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Time Well Spent or Tyranny of the Urgent

Busy. Just typing the word conjures up many feelings and images. There are many kinds of busy for a pastor and not all of them are productive. There’s the kind of busy that is part of the every day grind at work. I have experienced that kind of busy too often. I had sermons to write, Bible studies to prepare, Sunday adult classes that had to be taught every week and the regular rhythm of staff and vestry meetings, administrative demands and so on. Sundays always seemed to roll around with alarming regularity because of the way each week was filled with detail after detail that demanded attention. Someone onced coined this kind of busy-ness “the tyranny of the urgent.”

I constantly sought ways out of such demands but rarely found success. As a pastor, it’s clear to most that widgets are not being made. Yet the pressure to be in the office, at one’s desk was felt by the expectations of others. I often felt that if I were not physically present at the office, then someone would criticize the way I was spending my time. In fact I was criticized if I wasn’t immediately available at the church. Was I loafing? Taking time off? I have a pastor friend who named his boat “Visitation.” When he needed time away from the “tyranny of the urgent” he would tell his staff he was going on “Visitation.” That’s both amusing and sad at the same time. Being a pastor demands spending time differently than most. Let me explain.

A seldom used phrase describes the vocation of ordained ministry is that one has “a cure of souls.” This meant that beyond sermon preparation and other weekly demands, time is needed to care for the spiritual lives of those with whom the priest is entrusted. Beyond visiting hospitals and nursing homes, there needs to be time away from phones, emails and coffee conversations in the office. Caring for others means prayer, seeking a balance in one’s own life and solitude. Let the pastor who lives into such a spiritually healthy life be forewarned. If that kind of balance is achieved, criticism will be sure to follow. Even so there is no other way to care for people at the level that most pastors desire.

As I look back on serving a church, criticism caused me to change the way I spent my week too many times. A lack of criticism just seemed to make life easier. It is not possible to effectively care for a “cure of souls” without caring for one’s own soul. If a priest is to be a sacramental presence in the lives of those who are overwhelmed with the minutiae of their own lives, then the priest cannot live like everyone else. There will always be those who criticize. A priest/pastor must be willing to accept that. Ironically it is easier when one finds a spiritual balance, week after week, even in the midst of the “tyranny of the urgent.”

I have a clearer vision on serving a church now as my sabbatical draws to a close. There is not a thing I can do about the past but I do desire to help others, both those who serve in a church and those who are served by it. What are your expectations of the way a pastor spends his/her time? If your pastor is not in the office, what do you think he/she is doing? Is solitude a worthwhile way to spend time?

There is another way to be more effective. Get a boat and name her “Solitude.” Or a camper.

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If It’s Broken, Don’t Fix It!

The anniversary of my ordination came and went this year without me noticing. I have never treated it in a special way and only once did a congregation do anything special for it. Last year, a small group in the congregation gave me a gift to commemorate it. I received a “stole” which is the garment worn by a priest who is presiding over a sacramental service. I only wore it once because it is blue on one side for Advent and the other side is white for Christmas or Easter. But since it also has a manger on it as well, Easter seemed to be a stretch for its use.

I find it rather emblematic that any congregation that I led failed to recognize ordination anniversaries. While an ordination is very special to the one being ordained, I am not sure it is for others. Or maybe most people do not realize its uniqueness. I am not complaining, especially since it was easy for me to forget the actual date, but I do not forget the day of my ordination. Nor have I lost focus on all that came after: the eucharists, baptisms, funerals, weddings and so on. After nearly 27 years, some of the names have been forgotten but I remember the joy and sadness, the excitement and pain of so many events that I either led or participated in because of my ordination.

Now that I am virtually on the outside looking in, I believe I have a unique picture of the church. I now sit in the pew (or chair since the church where I worship doesn’t have pews) and even though the pastor often asks for verbal feedback in his sermons (brave guy) I just sit silently. I am not critical of what I hear or see, though sometimes I will correct something quietly but I only share that with Julie. Instead of being critical, I am curious. I sit in a chair in the crowd watching others. I watch the Pastor worship. I watch the Pastor’s wife scurrying around and pausing to worship with her husband. I have watched the Pastor’s son and wondered if he feels like my children felt. I watch others worship, take communion, sing and sit to listen to the sermon. I never had the opportunity to watch others when I led worship. There was always the next thing. A prayer. A song. The sermon. But now as I watch and reflect, I enjoy a fresh look at many things I often simply ignored.

