Sermon

I preached my first sermon this morning at St. Bart's. I think it went really well, and I got a few compliments on it. I always have a hard time figuring out how to respond to such comments, because I know that anything I manage to say that's any good is definitely the Spirit speaking through me. I guess I could say that, but it gets a little wordy, so I usually just say "Thanks."

After the sermon, I spent some time talking to Aaron and one of the parishoners about the sermon. They gave me some great constructive feedback, as well as some wonderful affirmations. The most interesting part for me was that I got the same feedback from Barb as I did from one of my classmates: I was too animated at the beginning of the sermon, and it seemed fake. I never knew that my go-to nervous reaction is to get more dramatic. Good to know, and I'll definitely keep working on that.

Well, to spare you having to read a long post and watching the sermon, here you go. This is my sermon from today, although it was filmed last week, and I definitely changed a few things in between: Woo!

History

This week at St. Bart's, I got to be the deacon, which means I helped out with a bunch of the service. I did the opening announcements, read the Psalm, prayed several prayers, assisted with Communion, and gave the sending. This is usually something one of the congregation members does, so it was fun to have a chance to fill this role. I'll be preaching in a couple of weeks, so it's also good for me to be up front where people can see me and get to know me before that!

I really appreciated that a member of the congregation does the announcements here. I don't think I've ever seen that done in another church, but I liked it. Rather than putting another task on the pastor's shoulders, this allows more participation by the people of the church. Since I am very much of the mindset that the pastor is NOT the only leader in the church, I like any opportunity to let others lead and participate.

After church this week, one of the members took me through a short history of the congregation. It has been around for almost 100 years, since they bought the church building from an Episcopalian church. I had a really good time learning about where the congregation originated, who has led it, and how they have developed over the last century. Seeing how the pastor did or did not foster growth was interesting, and a good insight into how congregations function. I would have liked to hear more about the role of the council at different moments, but that is a little harder to recreate than the pastoral history.

St. Bart's had four female pastors before Aaron came, so it is no surprise to me that they have been gracious and accepting of me. They have been through something like four maternity leaves, as well, so they are also willing to work with me as I figure out what will happen over the next few months. Aaron had told me a little of this history, but seeing it laid out on Bill's timeline gave me a lot of insight. I would love to spend some time at my first call learning the history of the church up front. I think we tend to believe that a church is not so much its past as its present, but this is obviously not true. The pains and joys of the past, the growths and declines, the good and bad pastors all affect how the congregation functions today, and I need to remember to take note of that.

The First Weeks

I apologize for writing my first blog about field ed when I'm already three weeks into the process, but this semester is just, well, excuse my French--bat-shit crazy. Between taking five classes at three different schools, two of which are online and one of which is Hebrew, field ed, work, homework, trying to have a life and, oh yeah, getting ready to have a BABY, I feel like I'm going insane. I've been juggling everything pretty well, but I hope no one decides to toss an extra ball at me, because things are going to fall apart if that happens.

Anywho, for those of you who have been impatiently awaiting blogs from me or blogs from Wes and me, you'll just have to learn patience. It is a virtue. And also a fruit of the Spirit. Hopefully we'll get everything sorted out and get into a rhythm again pretty soon. I think that's always the hardest part of the beginning of a new school year or job or whatever--finding your equilibrium. I feel like I'm almost there, but please be patient with us. I'm sure that in 10-14 weeks when baby arrives, everything will be all topsy-turvy again and we'll just adjust like we always do!

Field ed has been going pretty well so far. This year, I am working at St. Bartholomew, which is literally about 10 minutes away from St. Mark, and almost the exact same distance from my house. The greatest part going in was knowing that activities don't start until 9:30 at St. B's, vs. having the first service at 8:15 at St. Mark last year. I definitely miss being there, but I'm having a ton of fun so far.

St. B's is in Trenton, which, as you may know, is the capital of New Jersey. It's an inner-city area, and the church has maybe half of the attendance that St. Mark does. It is also a lot more diverse in terms of race, which is pretty cool for me. There is a Spanish congregation that uses the buildings on Sunday afternoons, and I hope I get to hang out with them at some point, before every last bit of my Spanish knowledge escapes me. Basically, it's a very different place from St. Mark, except for one thing: the people have been really welcoming and wonderful to me. Thank goodness for that.

The pastor I'm working with this year is Aaron, who is entering his fourth year of ministry at St. B's. This is his first call, and also his first career, so it is a new setting for me. He and his wife, Sarah, have an 18-month-old, Charlotte, who is adorable, so that's fun. This year, my plan is to learn some new things, and build on some of my learning from last year. When I preach, I'm going to ask some of the congregation members as well as Aaron to evaluate my sermons so I can get a feel for what people besides the pastor think. I'll still be doing a lot of work with the junior/senior high kids, although I feel much more comfortable after last year. One of my big goals is going to be figuring out how to be a mom and a pastor, something I'll be dealing with for the rest of my life.

I'm very excited for how this year will go, and I'll do my best to write more often from now on. :)

The Long Road Home

My reflection for CPE this week pretty much sums up how I feel, but I won't repost the whole thing here. Just the final paragraph:

The problem I am facing, however, is that this was never something I wanted to do. Being myself, I have made the most of it and recognized how valuable the CPE expereince is and will continue to be. But, also being myself, I am starting to get much more concerned abotu what the future holds. The day CPE ends, I'm driving out to Ohio for a candidacy retreat. Then school and field ed start, then a trip to Texas, my Endorsement interview, all the planning that goes into the spring, and, most obviously, the baby coming. I am having a harder time focusing on what is happening here as what WILL be happening soon looms closer and closer. I guess my biggest goal for the next two weeks is to ground myself in the moment, and not lose sight of what I am continuing to learn--while somehow still planning for the future.

So there you have a glimpse into my second-to-last-week-of-CPE brain. I really have learned a lot this summer. I started working on my Endorsement essay this weekend and realized that I was very smart to wait until this point to write it. I knew that a big part of Endorsement was the CPE experience, but I don't think I really understood how much I would grow through CPE (literally and figuratively!). Although I am coming out of it with many of the same convictions--like knowing that chaplaincy is not a part of my current call--I am also coming out with a different view of death, a new appreciation for relationships, and a deeper sense of myself.

Yet I'm kind of at a point where I'm ready to move on. I know I could keep learning about group dynamics, chaplaincy, and pastoral care in general for years to come, but that is not what's dominating my brain right now. First, there is this Endorsement essay. This 10-page paper, plus an interview, are the tools I have to explain myself to a bunch of near-strangers, most of whom will not even be at the interview. That's a terrifying experience in itself.

Then there are the thousands of little things I need to take care of before school starts in three weeks: buying books, talking to my professors about how I'll finish this semester, doing pre-reading, figuring out how to see Wes while we're both taking more classes than ever before, working with three different schools to take five classes, wondering how long I'm going to want to drive myself an hour to school four days a week, finding someone who could drive me to the hospital if I go into labor while I'm at school, etc., etc., etc. I'm worrier...and, more importantly, a planner. I've gotten to a point in my life where I can mostly take my worries and convert them into actions. I'm worried that I might go into labor in the middle of class, so what can I do to be proactive about that so I don't worry about it every minute of every class in November? But there is just SO much to consider right now that something has to go, and I'm afraid that that's my concern for CPE. I want to get the most that I can out of the next two weeks, so I guess being aware of this issue is the first step. And the second is not blinking, because I'm pretty sure next Friday will be here before I know it.

A Little About Death

In my last blog, I promised to write more about my feelings about death during this CPE experience. And then to drive home the point a little, I attended another death on Saturday morning.

