with us in the future.

We were instructed to go home and pray about it.  Talk it over with our families.  See if our churches would support us in taking this much time for continuing education.  See if we could make it work.

I knew my church would support me in this because they are amazing like that.  Plus, I have the great benefit of not being the solo pastor here, which means I don't have to find someone to preach and cover all my duties for the times I'm gone.  But I was worried about my kids.  Two weeks is a long time to leave a toddler.  I felt lucky in that our first session is here in Nashville, so I wouldn't face being apart from Todd until May of this year.  I talked it over with my mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law.  Would they be able to help me take care of the kids so I could pursue this?  Once again, I'm so lucky to get this kind of unequivocal support for them.  They understand that they are not just helping me, they are helping the church they love when they help me.

So, with some fear and trembling, I pressed "submit" on the application.  I started the reading.  And now our first session is right around the corner!  I am getting more and more thrilled (and more and more bogged down in the reading) as the time nears for us to gather on Monday at Scarritt Bennett.  I have always felt a yearning for further study, but I didn't ever see how it could be possible, what with my kids and my work.  Now, it just seems as if the dream is coming true!  If you are into prayer, would you pray for me?  It's all just a bit stressful, even as exciting as it is.  I could use the good vibes.

an advent prayer

You know it's still Advent, right?  The season of waiting and preparation.  And, depending on your tradition of numbering days, it will remain Advent until either sundown tonight, or midnight tomorrow morning.  Each year, my mentors, dear friends, and incredibly special people Blair and Doug Meeks send an Advent Prayer that Blair writes.  She is a talented liturgist who spent years writing and editing liturgies.  Dr. Meeks was my professor and a huge champion of mine at seminary.  I'm thrilled to be spending more time with him as I dive into a doctoral program next month (more on that later!).  Blair and Doug send her Advent Prayer out to all his students, present and former, and their friends.  I've posted it here below because it spoke to me powerfully this morning.  I hope it can bless you as you culminate your time of waiting this evening.  

Prayer for Healing and Peace

God of all creation, you sent your Word to live among us.

This same Word was with you at the beginning:

and all things came into being through him.

Give us grace to honor all that you have created,

to live wisely and manage well what you have made.

Open our eyes to the carelessness that threatens the earth;

let us hear the sighs of creation for your saving grace.

Teach us to care for all living things,

as you care for us and make us your children.

Grant to the earth healing and peace.

God in your mercy,

Hear our prayer.

God of the little ones, you sent your Son to be born as a baby,

the Holy child of Bethlehem: Hear the cries of your children everywhere,

the homeless, the orphans, the sick, the hungry, and those in constant danger.

Hear the cry of Rachel weeping, grieving with mothers in all places

whose children have no chance at life.

Give us courage to share the abundance of your good gifts.

Grant to the suffering healing and peace.

God in your mercy,

Hear our prayer.

God of the oppressed,

Jesus, your Son, comes to release the captives

defend the needy, and crush the oppressor:
As you showed the magi Herod’s treachery, open our eyes to powers of death.

Make us agents of your life-giving power.

Teach us to speak truth and live with grace in the name of Jesus, lover of life.

Grant to the hopeless healing and peace.

God in your mercy,

Hear our prayer.

God of the peacemakers,

Your son was born in a country at war, and yet he is Prince of Peace.

Help us to see his star, the light of life, the light of hope and joy.

Free us from foolish pride and empty dreams

and lead us to find our hope in you alone.

We give you thanks that we have seen Jesus,

whose love will destroy the power of death.

Keep us faithful as we wait for his coming again.

Grant to the world healing and peace.

God in your mercy,

Hear our prayer.

Amen.

(copyright Blair Meeks 2014)

on prayer

One of my earliest critical questions of the Christianity I was raised in had to do with prayer.  "If God is omniscient, and knows my desires and needs before I even name them, what is the point of praying?  If God is in control, what sway can my little petition have on his will?"

Twenty years later, it's still a great question.  Why do we pray?  Why is prayer, both individual and corporate, such a central facet of the Christian life?

I was recently accepted to a Doctor of Ministry program at Wesley Theological Seminary.  Don't worry, this won't entail any cross-country moves - I'm able to complete this coursework mostly at home, with a few trips here and there.  I will do a whole post soon on this incredibly exciting opportunity that just laid itself in front of me.