I do not believe there is a more important work to do than that of a pastor. Maybe you think I am just buttering my own bread, but I cannot think of other work than is as instrumental in changing people’s lives. A pastor’s work is heart work. Every week the pastor prays that people will show up, that he or she will have a word from God that will encourage, challenge, comfort or equip those that do. I have seen people who have nearly given up on life come alive. I have seen hard hearts turn soft. I have seen marriages healed and relationships restored. Where else can one find such fundamentally important work?

But there is other heart work that happens. It’s in the pastor’s heart. The pastor is often lifted high and brought low by that which goes on around him/her. The excitement of welcoming new people into the congregation, the joy of baptism, the solemnity of presiding at the eucharist can bring indescribable joy. Yet there is the other side of it all. The complaints and murmurs that are regularly heard no matter what is going on or where one serves can literally drop a pastor to his or her knees, not just in prayer. The loss of members who either have their head turned by a prettier church or simply leave because of a disagreement or some sort of discontent takes a heavy toll on any pastor, no matter how well defended that pastor may be. Being a pastor is extremely rewarding but often the reward is found only in the pastor’s heart or perhaps shared with a spouse. Those who sit and watch and listen have no idea how difficult it can be to handle the disappointment and not become disillusioned or defeated.

It does not have to be this way. Opening an email does not have to crush a pastor. Returning a phone call does not have to be full of dread. Complaints and murmurs do not have to be the regular fare of a congregation. A church culture can be life-giving even to pastors. But if a change is to take place, it much be sought after intentionally and it must be sought after by the leaders of the congregation.

Often leaders in a congregation look at the community they are serving as “broken.” Their job is to fix it. So they roll up their sleeves and start looking for anything that squeaks or is leaking oil or that does not work as well as it once did. Of course, this often begins with the pastor. Is it the sermon? Are they boring or too long or too short or not deep enough or too deep? How about the way the pastor leads the staff, or the board, or Bible study? The list is long and the task of fixing all of that which is broken impossible. All of this lands on the pastor’s desk. Sometimes the list gets smaller then something happens and it grows again. The very people that should make sure that the pastor feels as if he or she is appreciated and loved, are the very ones that make it nearly impossible to feel that way.

But there is hope. I do not advocate some sort of fake it until you make it culture in a congregation. Nor do I believe it can ever be perfect. I do believe that some families function at a higher level than others. I believe that to be true of congregations as well. Just like families, some congregations deal with conflict in an open and transparent way. These congregations don’t look around to find what is broken. Instead they look around to see what is working well. They do more celebrating than complaining. People may leave the church but when it happens it is not seen as a grade card to how the church is doing. In fact they may even celebrate when it happens since the departing person/family may just not be a good fit to who the congregation is.

A couple of weeks ago I sat and watched the pastor at church. I watched someone come to the microphone and speak about how much the pastor meant to him personally and to the congregation. I watched as several gift certificates were given to the pastor and his family. I saw the look on the pastor’s face that seemed to say “thank you for sharing the burden of leading in the church with me and for not asking me to fix everything.” I sat and watched and thought about how difficult being a pastor is but how that burden does not have to be carried alone.

Until next time,

DP

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In the Arena

I don’t remember much about the daily grind of teaching. I once was asked by someone what I missed about teaching and I said, without thinking too deeply about it, that I missed my colleagues. My friend was a high school principal so I will forgive his response. He said, “oh, I would have thought you would say you miss your students.” I did have several students who were remarkable. If you have never taught, or preached, perhaps you don’t know what I mean when I say that there are some people who make teaching and preaching easy. They are alert, with an inquisitive look on their faces, as if to say “I’m really enjoying this, please give me more.” Quite frankly though, there are not many people like that. So when I was asked this question, I didn’t hesitate. It was my colleagues I missed.

