any day a beautiful change

Ten on Tuesday: The Glen Workshop Edition

2013-06-18T03:00:00.000-05:00

You should go.

No really, you should go. If you're interested in the intersection between faith and photography, or faith and music, or faith and writing, or faith and [insert whatever creative impulse one might conceivably have], you should go to the Glen Workshop.

I can't even promise this is a top ten list - there were simply too many encounters with good people and sheer beauty to keep track of them all. Consider this a random sampling of roughly eight hundred and thirty four excellent moments/etc. from the Glen East 2013 workshop in South Hadley, MA.

1. My sermon-writing class with Lauren Winner was teensy tiny, as three of the seven participants had to back out in the last week before the conference. Though I'm sure I would have enjoyed those three people I didn't meet, it was pretty great to have a teensy tiny workshop. It meant we had lots of time to workshop each participant's sermon, and very natural, in-depth conversations about specific exemplary sermons as well as about the art and craft of sermon-writing in general. In the midst of one of the early conversations Lauren said something about preaching that rang so deeply true I immediately scrawled it down in all caps: "PREACHING IS LOVING THE SCRIPTURES IN PUBLIC."

Yes, yes, yes.

2. The evening worship services were a huge highlight for me, all week long. Kim Taylor did the music, and I've liked her ever since I saw her open for Over the Rhine about a decade ago. And to say that I am a fan of Debbie Blue's preaching is an understatement.

3. I shed tears, unexpectedly, during the rather brief midweek Communion service in the campus chapel. I know exactly why, and it wasn't even a matter of me fangirling over Debbie Blue (though as it is well established, I am also capable of fangirling, too). When I had postpartum anxiety and depression in California, I started walking all over the neighborhood, pushing the stroller and listening to mp3s of Debbie Blue sermons. And there was just something incredibly powerful about hearing that same voice speak the Communion liturgy and call me by name during the distribution of the elements.

It also didn't hurt that this was the glorious chapel in which the Communion service was held. It was beautiful, and as Image Journal/The Glen Workshop like to say: Beauty will save the world.

4. On our free day, I finished the first draft of my July 7th sermon in time to go on a fun yet rather rainy outing to Northampton with two songwriters and an artist who, incidentally, ended up telling a long and fascinating story about the Creation Museum after I asked him how he happened to be familiar with bougainvillea. (Which, I was tickled to discover, I blogged about exactly seven years ago this week, especially since it contained what is likely the only other reference to disco in all my archives.)

Thanks to juggling my umbrella in the rain, I didn't get a shot of the place where we had great ice cream, but I did take a snapshot of Ben & Bill's Chocolate Emporium, mostly because I love Ben, I love chocolate, and I love emporia. (Bill came with the package.)

5. One of the things that is unique and lovely about the Glen is that even though everyone is off studying different disciplines in the morning, the afternoons and evenings are all about cross-craft exploration. I soaked in everything I went to (and I made a point to go to most), but one of the most engaging presentations was by Sedrick Huckaby. Just image google him and you'll see why. Amazing.

6. I thought one of the most fundamentally Christian things about the whole week was mealtime. Just eating ordinary food together can be such a sacramental, lovely thing. It sounds terrible to say that I had so many good conversations this week I lost track of them all, but I did. I made a point to float a bit, having meals with various and sundry interesting people - including those who were both known and unknown to me - but I also gravitated toward a great cast of characters who, lets face it, always had the most fun, and stuck around the longest after lunch was served. Sadly, I have learned that hoisting an iPad in someone's face and asking them to smile is weird and awkward, so I don't have many pictures of people.

Oh, and also on the mealtime theme: One of my favorite Luci Shaw poems is "Eating the Whole Egg." When we sat next to each other at lunch, I ate a whole egg from the salad bar. It took everything in my power not to make some super lame statement to her about this insanely cool turn of events.

7. Perhaps because there was so much activity, even my extroverted self needed a bit of down time. I spent a lot of time walking around the campus on my own.

8. I signed up for a slot in the first open mic night, and even though I was sorely tempted to read a page from my book, I decided that I was there for sermon-writing and I was going to read a sermon, even if that is ordinarily not the sort of thing one reads into an open mic. Confession time: the piece Weep the Word Beautiful, which I published on A Deeper Family awhile ago, started out its life as a sermon on a passage from James. I figured it had cross-over appeal. The open mic and open slides nights were an abundance of riches - just so much fun to see all the talented people doing what they love.

9. While waiting for the Over the Rhine concert to start, I was sitting with a Glen friend who is an art critic. There were a number of paintings on display that night, and I volunteered which one I thought was the best. He confirmed that I had a good eye, and then I guess I just thought to myself: when else am I going to have the chance to have a real art critic issue a judgment on the Blue Lady - i.e., the first prize winner of the 1998 Latin Club/ Ohio Junior Classical League painting award for the entire state of Ohio? You know, the enormous painting that my mother framed and hung over the guest room bed, even though it is entirely capable of inspiring heebie-jeebies? I pulled up the painting on my mama's blog and was happy to hear that the all-blue palate and asymmetrical face were interesting and that it probably did deserve to win first place in the Latin Club contest.

Ah, the joy of faint praise. I think it's best I didn't aim to be a visual artist.

10. And finally, last but never least: oh, Over the Rhine. I've been loving you for years and years and you're just still exactly the soundtrack to my soul. Because I've missed a tour or two, there were more new songs on the playlist than I've heard since the first concert I went to thirteen years ago. I can't wait until the double album releases this fall. There was a line in a song about the Cuyahoga River that nearly lifted me up out of my seat.

After the concert, we had a closing worship service, complete with an anointing: May God make you lovely in your life and in your art. Linford accompanied the closing hymn, and I'm quite sure I've never been more swept away by a piano accompaniment before. That man clearly grew up in church. We sang Blest Be the Ties That Bind, of course.

Blest be the tie that binds

our hearts in Christian love;

the fellowship of kindred minds

is like to that above.

You can still sign up for the Glen West Workshop. I'm already hatching a plan to return someday with Ben.

A Metaphor for Preaching

2013-06-14T11:09:00.001-05:00

This morning in our sermon-writing workshop, Lauren Winner gave us butcher paper and markers and asked us to draw - in more than 45 seconds but less than an hour, which ended up being roughly five minutes - the relationship between the preacher, the scriptures, the congregation, and God.

This is my drawing:

It's a bit fuzzy, but the gist is this: the disco ball - multifaceted, illuminating, central - is the scriptural text. (To my surprise, Lauren guessed this before I said so. Did you guess that, too?) The people are dancing. The preacher is among them, dancing with her congregation, but she also serves as the DJ, her iPod in hand. (Why is she the DJ? Perhaps she simply has especially good taste in music and the ability to know just the right song to play next to keep the dance party going.) And the whole thing is happening in God. (Unfortunately in this snapshot you can't see the entire line encircling the scene that is meant to represent this... maybe that means something, too.)

It was a fun exercise, particularly to see all the different drawings together.

Women in Ministry: "Allowed" to Serve?

2013-06-14T02:30:00.000-05:00

Dawn Gentry somehow manages to make the Women in Ministry question simple - simply by pointing out the complexity and nuance of our sacred scriptures.

The acappella churches of Christ I attended in my 20s allowed me to work in children’s classrooms and cook for potluck suppers. When I was in my 30s, the church plant we joined allowed me to sing “special music” but not lead worship…when we merged with another church plant, women were allowed to sing on a praise team that led worship from the front, with microphones. As long as a man was actually leading the praise team.

When we joined an independent Christian church it was immediately evident that women were allowed to do much more. Women occasionally read scripture, sang, or prayed in the service. Women were allowed to serve as “ministry coordinators” (their term for deacons”). As a ministry coordinator I was allowed to lead a group of first impressions volunteers, both male and female.

After we’d been there three years, I was hired as the Children’s Ministry Director. As such, I was considered part of the “pastoral staff” and I was allowed to attend all staff and elder meetings. In addition to “administrating the programs” involving children and families, I was allowed to participate in hospital calls, pastoral care, long range planning, and curriculum development. I co-wrote a class on spiritual gifts and was allowed to lead a church-wide service initiative. I led small-group Bible studies, and even spoke – from the pulpit, with a Bible in hand – for non-Sunday morning special services (twice in 11 years). I was allowed to do ministry in many ways.

I was “allowed” to do ministry.

Yet, in Ephesians 4 we read “There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them…All these are the work of one and the same Spirit, and he distributes them to each one, just as he determines. ...God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be” (I Cor 12) and “To each one of us grace [gifts – same Greek word] has been given as Christ apportioned it…”

The Spirit distributes… God has placed… Christ apportioned…

Calling and giftedness are the role of the Godhead. Not one of the passages on spiritual gifts limits any specific gift to a specific gender. Not one of the passages on spiritual gifts suggests that church leaders have the job of assigning specific gifts or roles to specific people. Instead, church leaders are exhorted to equip God’s people for service. In fact, the purpose of such variety is for the benefit of the whole church, as well as for the growth and maturity of the individual using those gifts. Consider I Corinthians 12:6-7:

There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone it is the same God at work. Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good.

