If You Really Think About It

We are in the middle of Holy Week, the absolute busiest time of year for pastors. Don't get me wrong, Christmas is really busy, but Holy Week is worse because it's a marathon. Holy Week starts with Palm/Passion Sunday, then plods on through the relentless stretch of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday/Easter Vigil, Easter Sunrise, and Easter. With all of the sermons to write and worship to plan and bulletins to put together, we pastors are harried and stressed. And I don't know for sure about my peers, but I risk losing sight of the meaning behind all the work.

I was particularly stressed getting ready for our Palm/Passion worship this year. We got really creative with the service, designing a sort of lessons-and-carols format of reading the passion story from Matthew interspersed with music and accompanied by different lay people bringing symbols of the story forward and placing them on the altar. The service required a lot of extra work and coordinating lining up the text and music, gathering the items, and organizing our lay folks, and by the time Sunday morning arrived, I was really on edge.

But after the 8:30 service, one of our choir members came up to me and said, "That was really powerful. I almost cried a couple of times because, if you really think about it, how can you not? I had to keep telling myself, don't think about it right now, not while you're singing." The comment, which was really positive feedback about the worship, left me feeling convicted. With all of the havoc of planning and leading the service, I hadn't really been thinking about the incredible power of the Scriptures we were reading, the beauty and sadness of the passion story.

At the 11:00 service I worked to focus, to really think about what I was reading and the meaning behind it. I allowed myself to be moved by the sorrow in the anthems, to let the weight of the cross sink into my soul. I was so lost in the experience that at one point I almost skipped one of the Scripture readings.

As a pastor, I live in the strange tension between fully engaging myself in worship and needing to maintain enough separation to be able to hold myself together. I can't be so moved by a Scripture or anthem or funeral that I become a blubbering mess in the chancel. On the other hand, I never want to be so disengaged as to miss the significance and power of the act of worship. The stress of high holy days tends to push me toward the latter of those two options, and I'm working to combat that. I think it starts, as all worship does, with really thinking about who God is and what God is doing. So that is where I'll strive to begin each service of this Holy Week. I'll let you know how it goes.

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Passing the Blame

I have decided that my gym owes my downstairs neighbors an apology.

You see, I have a membership at a 24-hour gym. So, this evening, after a delicious church spaghetti supper that left me as overstuffed as the pouffes in Prof. Trelawney's office, I decided to take my book to the gym and work off some of those extra calories. But when I arrived at the gym at 8:15, I discovered the doors locked. An employee inside mimed that they were closed, which I found baffling. Apparently, my 24-hour gym closes at 8:00pm on weekends? I do not understand how that works. And I find it frustrating.

At any rate, I then returned home full of energy. When I returned home, I was greeted by Charlie, who is perpetually full of energy. So, instead of working out at the gym, I spent half an hour wrestling with the Charlie-pup and riling him up to run giant circles around the dining room table and the coffee table in the living room. So, with a large, heavy dog galumphing laps around my apartment at 9:00pm, I feel bad for my downstairs neighbors. But, really, it's the gym's fault.

So my gym should apologize to my downstairs neighbors. In the meantime, I'm going to cuddle with my now-tired dog.

Full of It

I lead a full life.

My life is full of adventure. I've had opportunities to travel all over the place, and I continue to take advantage of every chance I get to see the world. I face challenges every day: trying to figure out what God is saying and then attempting to articulate it to my congregation, trying to be an instrument of transformation in the world, doing things each day that scare me a little.

My life is full of people. I'm surrounded by a congregation of characters. They are unique, fascinating people that I get to interact with every day. I'm surrounded by friends, kind, passionate people who make me laugh and think. I have a family that's incredibly loving and supportive, and it's growing all the time (welcome, Navah!)

My life is full. I have stuff to do 24/7. My schedule is busy, and my activities are fulfilling. It's just... it's not full of what I expected.

A few days ago, in a discussion about our future plans, I was describing to a friend the way I expect my career progression to go. She interjected the question, "When do you want to have kids?" I paused, then replied with a sinking heart, "Well, I doubt if I will. There are no guys on the horizon, so I'm not really even considering that in making my decision." It's the first time, I think, that I've actually admitted those thoughts out loud.

