Vintage POC: What I Would Say at a Seminary Commencement

My seminary alma mater observed its graduation exercises this past Friday night, which brought to mind this post from September 2011. After seeing so many pastors experience one or more of the things described below, it made sense to give voice to it and to encourage people no matter where they end up.

I fondly remember sitting where you are right now. After years of study and planning and dreaming, I sat in a church pew having just received my degree, the apex of my educational life, and I clearly remember opening the cover and just staring at it. This anticipated moment finally made real, I actually had to convince myself that it was so. I had spent so many years first in undergrad and then in this Masters program wrestling with eternal truths, using the best Biblical and theological scholarship available to me. Aside from that, I had spent three years immersed in a culture of liturgical experimentation and of justice preached to us by prophets ancient and modern. They were years of envisioning what the church could be as we explored the full gamut of worship experience and visualized what God's kingdom made proper and full would look like.

I imagine that this is what your seminary journey has been as well. You have spent this time steeping yourselves in such wonderful energizing work in classroom, chapel, and contextual placements, and now you will follow your calling to next steps of ministry, whatever that may look like. And I, along with your professors and peers prayerfully send you into these next steps with joy.

But I have to warn you about something, and it may not be easy for you to hear. In fact, I consider it strange and burdensome that I have to tell you this, but tell it I must.

Not all of you are going to make it.

I know. I didn't want to say that. Most think that this isn't the right time to speak of dark and depressing things, but I can think of no better time for you to hear this than right now. So you might as well hear it from me.

Basically, it's been my observation that you with whom we celebrate today--particularly you who are planning on entering the local church--eventually will fall into at least three different categories. You won't know which one fits you best until it happens, and it probably won't be for at least a few years. Allow me a few minutes to describe each one. They start out the same, but eventually diverge in the vocational wood.

First, there will be those of you who can conceive of nothing different than the past few years of pursuing justice and creativity in all things. The church at its best embodies what you've experienced here, and thus it must always be so. As a result, your first few years in a local church may be as far as you get. You'll want to claw out your eyeballs the first time you have to mediate an argument about how often to polish the pews. You'll quickly tire of the same hymns sung week after week and year after year. You may not know what to do with yourself the first time you realize that not everybody wants to follow you headfirst into a half dozen Really Important Causes. You'll wonder why council meetings are dominated by conversations about where to hang a painting rather than how best to serve the poor.

You'll experience all this, and you may end up wondering whether your call to ministry was ever a real thing. After all, this wasn't what you thought you were signing up for, was it? Surely you were going to come in and sing cutting-edge music and fight the good fight for all who are oppressed until a big river of righteousness began flowing down your center aisle, right? But instead, the church and its mixture of people are anxious about other things, some or most of which will seem inconsequential to you.

The good news for you who are in this first category is that yes, you probably won't spend more than a couple years in an established church, but you may seek out the necessary avenues through your denomination to start something brand new. You can't see yourself slogging through the caked-up muddy mix of issues that a church decades or centuries old is dealing with, but you could see yourself creating something out of nothing, something fresh and different and that fits your vision of what the church should be about. There's nothing wrong with that. If that's how you can best fulfill your calling, then God be with you.

The second group experiences everything the first group experiences, but decides to stick around. Unfortunately for both your congregation and yourself, you've decided that you're destined to be miserable because you can't be bothered to figure out something else to do with your life. You've just spent thousands of dollars on an education, so this is what you have to put up with as some sort of penance. So you'll spend week after week, month after month, year after year, rolling your eyes every time the phone rings, sniping at your parishioners every time they offer a suggestion or critique or whenever they focus on some "unimportant" thing, and generally hating everything that you do every day. You'll keep telling yourself that your talents are being wasted with these people and that some ideal church exists out there just for you, and every few years you'll probably circulate your profile and start fresh somewhere else that seems like it would be more liberating. Basically, you'll have a career of short and unhappy pastorates that will cause increments of emotional and spiritual death for you and every church you serve, and you'll never admit that you'd be better off working out your calling with fear and trembling at St. Arbucks than in a real church context. Seriously, if you end up falling into this group, get out and work at a coffeehouse or a mattress store for a few years to chill out and regroup, then maybe someday you can try again.