Some of the first reading I'm tackling in advance of our January meeting session are Wesley's sermons.  It's so affirming to read his sermons once again.  It reminds me of why I believe what I believe.  Why I am an Arminian.  How convinced I am that "the nature and the name of God" is Love.  How blessed is the assurance of God's mercy and forgiveness toward me - and everyone.



I'm reading through some of his series on the Sermon on the Mount.  He has one whole sermon just on the Lord's Prayer.  As I read it this afternoon, these words spoke to my heart:

"So that the end of your praying is not to inform God, as though he knew not your wants already; but rather to inform yourselves, to fix the sense of those wants more deeply in your hearts, and the sense of your continual dependence on him who only is able to supply all your wants.  It is not so much to move God - who is all the more ready to give than you to ask - as to move yourselves, that you may be willing and ready to receive the good things he has prepared for you" (John Wesley's Sermons:  An Anthology, 227-8).

Wow!  So prayer is really a kind of spiritual training, a conditioning.  It's an exercise we do to grow our spiritual muscle, so that we can be made worthy of the gifts that God will give us.  It's a training to more clearly discern what are needs are, and to see those opportunities around us where our needs may be met.  This makes so much sense to me!

today

Christmas Eve preparations, working hard, and beautiful satsumas.  That is all.  Recipe to come Monday.

the sickness unto death

One of my all-time favorite philosophers and theologians is Soren Kierkegaard.  Not only does he have a super-cool name that can give you bonus erudition points if you pronounce it correctly, but he really gave me the keys to understanding modern (and thus, post-modern) theology.  Our hyper-individualistic religious bent really began to develop during his time, and his exploration of the existential crisis still rings true.

He described the "sickness unto death" (a reference to Jesus' raising of Lazarus, in which Jesus remarks that Lazarus' sickness is not unto death), which is, in a word, despair.  The sickness unto death isn't cancer, it isn't AIDS, it isn't dementia, it isn't even doubt.  It is despair.  When we despair, we lose the self, and when we lose the self, we lose our ability to relate.  And without relationship, it's all over.

I've been reading through some bedside services of healing, hoping to find some resources to take on pastoral visits to the home and hospital.  Even after several years of doing this, it's sometimes hard to know what to say, as you sit with someone taking slow, rattling breaths, counting the seconds until they die.  You know they probably can't hear you.  But you still feel like you need to say something.

"Often those who are closest to the patient will not discuss the illness for fear of upsetting the person.  More often than not it is a fear of one's own feelings that does not allow the topic.  There are times when wholeness is accomplished not by physical healing, but by dying.  This may not be the way in which we would wish it to be done, yet sometimes it is God's way.  Accepting this kind of healing is the province of the person who suffers and each person does it in their own way - if at all"  (The Book of Offices and Services of the Order of St. Luke, p. 63).

If only we could see that the illness that we fear isn't the illness that will kill the person.  The illness that will kill us is a loss of relationship with one another and with God through Christ.  Death is separation, which is painful, but it is not the end.  The end comes when we refuse to acknowledge what we were created for, which is to experience life and death together with each other and with God.

a word on failure

Ministry has to be one of the more difficult callings in the world, because we are frequently called to fail.  Oh no, we are not expected to fail, but we do.  We are expected to produce more disciples, to draw people to Jesus Christ, and to enlarge the church (and the church's financial giving to further God's kingdom on earth).

But I think we forget that Jesus failed to convince a whole lot of people who met him in the flesh.  How could we be expected to do any better than his track record!?  We seem to think that being presented with the Gospel is an easy decision.  What we are asking of people, when we introduce them to Christ, is exceedingly difficult!  We are asking them to forsake a lot of what makes them happy and comfortable.  Even people who nominally claim Christ are (or should be) challenged to reform their thinking and their actions continually.  It's called sanctification, and it's not pretty.

So we, who should be bearing Christ, face a lot of rejection.  And that can really get to you after awhile.  Only people in sales have a thicker skin for being continually told to get lost.  A lot of times the rejection is quite subtle.  Will Willimon describes the gentle snub that a lot of pastors receive every week:  "often [it] takes the form of that at the end of Paul's speech in Acts 17, the polite, urbane, "Well, that was interesting.  Yes, very, very interesting.  We'll just have to think about that one.  Think about it, yes.  (We intend to do nothing about it, but we'll think about it.)""*

The nice part is that the kingdom of God actually depends very little on my failure or success.  At the end of the day, as inconsequential as it may make me feel in my quest for meaning, the church will rise and fall at the will of God.  God's Kingdom will come on earth in God's time.  I get the privilege of being a little part of that big plan, but I certainly don't determine whether it will happen or not.  Thank God.