When I am asked a question about what I believe about women in ministry, the challenge often presented is the two limiting passages, 1 Timothy 2:11 (I don’t permit a woman to teach or to assume authority) and I Corinthians 14:34 (Women should remain silent in the churches. They are not allowed to speak). But that’s not all the Bible says on the topic. And the spiritual gifts passages (encompassing over 52 verses in four different books) are just one example of that tension within God’s word. So the reader must use discernment in reading and interpreting and applying the texts – all of them – in a way that brings glory to God and supports the ultimate goal of bringing others into the kingdom.

I believe God will hold us accountable for using our gifts the way He intends (not the way society always expects) and I also believe God will hold us, as leaders, accountable for being good stewards of the gifts he's given each of our church members, including women. We need to encourage each other to have genuine dialogue about things we disagree on. But we also need to be courageous enough to do the ministry God has called us to do.

About Today's Contributor

Dawn Gentry’s passion is helping people discover their spiritual gifts and equipping them for service, and she and her family recently relocated to East Tennessee so that she could continue graduate studies at Emmanuel Christian Seminary. Dawn Gentry has 11 years’ experience on a pastoral staff in Indianapolis, having responsibility for over 200 volunteers in children’s, first impressions, and involvement ministries. Prior to her call to ministry she worked in sales and recruiting, and her speaking experience includes trainings and retreats in Indiana, Ohio, Illinois, and Maryland. Dawn has a Master of Arts in Practical Ministries from Cincinnati Christian University. Dawn and her husband Harold have two grown children. Some of Dawn’s favorite things to do are sing, read, hike, and play with kids (her own, and any preschoolers she can borrow!).

About the Women in Ministry Series
The Women in Ministry Series is a collection of guest posts that aims to provide an alternative to the women in ministry debates by telling the stories of women in ministry and encourage women to explore their God-given callings.

Contributions Welcome
Contact Katherine at katherinepershey[at]gmail.com to pitch your post idea in 2-4 sentences. You can stay updated on the latest post each week by signing up for the weekly e-mail list.

Comment Policy
Everyone is welcome to leave a comment. However, this series takes for granted that women are called by God into every facet of ministry. This is not the place to debate that point and such comments will be removed. Women have been told “no” in far too many places. This is one place that is committed to saying “yes.”

More Information
For more about the comment policy, submitting your own story, or to sign up for the weekly e-mail list, go here.

After the Whirlwind

2013-06-11T16:26:00.002-05:00

Sunday was one of the more unusual days of my life.

It started with a triathlon with my dear dance mom friends.

And it ended in South Hadley, MA, where I'm spending the week at the Glen East Workshop, taking a sermon-writing class with Lauren Winner. Debbie Blue is the chaplain, preaching at the evening worship services. And Over the Rhine are the resident songwriting instructors, and will be giving a concert on Saturday night. When I got to my room after the long journey from Chicagoland to New England, this poem was on my pillow.

Can I just say that while I felt remarkably well-rounded on Sunday, and marveled at the novelty of having been passed by lickety-split bicyclists on the racecourse in the morning and by Linford Detweiler at the wine and cheese reception in the evening, the whole day also made me feel pretty tired.

Was I really surprised that I felt tired? No, not really. But I didn't just feel physically fatigued. I felt drained, worn out. One of my mother's oft-repeated refrains is "Don't overdo it," and I totally overdid it.

I also felt guilty. Because if I overdid it on Sunday, you can only imagine how my dearly beloved family might have felt. Ben, who also cares for the children all day almost every day, has been waking up early with the girls while I train. They schlepped over to Naperville at the crack of dawn to cheer me on, not just at the start and finish but after the swim and bike, too. They were nearly as tired as I was by the time we got back to the car; Ben yawned the whole way home, and the girls passed out in the backseat. After a brief interlude in which I cleaned up, reheated leftovers for lunch, and grabbed my second set of packed bags, we headed off to the airport. Now I'm here and they are there and I miss them and they miss me.

I am so very grateful for my family's support, and for the opportunity to be here. I'm thoroughly enjoying the week, despite my weariness.

But maybe I've been "leaning in" too hard, and am in danger of tipping over.

I do work fairly diligently, if not with the most regular of hours (the flexibility of this vocation never ceases to delight me). And in addition to taking my pastoral responsibilities seriously and continuing my education like nobody's business, I'm still plugging away at this dual vocation of writing, and nurturing friendships that mean a great deal to me, and taking on time-consuming hobbies. Like, for instance, training for a half marathon this autumn. (More on that soon.)

I haven't exactly been neglecting my family. We had a couple of weekends recently wherein we more or less circled the wagons and spent really quality time together in an intentional and lovely way. And I do my fair share of the household chores, including serving as the primary cook.

Maybe I just need a restoration of Sabbath, or even a sabbatical from so much icing, regardless of how much I enjoy layering it on.

Must I always do so much?

The Little Ballerina

2013-06-08T22:20:00.001-05:00

Juliette had her dance recital today, and did a great job. She loves dance and is sad that it's over for the summer.

I had to get a shot of Juliette with her cat dance bag and cowboy boots. (Please do not look too closely at the grass or the hairdo. And know that the brown patch on the right is mulch around a tree.)

Okay, I admit that I had her turn and pose facing the opposite way so I could show off our halfway decent landscaping. We've worked hard this spring!

She is such a beauty.

And SO EXCITED.

Women in Ministry: Thirty Years of Ordained Ministry

2013-06-07T02:00:00.000-05:00

I want to be Jennifer Burns Lewis when I grow up. What a gift, to celebrate 30 years of ordained ministry!

This week, I celebrated my 30th anniversary of ordination as a Teaching Elder in the Presbyterian Church (USA). Until last summer, the title for clergy in the Presbyterian Church (USA) was Minister of Word and Sacrament, and that’s the office to which I was ordained on June 5, 1983. I can’t decide which title I prefer, which really doesn’t matter, because the denomination decides what we’re called. It also really doesn’t matter, because, at the end of the day, I count it all joy and such a privilege to serve the Church.

I’m a child of the Church, not by birth, but by adoption. I was raised by a single mom, in a household that included her younger sister and their mom, my treasured grandmother. Our family’s roots were Jewish, although none of them practiced their faith or observed their rich culture. New Yorkers, my mom, aunt and grandmother were what many would describe as seekers; they were very bright women, questioners, avid readers, deeply involved in politics and as avid National League Baseball fans. I grew up in a household where one might have mistaken the Kennedys for the disciples and Sandy Koufax for the Messiah. Walking distance from our home in suburban Westchester County was a medium-sized Presbyterian Church, and from the time I was in kindergarten, my mother and I would walk down the hill from our house and into the arms of the Mount Kisco Presbyterian Church. It seemed to have something for everyone, or at least for the two of us. The “Minister of Word and Sacrament” was a tall, serious man with a kind smile and an affinity for raising gladioli, which graced the chancel every summer Sunday, it seemed to me. His gift to my mother, and to many in the congregation, I feel sure, were his very thoughtful, very beautifully crafted sermons. She loved to go and listen and think. I don’t remember a word of any sermons. I remember standing on the pew next to my mom, sharing a hymnal as she kept our place, for me, with her finger. I remember a huge hug every week from the minister’s wife (also the superintendent of the Sunday School). I remember feeling like I was at a family reunion every week, which was a pretty big deal for an only child from a family full of women. My mom was smart; it takes a village to raise a child (or at least a congregation in that village). I remember feeling loved, safe, nurtured and encouraged, and I remember giving my heart to God and God’s son, when I was baptized on the day of my confirmation at the age of thirteen.

The congregation was a teaching church for seminary field education students. I distinctly remember a young woman who served our congregation preaching one Sunday morning and thinking, “I could do that!” As it turns out, that wonderful, nurturing congregation had already spotted some gifts or other in me, and I was active in many parts of the life of the church by the time I was a young teenager. Ordained as a ruling elder at the age of fourteen, I learned a lot about the underpinnings of the church, serving on Session and as a member of the Pastor Nominating Committee while still in high school. A steady stream of field education students and the calling of a dynamic young pastor who kept up the tradition of encouraging all people to share their gifts further reinforced my sense of belonging and the welcome of a church family that welcomed all people.

By the time I graduated from high school, there was no moment I can pinpoint when I heard “a call” to ministry. Rather, my sense of call was like a tune in my head that was unshakable, and my loving church family said, “Well, of course!” to my request to be taken under care as an inquirer while still in college. I went to a Jesuit university specifically to explore and have challenged by sense of call to ministry. I received support and affirmation from my thesis advisor, a older Jesuit priest who said, in the mid- 70s, that he believed I would see the ordination of women as Catholic priests in my lifetime, although probably not in his.

I went from college to seminary, and only then did I encounter a few students who told me and others, forcefully, that I should test my sense of call, citing 1 Timothy and grumbling about women not having authority over men. They were few in number, and I had a wonderful and inspiring seminary experience.