Every morning before classes began, and even between classes through out the day, I would stand outside my door and monitor students as they went from locker to classroom. I would be joined by two of my favorite colleagues, two teachers named Mike and Tom. Often the conversation floated between what each of us had done the night before, or what might lie ahead. Other conversations were simply discussions about school policies or new initiatives launched by the administration or sometimes Mike and Tom would talk about esoteric grammar rules or diagramming sentences or other rarefied minutiae. Nothing that was too profound, nothing that was too memorable.

During these times, Mike had returned to school to work on a Master’s degree. This is a typical thing to do for teachers, because the more education, the more one moves down the pay scale. Many male teachers during those years often sought an advanced in degree in school administration. That is what I did, though never finishing it before I transitioned from being a teacher to a full time graduate student. Mike wasn’t interested in that so sought his Master’s degree in literature, with an emphasis on William Faulkner.

I had never read Faulkner but was aware of his influence on American literature. As I questioned Mike why he would choose Faulkner to study, his eyes lit up and began to almost proselytize me about the importance of such study. His passion and fire were impressive. It was as if I was in his class with an alert and inquisitive look on my face. He could tell that I was intrigued and said with my eyes “I’m really enjoying this, please give me more.”

That conversation led me to read Faulkner. With Mike’s help, I read well over a dozen novels. My conversation in the hallway now changed as we discussed what I was reading. It was a fascinating time, as I became an amateur expert on the works of Faulkner.

There were so many other conversations between the three of us over those few years I had teaching at the back of the building with my colleagues. Mike and I eventually wrote a curriculum that combined US literature with US history. I never taught it because of my departure from teaching in order to pursue a different career track. But it is because of memories like this that I was able to say with confidence, that I what I missed most about teaching were my colleagues.

As I sit here on Christmas morning, alone in the darkness of early morning, I am filled with the memories of my most recent departure from a career that demanded much. I can smell the aroma of incense long since burned in churches where that was a Christmas Eve tradition. I can almost hear the Men and Boy’s choir as they sang ancient and medieval carols. I can see burning candles, even those that dripped wax carelessly on cloth covered pews. I can even feel the relief that used to calm me on Christmas morning, after the stress of preaching sermons to hundreds and hundreds of people the night before. It is so fresh and tangibly close, I am surprised when others cannot see it. This Christmas Eve was so different. Yet as I looked around at Church last night, no one seemed to notice that I was like a stranded motorist alongside a busy freeway. I felt both nostalgia and a deep sense of longing. I missed something this year. Something I would never have again.

I missed my colleagues. I missed both the excitement and anxiety of the preparations that go on at Church behind the curtain. Most people do not know how hard the staff works to prepare for Christmas. It’s not only hard work but the emotional and spiritual toll this preparation takes on all those who print and publish, who clean and shine, who plan and prepare, and who show up with the hope that Christmas will be just a little more special this year than last, is real and demanding.

When it goes well, very little is said by people in the Church. It is only when something goes wrong that feedback is usually heard. But not so among the staff. The last service on Christmas Eve is met with a knowing look among colleagues. Those who worked so hard to make other people’s Christmas special exchange a gentle hug, a pat on the back and a smile. Even the shared exasperation when criticism is heard, seems to bring everyone closer together. I miss that.

So much of life is lived in a hurry. There is always the next thing. There are plans and dreams and hopes and fears. There are critics who seem to feed on mistakes or plans gone awry. But there are also colleagues and friends. There are those who were willing to go into the fire with you, and ask to share the criticism equally. Sometimes those colleagues look at one another with an alert and inquisitive look on their face as if to say “I am really enjoying myself, please give me more.” It is those people that I miss most. They continue to press on despite the worries and fears. My hope is that they realize how much of a difference they continue to make in so many people’s lives. Even if no one tells them.

When I left Church last night, I walked over to the Pastor and whispered in his ear: “thank you for all you did for me and my family these last few months. Thank you for your leadership and for this community.” I hope someone said that to my colleagues last night. I miss you guys. Thank you for your willingness to give so much, even when no one notices.

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Back in the Saddle Again

I had the great privilege of preaching this past Sunday. I was excited because preaching is one of my gifts. It is when I exercise my gifts that I feel most alive. Gifts are not natural talents but that which God has given each of us when we acknowledge God’s presence with us and begin the journey of relinquishing control of our lives to God’s purpose.