Last week, when I was called in for the family whose father/husband had just died, I had no idea what I was doing. I have not been present after a death at all this summer. Some of my friends who are doing CPE other places probably think I'm crazy, but that is just how the experience has gone here. Our ICU chaplain was present for at least two deaths in her first week, but the rest of us have been lacking in this experience. I was glad that it took six full weeks of CPE before I had to be the chaplain at a death. I think we've talked a lot about the theory of presence, of what can be done, and when it is our job to just BE with the family. All of this is stuff I may have been able to figure out in the moment, but it was nice to have that in my mind when I headed up to the room.

I did a case study on that visit, and I was able to say that I am pretty proud of how I did with the death. I do not think that my pain at seeing others in grief got in the way of their grieving process. I was able to sense changes in the room that helped me determine my next steps. For example, I could tell when the family was ready to receive a bereavement packet, and I even knew who would be the best family member to receive it. I am much less concerned about my ability to deal with death after that experience. I am sure that it contributed to my confidence on this Saturday when I was with another family whose loved one had died.

But what has truly affected me--beyond my surprise at my own ability to be a presence for those in grief--is how we view death. Our society has taken death and set it aside. No longer do most of us see death as a part of life. Rather, it is THE end, the thing we all try to avoid for as long as possible, whether for ourselves or for our loved ones. In fact, during one seminar we attended, we found out that religious people are actually more likely to seek agressive, sometimes futile treatments and life-sustaining treatments than other people. So our faith--faith that leads us to believe that death is absolutely not the end--is leading us to want to prolong life no matter what the physical, emotional, and fiscal cost.

I think this is the culture that I have become accustomed to. I have had very little death in my own life, and I have never seen the "messy" side of death before working here. I have seen nice, cleaned up bodies that look like they're just sleeping. No tubes, no vents, no nothing but a body that appears to still have life in it. Yet my theology demands that I recognize death as more than that. Death is not necessarily easy or clean. Death can be quite messy and scary. But, more importantly, death is not the end. There is something more. I cannot and will not speculate as to what this "something more" might be. Yet I truly believe that it exists, and that death is simply a part of the wider journey of life, not the end of it.

I think I'm getting more comfortable with death as this summer goes on. Death is not any less sad for me than before. Although I have always believed that something comes after our mortal life and death, I also know that this does not make the grieving process any different. It is still difficult to not be with our loved ones. It is still hard for me to think of my grandmother who never got to see me get married, who will never meet her great-grandchildren, whose family misses her dearly. I also know that some deaths are more traumatic and faith-challenging than others. Life is not fair, and neither is death.

Yet I can see that, especially as people get older, perhaps our goal should not always be to prolong life, especially taking into consideration the quality of said life. Medicine and science are amazing. But so is our God. So if we can do such great things here on earth, what more will we be able to do when we are with God? How much better would our lives be if we were able to see death as part of the process, rather than the end? If you don't remember, Jesus talks about this in John 12:24, "I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds." Let us all produce many seeds...throughout this life and the next.

A big week

I've been pretty remiss about writing my blog during CPE. Most of this is due to my lack of interest in thinking about the hospital when I'm not there. My experience has not been terrible, but that does not mean that I want to go home and write more about what I have been doing.

So, at this point, I have dealt quite a few new experiences. During July, we have really settled into a “normal” routine, and I pretty much know what to expect on any given week. I will have some patients who are appreciative of my visit but don’t want to talk or don’t want any help. I will have some patients who say they need nothing and then talk to me for half an hour. And I will have patients who break down or even call for a chaplain to visit. I don’t have many codes or alerts in my area, so that makes everything fairly routine.

Last Friday, I was on call and I got called into the hospital during the night for the first time—and then the second. The first was a sad case that is still working itself out here in the ICU. We’ll see what happens with that. The second was early on Saturday morning, when a patient died as his body just finally shut down from Parkinson’s. I spent about three hours with the family. I think I did a pretty good job of being a presence with them, and I was able to help them on a number of issues. This was my first experience with death in the hospital, and I was surprised by how well I handled it. Although tears for the family came to my eyes at several points during the meeting, I was able to be “helpful,” if that’s even the right word.

Between my on call shift last night and my 12-hour duty at the hospital today, I have been “in charge” of the pastoral care department for 24 straight hours. Last night proved fairly uneventful, and I got a lot more rest than I did last Friday. Today, however, has been one thing after another. I attended my first alert for a heart attack, and I was just amazed by how much pain someone can be in with no outward signs. I saw two stroke alerts, and what that can do to a family.

And I saw my second death in the hospital. I arrived to be with the family during a 20-minute attempt to resuscitate the patient, which was terrifying in a lot of ways. I could see the heart monitor the whole time (we were waiting a little way from the room, but I could see the main desk’s monitor), and it registered “0” beats per minute for most of that time. I felt like I knew where the situation was going, and maybe the family did too, but I could not tell them that and it was painful. They were actually pretty calm upon hearing the news, although they were obviously in grief. I think one of the things that has struck me most during my time here is people’s attitudes toward death. I will make sure to write more soon on that topic. Until then, we’ll pray that the hospital remains peaceful!

Shepherds

One of the many metaphors we use for Jesus is "shepherd." In fact, this is one of the "I am" statements from the Gospel of John: "I am the good shepherd." Unless I'm mistaken, we read this passage every year of the lectionary, hearing again how Jesus is a shepherd to us. Psalm 23 was paired with it this year: "The Lord is my shepherd." It is clear to us that Jesus is the shepherd, even if we are not sure what a shepherd is or what his job really entails.

A fellow CPE chaplain and I were talking yesterday. In Spanish (and, I suspect, several other languages), the word for "pastor" and "shepherd" is the same. So, when I introduced myself to a Spanish-speaking patient the other day, I asid, "Soy una pastora del hospital." In context, I know she understood that I am not, in fact, leading sheep around the hospital. Yet the meanings are intricately linked, something we have lost by having two separate words. 

What does it mean to be a shepherd for those to whom we minister? 

In my supervision with Ted today, we talked a lot about the amount of work pastors are expected to do, coupled with the amount of advocacy and other voluntary activities that pastors do willingly. There simply is not enough time to do everything. There is no way I can write sermons, visit parishoners, teach classes, lead worship, etc., etc., etc., as well as advocate for environmental issues, humanitarian rights, orphans, starving children in Africa, peace, and the many, many other things that I think God is calling us to do. Not to mention taking care of my house and family, reading a book for fun, and sleeping. I just don't have enough hours in my day--even now. 
This led to a discussion about how best to be an advocate for those who are advocating, which led me right back to the discussion with Sarang about shepherding. Although I am certainly no expert on being a shepherd in the strictest sense of the word, I do know a few things. Shepherds don't lead each individual sheep to the water, then help them drink. They don't bring each sheep to green grass, plucking it and hand-feeding them. They don't even worry about sheep who are a little farther away from the herd. 

Rather, their job is to bring the sheep to places where they can find the good water, the delicious grass, and the shade tree. They keep an eye on all the sheep at once, but are also able to focus on an individual when she is in need. When one gets lost and needs personal attention, the shepherd will even leave the rest of the herd to find him, trusting that they will be okay on their own. Perhaps I should work to embody this role a little better. I want to recognize my congregants as individuals who have each been blessed with many gifts, but also have several weaknesses to overcome. If their strength is advocating for something I also believe in, perhaps my role is to support them in their advocacy, not necessarily attending meetings and events myself, but encouraging them in their justice-making. If I know of something or someone who can help, perhaps I can lead those people to each other, and then let them figure out the next steps. I can't do everything I want to do. But I can help others achieve whatever is most important to them through my encouragement, support, prayer, and help. 

