The time has come...again

I've been very quiet not only the blogosphere but in my real world as well.  In September I met with the district board of ordained ministry in order to move on to the next step in the ordination process.  For a myriad of reasons I was not approved to meet with the conference board of ordained ministry.  Yes, this was hurtful and irritating but something very good has come out of it.  2 members of the board came and spoke with me about the reasons why I was not passed on to the conference board--it boiled down to me not presenting my true self.  Instead of presenting me, they felt that I was holding back, trying to tame my edges, trying to be that person the board would approve rather than being myself.  At first I was offended by this, a little bit anyway.  I'm always who I am--I don't try to be anyone else.  But sometimes, often times, too often, I do hold back, limit what I say, tame those edges.

Throughout CPE I was reminded that God called ME into ministry--not some shadow of myself.  And yet, I haven't been fully living it out.

A few weeks ago, I had a terrible sermon.  It started out fine, thankfully it ended fine, but in the middle of it I nearly broke down and gave up.  There were things my heart was longing to say but I was afraid to say them.  Finally, I spilled some of what was on my heart.  No one was offended, no one was mad.  It was fine. 

It's been bothering me that after nearly 3.5 years I'm still afraid to speak my heart.  In some ways I think it's gotten worse rather than better.  I feel as though I am liked and even loved by my congregations.  However, instead of freeing me, I think I've been pulled deeper into the fear of losing the love and respect I've been given.  Of finally saying that one thing that will push everyone away.

There used to be a loud outspoken woman who didn't worry so much about what others said or thought.  Then this woman became withdrawn, tenuous in speaking, caring a great deal about what others thought or said, wanting to be liked and loved.  But that is not the woman God called to ministry.  That is not even the woman I feel comfortable being, that's not who I am in my heart of hearts.

When I went to seminary it felt like coming home to myself after many years of "mom" defining who I was.  In some ways it's like I've gotten lost in the shuffle again.  Now pastor defines me.  Pastor, not preacher, not mom, not wife, not outspoken, funny, and loud.

A good friend of mine recently said, "You have great ideas but the problem is that you don't share them."  This much was true in seminary as well, rarely would I speak in class.  There were times and there were moments in which I was brave and offensive and those are the moments I am most proud.  Those were moments that mattered.  Those were the reasons God called me into ministry--not to simply be a pastor--a caretaker of God's beloved.  That's one part but I also need to be a leader, a provoker, a preacher.

I'm good at comforting, taking care of others, and even of teaching and explaining, but once upon a time I was called to be a prophet.  That time has come again, I can feel God calling me to trust, to go to be who God called me to be fully and completely without reserve.

I can't be silent, quiet, anymore.

Those kids...

Raising children is hard.  Raising tweens is hard.  Raising teenagers is hard.

Not just hard, it's heartbreaking.

One of my favorite lines about parenting is that it's like watching your heart walk around outside of one's body. 

A few days ago I was driving to a volleyball game listening to music from 20 years ago.  As Tracy Chapman's "This Time" began to play I couldn't help but cry.  There are 3 albums that I listened to nonstop during a very depressed and broken time when I was 19--Tracy Chapman's self-titled album & Crossroads, and the Indigo Girls's self-titled album.  It never fails that as soon as a song from one of those cds plays I remember all the heartache and emotions of that time in my life.  It transports me to that time in my life but it's not like a flashback and it's not emotionally crippling.  This last time I cried during "This Time" I cried for the girl I was, wishing that I could hold her and tell her that everything would be okay.  I wanted to assure her that life was going to be wonderful and good.

Today, I wish I could hold my middle girl and tell her the same.  Of course I tried but I'm sure she didn't hear it.  I know her nearly 40 year old self couldn't break through.  I fear walking those years with my girls.  I know how tender and fragile I was, I was close to ending it all and never making it to 40.  I hope and pray my girls don't know, don't experience walking on the edge of life, of sanity in the way that I did.

Some days I remember that they have a life that I did not.  They have two parents who love and care for them, there's no abuse.  As my eldest pointed out yesterday, she and one other kid in her class are the only two kids who have homes in which their parents don't fight all the time and aren't already or in the process of divorce.  We're not perfect but our life is good.

Then some days, I wonder about how much genes play a role in our lives.  Are they doomed to struggles with depression and anxiety due to my lovely gene pool?  I know better.  I know it's a mix of both.  I pray that they have it easier than I did but will be as compassionate, loving, and strong as I grew to be because of my struggles.  I hope they can learn through my mistakes and make their own that aren't quite as devastating.

Rough draft for Pentecost...feedback is appreciated!