I say that preaching is one of my gifts not because it is easy. I have always, as long as I can remember, had a fear of public speaking. Ultimately I believe that comes from having had a pretty serious speech defect as a child. Once a week, I visited the speech therapist employed by the school district. Eventually I overcame my struggles with articulating certain sounds but the entire process, from being told I had an issue that would not go away to being bullied by my classmates when they learned I had to attend “special” classes, made an impression on me that has never left. So when I get up in front of a crowd, large or small, I have a little twinge of fear. I have learned a few coping mechanisms (I never understood how imagining the crowd naked would actually help someone speak!) that I use that have been helpful. Speaking without notes is actually one of the ways I cope because that forces me to trust that God will see me through.

Over the years I have been surprised to hear feedback following my public speaking. I don’t mean that I have been universally hailed as the best speaker anyone has ever heard, but I have had very positive feedback. My style is passionate and vulnerable as I seek to be as transparent as I can. The thin line I have walked on is keeping the focus on God, not me. That was really a challenge after my son, Joseph died and I was still preaching every week. In fact, one person anonymously called me “narcissistic” because I continued to make reference about his death and my grieving. I didn’t take that too seriously because I believe that had more to do with the person who said it than how I was attempting to teach the congregation about grief.

Since my sabbatical began I no longer preach every week. While I do not believe that I will ever preach that regularly again, I do plan on continuing to preach. After all, God didn’t give me this gift to sit on it. I was invited to preach at the Church we are attending and this past weekend I did. It was a great honor to do so.

I was quickly reminded how difficult it is to preach to a group of people that I don’t know very well. I also was reminded of my old friend, the fear of standing up and talking in front of people whether I know them or not. I was also, a few days later, reminded of how difficult it is to communicate, since it involves more than me the speaker, but also the crowd, the hearers.

My topic was “peace,” which is the second theme of Advent. I spoke of how I have experienced peace in the midst of grief and have never blamed God for the loss of my son. I spoke of how, when I first encountered my dying son, I felt like praying “God look what I have done for the Kingdom, the way I have served the Church, why can’t I cash in those chips so that my son will recover.” But I didn’t. My point is that peace can be found even in the depths of despair and grief. I have found that. Peace, I said, isn’t the absence of conflict (or grief) but the presence of a real God who really grieves with us (or stands with us in the midst of conflict). It is the hope of the second Advent when we will find that all things will be made right, that gives us strength to face all that life hands us.

Not everyone heard what I said. Evidently at least one person heard that I was mad at God. Nothing could be further than the truth. God has never left me and I have entrusted my son into God’s loving hands. Even so, I celebrate the reminder that everything that comes out of our mouths is not necessarily heard as we might expect. So where does that leave us?

It leaves us with a truth: nothing is more important than relationships. That’s why preaching to a group of people that I don’t know is so challenging. So, how will I respond? How would you? I will work at having deeper relationships with people so that my story may be encouraging, truthful and God-honoring. Like all relationships, that will take time. But it will be worth it.

It was good to be back in the saddle again. Not every ride is smooth and easy. Sometimes it’s a challenge and can even be a bit dangerous! But it’s always exhilarating.

Until next time,

DP

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The Routine Can Be Exquisite

Woody Allen once said “Showing up is 80 percent of life.” Sometimes it’s easier to hide home in bed. I’ve done both.” I agree that you would lose out on much if you just stayed in bed, I think there is so much more than just “showing up.” The key is how you show up. Do you just go through the motions, simply wanting to get things done so that you can get on to the next event? I wonder if those who speed around you on the interstate are late to wherever they are going or simply in a hurry to get the next thing done, so they can go on to the next?

Yesterday, the last part of my move from Texas arrived. There is a reason that moving is considered one of the most stressful experiences of life. Beyond the expense, there’s the hassle. I stood around and checked off the list as the movers brought in box after box. I made quick decisions about whether or not a box should go in the master bedroom, the office or maybe the garage. Hour after hour of painstakingly seeing all the material possessions of my life pulled off a moving van and put in our house.

Well, I showed up, but I did so much more. I reflected on what it all meant. It was the end of a chapter of my life. Even though my sabbatical lasts until February 1, there is nothing left of my time in Texas now, except for memories. The move meant change. Clearly my life will never be the same.