I was the last person ordained in the former United Presbyterian Church, on the evening of the historic reunion of the UPCUSA and the PCUSA in June 1983, and some folks say I was one of the youngest ordained to pastoral office, just days after my 24th birthday. My first call after seminary was to a small Presbyterian (then) all women’s college in Charlotte, North Carolina, where I served as college chaplain and as a member of the faculty. At 24, I wasn’t much older than the majority of the students. Great faculty mentors and regular opportunities to teach and preach, counsel and walk alongside students at times of rich discernment in their lives was such a joy. Since that first call, I’ve had a panoply of delightful calls. I’ve served as an associate pastor on the staff of a large church, the director of a not-for-profit, an interim pastor, co-pastor with my dear spouse, a new church development pastor, a solo pastor, and for the past ten years, pastor and head of staff at a vibrant mid-sized congregation in the western suburbs of Chicago. Our two children, now young adults, have worshipped in 175 year old sanctuaries and a barbeque barn. They’ve enjoyed the nurture of people of all ages and have been privy to the joys and the headaches of life as the kids of two pastors. In every case except one, I’ve been the first female pastor those congregations and agencies have experienced in those particular roles, and while that has been challenging and even daunting at times, the joys of ministry have far outweighed the travails. At 53, I’m feeling more and more like a Teaching Elder, even though the immense privilege of standing so close to folks as we share in celebrating the sacraments is still what causes my soul to sing.

About Today's Contributor

Jennifer Burns Lewis serves as Pastor and Head of Staff at the Presbyterian Church of Western Springs, a gem of a community, just west of Chicago. She lives in the manse with her spouse, the Rev. Dan Lewis, her step-dad, and their exceptionally spoiled three year old Golden Retriever, Lucy. She is a sinfully proud member of Women Touched by Grace III, a three -year Lilly Endowment funded program for clergy renewal for Protestant clergywomen, hosted by the Benedict Inn and Conference Center, a ministry of the Sisters of St. Benedict at Our Lady of Grace Monastery in Beech Grove, Indiana. She gives a shout-out to her WTBG sisters and to the enormously talented Katherine Willis Pershey, her colleague, neighbor and friend in Western Springs.

About the Women in Ministry Series
The Women in Ministry Series is a collection of guest posts that aims to provide an alternative to the women in ministry debates by telling the stories of women in ministry and encourage women to explore their God-given callings.

Contributions Welcome
Contact Katherine at katherinepershey[at]gmail.com to pitch your post idea in 2-4 sentences. You can stay updated on the latest post each week by signing up for the weekly e-mail list.

Comment Policy
Everyone is welcome to leave a comment. However, this series takes for granted that women are called by God into every facet of ministry. This is not the place to debate that point and such comments will be removed. Women have been told “no” in far too many places. This is one place that is committed to saying “yes.”

More Information
For more about the comment policy, submitting your own story, or to sign up for the weekly e-mail list, go here.

Sentences You Never Thought You'd Say

2013-06-06T12:01:00.002-05:00

When I was in high school, I went to the mall with my friend Matt. We were sharing a meal from an upscale salad bar when I accidentally bumped into his hand over the plate. "Sorry!" I said. He was confused, and asked why I was apologizing. "I hit you with my crab cake."

And then we proceeded to get the most incredible case of the giggles, because really? When else are you ever going to have the opportunity to utter the sentence I hit you with my crab cake??

Ever since, whenever circumstances allow for some inane, context-dependent sentence to be spoken, I always remember that crab cake. I wish I'd kept track of them through the years, because there are some doozies.

The other day we were reorganizing the toy collection. It was quite a project; we brought every single toy we own into the living room and spent over an hour sorting out all the little pieces that had been separated from their like parts. I picked up something I couldn't identify and asked Ben what it was. His response?

"That's part of the duck underpants."

I think I'm going to use the comments of this blog post as a running list when the next wildly random sentence emerges from the ordinary glory of life.

Women in Ministry: Nothing is Lost

2013-05-31T03:00:00.000-05:00

Read this contribution from Kat Banakis for many reasons: for her humor, her wisdom, her flair for language - and for what is seriously the best image, ever, of all time. Enjoy.

My alma mater did a video project recently where they asked college seniors, “You have thirty seconds to talk to yourself five years ago. What do you say?” The videos themselves were forgettable, but that got me thinking? What would I say to myself five years ago? And it turned out to be really rich reflection for how my ministry has taken shape so far.

Here’s what I’d say: I know you just got back a really crappy grade in that ethics class, and you’re mourning that because your GPA isn’t high enough to get into a PhD program in theology or ethics now, and while you were never really sure on academia, it’s a door shutting on a rather seeable path.

I know you feel like no body’s bunny because losing academia compounds on not knowing where you are in the ordination process and having left lobbying in DC to go to div school, so academia, the church, and government all seem to not be quite the right fit for you in their traditional forms.

Not knowing is so hard. It is, and it doesn’t stop being hard, but you will start to see a pattern unfold enough to trust in the theological claim that nothing is lost in God’s economy. Everything does get put to use, just not in ways you can see from the front end.

This summer you’re start messing around with some writing again. The bits won’t take a magnum opus form, but the freebie contributions you craft and send out will pay off later. You’ll use the lobbying skills from DC in congregational life. You’ll even use that intro to computer programming class you took pass/fail in college where you thought all you learned was how to ply off dandruff riddled TA’s with Funyuns and Mountain Dew.

And someday in a sermon, you’ll even use some of the books from that ethics class that’s making you cry right now.

And gosh, it just gets funnier. One day you’ll be doing a kids’ service, and at the quietest part of the whole service a first grader in a fabulous sequined beret will yell out “Meghan! Thank you for coming to my birthday party!” And you’ll have to press your lips together not to spit in laughter. Another time you’ll ask someone in the congregation how her week was, and she’ll say “Like a cat trying to bury shit on a marble floor,” and it will just be one of the best images. Ever.

But right now, maybe just try to treat yourself the way you would your favorite goddaughter. Let her eat soft foods and go to museums and cry underwater. You’ll learn the goddaughter phrase from one of your best friends, but right now she’s just a girl you met years ago. You’ll have to move cross-country to love her.

Nothing is lost dear girl. It all gets put to use. But for today, it’s totally OK to be sad and scared.

About Today's Contributor

Kat Banakis’ book of practical theology Bubble Girl: An Irreverent Journey of Faith is available through Chalice Press. She works part-time as an Episcopal priest at St. Luke’s Church in Evanston, IL and full time as a strategist for a consulting firm that helps non-profits use big data plan smart fundraising.

The Hot Mess/ Holy Spirit Sermon

2013-05-28T11:06:00.000-05:00

Last week was rough. Even as I was celebrating the mystifying return of my lost wedding rings, I was also recovering from a quick and icky stomach virus. Thankfully the only other person who got it was Ben, but since we were collectively incapacitated for three days, I didn't even get to start writing my sermon until Saturday morning. I know and love many Saturday sermon writers, but I am not one of them. I'm a done by Thursday kind of girl. To add insult to anxiety, Ben and the girls went on a ridiculously fun field trip together on Saturday. While I was enclosed in my study agonizing over Paul's theology of suffering, they were going on pony rides and petting goats. Hmph. I had a terrifically tough time writing, and didn't actually finish until about a half an hour before the service started. Even as I was walking up the steps of the pulpit, all I could think was this sermon is a hot mess.

Maybe you know where this is going.

It was one of the most well-received sermons I've ever preached. I felt it too. I was on fire. As I was walking down the steps of the pulpit, all I could think was I was filled with the Holy Spirit. It was humbling and exhilarating.

I'm fairly sure this is one of those times the manuscript is a flat and lifeless string of words compared to the Preaching Event. But I share it nonetheless.

* * *

Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us. (Romans 5:1-5)

I struggle with this text. But according to Paul, that’s great, because all the time I spent agonizing over this scripture this week was good for me. So, too, was the virus that knocked me out for two days earlier this week. I can happily boast that those days of aches and nausea and low-grade misery produced endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and so on and so forth.

I struggle with this text. The fact of the matter is this: it’s true, at least sometimes, that what we go through can make us stronger. It’s a biological process – to get bigger biceps you first have to work them enough to sustain tiny tears in the tissue, and the muscles grow larger through the process of repair. And it’s a psychological process, too. Though we’re all too familiar with the horrors of post-traumatic stress syndrome, psychologists have determined that some people experience what they’ve dubbed post-traumatic growth. They note that these people “gained a new inner strength, and discovered skills and abilities they never knew they possessed. They became more confident and appreciative of life, particularly of the ‘small things' that they used to take for granted. They became more compassionate for the sufferings of others, and more comfortable with intimacy, so that they had deeper and more satisfying relationships. One of the most common changes was that they developed a more philosophical or spiritual attitude to life… their suffering led them to a ‘deeper level of awareness.'” (Psychology Today)

It’s lovely that suffering can have this redeeming effect on us, but I still can’t help but doubt if the growth is always worth the trauma. And I’m not talking about my paltry little bout of the flu. I’m talking about Moore, Oklahoma. I’m talking about Newtown, Connecticut. I’m talking about all the infinite ways our hearts and minds and bodies are torn asunder. I’ve never accepted the idea that “everything happens for a reason,” and I certainly don’t accept that terrible things happen for the express purpose of building character.

I had a bit of a shouting match with my biblical commentary this week. The theologian wrote, “When we face problems, guess what! We can rejoice and say, “Bring them on!” Paul takes the sting out of problems. He deflates them by saying that they are good for us.” I’m sorry, but that is baloney. Paul does not take the sting out of the devastating gun violence in Chicago. Paul does not take the sting out of what it’s like to grapple with addiction. Paul does not take the sting out of the grief of losing a loved one to the horrors of war, no matter how noble the soldier’s sacrifice. It isn’t unfaithful to be incapable of rejoicing when your world gets turned upside down. You don’t have to say “bring them on” when calamities threaten to upend your life.