I never expected to reach my mid-twenties, still single, still with no plans for marriage and children. I had, without realizing it, really bought into the social expectations of marriage and kids. Every time I envisioned my future, thinking, "Ten years from now, I'll be... Five years from now I'll be..." I always imagined I'd be married. Always. As much as I denied it aloud, my internal expectation was always to have a family.

But now... it really doesn't look like that will happen. I mean, sure, people always say, "You'll meet the right guy someday," or "It just takes one," or "God has someone really special for you, you just haven't met him yet." But the thing is, I'm not sure that's true. Call me pessimistic, but I don't know that I'll ever marry, I don't know that I'll ever have a family of my own. And I have to decide: is that OK with me?

Last week I witnessed the birth of my new niece. I held her in my arms just a few minutes after her birth. I watched the tears of joy in my brother-in-law's eyes, I saw the delight on my sister's face as she saw her daughter for the first time. I didn't hear my biological clock ticking in my ears, I didn't long for a child of my own. But the next day, when I watched my sister and brother-in-law introducing their daughters to one another for the first time, when I saw them sharing joy as a family, part of me felt like I was missing something.

My life is full: full of adventure, full of people, full of activities. I have fulfilling work and fulfilling relationships. But is it enough? If this is all there ever is, if I have a full life and an empty apartment, is that enough? Is it OK if my life plan looks so very different from society's expectations, from even what I had envisioned for myself?

In John 10:10b, Jesus says, "I came that they might have life, and have it to the full." Is this the sort of fullness of life to which I'm called?

Career Fair

"Sometiimes it takes holy imagination just to remember a call, to imagine one, not in the sense that the call is an illusion created by us, but when we imagine, we see what we do not know; we see the possibilities God has for us." -Lillian Daniel, This Odd and Wondrous Callings p. 7

My last few weeks have borne a strange resemblance to a career fair. You remember: those big events in college where you'd walk through an exhibition room and look at table after table, each of which displayed one possible career path? They always gave me the sense that I had reached the necessary moment of decision in the choose-your-own-adventure book; it creates a sense of urgency, while offering a seemingly endless number of choices and providing no guidance in selecting just one thing. The past couple of weeks have felt like that.

When I first discerned my call to ministry, I thought that was the end of my career decisions. I figured once I decided to be an elder in a church setting, my direction was set. But I am discovering more and more that there are a bunch of possible trajectories within even that narrow career field. A few weeks ago I interviewed with some folks in the conference to discuss the possibility of becoming a church planter. Last week I was in Washington D.C. learning about the General Board of Church and Society, and thinking about what it would look like to get involved in the church's public policy advocacy work. This week I was back at the church preparing to teach all the clergy in my district in a session about what emergent worship and a lead them in sample emergent worship experience. In considering what I'd like to do for a next appointment, I have to decide what I'd like to do, or what I think I'm called to do. It's not nearly as simple as just being an elder in a church. It's a matter of deciding specifically what sort of church/ministry/focus do I imagine myself having. And I simply don't know.

If there's one thing I've discovered thus far in my life it's that I'm a jack of all (or many?) trades and a master of none. I can do lots of things with some skill, but there isn't just one thing that stands out and defines me. In high school, it drove me crazy. I was one of the smart kids, but I wasn't the super-brain. I was a decent musician, but I wasn't a soloist. I was a fair tennis player, but I wasn't a star athlete. I went around trying everything, learning a lot and having fun, but never distinguishing myself in anything.

When I was in seminary, I began to see that as a blessing: I could do administration, lead worship, provide pastoral care, and do many other ministerial tasks with some degree of giftedness. I was a well-rounded ministerial candidate. It's very helpful in being a generalist minister, but it doesn't help much with discernment. When you seem to be equally-gifted in several areas, when you are passionate about many things, when you enjoy and find more than one thing fulfilling, how do you figure out what is your actual calling?