Settling in

I'm starting to feel pretty "settled in" at the hospital--at least as settled as one can be at a hospital. I'm getting to know some of the staff, I'm getting more comfortable with "cold call" visits, and I haven't gotten lost or confused while wandering through the maze this week. I DID find Wes lost and confused earlier in the week when he was trying to visit a parishoner and I managed to get him where he belonged. But I'm really starting to feel comfortable with the whole situation. I'm very glad that the nearest hospital to me is a community hospital, not a trauma center. This is a good learning experience, not a terrifying one. Plus, considering how exhausted I've been as is, I can't imagine constant pages, 24-hour on calls, and the other pressures that go along with working in a trauma center.

One of the biggest things I'm trying to do is to really be more aware of myself and my relationships with other people. I've heard over and over that CPE is important to one's development in ministry, and that it's really about learning about yourself. I've been trying to take this to heart while also remembering that I am here to help patients through what is frequently a challenging point in their spiritual lives. I want to make sure that I'm properly caring for others, and not just myself. Yet I know that I have much to learn here.

On my final evaluation from St. Mark, Linda wrote that I have incredibly high standards for myself. Although she pointed I nearly always meet them, it is unfair to me and my sanity to always expect perfection. Linda told me that she is particularly concerned about this part of my personality in light of the soon-to-be-baby. There is absolutely no way I can continue to expect myself to get A's, keep my house perfectly clean, work effectively at field ed, and take care of Daniel while caring for a baby. It's just impossible. So I've been trying to keep that in the back of my mind as I work this summer. Although perfection is nice, it's definitely not necessary. No one else holds me to perfection, so why should I?

 

I think one of the great things about being pregnant during this time is that I'm learning how not to push myself too hard. I simply can't work as hard as I used to. I'm doing a pretty good job of walking around and then taking a break. When I walk around the hospital, I try to take the stairs, but I get winded really easily, so I don't beat myself up if I grab the elevator one time. I've gotten my eating schedule down pretty much perfectly at this point, and I feel no shame in eating during our morning sessions, or leaving my floor for 15 minutes or so to take a snack break. I've also been doing a fairly decent job of admitting that I need to go to bed by 10 some nights so that I can make it through the next day. I even asked for help today! I asked Wes to go over and take care of Dan so I can take a nap in anticipation of maybe getting called in tonight. My biggest problem right now is that my body can't/won't do all the things I'm used to it doing, and that's frustrating. I'm going to be terrible at getting old...lol.

I have had some really great conversations this week with patients. We did a didactic last week on reflective listening skills. Ted told us that most pastor-type people are more likely to give moral advice, or be supportive of a person than to employ reflective listening. He pointed out that, although it is not always the best tool, it is important for us to learn how to be the listener in the conversation, not the primary talker. For this reason, we need to learn how to properly respond in each situation so that people will feel free to disclose more information, to tell us their stories, to share their faith struggles. This will not happen if we judge them, tell them what to do, or speak down to them. As someone who loves to talk, I am trying to become a more effective and better listener so that the patients feel heard.

I'm on call again tonight. Last week was very peaceful, although I woke up every 3 hours or so in a blind panic, thinking that I had missed the pager going off at some point. When I woke up at 8:15 and saw no pages, I pleasantly turned it off and slept for a little while longer. We'll see how tonight goes. I'll also be here from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. on Sunday, so that will definitely give me something to think/talk/write about!

Yet Another Beginning

Well, I’ve successfully made it through two weeks of CPE and I’m starting to feel more competent with each passing day. I’m still pretty nervous about what the summer will bring, especially as I am on call tonight and there is no telling what might happen. At the same time, I am starting to feel like this is something I can actually do with grace, and I don’t feel like I’m just surviving each day.


Last week was an interesting, stressful, busy week. We had a full day of hospital orientation that was basically just plain exhausting. Then we spent Tuesday and Wednesday doing a lot of CPE-specific orientation. This, too was quite exhausting but at least it was specific to my situation, rather than just about working at the hospital. By Wednesday afternoon, we spent some time on our floors for the summer, which we continued to do through Friday.


I’m going to be working in telemetry, which basically consists of any long-term patients who are in need of heart monitoring. They are not in serious condition, like those in ICU, but they are in varying need of acute care. Many come in for a day or two before heading back home, to nursing homes, or to some sort of hospice care. Others have more long-term needs, especially certain conditions which cause them to be in isolation, whether contact or airborne.


I have several goals for my time in CPE, and I think they are all reasonable as well as long-term. One came out of my time at St. Mark this past year, which is my goal of creating a better prayer life. Although Wes and I are good about praying over meals and at night, I do not feel like prayer is central to my everyday life, but I would like it to be. If the center of my life is God, then the center of each day should be prayer. One piece of this is also my fear of praying for others aloud. It is one thing to read a pre-written prayer on Sunday morning in worship. It is quite another to pray for someone in physical, emotional, or spiritual distress. I worked on this throughout field education, and I will continue to do so this summer and beyond.


My other two goals are probably not too surprising for anyone who knows me. First, I want to learn how to be with people who are in distress without letting my emotions get the best of me. I want to learn how to express my emotions in a healthy way, rather than bursting into tears because someone else is in some sort of pain. I think there is no better place to learn this than in the hospital. So far, I have not had too many problems, but I also have not been at the bedside of someone who is dying or has died, so we will see how I work toward this goal throughout the summer. Complicating my handle on my emotions, of course, is my pregnancy.


Finally, I am working toward being less…anal…about my agenda. I like to make my plans and have everything figured out. While this in itself is not a problem and almost always an accomplishable goal, I also have a tendency to get frustrated when my agenda is not complete. Therefore, I plan to use this summer to become more aware of what causes frustration. As a pastor, I will have to be available to my parishioners when they are in need—I can’t just get frustrated because of some interruption in my schedule. My job is about people, not about the agenda. I especially want to work on this goal in lightof the baby coming in December. My agenda is definitely not going to be the number one priority when the baby is hungry, and I want to make sure that I deal with this in a healthy way, rather than getting upset.


So there you have it. Plenty of goals and a full summer, but it seems to be going well so far. I’m interested to see what the summer brings and how much I can learn from this experience.

Last Day

Yesterday was my last day at St. Mark, and it was definitely a tough one. I knew going in that I was going to have a hard time dealing with leaving, so I brought some tissues with me and hoped for the best.

I made it through the whole first service no problem. Although hearing Linda announce that I was leaving made me a little sad, I didn’t really have any problems getting through the service.

Then those awesome people had to go and have a party in between services for me. They got me a cake, made a beautiful card, and got me some presents. Linda made a little speech, during which I did my best not to cry and then they made me give a little speech too. They gave me a cross that has the Luther Rose on one side and the Chi Rho on the other. Basically awesome. They also got me the Pastor’s edition of the Lutheran Handbook and the Pastoral Care supplement to the ELW, which I have been told is an invaluable resource for CPE.

The second service did not go so well. Although I managed to pull myself together for all of the pieces/parts of the service that I actually had to do, I was kind of a wreck. Linda did a farewell/Godspeed at the end, and I even made it through “God be with You Till We Meet Again,” the final song.

I have had such a good time at St. Mark that I just can’t imagine not being there anymore. It’s pretty crazy. In August, when I found out about needing to do field education, I wasn’t super excited about the prospect of 8-10 MORE hours of my week being taken up by something beyond my control. I wasn’t even sure I was going to be able to handle school and work, much less school, work, and field ed.