As much as I struggle with this text, there are a few things that make a difference in the way I read it. The first is considering whether it is prescriptive or descriptive. It’s one thing for a well-meaning friend telling you that every cloud has a silver lining, that your particular suffering is happening for this particular reason, that you should just thank God for all this pain because it’s going to make you such a better person. But it’s an entirely different thing for you to work through the meaning and purpose and consequences of your own suffering. One of the things we know about Paul – because he writes of it elsewhere – is that he had something wrong with him. We don’t know what it was – he referred to it as a thorn in his flesh – but he prayed for it to be removed. Not once, not twice, but three times he prayed to God to make this affliction go away. It didn’t. God’s answer was this: “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.

So,” Paul wrote, “I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.” This understanding worked for Paul. It gave meaning to his life: even though he suffered, his suffering helped him lean all the more heavily on the one he called Savior. There’s nothing wrong with Paul or anyone else interpreting their pain in a redemptive light. Where I take issue is when we treat an interpretation like that as a prescription for someone else’s experience.

We need to let people have the dignity of interpreting their own suffering, of charting their own course through pain. We can receive Paul’s words as a description of one pathway through troubled waters, one that may or may not always reflect our own journeys through sorrow.

Another thing that demystifies this scripture is paying attention to its context. One scholar notes that “The New Testament writers all wrote in a [culture] governed by honor and shame; honor was to be sought at all costs, and shame, particularly public shame, was to be avoided.” This is a fascinating observation, particularly if you were wondering about Paul’s curious choice to use the word “boast.” If you live in a world in which most people assume that if you are suffering you must have done something to deserve it, and, what’s more, a world in which shame is the absolute worst thing ever, you are highly unlikely to boast about your miseries.

Of course, we do live in such a world, or we at least have one foot in such a world. There are still illnesses that bear unjust and isolating stigmas. There are still crackpot preachers who will traipse up onto their soapboxes every time a natural disaster happens so they can point fingers at who is responsible for incurring God’s wrath. In this light, Paul’s charge to boast in our sufferings is positively radical. So very often, suffering is heightened by feelings of shame, and here, Paul transforms the scarlet letter into a badge of honor.

And this is how I know that Paul’s words are indeed gospel, because that is what the gospel of Jesus Christ always does: turn everything upside down. We didn’t think God would become a man, let alone a helpless infant. We figured if he did come into the world, it would be to condemn, not to save. We assumed that when he gathered up his disciples around him, he would choose the best and brightest, not a bunch of bumbling outcasts and sinners. We were dumbfounded by the string of teachings that were not exactly what we expected to hear: the last shall be first, love your enemies, blessed are those who mourn. We waited for him to show off his awesomely powerful divine glory, and he died. On a cross. Like a criminal. Like the worst kind of criminal.

And then, despite the fact that it seemed like Jesus’s mission was a total fail: surprise. From the worst suffering imaginable, God extracts salvation. The whole story, from start to finish, is one big long tale of God turning conventional wisdom on its head.

And if our faith in this wild, beautiful, upside down story changes everything, if we are indeed granted peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, then yes, we probably will handle suffering differently. In his letter to the Thessalonians, Paul challenges the people not to grieve without hope. Not that we shouldn’t grieve, simply that we shouldn’t grieve as if we have no hope. Hope is key. Hope gives us the ability to see past our present circumstances. Hope convinces us that no matter how bad it gets, sorrow and evil and suffering and sin do not have the final word. Hope insists that the healing and reconciling work of Jesus Christ is not finished until everything and everyone is healed and reconciled.

I have said it before and I will say it again: I don’t believe everything happens for a reason, least of all terrible tragedies. Nor do I believe that we should somehow be above sorrow because of our faith. You won’t find me shouting “bring it on” when faced with a crisis. But I do believe that God is with us. Always. I do believe that in Christ, God has reached into this world and experienced the depths of human suffering.

I do believe that we stand in grace, even when we cower in fear. We stand in grace, even when we collapse in despair. We stand in grace even when our suffering does not produce endurance and character and at long last hope, because ultimately what redeems us is not our suffering, but our suffering savior.

“Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand.” May it be so.

Show Me Your Eyebrows

2013-05-26T19:15:00.001-05:00

My apologies to those who might find our toddler eating her spaghetti and showing off her eyebrows less than riveting blog content. We thought it was hilarious. ;-)

Women in Ministry: A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

2013-05-24T02:00:00.000-05:00

This photograph of the Rev. Heidi Haverkamp was taken on Pentecost Sunday. It was shared with several others on the Facebook page of the Episcopal Church of St. Benedict. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. They say it because it is true. (Photograph by Adam Frieberg; posted with permission.)

In the last days, God says,

I will pour out my Spirit on all people.

Your sons and daughters will prophesy,

your young men will see visions,

your old men will dream dreams.

Even on my servants, both men and women,

I will pour out my Spirit in those days,

and they will prophesy.

(Acts 2:17-18)

About Today's Contributor

Heidi Haverkamp blogs at the Vicar of Bolingbrook and ministers alongside the people of the The Episcopal Church of St. Benedict. Her gifts for ministry include teaching, preaching, spiritual guidance and counseling, worship planning, and developing and supporting lay leadership. She also has experience as an organic farmer, mental health worker, cook, and legal secretary, and led a small church in rural New England for a year as a lay interim pastor. Heidi grew up in Hyde Park, on the south side of Chicago, and now enjoys the wide-open spaces of the western suburbs and the constant availability of parking spaces. She likes to garden, cook, and spend time with her husband, Adam Frieberg, a photographer and ordained minister in The Christian Church (Disciples of Christ).

FOUND

2013-05-23T13:50:00.000-05:00

I am utterly baffled.

They were on the dresser today, right where both Ben and I had looked several times.

I am also very, very happy.

Thanks, Saint Anthony. You're quite good at what you do. Go help someone else find something important now.

O, Saint Anthony

2013-05-21T21:42:00.001-05:00

I lost my rings yesterday. Or maybe Sunday. All I know is that when I went to put them on Monday morning, they weren't on the dresser with my watch. Neither were they on the windowsill, or on my nightstand, or any of the other places they frequent.

I knew immediately that I wasn't going to find them.

It was only a matter of time. They didn't fit properly, at least not in the Midwest, where the size of my fingers fluctuates with the weather. I'd already lost and replaced my engagement ring once. I'm lucky they are reasonably replaced. Silver and amethyst are cheap, relatively speaking.

Still, I've missed my original engagement ring. I miss the tiny grain of sand that got embedded in the filigree on the day Ben and I went to the beach in Cape Cod.

And now they have both vanished. The replica engagement ring, the wedding ring that was blessed at the altar nearly eleven years ago. Poof.

Yesterday was a bad day. I was just about to leave work to pick the girls up for Juliette's ballet class when I heard about the tornado. I got caught up for a few moments, checking the news and following the comment threads on my Oklahoman friends' Facebook feeds. By the time I got home there were just minutes to spare, and Juliette was in the midst of a huge temper tantrum, and all four of us were upset and frustrated and it all added up to one of the most unpleasant episodes in recent Pershey family history.

I told some friends about my rings this morning. I was feeling sorry for myself. It's been a rough year. Not a catastrophic year. More like a one-thing-after-another year: anxious and expensive and wearying, with plenty of lovely moments in between the plumbing and medical emergencies. I didn't need to lose my rings, you know? I needed them to just be on the windowsill, and then to slip back on my fourth finger where they belong. But like I said: they're gone.

One of my friends suggested praying to Saint Anthony, and sent me this prayer:

Dear Saint Anthony,
you are the patron of the poor
and the helper of all who seek lost articles.
Help me find the object I have lost
so that I will be able to make better use of time

I will gain for God's greater honor and glory.
Grant your gracious aid to all people
who seek what they have lost-
especially those who seek to regain God's grace.

As wildly superstitious as I can be, I rarely cross my superstitions with my faith. And there's something about this prayer that feels like superstition.

But I started to pray it anyway. For the heck of it, I guess. What can it hurt? But midway through I just stopped cold. I couldn't pray it. Not when on the same day I lost my rings so many people lost everything.

Many people have shared that tear-jerker of a clip in which an elderly woman being interviewed at the site of her demolished home is suddenly and unexpectedly reunited with her dog. She'd presumed it dead, but someone off-camera noticed movement in the rubble, and the woman pried her terrified pet out of the mess. She was overjoyed, almost speechless. And then she said something about how she thought God had only answered one prayer - sparing her own life - but he'd answered two.

Even through my tears I cringed. I want to give people the space to interpret the world according to their own theological frameworks, even if their believes differ from mine. If it comforts you to tell yourself that everything happens for a reason, well, good. I can't reconcile that phrase in my own life, but I'll honor that it works for you. So when that woman talked about God answering her two prayers I wanted to let it be, but I immediately thought of the people whose prayers were not answered. What does it mean for a prayer to be "answered," anyway?

I am fairly sure the thought I had when I was praying that prayer of Saint Anthony is bad theology. But nevertheless: I had the passing, irrational thought that I could make a trade. I'll allow my beloved rings to be sucked into oblivion, forever gone, forever associated with The Day There Was That Horrible Tornado in Oklahoma and Juliette Lost Her Mind Before Ballet, if somebody else who is seeking something lost - something with flesh and blood and please, dear God, still a beating heart - can receive God and Saint Anthony's aid and be reunited. Can we cut a deal, Saint Anthony?