I see so many possibilities, so many important ways of serving God. I can imagine myself doing any one of them, and doing it happily. I could throw my energies into working for social justice through the GBCS. I could push myself as a church planter and reach out to the unchurched and dechurched. I could focus on new worship forms in an existing congregation. I could go to a small church. I could go to a large church. I could serve in a rural area. I could serve in a city. And I believe I could find ways to be happy in any of those appointments, and I believe God could use me in any of those ministries. But which one is right? What am I called to do? Is this what a quarter-life crisis looks like?

C'mon, God. I'm getting impatient, here. What do you want me to do?

Poetry and Psalms, Part 1

Last week, several of my friends and colleagues went to a conference. When they returned, they were really riled up about the Psalms. Now, I like the Psalms, but I've always struggled with how to connect with them. The language they use tends to be a little obtuse. But they came back and shared a really helpful insight from the conference speakers: the Psalms are God's poetry. Just as we use poetry to express our emotions when our usual prose formulations fall short, the Psalms are words God gives us to cry out to the Almighty when we run out of things to say. As someone who loves poetry, I'm now trying to develop a new appreciation for the Psalms. Here's attempt number one.

"O how could we sing
the song of the Lord
on alien soil?" (Ps. 137)

My throat is sore.
My heart is weary.
How can I sing to the Lord?

In foreign tongues
and tunes unknown,
how can I sing to the Lord?

Before hostile crowds
of critical ears,
how can I sing to the Lord?

When anxiety looms
and scarcity threatens,
how can I sing to the Lord?

But even when I walk through the shadow of death
the Lord my God is with me.
How can I keep from singing?

Lifelong Quest

"And being caught in between all you wish for and all you see.
And trying to find anything you can feel that you can believe in.
May God's love be with you, always."

This evening I felt a sudden urge to listen to the song "In the Sun" by Joseph Arthur, from which all the quotes in this entry come. I first fell in love with this song when I heard it in the movie "Saved!" and then searched out a recording of it. I'm not sure why it popped into my head this evening, since I haven't listened to it in several months. But as I played it again tonight, it seemed somehow perfect for today, the Sunday of Epiphany.

I get jealous of the magi sometimes. I mean, of course I admire their dedication and their journeying to seek Christ. But in some ways I think their quest was a bit easier than many people's quests are. After all, as Christians, we're all called to seek Christ, to journey in our lives as God calls us, just as the magi did. But most of us aren't fortunate enough to have a huge, honking star pointing us in the right direction like a giant neon sign. Most of us are stuck trying to fumble our way with only the occasional mile marker and maybe, if we're lucky, a sometimes-working compass. And to be perfectly honest, I was never good at orienteering.

"I'm sure I would apologize if I could see your eyes.
'Cause when you showed me myself, you know I became someone else."

Tonight, I wish God would send a star or a sign or something to tell me where to go. I want to interrogate God: "Do you want me to stay and work with this congregation, or is there somewhere else you want me to go? Should I work with an existing congregation, or are you calling me to be a church planter? Do I stay in ministry, or do you want me to be a missionary, or even to go into one of the myriad other possible vocations? And do I get any say in this, does what I want matter? Or is it all about you?" But so far, those questions have been met with a silence that I take to mean, "Wait, kiddo. You'll know when the time comes."

"If I find, if I find my way, how much will I find?
You. You. I'll find you."

I want to know what's coming. I want to know what I'm supposed to do. I want to know where to go, and what I'll find when I get there. I'm impatient. And as I stare at a sky full of stars, none of which seem to be pointing me in any particular direction, I feel very, very small. Which is, tonight, perhaps the best hope that God can give me. Far away, there is a sky filled with thousands of stars, some so distant that I cannot even see them. But God has numbered them and knows each one. That same God, all-powerful, all-knowing, and ever-mysterious, knows me and my future. And it is that God, the God of the stars and of signs and of all our comings and goings, who has come to be with us. It is that God, in Christ, that I will find beside me on the road and with me wherever I am going. Tonight, on this dark and winding path, that is enough.