As I the moving van was emptied, I realized that with change comes something new. There is something, or I should say Someone who is always present in the new. God is there when a new life begins and even an old one ends. God is there when a new job starts, or an old one is completed. God is there when you leave the familiar and venture into the new. I didn’t see it right away but God was on that moving van. I could feel God. I could almost see God. God clearly was telling me that God is all over this. There is no reason to fear or be anxious or regretful. Who knows what tomorrow brings but today is where God is.

So as the moving van pulled away from my house, I quickly looked to the horizon. It was there that I saw God beckoning me forward. And so I took a step toward that future. I surveyed the boxes and furniture and memories. I am thankful for it all but I am also excited for tomorrow. But I not planting my feet in the day yet to come because I don’t want to miss God who is here today. What a tragic loss it would have been to have just “shown up.” In the midst of the ordinary, I saw the extraordinary.

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If You Have Friends Like This

A long time ago I made a conscious decisions to not be cynical but allow myself to be critical. This has served me well. One of the blessings (or is it a curse?) of grieving is to see things a little clearer than I ever have. Especially when it comes to faith. What I have noticed is that a lot of people are interested in going to heaven, but not a lot people are interested in living the vocation of a follower of Jesus. This lead many to pray a prayer all followers of Jesus should pay attention to: “Dear God, save me from Your followers.”

What is that vocation? It is to be the visible and tangible presence of Jesus Christ in the world. Sound good? Or troubling? Or complicated? No it is none of those. But it is difficult. It’s difficult because if we actually live that way, the evidence will be in the way we love, forgive and show mercy.

Today I encountered two examples of how demanding such a faith is. The first was quite simple. Since i now am living in a community where I once served a church, I often find that I encounter people I once knew rather well. Perhaps surprising to you, but even pastors have some difficult relationships. This was true with the two different people I encountered today. I learned a lot from these encounters. First, I learned that some people truly embody God’s love and forgiveness. Just a few short loving words and a generous offer came from one couple that I accidentally saw today. But it was the other couple that caused me to reflect on how demanding it is to be a follower of Jesus.

Without revealing too much, let it suffice to say that this couple remembered me with a bit of disdain, which I say with some understatement. As I recall, they did not care for me all that much! Truly I enjoy encounters with people who, over the years, for one reason or another, made a decision to end our relationship. Truth told, I take a bit of pleasure in making them uncomfortable by not avoiding them. But even with all my experience, today I was taken a bit aback.

If one could turn air into ice by the way one looks at another, I would have experienced frostbite today. I understand that some people enjoy holding on to grudges but what I don’t understand is how someone who would claim to be a follower of Jesus could. Instead of simply feeling superior, I asked myself a series of questions that ultimately moved me from being cynical to critical. Not critical of my icy old friends, but critical of myself. How often have I treated others in such a way to make them uncomfortable? How many times have I held on to grudges that make me more like a snowman that a follower of Jesus? And finally, what am I going to do about it?

I wonder if the church suffers in our day because of the witness that so many church goers make of what it means to be a Christ follower. We need to look no further than the political climate that fills our hearts and divides one against another to see that most people’s Christianity is about a mile long and a quarter inch thick. What are you doing to be a compelling reason for others that Jesus has come to offer love, forgiveness and mercy? Or are you simply holding grudges and keeping your own faith shallow and focused on simply wanting to go to heaven. Who could blame anyone from saying, “Dear God, save me from Your followers.”

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Monday, Monday

Monday, Monday, so good to me
Monday mornin´, it was all I hoped it would be
Every other day, every other day
Every other day of the week is fine, yeah
But whenever Monday comes, but whenever Monday comes
A-you can find me cryin´ all of the time

Every other day, every other day
Every other day of the week is fine, yeah
But whenever Monday comes, but whenever Monday comes
A-you can find me cryin´ all of the time

Monday, Monday, can´t trust that day
Monday, Monday, it just turns out that way
Oh Monday, Monday, won´t go away
Monday, Monday, it´s here to stay
Oh Monday, Monday
Oh Monday, Monday (lyrics from the Mama and Papa’s song, “Monday, Monday.”