And you who will fall into the third group? You'll probably start off with many of the same realizations about the church as the first two. To be honest, every seminary graduate does. The difference is that you'll decide to stick around, all the while praying for patience, but also determined not to spend part of every day praying for a speedy road to retirement. Instead, you'll accept that arguments about paintings and pews happen, but you'll also decide that you aren't going to let people only be concerned with those things. Sure, you'll trudge through moments that seem ridiculous to you, but you'll also be listening to the issues underneath, trying to draw them out and minister to them as best you can. You'll find ways to introduce new worship elements and cultivate passion for service, but only after you realize that you'll probably have to be at this with the same group of people for a while before it even begins to happen.

Basically, Third Groupers (and First Groupers as well...and maybe eventually even you Second Groupers): you need to love your church. Whether it's a congregation that's been around since a group of German immigrants plopped down in the middle of a field 200 years ago or the brand new group of urbanites you've gathered in your living room, you need to learn to love these people including all of their flaws and hang-ups and treasure their gifts and ideas. You need to accept that the ideal vision of the church that you've been refining in your head the past few years may never come to fruition; that instead you've been sent to these people, and they to you, in a particular time and place. There will be the occasional bad match and moments where it seems you've come as far as you can together, but it takes time to figure that out, too. In the meantime, the world of ministry into which you have stepped involves being vulnerable enough to fall in love with actual people rather than your own ideas about people.

This calling is not for the weak of heart. I don't know how often you've heard that during your seminary years, but it's the truth. You'll be frustrated, you'll doubt yourself and others, you'll be tempted to leave, and you'll have illusions demolished. You'll also learn how to navigate relationships, build trust, and move toward something together, albeit imperfectly. And to do that, you'll have to love what you're doing and those with whom you're doing it.

There really is no other way. It's better if you hear it now so that you can be more fully prepared. Those who don't prepare are the ones who won't make it. So may God bless your journey wherever it takes you next, and may you allow the Spirit to empower you with love, no matter what.

So, the song...about that.

Hey, remember back during Lent when I was writing a song, and I said I would post a video of it or something?

Well...I still don't have a video or something to post.

HOWEVER, the song is making its big debut this Sunday at my installation service, so maybe it'll somehow be recorded and I can share that.

Or I'll find another way.

The point is that the song truly exists, I'm singing it to my new congregation because it seems to tie in to what we'll be doing that day, and whether it's recorded or not I'll get it on here for you somehow.

That's all for now. Apologies for not posting in a week. It's been a busy one. More posting of actual substance to come.

Diversity and Identity

After reading this over, I found that I addressed all the points that I said I'd address in the previous post. So I guess this'll be it instead of a multi-part series.

The other day I shared an experience that I had while visiting the chapel on the campus of John Carroll University, a Catholic school, which caused me to reflect on a number of things related to my own denomination, the United Church of Christ.

If there's one thing that many UCCers like to be known for, it's our diversity. That's how we started, after all. The Evangelical Synod of North America, the Reformed Church in the United States, Congregational churches (you know them better as Pilgrims or Puritans), and the Christian Churches all eventually came together in 1957 to form the United Church of Christ.

These churches each brought with them their own ideas about theology, worship, and organization. While they all had been influenced by the Reformed tradition stemming from the likes of Ulrich Zwingli and John Calvin, they each had their own take on various things. The Evangelical Synod, for instance, gave the pastor much more authority in its churches than the Congregationalists, who asserted that the congregation (hence its name) had ultimate authority. Congregationalists tended to meet in plain meetinghouses devoid of much religious symbology such as stained glass windows, while some churches Reformed in background didn't retain that belief from Calvin that such things were idolatrous and distracting from the word preached. The Christian churches tended to take its cues from the revivalist worship of the Methodists and Baptists, while the other three were quite a bit more buttoned-down in religious expression.