When I found out I couldn’t work at Prince of Peace, I was disappointed and worried about the project. I even tried to find out if I could possibly skip field ed for my first year and instead take care of it during my second and third years of seminary. Then Paul, the pastor at Prince of Peace, told me to contact Linda at St. Mark. When I went to talk to our field ed director, he was super excited. I figured maybe I could handle this after all—eight hours wasn’t that much and I could muddle through.

Then I actually met Linda and started going to church and meeting people at St. Mark. Within a matter of days, I went from dragging my heels about the whole concept of field ed. I gladly spent 5 hours at church every Sunday morning, coming back for Confirmation some weeks, going to Bible study, attending meetings, debriefing with Linda and more throughout the week. By Christmas, I already knew that leaving was going to suck.

Everything about being at St. Mark was just wonderful. I learned so much through all of the activities I participated in, I had a great time getting to know the people, and I felt SO encouraged throughout the whole year. Every time I did something in worship (almost every week), I got support from the congregation. Every time I taught a class, Linda or Stacey would thank me and talk me through how it went. Every time I went to a meeting, everyone took my opinion into consideration and thanked me for helping.

And Linda was the most supportive of all. She really let me just pinpoint my strengths and weaknesses, and we went off of what I wanted/needed to learn. She did a great job of answering all of my questions, encouraging me when I felt like I had no clue, and helped me talk through some difficult situations. When I was confused about something, she listened and helped me understand. I couldn’t have asked for more in a supervisor, and everyone I work with after this is definitely going to have some big shoes to fill.

Well, I’m working on getting things taken care of for next year. In the meantime, I’ll be starting CPE at the beginning of June, so I’m sure there will be a lot to reflect on in that matter. Until then, I’ll probably be pretty quiet.  

On Teaching Teenagers

Easter was a super awesome celebration of awesomeness. I really have no other way to describe it. The whole day was just great—exhausting, but great. And that’s all I have to say about that.  

A big part of my work at field ed this year has been observing and helping out with both the 7th/8th grade class and the Confirmation class (9th graders). This Sunday was the last time I led both classes, and it was a very interesting one indeed.

In the Sunday school class, we talked about the mission of the church. That meant reading the Great Commission (the end of Matthew), as well as the first part of Acts, where Jesus gives his disciples instructions and then ascends into heaven. It was a pretty cool lesson to get to teach. I had a great plan for reading through the passages, and then looking at the mission of St. Mark and seeing where the mission of the church came into play. Then I was going to have them write their own mission statements.

The class had some slightly different plans, however. I had four kids in class—all boys—and apparently I had set a precedent for myself by playing Apples to Apples with them the last time I taught class. This meant that they had decided before we even started class that we were going to rush through the lesson and then spend most of the day playing Apples to Apples. I was not pleased.

Something I’ve learned over the course of this year through teaching and helping out with these classes is that there is a time to be assertive and a time to change your plans. Sunday was definitely the latter. We compromised by spending a good portion of our time on the lesson, not rushing through the readings or the questions, with the promise that we would play Apples to Apples with whatever time we had left at the end.

This plan worked out great. We had one of the best discussions I think we’ve had out of any of the times I have taught that class. The boys were attentive and really knew the answers to the questions—even the ones that didn’t come directly out of the readings for the day. They were able to relate what we were reading to the Creed, and they even knew that Judas had killed himself—which led to us reading the account of Judas exploding in Acts. What more could a group of middle school boys want to hear from the Bible?

Anyway, I was pleasantly surprised by a lot of things. There are definitely times in the past where I would have insisted that we do things my way or no way. I think that would have been detrimental to the discussion on Sunday. The boys would have been sullen, I would have been upset, and true learning in faith would never have happened. Instead, we had a really great discussion, a good time, and they were even able to make Apples to Apples relate to our readings. God works in mysterious ways—even through silly games.

(On an unrelated note, I’m awesome at Apples to Apples).

Strengths and weaknesses

Yesterday, Linda told me that I'm "fabulous" after church. The reasoning was because of the craziness that went on during our second service. The acolyte hadn't showed up by about 5 minutes before the service, so we had a girl who is in the choir carry the cross in and take care of the candles and everything. Since she's in the choir, she couldn't do the offering, which we talked about beforehand. Part of the way through the service, I realized she also wouldn't be able to take care of her Communion duties, so I jumped up and took care of that.

The lector and I usually split the lector duties, so we sometimes get confused as to who is doing what each week. This week, the dismissal came earlier than we would expect, because we didn't sing a sending hymn. The lector wasn't quite ready, and so I jumped out and did the dismissal. No big deal--something needed to be done, so I did it.

We talked about this a little bit after church, and Linda thanked me for stepping in and just recognizing when something needs to be done. Instead of waiting around to let someone else take care of these issues, I did it myself. This is a great virtue--as the seminarian. But I pointed out that there IS an issue here--I can't take care of everything that needs doing when I'm the pastor. That's exactly the kind of pastor that I don't want to be, yet many congregations expect their pastor to be.


I guess what I'm realizing as I go through this process is that I'm learning a lot about myself. I already knew that I have some gifts for ministry and some qualities that I'll have to overcome. Through the last few months, I've learned what more of these are. I've also learned that something that seems to be a pro can actually be a con in the wrong situation. I'm hoping that I can continue to recognize these. This whole time has been a great learning experience.

Fear

Well, I've been neglecting the blog. Not because I didn't have anything to write, but the week before reading week was full of doing as much homework as possible so we could go on vacation, and I certainly wasn't going to spend my vacation working on the blog, either. So I apologize, but a girl's got to take care of herself.

So the past couple of months at the church have been a whirlwind of activity for me. Between taking the girls to WYA, being on vacation, and the end of my time at St. Mark coming near, I feel like I'm missing out on a lot. Yet, at the same time, I'm doing so much on the weeks that I am there, even my week back after vacation. This Sunday, I wrote the prayers of intercession and taught Confirmation, and tonight I'll be leading the Bible study for the mid-week soup supper. Not to mention that I've preached, taught Sunday school, and gone to a bunch of meetings.

This weekend is the 30-hour famine, which is my big service project day. I've been working on this basically since November or so, because my one social ministry requirement was to create and execute a service project with the youth. We're going to be doing three: wrapping silverware for the Trenton Area Soup Kitchen, stuffing and tying pillows for children in Bosnia, and making tote bags for the children, as well. I'm excited to see what happens.

But besides all of the activity, I've had a lot of fearful moments. Some of those are overarching: I'm not ready to leave, and I'm scared of what's going to happen next year. Some of those are the kinds that have been going on the whole year: have I really done enough? Have I learned what I can? Have I made some sort of positive impact here? And then there are the random ones that have been happening over the last few weeks.

First, I preached, which is always nerve-racking. I was only mildly calmed by the fact that we've been talking a lot about God's work through the words of the sermon. God will speak even when I cannot, and God will help the listeners hear what God has to say, even when my words don't quite match that. I firmly believe this, and I'm glad that the pressure is off. That doesn't mean that I don't have some responsibility, though. Plus, the last time I preached, Linda and I met a few weeks beforehand and went over the sermon, I practiced in the pulpit, and we talked a lot about it. This time, partially because of busyness and partly because I think Linda was either testing or trusting me--probably both, we didn't do that. I preached on Sunday not knowing what her thoughts on the sermon were. That made me even more nervous, especially when we did sit down to talk about it. It turns out that I don't suck at writing sermons; I definitely still have some growing to do, but that's to be expected. Yet I was pretty nervous the whole time. What if it was terrible? What if it made no sense? What if I was preaching the wrong thing?