I'll let you know if they turn up.

Women in Ministry: Sisterhood

2013-05-17T03:00:00.000-05:00

Adele Henderson has received a lot of support and affirmation in her ministry - and now she wants to pass this gift along to her sisters.

I am a G.R.I.T. What’s a G.R.I.T? A Girl Raised In The South. I am also Baptist. The first 20 years of my life I was a Southern Baptist and for 20 years now a Cooperative Baptist. What I have come to realize at the age of 40 is that I did not have your typical Southern Baptist upbringing. See, in Raleigh, NC I grew up in a church affiliated with the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) where we had women deacons and a female music minister. I never heard that a woman’s place was in the home or teaching in a Sunday school class. I heard Foreign Missionaries, who were women, talk about the work they did and the support they needed. I saw my mom active in the lay ministry of the church and both girls and guys preaching on Youth Sunday. What I heard growing up was that God wanted a relationship with me and was affirmed by my church when I responded to the call to Theological Education. As a result I never thought about the need for support from fellow women in ministry.

During my time at Campbell Divinity School, 1998 – 2002, I went to my first NC Baptist Women in Ministry (NCBWIM) event. I can’t tell you much about it because the only thing I remember was it being in Greensboro, NC and I got to see my former Campus Minister. Looking back I never saw the importance of me being involved in NCBWIM. Don’t get me wrong, I have heard the stories from fellow classmates and ministers of rejection and shaming all because they were women and were responding to the call of God. But in my narrow-mindedness I didn’t or couldn’t see my role in advocating and speaking out in favor of women in all forms of Christian Ministry, including the pulpit. After graduation in 2002 God continued to bless me through a church in Tarboro, NC where the pastor provided me multiple opportunities to preach from the pulpit. And when I interviewed for my current job I was asked questions that centered around my philosophy around Christian ministry, my education and experience not about my gender or being single. I was and am respected as a minister.

As they always say, hindsight is 20/20 and I have changed and what changed was my first Virginia Baptist Women in Ministry (VABWIM) event in April of this year. I must first make a confession that I was not planning to go until my Supervisor at work said to me if I wanted to go that it would be covered under my budget. But what happened in 24 hours in Richmond, VA on April 19 – 20 took this narrow minded woman and opened her eyes, heart and mind wide opened. I felt the power of Sisterhood. I couldn’t relate to the stories shared at the breakfast on Saturday morning but in hearing those stories two things happened: God showed me how much I have been blessed as a woman in ministry and that my gifts of listening and pastoral support are not only useful in my work with at-risk youth but with my fellow sisters in ministry who have had to fight for every bit of recognition they deserve but have not always gotten. In being blessed I must and want to bless the sisterhood and work alongside them so that future girls can be welcomed and affirmed for their God given gifts and their role in preaching the Gospel. I am grateful for my new found role in the sisterhood.

About Today's Contributor

Adele Henderson is an Ordained Baptist Minister and serves as Chaplain at HopeTree Family Services in Salem, VA. In her free time she enjoys photography and walking her dog Sophie.

Ten on Tuesday

2013-05-14T21:29:00.001-05:00

1. It is SPRING. Among other things, this means we have a ton of yard work to do. We haven't really known how best to care for our landscaping, so we have overgrown roses and errant buckthorns everywhere. We made the excellent decision to bring a professional - a landscaping designer who spent an hour walking through our yard telling us what to do and how to do it. It was an investment, but we've already saved so much money by doing necessary things ourselves. For instance, we pruned this previously ludicrous crab into a beautiful tree fit for climbing. I'll have to take another picture tomorrow because it is blooming gorgeous right now.

2. Juliette got to visit her kindergarten class today. It was a very sweet and well-organized event. The current kindergarteners filed into the gymnasium and were each to approach an incoming kindergartener and invite them to kindergarten, and then be their buddy while they went off to explore the classroom. Not one but two boys from church made mad dashes for Juliette. After a brief moment in which one of the boys looked mighty crestfallen, it was decided that Juliette could have two buddies.

We are totally in for it.

Juliette loved every minute of the whole experience. She doesn't have an iota of self-consciousness or anxiety, just pure excitement and openness.

3. It was very fun to see this graphic pop up in my Facebook feed. I read this and thought - among other things - "Gee, he must have had a great Speech and Debate coach!" And indeed he did: my very own sister Elizabeth.

4. I'm reading The Art of Fielding. I love baseball novels more than I love baseball.

5. Practicing Families, which is a fantastic resource for holistic, home-based spirituality, just posted a downright glowing review of Any Day a Beautiful Change.

6. On the way home from church today, Juliette and I decided to take the long way and ride our bikes through the underpass rather than cross the tracks during rush hour. As we were coming through the tunnel a woman on the other side was shushing us and pointing up. It turns out there is a fox hole on the hill over the underpass, and a baby fox was poking its head up. We clambered off our bikes and watched him come out all the way, looking right at all the people who had gathered to see him. When a dog barked he jumped back in the hole. It was by far the closest I've ever been to a fox, and the only baby fox I've ever seen. Amazing. I wish I'd thought to take a picture but I was just too mesmerized.

7. The reason we were leaving church so late was entirely unexpected and entirely infuriating. You may have heard of the Willis Sister Crazy Consumer Gene. If you ever wish to see this familial condition in action, by all means: WRONGFULLY SEND ME TO COLLECTIONS. No, seriously. Lose a payment, inexplicably hold another to the start of the next month so that two months go by without a payment posting, and then send a collections agency after me without so much as giving me a singular warning. YOU WILL SEE MY WRATH. I have literally spent hours sorting all this out, between the wildly incompetent medical billing office and the enormously helpful Bank of America Online Billpay team. I know we're supposed to hate Bank of America, evil big corporation, etc., but they have been so very helpful in vindicating my good name. They faxed the proof of payment not once but twice, since the incompetent billing department gave the wrong fax number the first time.

It's a good thing I have naturally low blood pressure. Hmph.

8. Thanks to this helpful tutorial from Tsh Oxenreider, I've settled on Feedly as my post-Google Reader RSS service. I like it, quite a bit more than Flipboard and The Old Reader, the other ones I tried. The app is even better than the desktop version, and I almost never use apps (except, of course, for my beloved instagram.

9. Speaking of Instagram and cellphone/tablet photography: Do check out the class Elizabeth has coordinated through Big Picture. It looks soooooo cool. (Make sure you watch the video.)

10. And this one. Oh, this one.

100% dickens, 100% sweet as could be.

Some Things are Mutually Exclusive

2013-05-14T12:34:00.000-05:00

People keep shooting people on accident. People keep shooting people on purpose. People keep shooting themselves.

And there are so many children involved with these shootings. Like the one in Kentucky where the five-year-old boy shot and killed his two-year-old sister with a rifle made for children. Not a toy rifle, mind you, the ones that look frighteningly real save for the little orange cap mandated by law. A real rifle that looks like a toy, but is can be used to kill.

I cannot stop thinking about what that boy will have to live with for the rest of his life. “It’s a Crickett,” the coroner explained. “It’s a little rifle for a kid… The little boy’s used to shooting the little gun... Just one of those crazy accidents." No, as a friend-of-a-friend said: Not an accident. A totally preventable tragedy. Heartbreaking.

I've scoured the Crickett website for information about how old they suggest children should be before using one of their products. Maybe they consider this a question to be answered by parents alone, but I found it hard to believe that it wasn't even in the FAQ section. They do explain that "The goal of [Keystone Sporting Arms] is to instill gun safety in the minds of youth shooters and encourage them to gain the knowledge and respect that hunting and shooting activities require and deserve."

I find "gun safety" and "guns for small children" to be mutually exclusive.

(More on the legal issues related to this incident, from Slate.)

Women in Ministry: The Accidental Pastor

2013-05-10T02:00:00.000-05:00

April Yamasaki's story is a powerful testimony to the fundamental conviction underpinning the Women in Ministry Series: God calls women into ministry. Period.

My husband and I had just decided to join a local congregation when the pastor abruptly resigned. Quite literally, he was there one Sunday, and then gone the next. It wasn't the best introduction to a new church, but in spite of the turmoil, we decided to join anyway. After all, we had been getting to know the people, we both taught at the related Bible college, I had even been a guest speaker at the church several times.

Without a pastor, the congregation relied even more heavily than usual on its members to do the work of ministry, and I was asked to lead a series of four worship services for Advent. I was happy to help, and after my very first Sunday planning and leading worship, a woman whom I later learned was part of the pastoral search committee came up and asked, "How would you like to be the pastor of this church?"

I just had to laugh! That was the furthest thing from my mind. I thought I already had a strong calling--to teach, write, and be involved as a member of the church. Pastoral ministry was nowhere on my radar screen.

But that Advent as I continued to lead worship and to be part of the church, the questions kept coming. Finally I received a call from the chair of the search committee. “We hear that you are very happy teaching and writing,” he said, “but we would like to talk with you about pastoral ministry at the church.”