*Willimon, Pastor, p. 296.

$552.43

Americans obviously have a lot of problems with personal finance.  We have, on average, astronomical credit card debt.  We frequently buy houses and cars we can't afford.  Even going to college or grad school is put on the tab - and I'm as guilty as the next person on this one.

One of the biggest root causes of all of this is that, in spite of being so materially focused, we are still reticent to discuss dollar amounts that we pay for things.  Somehow that is still considered impolite conversation!  Salaries are closely guarded secrets that we guess at.

I want to help break this taboo with some real talk on our family's budget.  When we moved to Nashville, I took a serious pay cut.  At the same time, we bought a house.  The mortgage and homeowners' insurance is about the same as what we were paying for rent and renters' insurance, but there are of course all the auxiliary costs that go with home ownership, plus we had decided to put on a house addition because the house we bought was quite small (~900 square feet).  Shortly after we signed on the house, my husband lost his full-time job.  The addition was already in motion - the foundation poured.

Jeff picked up some work, and we have been okay.  But things are definitely tight.  We are regularly spending every bit of what we make in a month, and not saving anything.  As a United Methodist clergyperson, I do have a pension which is automatically funded.  This is quite unusual anymore.  I have the option of adding to it out of my earnings, but haven't been doing that while we are in this position.

The figure I want to discuss today is what we pay monthly for health insurance for the three of us:  $552.43.  This is high, and let me explain why.  My husband has Crohn's disease, an autoimmune digestive disorder that needs special care, a regular gastroenterologist, frequent colonoscopies, sometimes hospitalization, medication during flareups, and very rarely, surgery.  It is expensive.  Insurance companies recognize this, and he is virtually uninsurable as an individual.  Thanks to some health care law changes, he is no longer allowed to be outright blocked by insurance carriers on account of his condition, but the price gouging is intense.  We definitely can't find anything close to the quality of insurance we need for him for less than $550 per month.

Thanks to the United Methodist organizational system, we have the opportunity to belong to a pool through the Tennessee Conference.  As a full-time elder under appointment, my insurance premiums are covered 100% by the conference.  Adding any adult + children dependents at all (whether it is your spouse, your spouse and your child, or your spouse and your ten children) is an additional $552.43.  And that is a cut rate.  Because my base salary is the minimum allowable for a full-time elder, I am eligible for a reduced rate on the monthly premium.  We could search for other, cheaper insurance for Vicki, but it wouldn't make any difference - we would still be paying the $552.43 just for Jeff.

But wait!  There's more.  The premiums are only what we pay for the privilege of paying more.  There is a $1000 deductible (total, for the whole family) for all services except well-child, and then we pay 20% for pretty much everything after that, up to $2000 per year (including deductible).  One colonoscopy pretty much wipes that out.  So we're looking at $552.43 per month plus $2000 per year.

One upside that I mentioned above is that the rate remains stable for a given year no matter how many dependents you have on your plan.  So, adding the new baby will not be very stressful, since it won't increase our premium at all.

Just the premiums represent about 18% of our pre-tax, total earnings.  In a year where we pay the maximum $2000 out of pocket, the total cost for health care would be 23% of earnings.  

Don't get me wrong.  I am so thankful we have this opportunity, because it is way better than the alternative:  paying out of pocket for all of this at full price.  That would literally break us.  Jeff would not receive the care he needs and deserves.  But when people try to pretend that health care in our nation is not messed up, it bothers me.  More than a little.  I don't know the right answer, but what we have isn't working.  At least not for people who are actually sick and need help.

So, are you brave enough to tell me what you pay for health care per month, or per year?  Is it working for you?

the great family

We have been a bit delayed in our Godly Play series on Wednesday evenings for a number of reasons.  It takes time that I don't always have to get the materials ready and in place.  To do the lessons really well, I also need to practice telling the stories with the materials once or twice.  We took Halloween off to distribute candy and hospitality to nearly 300 children in our community.  I told the story of the flood last week with no materials at all - that was an interesting experience.  The children were quite rapt, and clearly using their imaginations as I sketched and gestured out the story with my hands. 

Last night we got into the Desert Box, which is of course a draw.  Anytime sand is involved, young ones tend to be very curious.  Last night was no exception.

This first year we do Godly Play at church, I'm doing everything on the cheap.  I'm making as much as I possibly can from what we already have around, and trying not to buy all the spendy handcrafted materials available online.  Besides, I don't usually have it together enough to know what I need to order online for it to arrive in time! 