And then when it was time for these four denominations to come together and discuss how they were going to be one united church, that was a whole new argument. The Evangelical and Reformed churches were used to a much more hierarchical form of governance, while the Congregationalists insisted that each local church could do its own thing, setting its own policies for worship, governance, calling pastors, and so on. Ultimately, the new denomination borrowed a little from both: the Congregationalists' philosophy of local church autonomy was retained and is perhaps one of the most often invoked clauses from the UCC Constitution and By-Laws, but we see more of the representative decision-making aspects of the Reformed in denominational meetings such as General Synod...which still ultimately can be turned down or ignored by local churches.

So, you see, the UCC started as a diverse entity, and still encourages quite a bit of diversity and autonomy today. You can visit a UCC church in one town that is Open and Affirming to LGBT people and observes a "high church" Episcopal-style worship service, and then you can travel 10 miles down the road to another UCC church that declares homosexuality a sin and has a praise band. As determined by our congregational polity, there isn't much regulation of how each church conducts itself, and this allows for quite a variety of religious and theological expression across the denomination.

None of this is bad. That's not what I'm getting at. Ideally, most people can find a church home in the United Church of Christ, barring geographical and other limitations. Diversity might be one of the true marks of denominational identity that we can claim and, in fact, that's exactly what the UCC has been doing the past decade or so via its "God is Still Speaking" campaign, declaring that "No matter who you are, or where you are on life's journey, you're welcome here." Some more conservative factions have declared this code for certain liberal causes, but on the surface, this is all about diversity: explore the UCC, you'll be welcome among us somewhere.

My experience at John Carroll caused me to think a little about Catholic identity in contrast. The first person I saw in the chapel was a young woman praying the rosary, a common prayer practice in that tradition. Three others were sitting near the front just taking in the space for a few moments, a practice that to my knowledge is considered acceptable and encouraged in many Catholic churches. Two others wandered in later, kneeling at their pew before sitting down. All of these practices are observed and encouraged across Catholicism, and here in this space among this age group, they were still being practiced.

In the UCC, individual churches and people may do things like this. No doubt, some UCC churches actively encourage prayer practices and have cultivated a rich ethos of spiritual exploration. Many others, however, may be holding on to the old "civic religion" philosophy of the mainlines' glory days where such things are best not talked about or, perhaps they adhere to the buttoned-down style of some of our predecessors where, hopefully, some form of piety is being practiced...but is still best not talked about.

Another possibility for a lack of much spiritual cultivation may be that emphasis on autonomy. Again, autonomy in and of itself isn't bad, but at times it seems to be used as a form of resisting exploring beliefs or practices, i.e., "You can't push this on me" or "We can't encourage this too much or it'll seem like pushing." As a result, spirituality in our denomination can seem quite loose in practice and gooey in philosophy, with no real deepening understanding of...much of anything, really.

This translates to our affiliated colleges and universities. As mentioned in that previous post, Heidelberg had a nominal connection to the UCC at best: other than a small framed picture of the UCC symbol in the campus center and a sparsely-attended UCC ministry group, there wasn't much of a presence on campus. Meanwhile, the Campus Crusade-affiliated group was the most prominent campus ministry by far. There are numerous reasons for that, but I wonder what more could be done on the denomination's end to increase its presence there.

Here's my point: the UCC is a diverse place, and this is a blessing. However, the high value that we place on it may at the same time place quite a bit of limitation on what we can teach and encourage one another to practice, and we may be starving ourselves of quite a bit of spiritual growth as a result. If nothing else, my hope would be that local churches could do more to encourage active and even passionate expressions of faith, whether theological discussion, spiritual disciplines, justice advocacy, Biblical study, well-crafted worship, or whatever else. But whatever you're good at, it's important to define why you're doing it theologically and to encourage a passionate exploration of the whats and whys among younger members in particular.