By that time, I was no longer laughing--but I was also not at all sure that I wanted to meet with the search committee. Although I had a Masters degree in Christian Studies, I had no pastoral experience, and the church was still reeling from a very difficult pastoral resignation. If there is such a thing as a match made in heaven, I was quite sure it didn’t look like this!

Still, one of the things my husband and I have always valued about the Mennonite church is the understanding that God speaks to us in Scripture, in our own prayer life, and also in community. Here it seemed the community was trying to say something, and I needed at least to listen.

I have never felt the movement of God’s Spirit so strongly.

As we continued to discern together, I went from not at all even thinking about pastoral ministry, to being willing to consider it, then curious, and then excited about a unique opportunity—to serve the church at a critical time of transition, to experience some new things for myself, and to learn and grow spiritually and personally through it all.

Would I be willing to serve part-time and continue teaching? the committee asked. Would some sort of team ministry be possible? They even had someone in mind for the other half of the team, but when that didn’t work out, one of the senior members on the search committee asked, would it be possible for me to take a leave of absence from the college and work as a full-time interim pastor?

So on the recommendation of the search committee, I asked for a leave of absence from the college and accepted the church’s call for what we all thought would be for the summer months and then the fall semester. The church would continue their search for a pastor, and I fully expected to be back to teaching at the college in January. Surely by that time, the church would have found a real pastor, I thought. I just didn’t know then that it would be me.

As it turned out, the church asked me to extend my interim ministry for another school semester. They then asked me to candidate for the regular pastoral position, I went through the ordination process, and now, as of this past Easter Sunday, I’ve been lead pastor at my church for 20 years!

In some ways I’ve had it easy—my church had mainly resolved any questions about women in ministry before I was called, and has been wonderfully supportive. But ministry has also been extremely challenging. I’ve dealt with the past sexual misconduct of a pastoral candidate, financial fraud by a member of the church against other members, difficult deaths including the loss of children and the still unsolved murder of a parishioner. As an associate once said to me, “I wish you some bumps along the way so you’ll know what it feels like”—and I’ve definitely had my share.

Yet through it all, I’ve also had a deep and persistent sense of God’s calling. I may have started as an accidental pastor, but it’s turned out to be so much more than that!

About Today's Contributor

April Yamasaki is a pastor and writer who has published numerous articles and several books, most recently Sacred Pauses: Spiritual Practices for Personal Renewal (Herald Press, February 2013). A third-generation Canadian of Chinese descent, April lives in Abbotsford, B.C., with her husband, Gary, who teaches biblical studies at Columbia Bible College. Visit her website where she blogs about spiritual practice, writing, reading, faith, and life at http://aprilyamasaki.com. Follow her on Twitter @SacredPauses, and you'll be entered to win a free copy of her book.

About the Women in Ministry Series The Women in Ministry Series is a collection of guest posts that aims to provide an alternative to the women in ministry debates by telling the stories of women in ministry and encourage women to explore their God-given callings.

Contributions Welcome
Contact Katherine at katherinepershey[at]gmail.com to pitch your post idea in 2-4 sentences. You can stay updated on the latest post each week by signing up for the weekly e-mail list.

Comment Policy
Everyone is welcome to leave a comment. However, this series takes for granted that women are called by God into every facet of ministry. This is not the place to debate that point and such comments will be removed. Women have been told “no” in far too many places. This is one place that is committed to saying “yes.”

More Information
For more about the comment policy, submitting your own story, or to sign up for the weekly e-mail list, go here.

Deeper Family: Something God Alone Can See

2013-05-09T10:02:00.001-05:00

This is a Deeper Family, not a Deeper Church. I’m charged to write about family, not the work I do as a congregational pastor.

But sometimes the church is a family.

Sometimes it’s a family in all the wrong ways, replete with dysfunction. Sometimes there are controlling personalities and melodramatic martyrs and generational warfare.

And sometimes there is tenderness and mutual care and the simple joy of shared meals – bread and wine in the sanctuary, potlucks in the fellowship hall.

Sometimes they really do know we are Christians by our love.

Continue reading here.

Guest Post: Bromleigh McCleneghan

2013-05-08T09:00:00.000-05:00

I met Bromleigh McCleneghan at a Collegeville Institute writing workshop in 2009. That same week I also met Lee Hull Moses. They were close friends working on a book together. We were all writing about parenting and theology and such, which is to say that we could have ended up being all weird and competitive toward each other. Rather, Bromleigh and Lee have become some of my closest friends and colleagues. They did indeed write a book together, and a fantastic one at that. I heartily endorsed Hopes and Fears: Everyday Theology for New Parents and Other Tired, Anxious People with these words:

Moses and McCleneghan have crafted a theology of family that is smart, faithful, and wonderfully expansive. There's a place for the how-to guides that cover the logistics of parenting. But there's also a place for Hopes and Fears, which reflects on the soul of parenting: the top of the bedside stack.

Leave a comment on this post for a chance to win a copy of the book. It makes an especially good Mother's Day gift!

* * * * *

Last weekend, I travelled to St. Paul, MN to spend a few days with one of my best friends. She’s recently relocated to the Midwest from New York, and this change removed the last obstacles of cost and distance that had kept us from an in-the-flesh visit over the past five years.

It was a fantastic weekend; Megan practices hospitality like nobody’s business, and she took me and another friend to the coolest restaurants, the best bookstores, the most interesting local theaters and museums, and the nicest spots for enjoying nature. We drank good beer, and nice wine, and ate long, leisurely meals, and stayed up talking into the night.

As we perused the shops of some trendy neighborhood, countless signs cajoled: “May 11th is Mother’s Day! Pick up something for your Mom!” A few of the displays were of those little gift books on mom-related themes, and coffee mugs and wall hangings pronouncing the owner “World’s Best Mom.” Many were really lovely; good gifts for my mom: eco-friendly household items, antique glass pieces. I texted my husband for his approval of several items. “Would she like the bamboo printed placemats?”

Though we were having a conversation, aided by the many wonders of the digital age, it struck me as strange that I was preparing for this “holiday” – whether one with origins in the nostalgic consumerism of Hallmark, or more nobly reminiscent of Julia Ward Howe’s “Mother’s Day for Peace” – several hundred miles away from my own children, from my own home.

This trip was far from the first I’d taken away from my husband and kids: I’d been to see my dying grandfather; been on ordination retreats as a participant, and confirmation retreats as a leader. I’d spent weeks in July in Minnesota, just north of the twin cities, working on my writing and forging collegial ties. I’ve been to California, and Austin, and Atlanta and North Carolina, leaving them behind, for better and worse. I weaned my youngest all in one go one summer; taking my pump with me, and wishing my beloved husband luck. It was remarkably more painful for me; I do not recommend going from five daily feedings to zero overnight. My breasts were huge and rock hard.

This weekend jaunt to see my friends, though, was the first time I had left them for a just-for-fun trip. I was not obligated to go, I just wanted to see my friends.

I got carded a bunch – asked to prove that I was of legal drinking age, and I was floored. This amused me. I am rapidly graying; I have not lost the “baby weight” I gained while carrying my “three year old.” In my mind, I am so obviously a mom. In my mind’s eye, I look like a mom. And not a teen mom, either, but a suburban, thirty-something mom.

But here I was, spending three days attending to a part of myself I don’t spend nearly enough time cultivating. Sharing drinks with women with whom I shared my first drinks ever; sharing a bed with friends I have considered as close as sisters, with whom I shared a bathroom and student housing for years. Talking of travels and love and books and politics and activism and writing and work, revisiting conversations I began with them when we were eighteen and were talking of these things as those just beginning to be adults.

I share all these things with Josh, my husband, and with my biological sisters, and with my friends who are local. But there was something particularly marvelous about seeing them again, about rekindling my love for these dear women, these dear friends.

In the list of identity markers I give, in introducing or describing myself to people, I tend to say “Mother, wife, pastor, writer.” I rarely say friend, though I have worked to cultivate friendships, though I would be lost without them. Why is that, I wonder?

It’s hard for me to hold all these parts of myself together sometimes. I don’t linger over dinner and a bottle of wine very often, because there’s usually a kid or two to go home to. I don’t always know how to talk about my children and my marriage to single friends, or those without kids.

Two things about this weekend were revelatory for me, though: first, my husband and children were happy to have me go. Josh knows I need to care for these other relationships, just as I know he needs (needs. Really.) to be able to talk fantasy football with his friends and give time to those connections. The girls missed me, as I did them, but they got special attention from their dad, a trip to the Frosty Penguin for ice cream on a school night, and a “late-night” adventure to pick me up from the airport. They were also relatively assured there would be a gift coming their way on my return. I didn’t feel guilty about going – and that surprised me. I thought I would feel bad abandoning them. But Josh is a great and fabulously competent parent, and I needed this. Rather than incessant, low-level guilt, I was relaxed and happy.

The second revelation was one uncovered in a book I read on the plane ride up (another joy of traveling alone: time to read interrupted only by easily ignored announcements by flight attendants!). Called In Praise of Love, the book is written by a French philosopher in dialogue with a cultural critic. I’ve been reading a lot about love for months for another project, and I’ve been carting around this slim volume for much of that time; on the ride up I cranked it out. The author, Alain Badiou, reminds readers that love is not simply about identifying with another, but about relating to an Other across difference. We love people who are not us, not the same as us. And that love, if it is really love, will bridge difference and endure trials.