The other big moment of being nervous came this last Sunday night, when I was teaching Confirmation. When I taught the Apostle's Creed, Linda wasn't there one day because she was at an ordination, and the other two weeks she worked on stuff in her office. That meant I was all alone with five terrifying teenagers. I survived, and I think they even enjoyed the time. But this week, when I was finally comfortable teaching on my own, Linda came in and worked on stuff in the same room. All of  a sudden, I was worried again--What if I was teaching something wrong? What if I said something the wrong way and the kids misunderstood? What if nothing I said made sense and I ruined Confirmation for them? I had the same issue a few weeks ago when Linda dropped in on my 7/8 grade class.

Why am I so scared? I want Linda to tell me how I'm doing and give me feedback so I can keep doing what I'm doing right, and work on improving what I'm doing wrong. Yet I get so worried when she's there to hear it! I know that part of it is just fear that I'm making huge mistakes, but another part is my general distaste for hearing about my mistakes. I'm a recovering perfectionist, and I hate making mistakes. I beat myself up for them, and can't seem to forget them--even silly mistakes that I made back as a freshman in high school, for example. So most of my issue is that to have someone else tell me I messed up, even someone I trust, is really difficult. I'll definitely have to get over this, so I appreciate all that Linda does to help me get over this perfectionist streak--maybe one day I'll get there.

And more change

I really like when my education, field education experience, and real life come together. This week on my way home from church, I started piecing together liturgy and everything else that's going on right now. This week, we talked about how change works in a worship service/community. For those of you who don't know or don't pay attention, there are certain aspects of the worship service that are intended to remain the same for long periods of time, or even always. For example, we use the same confession and forgiveness for the entire season of Lent. On the other hand, we have certain portions of the liturgy that change on a weekly basis: hymns, certain prayers, etc.

The point of the relative stability in worship is for people to get used to the liturgy. Imagine walking into church each week and not knowing how the space will be arranged, what the colors of the banners will be, what kind of songs you'll be singing, what the structure of the service will be, etc. The point is not to terrify the worshipers, but to facilitate their worship. However, letting people get to know the liturgy too well can cause speaking/singing it by rite, rather than really paying attention to what they are doing in worship. For this reason, change is a liturgical aid. We can see the need for such change when we hear people recite the Creed or the Lord's Prayer. Are they really meaning what they say? Do they even pay attention to their own words?

I, for one, am all for change in liturgical words, space, and music. I think this mostly comes out of my formative years in church, when we were starting and building the mission congregation. We rented a building on Sunday mornings, and we set up for worship each week. Because of this, we were able to rearrange the seating, altar placement, etc. whenever we wanted to. This was great, but sometimes caused problems, like when Dad put the altar directly under a smoke detector and extinguishing the candles set of the smoke alarm. We were also fairly free with the liturgy, because no one had been around long enough to say, "But that's the way we've always done it!" There was a period where we sang the same songs for a month at a time, and other aspects of the service were changed.

So what does this mean in daily life? I made the connection on my way home from church. We don't change everything all at once for a reason. We might change the Creed and the hymns, but we keep the Eucharistic prayer the same. We change the colors of the banners, but we keep the altar in the same place. We do new readings, but the Gospel message never changes. People can accept some changes. People can latch onto the parts they know and learn the new things, without getting overly tired from the constant barrage of newness or bored because everything is the same.

Life is the same way. This is why I was freaking out a few weeks ago about everything changing at once. We're not prepared to have too much change at once. It's overwhelming and tires us out. But when we change one thing at a time, life is manageable. If I moved, but kept the same job and went to the same school, I would be a little stressed out, but it would be okay. Unfortunately, generally when people move, they also change jobs, schools, distance from friends, knowledge of the area, and much more. THAT'S why moving is so stressful. There's too much change. It would be like moving from setting 2 of the ELW to a praise and worship service the next week. We'd all be lost, confused, and worn out by the end.

So when I complain about hating change, it's because I'm at a point where too much is changing at once. I'm going to have to leave St. Mark, start CPE, lose my seminary friends for the summer, stop working, etc. What a mess. Sure, I'll get through it, but now at least I understand why change is so stressful sometimes.

Mark 8:31-38 Sermon

Sermon from yesterday:

            “Go away behind me, Satan!” Why would Jesus call his own disciple Satan? Peter is the same one who, earlier in this chapter of Mark, spoke for all the disciples when he said, “You are the Messiah, the Christ!” Now, mere verses later, Peter is Satan? Yet, as challenging as this statement is, we can see why Jesus is so upset. He has been telling his disciples little snippets of the story throughout their ministry. He has cast out demons, healed the sick, and calmed the sea. He challenges the authority of the chief priests, elders, and scribes. He rebels against the status quo. The disciples are not clueless about the way things work. People like Jesus get killed. People like Jesus, no matter how good-hearted, don’t get to keep preaching, teaching, and healing. They are taken away, tortured, and killed for being rebellious.

            More importantly, the disciples have seen the way Jesus radically changes the way people think about power. He eats with tax collectors and sinners. He called a bunch of fishermen to be his followers. Yet they still assume that Jesus, as Messiah, will be powerful, crushing the opposition and rising above all others. Jesus is right to be upset with the disciples. They seemed to finally understand his mission—they declared him to be the Messiah, didn’t they? So Jesus openly tells them all that is about to happen—everything they should have put together for themselves by now. And the disciples still don’t get it.

            When Peter takes Jesus aside to rebuke him, Jesus is not just angry about Peter’s misunderstanding or the audacity he has in rebuking his master. Rather, Jesus is revealing his humanity. Peter’s words of rebuke are the outward sign of Jesus’ inward torment. Although he knows God’s will, Jesus is tempted to run. He is scared about the prospect of the torture and death he is about to suffer. This is not something that will pass quickly and then he will return triumphant. Jesus is going to spend hours suffering on the cross. That is something that no human wants to face, although some may do so for the sake of others. Jesus is willing to take on the sins of the world and die to put those sins to death. That does not negate the temptation to resist, however.

            This is not the first time Jesus has been tempted. Last week, we read about his 40 days of temptation in the wilderness. Jesus is baptized and God says, “You are my son, the beloved. With you I am well pleased.” Immediately afterward, he is driven into the wilderness by the Spirit, where he is tempted for 40 days by Satan. Jesus is no stranger to temptation. He is, after all, human. There seems to be something different about Peter’s rebuking, however. Jesus uses the same words here that he does to exorcise demons: “Get out!” “Go away!” “You’re not welcome here!” And he says these things to one of his closest disciples. It seems as if Peter’s temptation is almost unbearable. How could one of Jesus’ own disciples try to get him to stray from God’s path? With the crucifixion looming, perhaps Jesus recognizes his own frailty at this point. His death is too near. The temptation is too strong.

            We, too, suffer from this temptation. In our baptism, we say that we renounce the devil and all the forces that defy God, the powers of this world that rebel against God, and the ways of sin that draw us from God. Immediately afterward, we profess our faith through the Apostle’s Creed. Yet none of this destroys the power of sin and evil in our lives. Daily, we must reaffirm our commitment against the devil and for God. Daily, we face the temptation to sin. Daily, we feel the crushing weight of evil in this world. It is easy to see—just turn on the news for a few minutes. There is no denying that there are powers in this world that rebel against God, and that we fall into the ways of sin with each passing day.

            We see this temptation on a daily basis. Some people give up certain vices for Lent. One year in college, I gave up all junk food. This included everything from soda to chips to candy. I even had a long debate with myself about whether I could have jelly, since it’s basically just sugar. The temptation to eat one of those delicious snacks stayed with me every day throughout Lent. The same is true of all temptation. We don’t just renounce sin and the devil and suddenly become free of temptation. It’s always there. Sometimes it’s just more powerful than others. The temptation to eat just one chip, the temptation to say that one thing you know will finally win the argument, the temptation to buy that one thing you know will change your life.