It does nobody much good to never venture a particular identity or mode of expression in the name of autonomy; to always allow concern that you'll somehow be squelching someone else's growth rule the day. In my view, it's the opposite: you'll be squelching growth by never even attempting any way to encourage growth.

So maybe there isn't an official "UCC identity" when it comes to certain things, but there are still plenty of ways (and there is plenty of need) to cultivate an identity within the UCC.

In the Chapel

This past Saturday, I attended a workshop at John Carroll University as part of the Ignatian Spirituality Institute. It's a bit hard to believe, but I only have one more class and then I will have completed the first year of the program. The second year is less focused on classwork and more on supervised implementation, so this workshop was much more focused on practical matters such as attentive listening.

When we broke for lunch, I decided that it was such a beautiful day that I was going to wander around the campus a little. There were students lounging on the immense greenspace between buildings, enjoying the day, some even studying for finals. I wasn't looking for it, but when I noticed the St. Francis Chapel as I walked, I knew that I was going to stop in.

I don't know what I was expecting, but I didn't expect what I saw in several ways. First, the chapel space is much more modern than I thought it would be. I guess that I was expecting soaring trusses and lots of mahogany; instead I found that it's a much simpler space than that, with slate flooring and modern abstract windows. There is also an alcove partitioned off with a marble wall at the rear.

As I stepped into the space, looking around, I glanced into the alcove to discover a student praying the rosary. Wanting to be careful not to disturb her, I sat across the aisle as silently as I could, content to just look around at the space. There were three more people sitting at the front, a teenage girl and two older men perhaps on a campus visit. They left pretty early into my own visit, and then two more students wandered down the aisle, genuflecting before entering their row to sit down. And for a time, there the four of us were: quiet, prayerful, mindful of one another without dwelling on it.

It was quite an understated experience, and yet a powerful one that caused a lot of reflection in me. John Carroll is a Catholic university with obvious strong ongoing ties to that tradition. One of my first thoughts was to rack my brain regarding my own undergrad experience at an institution affiliated with the United Church of Christ to recall whether any classmates had ever felt the need or inspiration to wander in and sit in either of the chapels on campus. The short answer: no, not that I know of.

This led to all sorts of other reflection on a number of issues regarding UCC identity and practice, which I plan to explore over a series of posts. I figure I'll do 2-3 of them depending on how I structure it, but these are the topics I'll cover:

1. General thoughts on communal understanding in the UCC regarding identity and practice.
2. UCC identity and practice specifically as it relates to its affiliated colleges and universities.
3. Cultivation of prayer practices in the UCC--or lack thereof--specifically among youth and young adults.

And maybe some other stuff thrown in. But these were the main items I started thinking about after sitting in that chapel, marveling at the seemingly ongoing dedication to another tradition among a population that mainliners, among so many others, lament that they are losing.

So that's what I'll deal with in the next week or two. Stay tuned.

Uncharted Territory

I only had a brother growing up. As in, I only had a brother and not also a sister.

All things considered, my brother and I have always been good friends. Growing up there were typical brotherly moments, of course, the kind where I usually got in trouble for not including him or wanting him to go away. But over time, once we got past that stage, we did the sorts of things together that you more or less expect a couple of guys to do. We played with action figures, we played baseball in the backyard, we talked about girls.

Things haven't changed a whole lot through the years. Nowadays, we still talk about girls except, you know, they're our wives. We exchange texts regarding the latest escapades of Michigan's football and basketball teams if we're not watching them together in person. We even still play sports together, except now it's usually because Coffeeson (and eventually Coffeenephew once he gets his motor skills down) wants to.

This is what I've always known. When I had a son, that was right in my wheelhouse. It'd be like when I was growing up with a brother, with obvious adjustments.

We now know that there is going to be a Coffeedaughter. And as I ponder that, I find myself in uncharted territory. I don't take this as bad by any means; I'm actually very excited about this news. But for me personally, I'll be venturing into a world I don't know very well. Coffeewife has already been talking about dresses and bows and other things that make me say, "WHAT IS THIS MAGIC?"