The story of the Great Family is that of Sarai and Abram's wanderings in the desert, as God led them from Ur to Haran to Hebron, with stops to build altars at Shechem and Bethel.  The stones are the altars, and the pegs represent the figure in the story.  As God leads them along, they are also being led from polytheism to monotheism.  This moment is from near the end of the story, after Sarah's death when Abraham sends his emissary back to Haran to find a wife (Rebekah) for his son Isaac.  The figure leaving Haran is Rebekah, while Isaac and Abraham stand at Hebron waiting for her. 

The kids loved the story, and when I asked where they saw themselves in it, they said in the baby Isaac or in the wedding. 

Then we pulled out our work (the little paints and the clay continue to be most popular), and finally had our feast of bananas, oatmeal cookies and water.  A splendid evening.

to phd or not to phd . . . that is the question

Well friends, this seems to be the month of baring my soul.  Forgive me as I rehearse the litany of my privileged-world problems:  Oh why can't our house addition be done already!?; When my escape drinking became a problem; My perfectly well daughter takes a long time to walk!; and finally, today's "issue":  is further study for me?

Preface all of this with the fact that I love school.  I used to dread summer break.  I read textbooks for fun as a child.  I love tests (I prefer them to papers).  The structure and cameraderie of the academy have always felt just like home to me.  Where my husband has a taste for nice electronics, I have a snobbish preference for the best schools. 

I'm also called to ministry.  As an ordained elder in the United Methodist Church, I am committed to a lifetime of bringing God's word to a hurting world. 

I think I'm also called to teaching.  The dimension of ministry I enjoy most is study, contemplation, preaching, and teaching all ages.  I really enjoy helping people come to new realizations and insights in their understanding of God's work in the world.  I love teaching children and bringing the eternal story into their lives - helping them find their place in it. 

I don't view these calls as contradictory or mutually exclusive.  I have had professors all along the way who ministered to me, and who viewed their work in academia as a called vocation.  I've long suspected that my call may lean in this direction as well. 

Our United Methodist Church struggles to find enough ordained elders who are called to teaching in seminaries.  But I can't imagine my journey into ministry without Dr. Meeks and Bishop Pennel, who gently cared for us, even as they demanded the highest academic performance. 

So, if I'm called to it, and I will find joy in this vocation, what is holding me back?

1)  Jeff and I have entered into the season of growing small humans.  We want more than one of these, if our bodies will cooperate.  I've come to realize that they require a lot of time, energy, and the very best of me as a parent.  Unfortunately, pursuing a doctorate right now would demand the same things - for about five or seven years!  (Yes, don't get me started on the Master of Divinity.  The only advanced degree - 84 credit hours! - that gives you no advantage on a doctorate.)  Can I balance it all without losing my mind?  I'm not sure if I want to find out the hard way.

2)  We are committed to growing deep roots in a community.  There is no guarantee that I will always be appointed to serve a church in Nashville, but I will always be in Middle Tennessee somewhere.  Close enough to our family and friends here that we have a network.  The reality of the academic life is that you have to be willing to move where you are accepted to study, and then be willing to move where there are jobs in teaching.  Good theology programs are not a dime a dozen.  They are flung throughout the nation.  I can apply to Vanderbilt, and I could very well be rejected.  I've made Jeff move away once before, and it was not a particularly happy time for us.

3)  A more existential problem.  I will be expected not only to teach as an academic, but also to contribute to the body of knowledge in my field through publishing and lecturing at conferences and events.  Will I have enough original thoughts to do this for decades?  Will the well run dry?

And just what would I study, you ask?  I've actually got that pretty well figured out.  Allow me to put you sleep:  I am interested in studying the period in United Methodist and American history just prior to the Civil War (1840 - 1860 or so).  I think that the UMC comes closest to mirroring the American political system of any denomination, and as such, we have forecasted many of the political changes that came about in American history.  We split before the Union and the Confederacy did, over just the same reasons:  slavery serving as the smokescreen for a federalist/republican controversy. 

The current best institutions to study such a topic?  Emory or Duke.  At least they're still in the South?

theology tuesday: the psalms

Preachers talk about the Psalms being notoriously difficult to preach.  They are poetry - song lyrics, really (we just don't know the tunes).  They aren't narrative and they aren't exhortation, so that does make them a little bit tricky.  But I kind of like it.  The possibilities are endless.  So, here's a message I brought last year from the first Psalm.