            The temptation to do our will, rather than God’s, is the greatest of all. Even Jesus felt it. Wouldn’t it have been easier for Jesus to just go back to his quiet life as the son of a carpenter? Couldn’t he have sent his disciples back to their homes and families? If they all snuck away, leaving their little group behind, maybe they could have avoided the wrath of the powers that be. But Jesus simply can’t give in to that temptation, no matter how nice it might seem. He says, “Whoever wishes to follow behind me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.

For whoever wishes to save her whole being will lose it; and whoever loses her whole being for my sake and for the sake of the Gospel will save it.” Following Jesus, doing God’s will, is not about doing the easy thing. It’s about losing ourselves for the sake of the Gospel message. It’s about looking beyond the problems we face for a short time and toward the everlasting promises of God.

            Jesus, of course, overcomes the temptation to forsake God’s will and just go back to his simple life. And he calls all of his followers to the same right path. He is honest about the pain and suffering that happens along the way—we will have to take up our cross, we might lose our lives for his sake, we will be tempted. The way of the Gospel is not an easy path. Sometimes, we will have to shout aloud, “Go away behind me, Satan!” Yet Jesus also promises that he will not be ashamed of us if we are not ashamed of him.

            There is an even greater promise contained within this text. Somehow, Peter seems to miss it when he takes Jesus aside to rebuke him. Jesus doesn’t just talk about his suffering and death, he tells his disciples that, although it is necessary for the Son of Man to be killed, it is also necessary for the Son of Man to rise on the third day! How did the disciples not hear that? Why didn’t they recognize that the power of Jesus’ message is more apparent in the last few words than in all the suffering? Perhaps this is also what helps Jesus to overcome the temptation Peter lays on him. He is tempted to avoid the suffering, but to forgo the cross is to lose the resurrection. Without death, Jesus cannot rise anew.

            Jesus is also able to make this a teaching moment. At first, he has to wrestle with the present power of temptation. Yet once he tells Peter, “You do not think of the things of God but those of people,” it is as if he is free from the temptation. Certainly it is still there. We will see this in a few weeks in the Garden of Gethsemane when Jesus asks that God take away the need for his suffering. But there, as here, he remembers that God is in charge: “Yet not my will, but yours.” So renouncing Satan and the powers of evil is really a two-step process: first, we must say, “Go away behind me, Satan!” Get out of my sight, leave me alone, I will not be tempted by your false promises. Then we must cling to the things of God. We must say, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done.” This is not about what we want, but about God’s plan. Jesus recognized that, and through his faith in God’s promise, was able to overcome many moments of temptation.

            We must not be too quick to move from the pain and suffering to resurrection, however. We are, in fact, in the season of Lent, a season of contemplation and preparation. Just as we cannot lose sight of the resurrection, we also should not gloss over the time of trial. There should be a balance. Jesus spent 40 days in the wilderness, being tempted by the devil. We, too, must learn how to wrestle with temptation. We are washed clean of the power of our sins, but that does not mean that sin no longer exists. Lent is a time for us to reflect on our sinful ways. Certainly, we can rejoice in our salvation. We can praise God for the great works God has done in our lives through Jesus’ saving act. But right now, we are still wandering in the wilderness. We are still tempted by the powers of evil.

            Moving too quickly from the pain and suffering of the cross to the joy of resurrection makes us lose sight of the reality of life here on earth. We must first dwell in the place of suffering before we can truly comprehend the power of new life. Only by seeing our own sin for what it truly is can we begin to understand the great work God has done through Jesus. Like the disciples, we tend to flee from the moment of suffering. We prefer to run away, to pretend we don’t know that guy on the cross, to doubt his power.

            We can look forward to the resurrection with hope and longing. Without the promise, we would be lost. But being in the place of suffering teaches us how much we rely on Jesus. It teaches us how little we can truly accomplish for ourselves. It teaches us to stop believing in the power of our own works. By fully comprehending our own worthlessness, we can begin to understand how much we really need Christ.

            Jesus did overcome the devil, the powers of this world, and the ways of sin. The good news is that Jesus’ death and resurrection give us new life. Daily, we are washed in the waters of baptism, dying to the temptations of the world and rising again to God’s will for our lives. This is possible only through Jesus’ death and resurrection, through his conquering of the powers of sin and death. We can rejoice in his saving work.

            Jesus rejected worldly powers, as well as the devil. With him, we can shout, “Go away behind me, Satan! For you do not think of the things of God, but those of people.” God’s plan is greater than our plan. God’s peace passes our understanding. God’s weakness is stronger than our strength. And God’s love covers all. Thanks be to God! Amen.

WYA

This past weekend, I had the great honor of taking two girls to the NJ Winter Youth Assembly. By great honor, I mean I was the only one who was available and old enough. What an honor.

But seriously, this was a really interesting experience for me. I was never really a camper in any form or fashion when I was in junior and senior high. I went to a few Girl Scout camps/campouts, but I quit Girl Scouts in sixth grade. Then I went on a Confirmation retreat weekend, a congregational Confirmation retreat, a few youth weekends and the National Gathering. All of that over the course of 6 years, of course. I did the Confirmation stuff because I had to, and the youth gathering was a whole different animal. Me and 35,000 of my closest Lutheran friends. The Festival in Faith, though, was pretty close to this whole Winter Youth Assembly thing. I don't remember if it was a synodical or conference gathering, but I think I went every year that I was in high school, and I loved it. Still, it means that my view of retreats is a little skewed, since I only really had this one experience.

Then I moved to Texas, started dating Wes, and got talked into going to a few camps/retreats with him with hundreds of my closest Methodist friends. I could say that everything about those camps is different than the ones I went to in Ohio, but I would be exaggerating...a little. I don't know of any camps that are at the level of the ones in the Southwest Texas Conference. I hate to admit that the Methodists might have something on us, but...they do in this case. I've been completely spoiled by how well the camps are done down there, and so I now have this really awkward tension between the few camps I went to in Ohio and the few I went to in Texas. I don't think either gives me an accurate depiction of camp in general.

Anyway, with that massive amount of background, I went to this youth weekend not knowing what to expect. And some things bugged me beyond belief. I've never been to a retreat where everyone was okay with kids talking throughout the entire service. I'm aware that the atmosphere is not the same as in a congregation, but I think teaching the students how to be reverent is important. It seemed like some leaders cared about this and others didn't at all, so that really tainted my experience during some of the early worship services.

Then there was the Saturday night service, and everything got a lot better. People were attentive, prayerful, reverent, and paying attention. It was like the presence of the Eucharist completely changed their attitude. This carried over into the Sunday morning service, which I also loved. I haven't quite worked out how I feel about worship being more or less important depending on the context.

If I didn't know better, I would think that youth ministry was an easy job. The girls I took were wonderful, listened to me, let me know where they were, and asked permission to do whatever they were thinking of doing. The small group that I led was attentive, open to one another, profound, and really willing to dive into the texts with me. The whole weekend was just really uplifting, and I enjoyed it all--even not getting enough sleep.

Besides the great worship experience on Saturday, I think the biggest thing I took away from the weekend was that I still need to work on my leadership skills. When I was a squad leader my junior year in band, my leadership style was "yell, and yell more." By my senior year, when I was also the editor-in-chief of the newspaper, I learned that yelling doesn't necessarily work. Throughout the years since, I've really worked on being the kind of leader I've always admired: the one who has respect because she respects others. Yelling and anger don't benefit leadership, and I'm still trying to work on that. I'm in a much better place than I was 7 or 8 years ago, but I'm not there. Lots of prayer, contemplation, and hard work have gotten me to where I am today, and all I can do is keep working.

