Mom and Pastor on Edge

Birthday Wishes Among 1,000 Preachers

Thank you to everyone who tapped characters on a phone or computer to wish me a happy birthday yesterday! It was great fun to read through greetings and recall folks from all corners of my life: my hometown, college, seminary, internship, Holy Nativity, Oak Grove, and from places like the Festival of Homiletics.

It is worth noticing what brings us all together once in a while.

On Facebook, the people who shared a birthday greeting with me were brought together by one common denominator: me. Not that I’m anything special. Throughout the years, at one time or another, or over and over again, I’ve made a connection with each of the birthday greeters. And suddenly there we were, all appearing on the same Facebook page.

Today was the fifth and final day of the Festival of Homiletics.

Each day has been rich with words and song.

It is worth noticing only one thing, really, brought all 1,000 of us together in one place.

We all love to preach this Christian faith.

We preach in several corners of North America. Some proclaim from a Methodist pulpit, or UCC, Presbyterian, American Baptist, Lutheran, Episcopal. We cover our human bodies in different ways, with or without a robe, in adorned or unadorned spaces. Some are women, some men, some white, some black. All yearning, as you can feel in a gathering of preachers, yearning to be faithful proclaimers of God’s Word.

And I realized, not for the first time, I am so sick of faithless fighting among church bodies.

I am so very sick of clergy who work, sometimes quite shamelessly, to divide the faith Jesus died to re-member, that is, to put together as one.

To quote Yvette Flunder, one of our speakers who is a UCC pastor: “How do we come to hate people and serve a loving God?”

How do come to regard or disregard one another by sexuality, denomination, or even, I have found, which translation of the Bible we use.

Let us always stop to notice what it is that brings us together. Let us remember what the church could look like, putting aside what it is that dismembers us. I will remember the church is capable of looking like and even acting like one community, like the variety of denominations that have lived as one community of faith in Christ at this Festival of Homiletics. I will remember.

A tweet from Pope Francis last week: “To communicate with mercy means to help create a healthy, free and fraternal closeness among the children of God.”

Amen.

Words Women Hear That Men Probably Don't

“I don’t know how you do it.” Have you ever spoken those words to someone? Someone who is really busy, perhaps with kids, paid or unpaid work, and/or busy for other reasons? Have you ever made that remark? If so, odds are you said that to a woman. And then the question becomes, would you ever say the exact same words to someone who is not a woman, say…to a man? For the past four days I have joined a thousand or so preachers at the Festival of Homiletics in Atlanta. There is representation from, and not limited to, perhaps every mainline Protestant denomination in the United States and Canada. Of the 28 teachers and preachers presenting this week, about half are male and half are female. *Disclaimer: Because presentations overlap, I have not heard every single preacher.* And yet, there is only one preacher whose introduction included the words, “I don’t know how she does it”. These words were spoken in the introduction for Karoline Lewis, a professor of biblical preaching at Luther Seminary. Like the majority of speakers, she is also an author and involved in other extensive work that encourages preachers each week. (If you thought preachers came up with sermons week after week exclusively out of only our own brains, that’s just not how it works!) And yet, Karoline is the only one whose phenomenal lecture was prefaced in part by, “I don’t know how she does it.” What might it mean that these words are posed to a woman more likely than to a man? Is there some sense of doubt, or even surprise that a woman really could do all of that? Or, is there an expectation that women would have more on their plate than a man? Who knows. I do know that these are words people have said to me, and they are words I sometimes speak to myself. They are words that raise in me all kinds of doubt. These words have the potency to conjure up guilt, and make me question my call. Am I being faithful to my vocations as wife, mom, and pastor? Am I neglecting anyone in my family or my parish? Is it really possible to do all of this? But then I hear a louder voice. The one that names who I am and names this journey. I don’t know how she does it. She does it only because God has called me to do it. To live and work in the love of God. She does it because she is surrounded by a gracious congregation, a gracious family, and particularly a partnering spouse. I’m not sure how Karoline Lewis does it. In fact, how does any one of us do this thing called life? Who knows. But let’s do it together, held in the embrace of a loving Holy Spirit. That’s probably the only way it works.

Pastors Can Be So Weird...and yet

...and yet we really need to be.

And when I say pastors can be weird, I'm putting myself on the top of the list.

Pastors can be so weird. Weird as in strange, odd, different, not-like-other-people, because unlike most of the human population, we are quite clear about our mortal limitations. Unless we are hopeless in our calls, we tend to be honest with ourselves, family and friends that we do indeed expect to die.

Look around and notice the billions of dollars in marketing spent to convince you otherwise. So many promises to extend your life by eating, drinking, applying, or injecting something or other. And I do think there is a tiny bit in each of us that believes it, thinking we might be the one to outsmart the system. "Really, I know everyone else will close their eyes on this world for good...but not me." 

We live like we have all the time in the world to live. Except pastors, I hope. Pastors are weird because death is constantly in front of us, on the edges of our work day in and day out. And most likely, it was our weirdness about death (that is, not denying it) which called us into this work to begin with.

