Clergy are like a box of chocolates…

…you never know what you’re going to get. We were in worship planning today with the new senior pastor who will be coming to our church on July 1, and this is maybe the funniest thing I said. Forrest Gump was on TV the other night, but this comment came after our new SP said something about him being “plug and play.”

I’ve been keeping my head down when it comes to General Conference. It’s a paradox in my mind – there’s so much at stake / there’s so little at stake. How will things that change in that stratosphere of polity really affect the day to day life of ministry and mission that I know best? This is the first General Conference to occur since my ordination last summer, so I thought I would be more engaged, not less.

But in this information age, I feel myself glutted and gagged by the constant influx of information via Facebook, Twitter, and even the weekly United Methodist Reporter that lands in my physical inbox. It’s just so much to process, changing by the second, and all second-/third-/fourth-hand from folks who know more than I do. I feel paralyzed in the land of unknowing, fearful to put a toe in the riptide of legislation.

I broke this relative silence today when I saw a couple of Facebook friends (read: not real friends, not people I would call in the middle of the night with a problem, or even during the day for a ride to the airport – really colleagues, one of whom is being considered to be a bishop…) posting about the guaranteed appointment legislation. Apparently, the more acceptable way to talk about it is in regard to the security of appointment for elders. While this made good sense a few years ago, to keep bishops and cabinets from benching ordained women and persons of color, it is now keeping ineffective clergy shuffling around from church to church, leaving a trail of dysfunction behind them. Or so that seems to be the thought process to one who, admittedly, is not following the news closely.

This morning, legislation was passed that means that ordained elders, who have agreed to go where they are sent by the bishop of their conference (i.e. that they will itinerate), are no longer guaranteed an appointment. Of course, since we are Methodists and still fearful of the human element of divine discernment, there are a couple of checks to balance and affirm the process of putting an elder on transitional leave, approval by the Board of Ordained Minitsry and clergy session of the annual conference.

I don’t know how I feel about all of this. I still wonder how “effectiveness” is measured – “in daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee, in inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife. In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes, how do you measure a year in the life?” I wish it could be measured in love. During the last round of annual evaluations, I was teary-eyed as I told my SPRC chair that the best ministry I do is stuff that no one usually sees. And I’d love to tell a story here, but most of it is also held in holy confidence between the parties involved, me, and a loving God.

I guess the worry I have is that we, as clergy, at least as elders, are expected to be “plug and play.” While what we do is deeply relational ministry, at least if you’re doing it right in my mind, you’re supposed to be willing to be uprooted for the sake of the Gospel and bloom in unfamiliar, perhaps even hostile, soil. It’s scary. I’m watching as our current SP untangles his life from the life of our church. It’s not overt and it’s not wrong, but I can see the leaning away as conversations drift to the time in just a few weeks when he will not be playing a part in this family of faith.

A few weeks ago, we met with our new SP for the first time to begin planning worship for his first few Sundays with us. Afterwards, my clergy sisters and I were reflecting on the time together. They have seen senior pastors come and go before, at this church and others. This is new to me. I was baptized at a Wesley Foundation, but didn’t join a local church until 2003. My first appointment was set in 2009 at the church I currently serve. So maybe I was the one struggling to navigate the unfamiliar waters the most as I said it felt like trying to do marriage work when you’re on your first date. Here we were, trying to collaboratively and creatively plan worship that would glorify God even as I realize this relative stranger across the table doesn’t know anything about me. Not that it matters, I guess, but it feels weird all the same.

I was talking to a confirmand today, a 7^th grader who has completed 2 years of study and has come to the point to decide wheter or not she will join our church. We went over the renunciation of sin and confession of faith in the liturgy. I asked her what each section meant, as though she were explaining it to a 3^rd grader, which goes something like this: 1)  Don’t do bad things; 2) God gives us power to not do bad things; and 3) We believe in and follow Jesus, along with anyone else who wants to be a part of the church. We went over the 5 parts of the vows of membership – prayers, presence, gifts, service, and witness.

At the end of our time together, I asked her if she had any questions and she thought a long time before asking me when our current SP was leaving. I gave her the date of his last Sunday. She asked me if I knew who our new SP was. I told her his name, his current church, his wife’s name and profession, his kids’ names and the schools they attend. I stopped there, figuring that was probably more than she would remember and less than she wanted.

Then I told her the same story a very wise district superintendent, who is now a bishop, told me. This was the DS I met with the share my call to ministry. He told me that in some churches, the people center around the pastor, which usually doesn’t end well when that pastor is no longer there, for whatever reason. Our church, the United Methodist Church, is structured so that the people (hopefully!) center around God and the pastor circles the outside parameter, encouraging and redirecting.

All I can figure is that clergy exist in paradox. We engage in deeply relational ministry to build the trust necessary for growth in holiness. And yet we must be “plug and play” components, possessing the deep personal reserves to serve a variety of appointments with grace, spreading scriptural holiness across the land. Clergy are as clergy do. I pray we do well, no matter the under/over-lying structure.

Realizing you're there

I always have goals for my life – a metaphorical there to reach. Usually the details are not too specific, but the overall destination is important, for example finishing college (while not passionate about any particular major), getting a good job (that I really liked, hopefully), getting and staying married, continuing to learn (many things!), becoming a mom, etc. While I do like being in control of things, I’m also not a very disciplined person, so I tend to try to head fearlessly in the direction of my dreams, flying by the seat of my procrastinating pants most of the time.