Well, that's lame

At the ripe old age of 24, I think I am finally able to admit something about myself: I don't like change.

I know, that's probably a surprise to everyone. Everyone else in the world absolutely adores change, so clearly I'm the odd one out on this one.

Seriously, though, I had quite the cathartic moment on the way home today (catharsis is not to be confused with Catechetics, which I keep confusing recently). I don't know if it is partially due to the long couple of days at school, or if it's just one of those times when everything comes raining down all at once or what. During the council meeting today, we talked about the possibility of St. Mark hosting other field education students over the next years. And suddenly, I realized that I can't imagine leaving there, yet it's coming in just a few months.

In the long run, I know that leaving St. Mark to work at another church is the exact experience I need. It's going to be a time for me to learn how another church works, to go to different council meetings, learn new names, and start again--with good reason. But I hate it. I super hate it.

When I was a kid, we moved approximately every three years until we moved to Hudson and started Rejoice. When I was almost 9 and we found out we were moving to Hudson, I bawled for days. I hated every moment of the move, and it definitely took me awhile to adjust to my new life. And I was NINE!! Then, as I got older and finally realized that God was calling me to a life of ministry, I started thinking that I would love to move around the country, always going to a new state or new place, not "just" moving around the northeast corner of Ohio like my boring family did. I graduated, moved to Texas, and eventually studied abroad for a semester.

Then we moved to New Jersey, and things changed. I realized that moving kind of sucks. There's all the packing, how to fit the same old junk into a new house, how to make your way around a new area, etc. And that's not to mention the issue of trying to maintain contact with all the people you've grown to know and love. Wes and I have been trying to keep up with our friends in Texas for a little over two years now, and it's no fun.

That said, there is one kind of change I'm a fan of: the kind of change that I get to create or choose for myself. I loved going to Argentina. Sure, I missed my friends and family, but  I knew I would see them in a few months, and I was the one in charge of when I left, when I came back, and everything that happened while I was there. Yet, as I pointed out to Wes years ago, I can't imagine being a Methodist pastor, when someone else would get to tell me when and where I would be moving. Even if I DID decide to move churches every few years, it would be on my terms, not someone else's.

And don't get me wrong. There are some other kinds of change that I actually enjoy. Goodness knows that if I had to be in the same class for more than 12 weeks, there are times when I would not be able to handle that. If winter didn't go away eventually, I'd freak out. But these are predictable changes that I can think about in advance and process.

I finally realized--after my little pity party/cry in the car on the way home--that this issue is actually a good sign. The fact that it breaks my heart to think about leaving St. Mark after I've only been there five months proves that I really am following God's call on my life. If I could just walk away without a second thought, that would be a sign that something was wrong. Instead, I have to work through the feelings of leaving and changing again. And I can look forward to the day when one and a half years is not the longest tenure I've had in a house since I was in high school, when I can stay at a church longer than a school year, and when I can finally build relationships knowing that I'll be able to keep up with them, not leave a few years later.

I hope this isn't too much of a downer. Although I came home and told Wes that I needed a hug, I also told him, "I'm really not upset." Yes, it sucks to feel like I haven't been in the same place long enough to call it home since I left for college. Yes it's annoying to look toward the next few years and know that the only constant will be change. Yet I'm doing what God has called me to do. And I have Wes by my side through all of it. And even when it's tough, that's temporary. Honestly, what more could I ask for?

BS

Last semester, Wednesday was my super long day. I spent about 12 hours at school, then went home and collapsed in exhaustion. Being Lutheran, that means that I missed out on quite a bit of stuff on Wednesday night. Luckily, I fixed that this semester, so now I get to participate in things like the Bible study that takes place each Wednesday night. When Lent rolls around in a couple of weeks, we'll switch over to midweek services, and I'm going to get to help out with that, as well.

Attending the Bible study has been a completely different experience for me. The first week, Linda was gone and I had to run the beginning of the Bible study. This consisted of asking people how their week went, introducing Mark, and playing a video. Yet it was pretty nerve-racking anyway. I've never led Bible study for a group of people who are significantly older than me. Everything went fine, but I'm interested to see how things go if/when I lead the study during Lent.

Unlike the 7th and 8th grade Sunday school class, I'm also not the resident "expert" in the adult Bible study. Linda is there, so my knowledge may occasionally be more fresh, but that doesn't mean I know more. Stacy, the leader in the 7th/8th grade group, frequently asks for clarification or more information if I have it. Linda definitely doesn't need that from me. I really enjoy that, because it means that I'm really participating, not helping to facilitate/lead. This Bible study is a learning experience for me, too.

One of the things Wes and I always talk about is how we're going to find time to worship, attend Bible study, etc. for ourselves. Anyone who has ever had any leadership capacity in a service  knows that it changes the worship experience. Rather than being an hour or so of pure worship time, you have to actively search for time in which you are completely focused on God, rather than what's going on, what's coming, and when you have another responsibility. This Bible study time has been great because I really feel no pressure--I don't need the "right" answers, I don't have to know what's coming, and I can just relax, learn, and participate. And the company is great!

Some answers and a lot more questions

I think that one of my favorite things so far about working at the church has been learning what I never paid attention to at Rejoice. Sure, I know how to make bulletins, lead in worship, teach Sunday school, etc., etc...yet, as far as I know, I never attended a council meeting, nor do I have any clue how a church creates and enacts a constitution. These activities have been extremely interesting for me because I've learned a lot more about the inner workings of the church.

Last night, I got to attend a meeting of the governance team, which is working to rewrite St. Mark's constitution. The one that they have just doesn't fit who the people of the church are at this point in time, so they're working to make it a better match. I'm not going to lie, I was expecting to be bored to tears, but I really enjoyed my time last night. I learned a little more about how a church functions, and it was quite interesting. I was also happy to know that I understand enough to have some input for the team, rather than just stare blankly into space.

One of the most striking points we discussed was how challenging it is to find the right role for the church council. The goal of the council definitely isn't supposed to be management. The people who serve on council should be overseeing the church's functions as a whole, not micromanaging every little issue that comes up each week. Yet there is a wide range of possibilities within that framework. How many people should be on the council? How long should their terms be? Should they be elected and then receive tasks, or be elected to a specific position? What should the teams look like? How is this going to move the mission of the church forward? I'm sure that we addressed this issue and many more when we organized Rejoice, but I was only 11 or 12 at the time and don't remember much of this discussion.

The other critical issue that came up during the meeting is one I've been wrestling with for quite awhile: what, exactly, is the role of the pastor in the church? We quickly eliminated the notion that every task, idea, problem, etc. that happens in the church must first be funneled through the pastor. I'm totally behind the idea that the pastor is not the center of church life. If that were the case, churches would crumble every time a pastor got a new call or left for any other reason. And we see this happening all the time. I always thought it was a testament to how awesome Dad is that people would leave the church when we moved. Of course, it was a compliment to him in some ways, but it was also an indication of people not understanding the role of the pastor in the church.

I'm not saying that I have every detail of this figured out myself--I definitely don't. I do know that my call is not to be a micromanager. If I felt the call to manage something, I definitely wouldn't be in seminary right now. I could have done that at Starbucks, and earned some money along the way...But what exactly is the call of the pastor? I already know some of that, I'm working some of it out now, and I know questions and issues will come up later on, as well. But I appreciated hearing not just Linda, but the whole team agree that the pastor is NOT the church...now to figure out what the pastor IS.