I don't mean to stereotype here. I don't anticipate that we're locked into a world of pink and Barbies and tea parties. Maybe she'll be a softball player or (God willing) a drummer. Regardless of particular tastes and direction in forming her identity, she will by definition have Girl Issues. And I could just defer to Coffeewife on these things, but it won't be that simple. Plus Coffeewife, who only had sisters growing up, is doing just fine with Coffeeson, so there's no reason to think I'm going to be completely incompetent at this. But I'm sure there'll be times when I feel that way anyway. That's normal for parents.

Will I be the typical overprotective father, the one who happens to be cleaning his gun on the front porch when her prom date arrives to pick her up? Yes and no. I don't have a gun, so that specific image won't apply. However, I do have very intimate knowledge of the mind of the teenage boy, and it is a frightening, confused place. So I'll definitely worry and do my best to help her make good choices. I've also remarked to Coffeewife numerous times that she'll have me wrapped around her finger; she will truly be Daddy's Little Girl. Oh yeah, it's gonna be bad. But Daddy's Little Girl deserves certain treatment from others, and I'll need first to teach her to treat herself well.

And the drums. I'm gonna teach her the drums.

So, we barrel toward what for me is a bit of an unknown future. Just like with the first one, I'll learn as I go. It'll be fun. And a little terrifying. But also fun.

In the Spotlight

Rachel Held Evans has a Q and A up with singer Jennifer Knapp. You may recall that Jennifer was quite popular in Christian music (I fondly remember seeing her open for dc Talk years and years ago), took a hiatus, and then released a new album while also coming out as a lesbian.

The whole interview is fantastic, but I zeroed in on this tidbit that Jennifer shares in response to a question about what she did during that hiatus from music:

Retrospectively, one thing I’d say is that while it is possible to learn from the experience of being ‘in the spotlight’; it is not the most fertile soil for significant growth. The spotlight is where we celebrate and commune with what we’ve learned. The growth, the creation, self-exploration and processing, I just can’t see how we can possibly do that effectively with an audience. It’s too exposed. Being observed inherently shapes the outcome. We usually talk differently when we are being observed. We perform. That’s not bad; it’s just not the entire purpose or the end game.

I see a lot of parallels to my own life here. As a pastor, I spend huge chunks of my time in public: preaching, teaching, visitation, etc. In my experience, ministry is a learn-as-you-go sort of exercise, even though I'd also maintain that establishing a foundation in some semblance of a controlled environment (seminary, lay training, internships, CPE) is important as well. It varies how much time people in ministry take time to do the self-exploration and processing that Jennifer identifies as also being important. If we are only working out our calling in public, then we are possibly crafting a persona that performs well, but that is not necessarily indicative of who we truly are or want to be. And if we never take time to figure out what that is, then all the worse for us.

I've become interested lately in the specific spiritual needs of people in ministry. In fact, I've discerned that that may be the focus of this spiritual direction course I'm taking. I recently led a workshop where one of the concepts I touched on was from author Jaco J. Hamman, who talks about the true self vs. the false self. Our true self is who we really are; our false self is who we put on to please others. As Jennifer observes and as Hamman echoes, the latter is mostly worked out in the public sphere, perhaps with little to no time to stop and reflect on one's motivations, history, insecurities, and desires.

If we pastors are only in the spotlight, we damage ourselves and, by extension, our ministry. It is good, then, to stop, sit, reflect, pray. In those moments we refrain from being observed and are able instead to be our own observers, and to observe what God may be trying to tell us.

I'm A Sucker

Last year, I was contacted about becoming part of the National Planning Team of the UCC 2030 Clergy Network. This was in the run up to their biennial Shepherding the Shepherd event, at which I was formally inducted, including prayer and laying on of hands. I still recall it being a very affirming and renewing moment.