I went up to Saint Paul a little worried. Would we still be friends after so long? Would we still be close, though our lives have gone in some diverging directions? Badiou prompted me to relax, and to remember that love endures across distance and difference. I’m a better mom when I remember this about love, when I am reassured, and can reassure my family about its truth. I can remind my children that I will always love them, even when I take a short trip away from them. My husband can show his love for me, by caring for our kids so I can have some time and space. My friends and I can still share love, even though things haven’t gone the way we once imagined. This is maybe what makes us a Christian family, the reminder that love is available in abundance, and is meant to be shared, in our little nuclear family, and beyond.

I’m still needling for a kid-designed card, and a husband-purchased bouquet come Sunday, but really, they’d be icing on the cake. This weekend was the best Mother’s Day gift ever.

After serving two United Methodist churches outside Chicago, and being ordained an Elder along the way, Bromleigh McCleneghan recently began as the Associate for Congregational Life at Rockefeller Memorial Chapel at the University of Chicago. She is a graduate of Boston University and the U of C. She and her husband Josh have two daughters, Fiona and Calliope.

(Don't forget to leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Hopes and Fears: Everyday Theology for New Parents and Other Tired, Anxious People.)

Ten on Tuesday

2013-05-07T21:21:00.000-05:00

1. The Kindle version of Any Day a Beautiful Change is on sale for $2.99 until May 17th. If you're so inclined to spread the word about that, I'd be much obliged.

2. I got my hair chopped yesterday, after showing the stylist (a former professional soccer player and current Crossfit trainer that I tipped a little ridiculously well) photographs of Carey Mulligan, Ginnifer Goodwin, and Michelle Williams. I thought it looked decent but my friends on Facebook made me feel like a million bucks with all the compliments. Maybe I didn't tip him so ridiculously after all. ;-)

3. I had to make a quick dinner tonight, and whipped together a meal so delicious I later googled it only to discover that it's something Alice Waters does, too. Whole wheat pasta mixed with rainbow chard that was sauteed in olive oil and garlic and braised in broth, a couple big chunks of herbed goat cheese melted into the hot pasta, plus salt and pepper to taste. Of course I'm the only one who ate that, because I'm the only one who likes cooked greens and the girls eat their noodles dry with grated parmesan. Whatever. I've mastered the art of making variations of a theme.

4. Even though I was working in my office all day I was still able to enjoy the beautiful day through my open window. The girls stopped to say hello after school.

5. The news from Cleveland just bowled me over. I can't even fathom.

6. Someone anonymously left a Derby Pie in the church parlor today. I had no idea what Derby Pie even is, but I found out: my favorite.

7. Ben and Juliette went to Ohio for the Jawbone Poetry Festival and May 4th Commemoration. It's my very favorite weekend to be in Kent, but I couldn't swing the trip this time. That said, I'm so glad that Genevieve and I had a weekend together. I hadn't realized how very little time we've spent together on our own. It was great. As it turns out, when she's not reacting to her big sister she is considerably less of a stinker. She did ask a few times "Where Daddy is? Where Ette is?", but for the most part I think she was just as happy to have uninterrupted Mama time.

8. Pop beads get an A+ from the Pershey family.

9. Elizabeth shared this picture of Gracie with the fish she caught on Facebook. (That sentence is really bothering me. The picture was shared on Facebook; the fish was not caught on Facebook.) Anyway, I laughed out loud and immediately thought: wouldn't it be funny to prank-tag someone as the fish? I commented accordingly. And wouldn't you know it, Elizabeth tagged the fish as yours truly. I guess I did sort of ask for it.

10. Don't forget to write about a beautiful change in your life and link-up here! You can join in anytime during the month of May. If you participated last year, all the better - you get to write about a different one. That's the thing about beautiful changes; when you start looking for them, they pop up where you least expect them.

Women in Ministry: Merely a Brush in the Hand of a Great Artist

2013-05-03T03:00:00.000-05:00

I'm just plain happy today. Though I would ultimately prefer to have a chance to sit down for a cup of coffee with my dear friend Suzie Lind - whom you may remember from my Open Letter to My Evangelical Friends - opening my blog to her today is pretty wonderful, too. Suzie is such a wise and gifted leader, and I am blessed by her friendship and blessed by her words. I know you will be, too.

I walked up the stairs of the retreat center nestled back in the quiet neighborhood surrounded by trees. With each stone step I asked God to help me with my words and give me listening ears. The elders invited each of the pastors to their meetings, one by one over the course of a few months. Being second up, I didn’t think to ask the first guy how it went. I knew they wanted to check in with us and hear an update from our ministry, but beyond that I wasn’t sure. Was there a problem? Were they concerned about any of my teaching?

Upon entering the room, I was immediately greeted by warm smiles and hugs. Seven men, all of them older than me, and I was keenly aware most of them view me with a father’s heart. Having just come from dinner with my own family and tucking my kids into bed before running out into the night, I sat down relieved to catch my breath and enjoy some light hearted conversation.

The questions then proceeded.

“How are you doing?”

“How is your marriage?”

“Are you enjoying ministry?”

“What challenges are you facing?

“What is the best thing about ministry right now?”

“How can we help you?”

“How can we encourage the men to support the spiritual goals the women have?”

At the end of our time together, they gathered around me. One laying a hand on top of my head, one on each of my shoulders and they each began to pray. They prayed God would fill me with His spirit and that I would keep my eyes on Him. They prayed for me to be brave and to walk in my calling with confidence and hope and they gave thanks for me.

I left the meeting so grateful, loved well, appreciated, and empowered with a real sense of freedom to serve the way God made me. I then began to pray for the many pastors and ministry leaders I know who do not receive anything close to this from their elders. I was aware what I had just received was good, it was how God meant for elders to lead and sadly, it was unusual.

----

You could say the road into ministry, discovering my calling and much of who I am was completely accidental.

It began with a part-time administrative job needed to supplement our income and then two years later, the women’s pastor of our church resigned so she and her husband could begin a house church. Our elders had no intention of replacing her because we were beginning to focus the church on developing solid men. There was this conviction that as men go, so does the rest of the family. Passive men who rejected their responsibility as servant-leaders were identified as a problem in our culture and our church was going to be about building strong men who in turn led strong families that women are obviously a part of.

I didn’t disagree. But I knew the effort was incomplete. Women still needed shepherding, leading, a vision for their own spiritual growth and equipping for the lives God has called each of us to live. What initially began as an effort to keep the peace at church and help women continue with their existing gatherings, turned into something I never would have anticipated.

To my surprise, love for these women began to grow along with a desire to see them grow and accomplish what God had called them to do. Ideas developed in my mind for how a women’s ministry could go beyond the stereotypes of doilies, flowers and surfacey gatherings to a movement of women who love Jesus and others.

I envisioned a community of women who were raw, authentic and brave enough to talk about the messiness of life. A stirring to see women go deeper in their understanding of scriptures and theology would awaken me in the night, prompting me to write and fueled my teaching. So I began to lead, teach (something I NEVER thought I would do) and write about Jesus, His word and His movement among us.

Occasionally my circle of influence reaches beyond women but it doesn’t matter much to me. This conviction about women being gifted and called to ministry is founded not only in scripture but also by the dust of the Rabbi and His grace in my own life. The Creator of the Universe has invited me into His story. My gifts and calling contribute to being merely a brush in the hand of a great Artist. When He thinks I will be useful He is the one who calls me out and on to the canvas. Who and what I am called to is insignificant compared to the One who calls.

About Today's Contributor

Suzie Lind is the Women’s Pastor at King’s Harbor Church in Torrance, CA. At any given moment, and “in” just about every moment, she is teacher, mom, wife, leader, speaker, student, diaper changer, and writer. Her joys, gleanings and moments of sheer lunacy are birthed out of all these roles. Her greatest joy is soaking up the truths and revelations of God’s word and sharing them with others through teaching Bible Study and writing on her blog, Hemmed In.

Suzie lives in San Pedro with her husband Steve and four boys, Jason (12), Silas (9), Judah (7) and Nathan (almost 2). They also have a dog, a girl named Marley.

Twitter: @hemmedin
Facebook: suzieblind

About the Women in Ministry Series

The Women in Ministry Series is a collection of guest posts that aims to provide an alternative to the women in ministry debates by telling the stories of women in ministry and encourage women to explore their God-given callings.

Contributions Welcome
Contact Katherine at katherinepershey[at]gmail.com to pitch your post idea in 2-4 sentences. You can stay updated on the latest post each week by signing up for the weekly e-mail list.

Comment Policy
Everyone is welcome to leave a comment. However, this series takes for granted that women are called by God into every facet of ministry. This is not the place to debate that point and such comments will be removed. Women have been told “no” in far too many places. This is one place that is committed to saying “yes.”

More Information
For more about the comment policy, submitting your own story, or to sign up for the weekly e-mail list, go here.

In Celebration of the Century

2013-05-02T16:15:00.000-05:00

I've been having, by my standards, a glamorous day: this morning I caught the Metra into the city for a meeting at the offices of the Christian Century. I've been privileged to be part of an informal clergy group that's been meeting to talk about the Century and its strengths and weaknesses and role as the flagship publication of the mainline church. Today's meeting was the culmination of the project, but the first at the office, the first with the editors.