It’s that time of year again…it’s Pentecost.  Pentecost as in Pentecostal…some of us are not so comfortable with that term as it brings to mind talking in tongues (not the same kind of tongue talking we just read in Acts 2), mumbling prayers, hands waving, and perhaps some snake handling.  Pentecost in and of itself means 50, 50 days had passed since Passover, 50 days since the stone was rolled away from the tomb and Mary thought she was talking to the gardener but was speaking with Jesus.  50 days doesn’t have much to do with holy languages, prayer, hand waving and certainly nothing to do with snakes.  But it’s what happened on that 50^th day that the disciples were gathered, waiting for a word, waiting for the Word, waiting for Jesus that changed everything, that has to do with prayer, hand waving, the languages we speak…I think we’re best to leave the snakes to themselves. 

50 days since Easter for them and their time together was turned upside down, people where hearing the gospel in languages that they could understand, Peter—the one who never got anything right, stood up and spoke eloquently assuring the crowds that the men and women speaking in these varied languages were not drunk…after all, it was only 9am in the morning!  Peter—the one who always spoke too soon, constantly needing to retrieve his foot from his mouth, this same Peter was now standing before the crowd of witnesses, testifying that  the prophet Joel’s words had come true—young men  and women, yes women!  Men and women were prophesying, the young were having visions while the old ones dream powerful dreams and all were coming together so that we, you and I, 2000+ years later might know that there is more than existential angst, that we too might dream dreams and see visions, and come to know the resurrected Jesus, not only in stories but through the power of the Holy Spirit.  Some hand waving seems appropriate doesn’t it?  Thanks be to God, that we can know Christ, that we can feel the power of the Holy Spirit blowing upon our lives, whispering in our ears.

But we look around our gathering this morning; do we see visions of the young and old?  Do we see flaming tongues or hear howling winds of the Holy Spirit?  Do we secretly wonder if the Spirit of God is no longer in this place? 

This weekend at Annual Conference, I listened to a young man speak of his dreams.  He dreamt that God was walking beside him, they walked upon a street in Belize, walked from the street and into a small cramped factory, a sweatshop where a little girl came up to the young man and said “Help.”  This young man was up the rest of the night trying to decide if this meant he needed to go to Belize or if it was that he needed to look and listen to those who cry out for help.  Or perhaps both.  As he spoke, there was a fire burning within him, the fire of Pentecost.  As I listened to him, I thought of Peter’s words, your old will dream dreams and your young will have visions.  The time has come!  Not merely 2000 years ago, 50 days after that first Easter but today, there are young men and women with vision for our church.  There are older folks with dreams for our church.  We are the body of Christ as we join together and work to make disciples for the transformation of the world. 

God has not left us alone, God is with us, God has sent the paraclete, the Holy Spirit to guide us, to comfort us, to argue with us when we sit in the face of injustice.  Today we celebrate the birthday of the church—what gift will we bring?  What gift will we bring to the body of Christ redeemed by Christ’s blood, one in each other, one in ministry to all the world?  While at Annual Conference this weekend, a friend of mine suggested that our United Methodist mission statement was backward—Making disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world and what we should be doing is Transforming the world to make disciples of Jesus Christ.  How often does the world look upon Christians and see nothing but hypocrisy, hate, intolerance, self-righteousness?  Perhaps if we spoke less and worked more, they might see our love, our grace, our peace, and our concern for the world that God so loved and was willing to become one of us, willing to die upon that cross, and refused to let death and hate be the end of the story.  This young man who dreamed of a little girl needing help in Belize, suggested something along these lines as well—he said that in the church we say we must build the church so we can do missions, but perhaps we must do missions so that we can build the church.

This young man that spoke at Annual Conference is not the lone voice in the wilderness.  We too have youth with dreams and visions for our church and the Church.  The question is do we listen?  Do we listen and do were hear even if the gospel is spoken in a language unlike ours?  Can we let the Holy Spirit translate for us, so we might hear the vision and understand?  Listen, listen!

Authority--a word study

I had so much fun writing this for CPE I thought I'd share it with you. 

As long as I can recall, I've had "authority issues."  It was no surprise to receive word from the Board of Ordained Ministry of the Missouri Conference of the United Methodist, and that they wanted me to work on issues of authority.  Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of their request was that they perceived me as not "claiming my authority."  I did not receive instructions about needing to respect their authority, rather I needed assistance in learning to claim and own my very own authority as a pastor.  I came to CPE prepared to further explore my "authority issues."