Responsibility as part of the NPT is not necessarily extensive: there's a monthly conference call, and otherwise we plan the Network's big yearly event--whether Shepherding the Shepherd or a day-long event the day before General Synod--and otherwise facilitate connections and projects as they arise and seem warranted.

When I first told Coffeewife that I'd been invited to be on the Planning Team, she said, "You'll do it. You're a sucker for that kind of thing."

Yes. Yes I am.

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be involved in as many things as time will allow...and then a couple more things on top of that. I kept myself crazy busy in high school and undergrad, the latter being the first instance when I really should have dropped a few things in order to maintain my sanity (and grades). After that, I think things were simplified for me with less options to choose from.

Since entering local church ministry, I've loved the opportunities to become involved in wider church work. I first joined my Association's CUE Committee, and then a year or two later their Ministry Support Working Group. The latter led to a few opportunities to lead workshops to help Authorized Ministers reflect on their sense of call and how they care for themselves.

Nowadays, I'm on the Church and Ministry Department of the Association, I'm teaching a preaching class for the lay ministry program, and I've just accepted an invitation to become co-moderator of the National Planning Team for the 2030 Network.

I'm still very much a sucker.

But it's because I love the work. I believe in what these programs and groups do. Church and Ministry was always a committee that I wanted to be on even in seminary, as they deal with the types of issues--ministry support and authorization--that energize me. The 2030 Clergy stuff has been an unexpected honor; I've found the Network to be one of the most collegial and affirming groups that I could be a part of as a pastor.

So many in local churches wonder about the worth of the wider denomination. "What do they do for us? What's the point?" Many times that question doesn't get answered until a church really needs help, e.g., Search and Call, conflict resolution, response to tragedy, and so on. Aside from that, I've been part of some wonderful projects over the years that have brought local churches together to achieve a common goal that they couldn't have done by themselves. Through the work I've been a part of on the Association, I've seen people connect across the region for support and connectivity, brought together by common interest and shared mission.

The other day, a good friend posted this video on Facebook. It features a song by Christopher Grundy, professor of preaching and worship at Eden. The footage used is of communion from General Synod 25 in Atlanta, which many (including me) recall being a controversial and contentious Synod. I was a delegate at that Synod (check out the guy intincting at 1:56), a pastor all of six months, wondering what I'd be returning to after the marriage equality vote.



And yet watching this, remembering that, remembering what an overall joy it has been for me over the years to serve in these various ways and to be a part of gatherings such as that and other Synods I've been to, has only made me thankful.

So many are declaring denominationalism obsolete, some gleefully so. But I've seen enough to know that there's still something to be said for what they do; for the resources and support that they provide those who are a part of them. Maybe there are better, more effective ways to organize the things that we do denominationally, but it's still a worthwhile endeavor.

And because it's still worthwhile, I'll keep being a sucker.

Ghosts

Moving from one stage of life to another is never a clean break.

We expand our families, we change jobs, we change communities. We may move three states away or from one company to another.

But we're always followed. We're followed by our decisions, our reputations, our identities. Whatever our complete body of work in life has been, including our hangups, our spiritual scabs, our grudges, the times we've hurt others or have been hurt, it all follows us. Our ideas about how life was meant to be or may be someday still follow us.

In some cases, but not always, relationships follow us. Our immediate families, sure. That's a given. Past classmates, acquaintances, co-workers, and friends follow us, too. If not physically, we may keep track of each other through other means. The ones we want, anyway. And that always ends up being a smaller list than we think it'll be.

Not everything that follows us is desirable. There are those instances where we're running from something; where we hope that certain elements of our past won't notice we've left or won't find us after the fact. We may want to leave parts of ourselves behind to haunt places we no longer inhabit, cursed to remain as testaments to times that had run their course.

But we are the ones who are haunted. We are the ones doomed to address the ghosts of who and where we've been.

The worst thing we can do is ignore them. It will only make them angry and cause them to loom larger, whispering their reminders, possessing us in ways we can't see until in hindsight. No, they must be acknowledged and confronted, no matter how fearful it may make us to do so.