Even though I've written nineteen (!) articles for the Century - mostly online, but a few for print publication, too - and even though I've met most of the editors in other contexts, I was totally geeking out about this meeting. Indeed, I instagrammed a picture of their main entrance. I was too chicken to get close enough for a good shot and instead stood back and pretended to be checking something on my iPad. And then during introductions, I was so nervous I am fairly sure people thought I was either totally over-caffeinated or just plain socially inept.

The Christian Century is, as far as I'm concerned, it. I've always been a magazine lover. I even spent one semester as a magazine journalism major before retreating back to the liberal arts of English and Religion. I started reading the Century occasionally during seminary, and mailing in my subscription postcard was literally one of the first things I did when I started my first call. I read a lot of stuff, but I don't know that there is any other print source that has had a more formative effect on me than the Christian Century. It is my guide for pastoral ministry, and the reason it is so good at doing this is that it does not actually try to be a guide for pastoral ministry. Rather, it publishes articles about all sorts of things - food and politics and theology and lectionary commentaries and poetry and interesting books and so on and so forth - all of which are part of life in the church, life as a pastor, because we are generalists. I don't know if I would have grasped the wonderfully long intellectual leash I have as a pastor if not for the guidance of this magazine.

I don't know how helpful it is for one of the consulting clergy members to simply gush, but that's how I roll. When I love something, I love something, and I love the Christian Century. But even more importantly, I trust it. I, who occasionally have issues with authority, can be a fiercely loyal person when I encounter good authority.

Count me in as a lifetime subscriber.

Any May a Beautiful Change, Revisited

2013-05-01T03:00:00.000-05:00

Women in Ministry: Phoebe After All

2013-04-26T02:00:00.000-05:00

Rev. Christine A. Smith is a gifted writer, pastor, and encourager; in addition to her work as a pastor, she has been supporting fellow women in ministry through her blog, Shepastor. Today she shares her call story.

I feel a strong connection to God’s word spoken to Jeremiah, "Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I have appointed you a prophet to the nations." Jer 1:5 (NASB). Before marriage, my mother almost became a nun. Upon leaving the convent, she prayed that the Lord would call one of her children. I believe that I am that child. My mom fondly recalls that during her pregnancy with me, she had a dream that her fraternal grandmother told her that she would have a girl and that the girl should be named, “Phoebe.” Although my mom forgot about the dream and instead named me, “Christine,” the dream had profound implications.

According to Romans 16:1, Phoebe was a servant/leader in the church. It is my belief that the dream foreshadowed God’s calling upon my life. My parents instilled in each of their children the importance of living lives pleasing to Almighty God, a good education and becoming responsible, respectful, honest, people. My parents’ teaching helped me to develop a strong Christian faith that is an integral part of my vision for life and ministry.

Although I was raised Catholic, through a series of events, I ended up attending church with a Baptist friend. At the age of fifteen I joined church and was baptized. By the age of sixteen, I was working with the Christian Education department, helping to design and display bulletin boards; write and direct Easter and Christmas programs, singing in the choir and working as an assistant teacher.

At the age of sixteen, God spoke to my heart and called me to preach. Praise God when I went to my pastor, he did not discourage me because I am a woman. I was initially uncomfortable with the idea, but my pastor assured me that he would pray with and for me and that the Lord would lead me in the way that I should go. About a year later, I preached my initial sermon and was licensed in my home church.

After college, I entered seminary and earned the Master of Divinity degree. Two aspects of my seminary training helped shape my ministry, (1) My work as a research assistant in the Bible Department and (2) My work as an intern in the Black Women in Church and Society Internship Program. In the BWCS program, I worked with homeless women, helping them to get food and shelter. I also worked as a student counselor in an “At Risk” youth program in Atlanta, GA.

As I grew in the ministry, I realized that God was calling me to become a pastor. It was not my first choice or desire, if I am honest. The “call,” however, is not something one chooses – it chooses you! Like Jacob wrestled with the angel, I wrestled with God about the ministry. Truth be told, I simply wanted to go to school, get a decent job, get married, have children and live happily ever after. God had another plan. While I did go to school, get a “decent” job, get married and have children, God also called me to serve as a pastor, leader, author and blogger! Like a beautiful gift carefully packaged, God “packages us” and allows life to slowly unwrap the layers until the gifts inside emerge. My dream was exchanged for God’s. In God’s dream, I have discovered the true desires of my heart. I am Phoebe after all!

About This Week's Contributor

A native of Akron, Ohio, the Reverend Christine A. Smith accepted Jesus Christ as her personal savior at the age of fifteen. She answered a call to the Gospel Ministry and was licensed to preach in the Tabernacle Baptist Church of Akron, Ohio at age seventeen. She holds a Bachelor of Science in Education Degree, specializing in Learning Disabilities and Developmental Handicaps (1987) from the University of Akron. She holds a Masters of Divinity from the Interdenominational Theological Center, Morehouse School of Religion in Atlanta, Georgia, specializing in Systematic Theology and Women’s Studies (1990). In 1993 Rev. Smith joined the Olivet Institutional Baptist Church in Cleveland, Ohio under the pastorate of the Reverend Dr. Otis Moss, Jr., and was ordained to the Gospel Ministry in 1995. She served Olivet as Minister of Christian Education for three years. Rev. Smith was featured in the African American Pulpit as one of the “Twenty to Watch” (Winter 2001-2002 issue, Judson Press).

In January 2006, Rev. Smith became the pastor of the Covenant Baptist Church, Wickliffe, Ohio. She holds the distinction of becoming the first female Pastor of Covenant, the first African-American Pastor of Covenant and the second female Baptist pastor in the Greater Cleveland Area (of a mainline denomination - American Baptist). She currently serves as President of the Board of Trustees of the Cleveland Baptist Association as well as “Executive Leader” of the Association, while it is without an Executive Minister. In 2009, Rev. Smith wrote and successfully secured a grant from the National Minister’s Council (ABC/USA) to begin, “Women Together in Ministry of Greater Cleveland.” WTIM is a network designed to connect, encourage and support women in ministry. She also produces a weekly blog, “Shepastor,” (http://shepastor.blogspot.com) a site dedicated to providing encouragement, guidance, words of wisdom and instruction to female clergy. In 2012, the Cleveland Plain Dealer featured an article written by Rev. Smith entitled, “Being persistent in pursuit of social justice,” in the March 3, 2012 Messages of Faith column.

In February, 2013, Rev. Smith’s first book: Beyond the Stained Glass Ceiling: Equipping and Encouraging Female Pastors (Judson Press) was released. Rev. Smith is the proud wife of Aristide Smith, Jr., and blessed mother of three wonderful children: two sons - Aristide III and Caleb and a daughter, Aris Christine. Truly, God has been good to the Reverend Christine A. Smith. For His loving kindness and tender mercies, she simply says, “To God be the glory for the things He has done!”

Ten on Tuesday, Thursday Edition

2013-04-25T10:33:00.004-05:00

I was going to write a Ten on Tuesday, and then, well, you know. It's been a week.

1. I pine for the golden era in which my back only went out every other year or so. I'm up to roughly quarterly. This is not good. What is good is that I finally know how to knock it out quickly: a muscle relaxant and a prescription painkiller. That said, this method also knocks me out; I sleep a ton, and then walk around feeling totally groggy for the next day. I have absolutely no concept of how anyone could take prescription painkillers recreationally. So very unpleasant.

2. I'll write more about my trip to Springfield for Advocacy Day at some point, but for now, given how deeply disappointed I am about the infuriating setbacks in the campaign for common sense gun legislation, let's just look at the pretty ceiling of the capitol building.

3. I think I might write a fuller review at some point, but for now I'll just say that I'm disappointed with the Spark Story Bible. My main beef is aesthetic; it is neither beautifully written nor beautifully illustrated. Juliette likes it, but I don't think it will grow with her the way the Jesus Storybook Bible can.

4. Speaking of Jesusy children's books, my last contribution to A Deeper Family was a list of our favorites.

5. Speaking of contributions, I had the honor and delight of writing a guest post for Simple Mom. Simple Mom is my favorite and best website, and I'm a total fangirl about Tsh Oxenreider, so this was hugely exciting for me. And, I liked the piece I wrote, a basic introduction to Lectio Divina.

6. Also speaking of contributions, I have two pieces in the current issue of the Christian Century. I wrote a brief reflection on the books I read for preaching, and a nice big fat review of Rachel Srubas's The Girl Got Up and Glennon Doyle Melton's Carry On, Warrior. The review isn't posted yet, and may well be subscription-only.

7. When my mama was here a couple weeks ago, we visited the Ernest Hemmingway museum, which includes the Oak Park house where he was born. Juliette came along, and only once during the seventy-minute extremely detailed tour of the house did she quietly whisper, "When is this going to be over?"

8. Our church rummage sale - which happens twice a year! - is mind-bogglingly enormous. They broke the sales record this year, raking in $38,000. There's only about six hours of shopping. Proceeds support all sorts of wonderful ministries, locally and globally. And, though the sale just ended last night at eight 'o clock, you would hardly know this morning.

9. I also mean to go back and write more about The Great Library Extravaganza of Spring Break 2013, but for now, one shot from the utterly wonderful Fountaindale Public Library in Bolingbrook. This sign hangs in the well-appointed craft area.

10. This page of I Wanted to Know All About God took my breath away. I miss my grandmothers.