Arrows 2010

I should really be working on my sermon or cleaning my apartment or doing some other productive activity. But I can feel myself sliding into the post-Christmas-and-my-family-just-left-and-January-looks-crazy-busy funk, and I just don't want to. Instead, I'm giving a valiant attempt at good cheer. I'm sitting in Starbucks surrounded by people, sipping a peppermint mocha, and trying to think about the good things that have happened this year and that are still going on. So now seems like a really good time to do my annual report. Here's a look at my 2010, the good, the bad, and the holy, in no particular order:

↔ Ministry
I can't begin to recount all of the events and moments that were significant in my ministry this year. I led the creation of a new worship service by my congregation in February, which was huge. Having a new worship service meant I basically preached every week, and about once a month I'd preach for three different services in one day, which meant writing and preaching two different sermons in a single week. I started attending finance meetings. I presided solo over funerals and weddings. I facilitated and administrated and wrote and presented. The "honeymoon period" ended. There were moments of intense joy, when people shared how a particular sermon or pastoral visit had affected them, when I was privileged to be present for difficult moments and hold people's hands when they needed comfort, when I shared laughter with this community I've come to love. There were moments of deep sadness when I visited people who were in anguish or survived heart-wrenching, cry-inducing meetings. I even had a couple of rough patches when I sat on the edge, when burnout and despair made me wonder if I could keep doing this. But I am thankful for the people who talked me down from the ledge, for the people whose love and servant hearts inspired me to keep going, for the moments when I saw God at work or caught a glimpse of the kingdom of God breaking into an ordinary day. That is what gives me the assurance to say: God is still here. I am still called. So my ministry continues.

↑ Charlie
For as long as I can remember, I've wanted a dog. I wanted one as a kid, but couldn't have one because my family members were allergic. I wanted one in college, but I lived in dorms and apartments that didn't allow pets. Same story with seminary. But this year I was settled in an apartment that allowed pets, and I no longer live with anyone who has allergies, so I decided the time had come. On a snowy night in February, Amanda and I trekked a few hours to visit a breeder, and by the end of the night, I had a new puppy. For the first few weeks, it was just a blur of "Aww, that's so cute!" and "Oh, NO, don't pee there!!!" and running up and down the stairs with the scared-of-stairs furball, and hoping and praying that he wouldn't chew anything important. But as the months past, we got into a routine. I discovered how nice it is to come home and have an excited tail-wagger greet me. I learned to play and wrestle and to see theological truths enacted by a four-legged fuzzball. To be honest, even though I'd imagined all the great things about having a dog, I couldn't have imagined just how great canine companionship could be. Now I can't imagine life without Charlie.

↓ Sports
This year was deeply disappointing. The Cubs lost as usual. The Broncos were so bad they were practically a joke. And while my Mizzou Tigers had a ten-win season that I'm very proud of, they lost to the Iowa Hawkeyes in the Insight Bowl. Plus there was that anxiety-producing month when it looked like the Big XII would dissolve and leave Mizzou scrambling to find a B-list conference with which to affiliate. That one still has me nervous; after all, what's going to happen when the Big XII has only ten teams, and what horrible fate will befall my Tigers if the Texas schools decide to go join the SEC? I shudder to think. But, as always, I have high hopes for next season. With a new coach and Tebow at least sharing the QB spot, the Broncos may actually pull off a winning season. Perhaps a little more experience for Gabbert and Nebraska's departure from the Big XII will enable the Tigers to finally win the Big XII and go to a BCS bowl. And I'm keeping my fingers crossed that either the Big XII will endure, or Mizzou will get an invitation to join the Big Ten.