At least a few exorcisms may see success. With a few clear boundaries, a few stern conversations, we may be able to banish some ghosts back to wherever we found them. With others, it takes some act of catharsis that strips them of their power. With still others, it may be only time and patience that sees them slowly fade away into irrelevance. And with still yet others, we need someone else to help remove them.

But some remain. And for those most clingy, stubborn apparitions, those most belligerent and accusing spirits of times past, we may only wait out their torment.

For those, we endure, taking small steps toward hope where we can.

A Song Shall Rise

The tweets started appearing sometime Monday afternoon.

Mondays are Coffeeson and my day to hang out. I take that day off, and we spend it running errands, visiting our favorite donut shop, watching movies, playing with action figures, and whatever else we feel like doing. There isn't a whole lot of time to watch much grown-up TV, but social media addict that I am, I check my phone during down moments.

That's how I heard about bombs going off in Boston.

When one is simultaneously watching his 5-year-old son and wanting to find out more about what's happening in the outside world, there's only so much that one can do. First rule: don't switch the TV over to some news channel that is assuredly replaying video of the blast and its aftermath while interviewing eyewitnesses. No, best to leave it on Rise of the Guardians. Even though our world seems to insist on introducing tragedy to our children at a younger and younger age these days, I wasn't about to do that.

And so I kept Twitter up and running in order to get my news that way. A picture began to form of fatality and chaos that I didn't need CNN's talking heads to supply me with. And like many others I was horrified, and I prayed, and I sent out my own two-bit tweets in response expressing grief and condolence. Like many others, helplessly watching from their living rooms miles away, I didn't know what else to do.

Being a pastor when things like this happen always brings with it a question whether to acknowledge it somehow. It was an easy thing to post something on the church Facebook page; to call people to prayer in the midst of violence and loss. But beyond that, there's always the question as to what might be the best response. Might people have it weighing on their minds come Sunday morning, necessitating a response in worship? If so, what might that response be? A special litany, a mention during the prayer time, a mention during the sermon? What might be the best way to provide corporate pastoral care?

Understand that this question isn't asked lightly or out of rote obligation. There is a sense of requirement involved, but it doesn't come from a place of apathy or annoyance. It's simply a natural question to ask if pastors are properly aware of their surroundings and actively discerning what their people may need in the face of such events.

This Easter season, I've been straying from the lectionary to present some of the things that Jesus says after the resurrection. It's my own spin on the old "seven sayings from the cross" sermon series that many preachers have done. This Sunday the focus is Jesus saying "Feed my sheep" in John 21. As I sat down to begin thinking about this text, my thoughts inevitably turned to one of my favorite bands, Five Iron Frenzy, and their song "Far Far Away" which is based on this text:



When truth can be so distant and hope evades our reach 
Peter swam across the water and found it on the beach

I've listened to this song more than once this week, not just to inspire sermon prep but because it seems to be my own way of dealing with Monday's events: a time when hope seems to evade one's reach, when we wish that voices singing off in the distance were closer to speak more clearly to us.

I know that one day soon a song shall rise 
you'll hear it with the sleep still in your eyes

By this point, most people might be sick of Easter if anyone is even still aware that we're only about halfway through the season. But our need to hear those voices singing isn't satisfied one day a year; it's a constant need. Where is truth and hope in the midst of tragedy? Where is resurrection when all we seem to have around us are crosses?

I don't have much to say in the face of yet another horrendous event. I didn't have much to say in the face of the last one. I do know that it's still Easter and that it's always meant to be Easter. I do know that people rushed to help that day and have rushed to help since. I know that these are hopeful things in the midst of despairing times, and that they help witness to a promise that one day soon a song shall rise, if we only keep striving to hear it.

A Bare Stage

A few years ago, two movies came out that at a glance seemed like they had very similar plots. One was called The Prestige, and the other, The Illusionist. Both of them were about magicians and set during similar time periods, but that's pretty much where the similarities ended. Coffeewife and I found this out by watching them very close together after they'd been released on DVD.