The word, authority, originally has to do with the work of an author or master of some trade/education.  The word, author, needs some of its own exegetical work.  According to the Online Etymology Dictionary (crafted by Douglas Harper)[1] an author is one who fathers or masters a particular subject or thing and even "one who causes to grow."  Currently, one associates authorship with a book--the author should be well informed of her subject and thus is hopefully masterful/fully knowledgeable and experienced with her subject and hence then trustworthy.  Authority then should inspire others to trust--to trust in the words, advice, and/or creation of what is offered.  That authority comes from knowing and being well-versed, or even a creator of the particular subject of consideration.  As with most words and things--in and of itself it is innocuous and simply a thing to be used--how one uses that thing or word is what creates the stir--not the thing in and of itself.

Authors and authority should, at their best use, inspire trust and safety.  However, in my personal experiences I've known plenty of people who have claimed authority and used it in nefarious ways.  As a member of "Generation X" I have been indoctrinated into automatically distrusting those who loudly and proudly proclaim their authority.  I am part of a generation who grew up on scandals and the exposing of hypocrisy especially in religious and political arenas.  I learned early to "question authority."  Question authority I did and continue to do so.  I do not implicitly trust anyone, especially those who want to give proscriptions to myself and others.  And yet, I heard God's calling on my life and choose to follow that calling by giving myself over to the authorities of the church.  I long for their approval and am willing to give much of myself in order to receive it.

As a young child, the first authority figures in my life--my mother and father--were complex and complicated as we humans tend to be.  My father filled with anger and rage, fueled by intense emotions, expressed himself in both loving and terrifying moments.  There was little to trust--I trusted that there would be pain and tears to accompany his love.  My mother fled from his wrathful and jealous love, leaving me with him, trying to take comfort in the belief that he'd never hurt me and knowing that in doing so she protected the lives of her parents and herself.  There was little to trust--I trusted that I could rely only on myself.  I learned to take others with a grain of salt--to protect myself by intuiting others' emotions and what they wanted or expected me to do or say.  I learned not to trust.

The word authority grew from being an " invention, advice, opinion, influence, command"[2] from a creator/master/father/one who causes growth into something with "power to enforce obedience."[3]  Unfortunately, whenever we begin to believe that we have the answers or the right idea we also begin to believe that we must force others to go along if we can't persuade them by our tongues--this is part of our human brokenness, our wanting to be God.  Sometime in the 14th century we moved from an author who causes growth into an authority which can use force to get its way, to make others play by our rules.[4]

It is this enforcing where authority has gone wrong, lost its way.  Real authority is authority that is given out of trust and respect--it does not need to enforce.  Real authority is like love--it is freely received, it does not force.  Serious authority relies on trust, the inspiration that comes from the one who is able to cause growth.  Serious authority, the authority that inspires fear in all the fakers--all those who'd use force to get their way--does not need force, it is freely given and freely received.  This is the authority that is hard to embody, to incarnate.  This is the authority that I wish to live out in my personhood and in my ministry.  I reject authority that requires force or a voice (ala Cartman) squealing "Respect my authority!"

So how does this authority even begin to get lived out?  This authority begins with grace, humility, and love.  This is the kind of authority ministry requires--this authority that causes things to grow is exactly what the church needs, it's what we all need.  We've had enough of the authorities that put a stop to life, that demand, that command, that must be ordered.  We need authority that encourages trust, loyalty, and causes life to grow.

I hope to live out this authority in my ministry by listening to the people in my congregations as well as by having an ear to the community and hearing what those on the margins are saying and needing.  In these 9 months I've learned that the best use of my authority comes from remembering who I am, what my purpose is, and from whom it comes.  I have no need to enforce my authority on others, even when questioned.  Neither must I bow to those who question my authority, instead I remain calm and follow through on my purpose.  My authority cannot be taken away--it can only be freely accepted and freely given.

---

[1] http://www.etymonline.com/columns/bio.htm.  4/30/2011.  "Douglas Harper is a historian, author, journalist and lecturer based in Lancaster, Pa."  Harper also provides a list of his sources, more information on his biography and overall "checks out."

[2] http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=authority 4/30/2011

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.  Supposedly this comes from the French!

Rejoicing?

Facebook is lit up with the news of Osama Bin Laden's death.  The news shows US Americans cheering, singing, and shouting in joy about his death.
I am sickened by our response.

I remember the outcries and the pain that came from watching videos of Al Queda's people cheering with joy at our pain and the loss of US Americans' lives on Sept. 11th.  I can't help but think about how our cries mimic theirs.  Both filled with hate and anguish, pain and punishment, revenge and terror.  Truly we are not so different.

Do we really believe this will be the end of Al Queda?  Do we really believe that this will somehow end the hate of the terrorists?  Do we really believe that we in the USA are now safer?