I can't imagine that's true only for me.

As an awkward 15-year old who probably wasn't sure about much in life, I seemed to understand death. When my Grandma Florence died, I wrote a poem called "The Beauty of Death". How morbid is that? Weird? Yep. But I believed the beauty in death was the profound promise of life on the other side. 

A couple years later, I only wish I knew who to apologize for this, but I wrote a speech for an American Legion contest all about capital punishment. The opening lines were compelling, putting the listeners in the very room where a lethal gas was about to be administered. The apology would be given to one of the American Legion groups to whom I presented the speech...just before they ate their dinner. Weird? Yep. Unfortunate? Absolutely.

And a few weeks ago, en route to my big brother's wedding with my parents and my daughter, I suggested we stop at a cemetery to visit the grave of a beautiful saint I buried 12 years ago. My dad's response: "I guess this is what happens when you travel with a pastor." 

I love my dad.

And he's right. 

I'd like to believe, as someone so familiar with cemeteries, that I live life to the very fullest every day, and that little things never bother me because I have a "weird" perspective, understanding the shortness of life. 

But I'm far too human for that. I worry about silly things, take for granted people, health, and the accessibility of all that I need from day to day. 

At other times, however, I am faithfully weird, just as I'm called to be.

 

This Might Happen When Church Starts Talking Renewal

This might happen. 

It started with something called congregational renewal, which is one way a church wonders, "Are we being faithful or going through the motions? Are we loving God with passion and urgency, or just showing up?"

A year ago, I mentioned congregational renewal as a soggy process of the Spirit. To be renewed as people of faith is to desire for God to change us from the inside out. It is trusting that God needs something from us we may not have imagined yet.

Led by a spirited and wise Renewal Team, St. John began to discern the assets (strengths and gifts) God has placed among it, the needs of Dickinson, and the needs of the people of St. John. Rooted in prayer and Bible study, we began to pay attention to what God might be doing.

The Renewal Team noticed a congregation the size of St. John (worshiping at that time around 350 per week), needs to offer many connecting points for people to gather in small groups. St. John has a big and open "back door" where people can leave the sanctuary without ever being noticed. 

Among its other work, the team set out to dream about gathering people into smaller groups to make deeper connections.

With music and tradition as two of its five assets, (disclaimer: tradition can function as both an asset and a hindrance to renewal) the Renewal Team (with Brent Seaks at the helm) wondered if there might be a place for a "Beer and Hymns" gathering, as we had seen and enjoyed in Mandan, led by a fantastic crew of pastors.

Tonight, I believe the Spirit had a whole lot to do with bringing these musicians together to lead more than 70 people in Dickinson's first Beer and Hymns.

I am thankful for each of these musicians (including the pianist, who did not appear in this picture), who took a risk by sharing their gifts of time and talent. Their work inspired an assembly of people from several congregations, including people who do and do not worship regularly. There were a variety of ages called together by song, singing the Scriptures, just as guys like Martin Luther did nearly 500 years ago.

It's funny, renewal is not exactly about doing something new. In many ways, renewal is all about going back to a place we have already been, like gathering to sing very, very old hymns together.

 

What To Do When a Stranger Yells at Your Kid

This was one of the many, many parenting conundrums I'd not thought much about before having kids: "What to do when a stranger yells at your kid." 

Before Tom was born, the gracious and lovely women at Holy Nativity Lutheran Church gifted a scrapbook to me with several index cards filled with handwritten advice about parenting. Even among such piles of wisdom, this subject was not covered. 

Until the moment when I first heard a stranger yell at my kid, I had no idea what emotion would make itself known in my heart and in my gut.

It happened at a baseball game. When my oldest son was playing a couple of years ago, someone yelled his name. It was something like, "Hit the ball, Tom!" Something that was more encouraging than negative, and spoken in a yell.

When the "mama bear" sensation calmed down enough for me to realize the words were not actually an attack, I was surprised by my reaction. I've always been involved in sports to some degree and have heard and been on the receiving end of yelling sports fans. (My favorite yell was at a basketball game at UND-Williston when I played at then NDSU-Bottineau: "Get a tan, number 10!")

Anyway, sports fans yell. But when the yell is directed at my kid, even in an encouraging tone, a parent's response is most likely: "Who the heck do you think you are to yell at my kid???!!!"

That day, I wasn't quite ready for a stranger to yell at my kid. And there will be plenty of other moments when I won't be quite ready for whatever might happen to any of my three kids, or for whatever trouble they might initiate on their own.

When those moments come around, I hope with a deep, deep hope, that there is someone around, not to yell at them, but to encourage them. To advocate for them, to challenge them, to faithfully set them back on track and bring out their best.

If I've learned one thing in this lengthy decade of parenting, it's that I'm hopeless without family, friends, and all of the people it takes to raise kids. Apparently, even a stranger can be a helpful teacher to me.