Show me someone who loves Monday and I’ll show you someone who either has the day off or had a low-keyed weekend where they spent too much time couch surfing.  No one likes Monday, do they?

I wondered what I would do on my sabbatical on Mondays.  There are no staff meetings, no reflections on how Sunday worship went, and no meetings (remember what I think of meetings?).  So what are they like?

I am getting in the habit of going to the gym before Julie wakes up in the morning.  So there’s that. But there’s more.  If you are mindful.  Mindful?  According to mindful.org Mindfulness “suggests that the mind is fully attending to what’s happening, to what you’re doing, to the space you’re moving through. That might seem trivial, except for the annoying fact that we so often veer from the matter at hand. Our mind takes flight, we lose touch with our body, and pretty soon we’re engrossed in obsessive thoughts about something that just happened or fretting about the future. And that makes us anxious.”

That’s the problem with Mondays!  We are not mindful and all sort of things began to fill our mind.  Before we know it, all the problems of the day and week invade our souls like a crazed mob of germanic barbarians seeking nothing more than havoc and disorder.  Who needs that on any day, especially Mondays?  So how do we get over the hurdle of dreading Mondays and limping through the day?   Being mindful isn’t hard, one just has to work at it.  As mindful.org says:

Mindfulness is the basic human ability to be fully present, aware of where we are and what we’re doing, and not overly reactive or overwhelmed by what’s going on around us.

So here’s to a mindful Monday for us all.

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Allen Field House: The Phog

Julie, John and I got a chance to go to a basketball game a couple of nights ago (thanks Joanie!).  If you’re not a Kansas Jayhawk, I would suggest you watch the ESPN series 30 for 30 on the “Rules of Basketball. ” You will get a sense of the history of Kansas basketball and how all roads in College basketball either lead from or to Lawrence Kansas.

There is something about tradition that deeply resonates with me.  It’s probably why I majored in history in college and taught high school history for over eight years.  It’s also why I was attracted to Anglicanism (the Episcopal Church).  I felt the weight of history in the Church, knowing that its roots stretch back to the early church.  There is something both comforting and challenging knowing that I am connected to so many who came so long ago and to a Church that has not always been at its best.  Yet the practice and worship of the Episcopal Church did not simply begin because someone got mad over a doctrinal issue and decided to start something new.  It’s rootedness has stood the test of time, controversy and dispute.  That speaks to me.

Continue reading “Allen Field House: The Phog”

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A Day in the Life of a Sabbatical

I never thought I would ever have a sabbatical. In fact, when I spoke to the Diocese about the possibility, they were surprised that I had never taken one. Evidently, I am an outlier. Most priests/pastors have a requirement that a sabbatical will be part of the life of a congregation every seven years or so. I guess I never got the memo.

You may wonder what I do now that I figured this all out. Well beyond the four hours of prayer and three hours of Bible Study and four hours of writing…. I kid. My sabbatical life feels a lot like it did before the sabbatical. Although I do not have any meetings. And I do not miss meetings. In fact, when asked what I did as a priest, I used to say “I work on sermons, classes I teach and I go to meetings.” It’s amazing what one can get accomplished when one doesn’t go to meetings! Patrick Lencioni wrote a book a number of years ago called Death by Meeting. It is a leadership fable that expresses how deadly poorly run meetings are.  I tried to put into practice a couple of his ideas but to no avail.  It seems that meetings are so deeply embedded in our culture that if people don’t gather in meetings then there is some serious pushback.  So, now that I am not accountable to my staff, I don’t have to go to scheduled meetings. Continue reading “A Day in the Life of a Sabbatical”

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Here I Go!

Here I go.  I keep telling people I want to write.  Beyond the obvious questions like: “do I have anything to say?”  or “would anyone actually read what I write” to “who am I to think I have anything to say?” I have been wondering when I would actually start.  Yesterday I attended a funeral where my 98 year old Aunt-in-law, after hearing my now regular reply to those who ask what I am going to do with my life, said a very profound “well you better get started.”  So here I am.  I am starting.  As I do, let me tell you a bit about why I think I have something worth saying and why I think I can help those who need to start listening.  Start listening to someone.

Continue reading “Here I Go!”