Even if his death somehow made us safer, our response that will be broadcast across the globe will not.  Won't the world wonder how we can cheer at the death of another human being?  Yes, Osama Bin Laden was an evil and horrible man  but shall we cheer his death?

Someone I love dearly is somewhere in the Middle East right now.  She is there with many other men and women soldiers putting their lives on the line.  I'm more worried about her and the rest of them now than I have been for months.

It doesn't take a long view of history, nor a long study of human behavior to know that killing the leader of a movement or gang or terrorist cell does not mean the death of the organization.  Often enough it makes the movement, gang, or terrorist cell stronger and angrier, more violent than ever.

I don't know what the solution is.  I know enough to realize that if we ever caught Osama Bin Laden he wasn't going to make it out alive.  I'm not even sure he should have made it out alive.  I'm not sure he didn't "deserve" his death.  However, I am sure that rejoicing in another's death, especially as a nation, is dangerous business.  I am sure that rejoicing in hate and violence will only stir up and bring more hate and violence upon us.

I do understand how those personally effected by the Al Queda terrorist attacks might feel like rejoicing.  Their pain is huge and understandable.  Osama Bin Laden is the face that they have blamed for these many years, he was a murderous bastard.  I get their anger and their relief that he is finally dead but the dancing in the streets, the cries of joy?

My mind keeps wondering back to the cross.  Jesus forgave his enemies while he was at the cross.  Those same enemies that nailed his hands into the same cross.  He forgave them.  2000 years later, have we learned anything?  Have we understood it yet? 

Language

I picked up a book, The Incredible Woman: Listening to Women's Silences in Pastoral Care and Counseling, to add to my CPE bibliography (that and our final is due on May 9) and get all the required number of pages read.  I've just read the first chapters which have a lot to do with language for God. The thing that kills me is that despite the book being published in 1996, this issue--language for God--is still a major issue in most churches.  I know it's huge in my churches--if I were to use Mother God, Holy Mother, or heaven forbid, Goddess, I'd probably get kicked out of my pulpit.  Seriously!
I try to use non-gendered language for God because I believe it is faithful to a bigger image of God, it is faithful to the reality of God.  In the first few months of being here I had a conversation with someone about this.  The person pleaded with me not to repeat his thought that perhaps, just perhaps, the Holy Spirit was feminine.  He was ashamed to even think such a thing!  I went on to ask him if he seriously thought it was important that God had a penis.  His response was yes!  I was blown away.  A bit later during a women's Bible study, I breached the subject of  God language again.  Once more I was surprised by the resistance.  Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised but I was. 

As I continued to read and my frustration mounted that this is still a tremendous issue I was also frustrated by myself.  In three years, I've broached the subject twice.  That's it.  No wonder the issue hasn't changed...if I'm not willing to risk educating the people in my churches, then how can I expect anyone else to do so in theirs? 

Our newsletter is due out tomorrow...so do I make God language the focus of my pastoral letter?   i wish I could just whole heartedly jump in and say yes.  But our little corner of the world is the most conservative place I've ever lived.  The newsletter is there in black and white.  I'm not sure it would be the best way to go about it.  There's no (or little) opportunity for  feedback and questions.  I do believe that this is best done when in a relational kind of class,study, conversation.  So there, I just talked myself out of the newsletter but I'm not letting myself off the hook.  Mother's Day is just around the corner and that is a perfect opportunity to bring it up.

What do you do in your setting?

PS...I'm thrilled to watch Christina Aquilera on The Voice!

New Life for the Blog

I've been reading "Life From Scratch" by Melissa Ford.  It's a great read and has rekindled my desire to blog. 

Last week I was considering completely taking down the blog.  I've been a bad blogger for a long time, nearly three years!  This was supposed to chronicle my journey from seminary to rural ministry but it's been hit and miss.  It's understandable, life is busy and I was burned pretty badly by the unnamed small town in Kansas' response to my seminary blog.  The scars from that incident serve as reminders to beware of what I post online.  In no way is this an anonymous blog and so I must be a bit guarded.

Life From Scratch has reminded me how powerful and wonderful it is to connect with others, to have a  place for your voice to be heard (no matter how small the "readership").  I miss the conversations and connections I've had with other bloggers...especially other Rev Gals. 

So, today, the day after celebrating the Resurrection and new life, I promise myself to renew my blog, to give new life to my voice. 

May 9th is the final day of Clinical Pastoral Education.  May 11th is the final day of our preaching group (although I do hope to renew that group this fall).  Life will get "freed up" just a bit and then I will be running off to the Festival of Homiletics--hooray!  I'm unrealistically hoping this will give me some extra time and freedom.  The reality though is that I simply need to make time for me to write--on and off the blog.