And I’m always looking to the trailblazers. Growing up, I’d never seen a clergywoman, so I never imagined myself where I am now. But when we moved to Texas and I got a job as a secretary at a United Methodist church, I saw clergywomen doing what God called them to do. And I was inspired! Perhaps you could be a wife, mom, amazing woman and pastor. I was finally able to see what God had intended where before I had been blind to the opportunity.

In the ordination process, a whole new set of destinations were created for me – inquiring, exploring, declared and certified candidate (I know I’m dating myself here), seminary admission, completion, and graduation (preferably with some sort of honors), commissioning and ordination amidst the topsy-turvy process in itself of appointments. So I set out for there.

Sometime in seminary, a friend invited me to the clergywomen’s group that met for lunch. It was so amazing to see all these women, varied and beautiful and wise, who had all made it there. They talked about appointments, General Conference, the history of women in ministry in our conference. They reflected on holding the hands of the dying, the baby being baptized, and the Bible as they preached. They were amazing and I was grateful for these embodied glimpses of there.

So, as I posted earlier, I was recently at another one of these clergywomen’s lunches. I was running a bit late and as I entered, juggling a fast food lunch and drink and purse while fumbling with the door knob, I looked for those familiar wise and gracious faces. I saw them, but it was different – well, there were my friends and compatriots from seminary – and over there was the pastor from the church nearby who organizes local clergy get-togethers – but I was missing the women I had seen when I first came to these lunches. Where were the women who were there?

We went around the tables, introducing ourselves, and as we applauded those who had just been passed for commissioning and ordination, my mind startled in realization. I was there! Could it really be? I took stock – yup, I’m an honest-to-goodness elder in full connection doing hands-on ministry that’s a blessing and a challenge each and every day. Oh, and I’m actually serving on the clergywomen’s leadership team. I’m there. When did that happen?

The night I was ordained, the bishop laid hands on my head, praying the Spirit’s blessing on me, as I knelt in heels and my clergy robe, and then had a stole draped over my shoulders my two of the pastors I admire most as my mother and husband stood nearby. I smiled and talked with my friends afterwards, then drove home to change into my pajamas, wash the dishes, and go to bed, ready for another day of conference business the next day. It’s not as glamorous as what some of my friends did, so maybe I need to be better about celebrating it when I get there. But, honestly, there doesn’t look all that different once you’re there. It’s just another day to love life and live it fully.

Christmas Lists & Dreams Deferred

I’ve been thinking about transition, dreams, and contentment a bit lately. It’s that time of year when my family asks me for a Christmas list because, for many of us, our love language is giving gifts. Or, at least, it’s one of our love languages, a way of saying, I value you, I treasure you, I want you to be happy.

So, my cousin contacted us to let us know that our lists were insufficient. Probably because my grandpa starts Christmas shopping in July. So last night, just before we turned in, my husband remarked, “I don’t know what else to ask for that’s not really expensive.” I thought for a moment, then named 5-6 things I could imagine he could want or need. We laughed at how well I knew him and how good I am at thinking of gifts. Then I asked him to try to do the same for me, since I don’t have any idea of what to add to my list either. He was stumped. I think his exact words were, “If I knew what you wanted, I would know what to get you every year.”

As I lay down, I pondered his words. Why is it that I don’t want things? Why is it that I can’t come up with a good list of things that can be ordered and wrapped and given? Honestly, I think it’s because I’m content with my life for the most part. I have everything I need and then some. Sure, we have recurring needs – diapers, wipes, food, gas, etc. – but not the kinds of things that most folks think make good gifts.

But I refuse this year to ask for wasteful things. In the past, I’ve filled up lists with books that look good that I’ve never read, movies I like but never sit down to watch, or music that sits dormant on an ancient iPod. There’s something within me that has known this was not right, but this year, is adamant in saying, “No!”

Perhaps it’s because I’m in a different place this year. I’ve now been a mom for over a year and my perspective has been radically, irrevocably changed. Honestly, I feel like I’ve been in transition for that year and am just now finding my footing again. The transition of my body that occurred during the birth of my son – that agonizing, amazing time – was only the beginning of this transition of my life.

Recently on Facebook, I’ve been reminded of the fragility of our lives and how many things can cause these transitions. A friend posted the other day that it was 2 months ago that his daughter was born, who has since died. Then today, a friend who had announced that they were expecting shared the hard news that they had miscarried. It all made me think of this poem:

“Harlem” by Langston Hughes

  What happens to a dream deferred?
      Does it dry up
      like a raisin in the sun?
      Or fester like a sore –
      And then run?
      Does it stink like rotten meat?
      Or crust and sugar over –
      like a syrupy sweet?

     Maybe it just sags
     like a heavy load.

     Or does it explode?

Sometimes transition comes on the heels of a dream deferred. And lately, in my experience, that has looked like the lives of children being tragically short. I look at my son, who laughs and plays and tries to run, feeling the precarious nature of things. Last week in youth, we talked about joy and I taught that joy is an abiding gift of God that is deeper than happiness. I wonder in those moments of watching my child, if I could still feel joy if something happened. I trust, by faith, that joy would still be waiting, like a deep pool of peaceful waters, beneath the tumult of trouble or despair.

But when you’re in transition – when all you can do is breathe and cry and curse and try to run from the inescapable pain that will not be denied because it is a part of you – it can be hard to know anything else. I pray for all of us that we will not dry up or fester or rot or become sickeningly sweet or sag or explode. I don’t believe that is the will of God. I believe the tragic times of transition in our lives are a byproduct of the broken, sinful world we live in. But I also believe that God is with us in the transition, no matter how painful, waiting expectantly to bring new life into being.