Initially, I gave the edge to The Prestige, starring Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale as rival magicians. The way each tried to outdo the other and the way the film kept revealing that things were not as they appeared was captivating, although the final big reveal seemed to be a bit of a cop-out. Meanwhile, The Illusionist, starring Edward Norton and Jessica Biel, was more of a love story, and didn't immediately strike me the way the other movie did.

The more I reflect back on my experience of these two films, however, I find The Illusionist to be the better film. It had just as much intrigue as The Prestige, and while I recall guessing the ending before it happened, it was still a better crafted story than the other film.

This long setup is so that I can describe one scene in The Illusionist that I particularly liked, the main reason not even being why most others would have liked it. At this point in the film, Norton's character has begun advertising a new magic show. His posters are very simple, and the show itself equally so. The first glimpse we get of his new act, he simply walks out to a bare stage without fanfare, sits in a chair, and does one single trick. And yet this one trick is so captivating to the audience that none of the flair is needed. There's much more behind what he is doing, of course, but the show itself is as simple as can be.

This scene has always stuck with me for that simplicity. Norton's character has done the fancy stuff; has striven to put on the big amazing sort of show that was so successful at attracting the masses. But in this scene he's done away with all of that, focusing only on the trick itself, without dressing it up.

This idea of staying rooted in basics, this low-key approach, this philosophy that less is more, has always been near and dear to my heart. I've always thought that focusing on the core idea should be my main task. If certain things could benefit from a little extra dressing up or need a little more for the core idea to be communicated, that's okay. So be it. But let that be properly discerned rather than forced or done for its own sake. It's how I approach ministry, it's how I strive to approach other areas of my life.

Social media can be such a strange thing. It has become so much of its own animal, has been deemed so crucial by so many, that we have rules made by so-called "experts" so that people or organizations will be able to maximize the impact of one's brand through it. So make sure your Facebook page looks a certain way, and make sure you tweet so often every day, and make sure you update your blog a certain way. Dress it up, add some fanfare, put on some flair. This is what will make your page most effective and successful.

I thought that I had figured out what I needed to do to make my blog "successful." I knew that I needed to update it regularly, so I came up with a posting schedule. I figured it'd be good to keep a few regular features, especially because I'd seen other blogs do so well with them. For a while I tried to write long, indepth, critical sorts of pieces that surely would get me attention as a Serious Blogger.

Here's the truth. The schedule had me on the verge of burnout, the features seemed more and more like homework, and with a couple minor exceptions I've hardly ever received serious attention while writing here. My love for this had almost completely evaporated, and a few weeks ago I was convinced that I was finally going to shut off the lights. But I wanted to keep writing, and to me this is still the most convenient and shackle-free way to practice that.

So I took some time to think about what a "bare stage," low-key approach to blogging here would look like, and this is what I came up with:

1. No more schedule. I post when I'm inspired, not to "maximize readership" or whatever the social media gurus say. To me this still comes with some degree of regularity, but not like before. I don't want to throw half-baked crap up on here just because I'm on a deadline. Why would anyone want to read something that I didn't really feel like writing to begin with?

2. No more "features." Small Sips is the sole exception, because I do enjoy doing those and I've never done them on a regular schedule. Yes, that means no Pop Culture Roundup, for the two people who enjoyed that. I'm still going to engage pop culture, but in a different way that I think we'll all find more meaningful than a rundown of single-paragraph reviews. See this very post for an example.

3. Stuff I'm still going to write about: church, ministry, theology, parenthood, my personal journey, justice issues, book reviews, liturgy/prayers, pop culture (but no Roundup), the occasional throwback post. Stuff I'm giving up: sports, throwaway pictures or videos, any "feature" other than Small Sips, small-minded navel-gazing. That last one is probably up to the reader.

All in all, this is probably the sort of thing that most won't notice or care about. But I think it'll go a long way in getting me to love this blog again.

So. Thanks for reading, and on we go.