Psalm 1 

I want to start today with a poem.  As a society, we don’t read poetry aloud that often anymore, but the other day I got to go give the convocation at the Cair Paravel school here in town, and I noticed that the children memorize poems there.  It made me remember one that I had to memorize once.  It’s a very famous poem by Robert Frost, and it begins this way:  “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth; then took the other, as just as fair, and having perhaps the better claim, because it was grassy and wanted wear; though as for that the passing there had worn them really about the same. . .”

 

In that poem we hear the description of two paths going in opposite directions.  We hear of one path winding off into the undergrowth, and the other, slightly less worn and grassier.  And in today’s Psalm we also hear about two paths.  In this first Psalm, the two paths are clearly described.  One path is good, and the other is bad.  The Psalms were meant to be read as one long book, and this is like the introduction to that book.  It is a warning that life can be lived in one of two ways.  All of the other Psalms should be read in light of this knowledge. 

 

But there is a problem with the way of thinking this Psalm advocates:  it is so very high contrast.  Everything is black or white, good or bad.  And if you’ve lived for very long, you know that nothing is that simple.  Life is not so black and white as this Psalm makes it out to be.  Rather, life is a series of shades of gray.  And all of us have both the wicked and the good inside of us.  We are at all times the righteous as well as the wicked. 

 

 Our task while we are on this earth is to meditate and become more and more familiar with God’s law, so that the good part of us slowly outweighs the bad part of us.  What is God’s law?  Jesus helped to spell this out for us:  there are two parts.  Love God with all your heart and soul and mind and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself.  That is the law that we must live by. 

 

Following God’s law is not just about following rules.  It’s about letting God’s Spirit permeate our whole lives until we don’t even have to think about doing the right thing.  This takes time, and it takes transformation.  It takes surrender to the work of the Holy Spirit inside of us.  See, one of the gifts that God has given us is the great mixed blessing of free will.  We are free to choose which path we will follow.  God knows that we may choose to follow the path of the wicked.  But we are also given the opportunity to make our own decision to follow the path of the righteous. 

 

And if we follow that righteous path, the Psalm describes the result:  we will be like trees planted by streams of water, bearing their fruit in season.  The water that feeds our roots is God’s love and care and law.  God’s teaching is the soil that we need to be strong and hardy trees. 

 

Thinking of trees and their growth, I’m reminded of my grandparents’ back yard.  I’ve told you before that my folks come from the small southwestern Kansas town of Ulysses.  It tends to be very dry there.  Some years I remember visiting for several weeks and the rain gauge out in the yard would be almost empty!  Grandma and Grandpa had a cherry tree in the backyard.  In a good year, with plenty of water and sunshine, the cherries would be sweet and plentiful.  Some years, there was no fruit at all because the conditions weren’t right. 

 

We are just the same as that cherry tree.  If we have the right nourishment from God, then we will bear fruit for God.  That fruit is a changed life.  When we act with more compassion, when we care about justice in our communities, when we want to reach out to those who might not have a relationship with God yet – this is what it means to be a tree bearing fruit for God.  When we help to heal broken relationships in our own lives, and when we show the merciful face of Christ to one another, then we are bearing fruit for God.  You can always tell a tree by what kind of fruit it bears, and you can tell if it’s healthy by whether it bears fruit at all.

 

Also, it’s important to remember that trees bear fruit when the conditions and the season are right.  We continually want to bend God’s plan to be on our timing, but we are always reminded that God’s time is more important.  You can’t expect a cherry tree to have fruit in January.  It just doesn’t make sense.  You may want cherries very badly in January, but it goes against the way that tree was created.  The same holds true for us.  God will decide when we begin to bear fruit.  God will decide when we have seasons without fruit.  Out job is to trust in God and continue

 

Remember the poem we began with?  I only read you the first half.  Here’s the second part:  “And both that morning equally lay in leaves no step had trodden black.  Oh, I kept the first for another day!  Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.  I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence:  Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” 

 

We must be people who take the path less traveled.  The path of righteousness, the path described in our Psalm, is a more difficult way.  Yet, we have the help of God’s Spirit all along this path, and we have God’s law to give us guidance and freedom.  And when we follow this path, growing stronger and stronger in faith, we will be like trees yielding fruit for God.

 

This is the word of the Lord for this morning, thanks be to God. 

circle of the church year

We began our Godly Play sessions on Wednesday evening.  Godly Play is a Montessori-inspired faith formation program using story, wondering, response, and feast as a way to communicate God's love and desire for each of us. 

