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.

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.

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!

the efficacy of prayer

"Very often the spontaneous prayer is an ordinary conversation with somebody who is called 'God,' but who is actually another man to whom we tell things, often at greath length, to whom we give thanks and of whom we ask favors."  (Paul Tillich, The New Being)

I lost my glasses last Saturday.  I only need them for reading (actually I need them all the time but only wear them for reading), so I wasn't too concerned.  However, as Sunday passed, then Monday, my eye-strain and headache increased apace, and finally on Tuesday I was getting desperate.  I didn't know when to draw and line and call the eye doctor and get some new ones. 

I'm a spiritual-religious type, naturally, so I began to pray about it.  God, help me find my glasses.  Nothing.  God, if it's in your plan, allow me to find my glasses.  No glasses.  God, give me a sign that I need to call the eye doctor.  The heavens didn't part. 

I found my glasses on Tuesday night, and I did thank God for it briefly.  And then, as so often happens in an everyday situation like this, I thought about the absurdity of it all.  Does God hear these prayers and chuckle?  Does God give a damn about my glasses?  There are starving people and wars and floods.  My headache is nothing serious.

Then my thoughts turn to the existential:  what is prayer?  Doesn't God know everything about me - know me even better than I know myself?  How can I reveal anything to God that isn't already known?  Am I giving messages to myself, then?  God isn't somebody with whom I can have a conversation.  God can never be "object," is a grammatical sense - God is always and only "subject." 

I don't have a real answer for any of these questions, but a favorite passage of Scripture helps me along.  "Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness, for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words.  And he who searches the hearts of men knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God."  (Romans 8:26-27)

If you have trouble praying, or feel silly doing it, understand that you are in great company.  People of immense faith, and even pastors like myself, wonder what the value of prayer is.  All I can say is that I continue to do it, and hope that the Holy Spirit's sighs can inspire me.