↑ Travel
This year began with a trek to the deep south and a fantastic visit to my old haunts in Atlanta. I reminisced in Brooks Commons, caught up with friends, and had a blast with my aunt. In the summer I ran just up the road to Luray, Virginia and spent some time just hanging out with my family. We played in the mountains, visited the caverns, and caught some Sabbath time on the porch. October brought the biggest trip of all: a wild west adventure. I stopped in Las Vegas to catch up with my seminary roommate. We visited the Grand Canyon, saw a show, roamed The Strip, and took a dam tour at Hoover Dam. Then I went on to Long Beach to see a few more seminary friends. I saw the Hollywood sign and Graumann's Chinese Theater, stepped out on the Walk of Fame, gazed out at the Pacific, and had some great coffee conversation with one of my best friends. I made a quick trip home in November to surprise my mom for Thanksgiving and got to see the people who have known me forever and still seem to like having me around. So, I went south, west, and north, I visited old comfort zones and trekked into the unknown. All in all, it was a fabulous year for travel.

↓ Romance
There's nothing to talk about, nothing to tell. Another year of being mostly single, another holiday season wondering if I'll ever have a partner to share Christmas with. In case you don't remember this rant, or this one (scroll down to "Dating", or even this one, suffice to say: it sucks. Maybe next year?

↑ Friends
But when you're feeling bad about guys, there's nothing better in the world than a good group of friends. So I'm extremely thankful for the men and women who make my life joyful. There are A&A, my co-workers and partners in crime, who are always there when things at work go sour or when I need someone to stand by me when facing the awkward world of meeting people. There are my clergy friends, especially the strong, capable women, who offer guidance and listen to sermons and tolerate venting and help me to smile, even when I feel like crying. When I think of how close I've grown to those women, and how much I trust and rely on them, it's hard to believe that I've only known most of them for a year or 18 months. I don't know what I'd do without them. There are my college friends, always just a phone call away, who have stories to make me laugh until my abs hurt, and who can help me escape from the world of church and ministry and southern culture. There are my seminary friends, those rare and amazing people who understand the insane and sad and hilarious stories of ministry and who appear at conferences when you least expect them. And then, (drum roll please!) there's that small-and-growing group of non-ministry, non-seminary friends who live right here in this city. They are my best connection to the world outside ministry and church, who remind me that the world is so much bigger than the things that consume my time and energy on a daily basis.

↔ Being a Grown-Up
There are all sorts of coming-of-age rites in our society: high school graduations, first full-time jobs, college graduations, weddings, first-house-purchases, first-lease-signings, first-car-purchases. But the U.S. in the 21st century, there simply isn't one single "Congratulations, you are an adult" moment. I've discovered that there are lots and lots of little ones, and they pop up unexpectedly. This year, getting Charlie and learning to be responsible for someone besides myself was a big step in that direction. So was surviving a car accident, having endless talks with insurance people, and purchasing a replacement vehicle. There were hospital visits and meetings that pushed me to levels of calm and maturity that I didn't think I was capable of reaching yet. When those things occurred, there were definitely moments when I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry, and moments when I wanted nothing more than to be fourteen again and not have to be responsible and mature. But at my age, you simply can't do those things. And I guess if I have to be a grown-up, I'd like to be good at it. This year, I definitely improved, and maybe next year I'll get even better at this whole adult thing.

↑ Family
I love my family. They're the people I call when I'm having the worst days, they're the people I text when I see something silly. Next year I'll have one more person to be thankful for in my family: I have a new niece on the way. And I've really enjoyed learning to be an aunt this year. But I worry about my family, too. I have three living grandparents, and all of them have started having serious health troubles in the last year or so. I know it's an incredible blessing to have three living grandparents, especially when they're all in their eighties or nineties. I just hope I can say that next year. In the meantime, I celebrate their presence. I celebrate that this year I've gotten to spend time with so many of them.

? 2011
I never know what to say about the upcoming year. I've never been good at predictions, so I try not to speculate about what's to come. Last year I resolved to "get a life", and this year I worked on that: I joined a gym and lost some weight, I spent more time out with friends and worked harder to actually take my sabbath off. I visited family and took off on weekend trips. I got the dog I've always wanted. (And I dodged that funk I was sliding into an hour ago!) But in 2011, I want to work even more at getting a life. I want to spend more time with friends, I want to keep my job from invading my life, I want to spend more time looking for joy in the everyday. I suppose that's my new year's wish for you, too. May you get a life, live it to the full every day, see God in the world around you, and have your heart filled with joy.