We face a dwindling number of children at our church.  This is not at all uncommon.  It causes you to face a sort of existential question:  at what point does it just no longer make sense to offer children's programs?  I have decided that so long as we have one child that needs to learn the story of our faith, I will continue to offer developmentally appropriate ways for that to happen.

So, our small group of three on Wednesday evenings gathered and shared our first presentation:  the circle of the church year. 

Like all Montessori-based learning, Godly Play uses special materials that are calibrated to engage children and provide natural control of error.  The circles of the church year that I looked at online were gorgeous.  Carved and painted wood, fitted to slots so that each tab occupied its own natural place:

But it also cost $160, and we are not exactly swimming in that kind of money!

I set out to make it myself.  Crafting is decidedly not my thing, so please don't laugh too hard at my measly efforts.  It was kind of calming and meditative to set my mind to a task using my hands, though.

I cut out two felt circles, one larger than the other.  I'm sure I could have used a compass to make this all much more exact, in terms of size of each tab in relationship to the diameter of the circles.  But where's the fun in that!?

Then I cut out 53 itty bitty tabs (one for each Sunday of the year, plus one for Christmas on those years it doesn't fall on a Sunday).  There are white tabs for our times of celebration (Christmas, Easter), purple tabs for our times of preparation (Advent, Lent), the great green season of tabs for our times of growth, and the special red-hot tab for Pentecost (they loved that one!).

I also cut out four arrows and secured them to the center of the felt circles with a brad.  Three white arrows and one red.  The three whites point to our great feasts:  Christmas, Easter, Pentecost.  The red one points to where we are now (18th Sunday after Pentecost). 

The kids enjoyed it.  They were entranced during the presentation and time of wondering.

Afterwards, they were invited to choose their work for the evening.  Because we are just starting and I am making everything as I go, they don't have many story materials to work with.  They all chose to respond using the art shelf:

There are carpets for all work, big paints, little paints, clay, drawing, and journaling. 

Our three children chose purposeful work and worked diligently.  The work they chose did not seem to engage much with the presentation, but that is okay.  They are there to confront their four existential limits (death, the threat of freedom, the need for meaning, and fundamental aloneness)*, not do a craft that relates to the lesson. 

Finally, we shared our feast:  clementines, oatmeal-raisin cookies, and water.

They served one another with grace and courtesy.

It was great fun, and I'm excited for next week!  Creation cards.  Stay tuned.

Jerome Berryman, Teaching Godly Play, p. 68.

theology tuesday: church and the city

In 2009, I took a summer course at Vanderbilt Divinity entitled "Church and the City."  It was meant to be a bridge between what can be the insular world of academia/church politics and actual, living, breathing, hurting people.  Nashville is so great because it is full of start-up non-profits to address almost every need:  food insecurity, homeless families, immigration documentation and services, and more.  The class consisted of touring these places, meeting the people, and experiencing different ways of life than we might on the tony West Side.

Instead of a sermon today, I want to share a poem I wrote as part of my final project in the class.  The poem describes the day we met Randall Vincent at JustPeace.  He told a story that is too common in urban poverty.  I think you can gather the story from my poem.

"Randall Vincent, May 14"

Emily Reeves

Words flowing fast from the mouth of this man.

Black track-suited and sporting a smart mouth,

He bears forth on the text of the day, the

garbage made of a generation.

Two boys he compares, painting two bleak scenes -

Both grown indifferent to the plights they have

embodied.  The sins of the parents are

more than visited upon these two boys.

These boys grow into men, indelibly

marked by factors beyond their own control.

Ignorer and ignored suffering much,

The same cultural disease, but seen fresh,

Manifest as a man with no feelings.

But the one never learned how to cope with

all that society expected of

him and soon got in trouble with the cops.

Earlier than you'd think was possible -

Ten, eleven, twelve, and by thirteen he

is on the corner and not in school, in-

visibility the skill of his trade.

But he is disposable, no value

to his work except for the prison

brokers who wait for him with their teeth bared.

And this black track-suited man is talking.

And what he tells me about the boys is

sad, so sad, that my throat lumps and my eyes

squint, and my reaction is visceral.

The presence of God denied residence.

But how come nobody does anything?

We get stuck:  people versus a system.

Where do we start?  And then we do nothing

at all because we are scared of the boys.

But let us remember that the boys al-

ways become men, and people are systems.

And we cannot afford anymore to

abandon one of those boys in his need.