What's in a Name?

This week, things were “back to normal,” so to speak. I didn’t have any great spiritual revelations, there were no special events during the services, and I wasn’t in charge of anything. But I’ve recognized something about myself recently, and I’m really trying to address it. I have a fair amount of difficulty learning people’s names, and I get very nervous about making mistakes. For this reason, I have recognized that I rarely address people by their names.

Perhaps some of this hesitancy comes from silly mistakes I have made with names throughout the years. I have, unfortunately, inherited my mother’s and my grandmother’s tendency to mix up the names of even people I know. I don’t know how many times my mom called me Josiah over the years. When Josiah came to visit this Christmas, I mixed his name up with Wes’ at least once a day. In college, I confidently introduced my new friend “Alexander” to my roommate, only to have “Alexander” inform me that his name was, in fact, Jonathan. Luckily for me, this did not hinder our friendship!

Therefore, I have a hard time going up to someone and saying, “Good morning, ____!” I generally go with “Good morning!” I don’t think my lack of naming people hinders my sincerity or make them think I am cold, but it definitely makes a difference. I have been to many places where the pastor, as he/she was giving me Communion, says, “Jessica, this is Christ’s body, broken for you.” What a joy it is to be named! How wonderful to share the peace and hear “The peace be with you, Jessica.” Jesus’ sacrifice, that peace is for me. Not just from the person speaking, but from God!

In light of this reflection, how can I not use people’s names? I love being named. I love knowing that someone cares about me as myself, as God’s child, baptized and named. Yet I still have this fear that I’ll make a mistake. And if I make a mistake in naming someone, what will that do to our relationship? Having gone through most of my life with the last name Matlack, a brother named Josiah, and a mom named “Karen” spelled Karin, I know the pain of being misnamed. What if I add to someone’s pain?

I’m not sure how to resolve this problem yet. I know that I need to start using people’s names. Simply using the names I know when passing the peace, talking during the fellowship time, and meeting throughout the week will remind me of those very names. Perhaps as I practice and make mistakes, I’ll learn more names, learn people’s stories, and learn how to better learn new names and faces. I genuinely care about these people, as I’m sure I’ll care about my future congregations. How do I get that across while allowing myself to make mistakes? Sometimes it’s good to go with Luther and “Sin boldly.”

Indescribable

Usually, I try to reflect on what I've done during the week in this blog. And this week was actually a rather busy one in terms of how I participated: baptism, affirmation of baptism for the congregation, teaching Sunday school and Confirmation, etc. But the most powerful moment of the whole week was during the sermon in the second service. No, it's not because I wasn't paying attention the first time, I promise.

Yesterday we celebrated the Baptism of our Lord. As it sounds, it's a day to commemorate Jesus' baptism. As part of the service, we also did a corporate affirmation of baptism. This includes renouncing the devil, the evil powers of the world, etc., and affirming our faith by saying the Apostle's Creed. This part of the service is something Linda has been doing each year since she arrived at St. Mark, and it was an interesting and powerful way to commemorate the day.

Prior to remembering and affirming our own baptism was Linda's sermon. During the first service, I had been interested in the sermon and what Linda was saying, as it was not so loosely related to my own sermon last week. The point of the sermon was that, as God called Jesus "my beloved son, with whom I am well pleased," through baptism God accepts and claims us as God's own children. The idea of being adopted by God has been really important to my personal theology recently, especially as Wes and I discuss adoption. This whole personal attachment to the amazing idea of being adopted by God started when my wonderful mother suggested I watch the music video for Third Day's song "Children of God." Go on, take a break to watch it.

So there I sat, thinking about and listening to Linda's sermon, my personal ideas about adoption by God, etc. etc. And (for the second time), Linda ended the sermon by asking us all to make the sign of the cross on our neighbor's head, while saying something along the lines of, "You are God's child, the beloved." Since Linda and I are neighbors during the service, we did this for one another. It was definitely a powerful experience to hear those words, recognizing that, as Linda said, God is a "well-pleased parent. Period."

After the sermon, we always have a minute or so to reflect on the sermon before we go into the hymn of the day. I spent that whole time practically in tears, amazed at the power of being accepted as "beloved" by God. I don't know why it hit me harder during the second service. I don't know why that reflection led me to being able to say "yes, God" anew. But during that time after the sermon, and throughout the hymn of the day, I was saying a silent prayer of thanks, praise, and release. I know that, over the next days and months, that feeling of "let go and let God" will diminish, and I'll have to remember the time when I, once again, freely gave my life and its path over to God. I know that there will be times when life won't go the way I have it planned. I will wonder what God thinks God is doing with my life. But hopefully I'll remember yesterday, and the overwhelming feeling of peace involved in handing over the reins to the one who knows what is best, the one who willingly adopted me in my broken, unworthy state, the one who loves and guides me through it all.

Sermon 1/1/12 on John 1:1-17

A few years ago, Wes and I took his younger sister to see one of our favorite country bands in concert. We waited for what seemed like forever. First we had to find our seats, and because we had arrived early, there was nothing to do or see except the empty stage. Then there was the opening act: a semi-well-known artist called Taylor Swift. I knew enough of her songs to know I really didn’t care about watching her, so her portion of the concert seemed to drag on forever. Although some of the songs were great, Taylor was not the real reason I was sitting in that theatre. Katherine, Wes’ sister, really liked Taylor Swift, and seemed to be content to listen to her sing all night. Finally, though, Taylor finished singing. Then someone announced that Rascal Flatts would be on in about 15 minutes, after they got the stage set up and the mics ready and everything. And 15 minutes later, as Rascal Flatts played the first chord of their song, everything changed. The vibe in the theatre was totally different. No one was waiting anymore. The reason they had come was on stage. The real thing was happening.

Jesus’ coming into the world is much like when Rascal Flatts finally stepped on stage. There were people who proceeded Jesus—the prophets like Moses and Elijah. There was an announcer who said he was on his way—John the Baptist. But there was no mistaking when the real thing happened. At the concert, the whole audience changed when Rascal Flatts came onstage. Everyone was screaming and overjoyed. The waiting was finally over. The band was here. In the same way, Jesus’ in-breaking in the world changed everything. Jesus came as the light of the world—there was a palpable difference in the way things worked. Like the band coming onstage, there was no denying that something had changed. People outside of the audience might not know anything about the difference, but those of us who were there could barely contain our excitement.

“He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him.” These are some of the words John gives us about Jesus’ coming into the world. Although all things were made through Jesus, he was rejected by the very ones he created. How is this possible? How did the people not recognize the one who gave them their very being? Jesus came into the world as its light—the dark forces of the world were not able to overcome him. Yet there were many who refused to see the light. Some simply went through their daily lives, ignoring the powerful being that had come down to rescue them from the world’s darkness. Others actively worked against Jesus and his light, ridiculing, challenging, and eventually killing him.

Perhaps some of you noticed that this birth story is pretty different form the ones we heard last week, on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Those stories, from Matthew and Luke, share the story of Jesus’ birth through the virgin Mary. In the other gospel stories, Jesus’ parents are unable to find a room in which to stay. For this reason, Jesus is born in a manger, among dirty animals. He does not enter the world triumphantly, but in humility. He is wrapped in rags and sleeps in a barn. In the same way, John’s gospel announces that Jesus was not received by his own. Although they are two different stories, Jesus is clearly not welcomed into the world appropriately in any of his birth stories. This is just foreshadowing for the life and death to come.

Why would God send his one and only son into such a situation? Why would God knowingly commit Jesus to such a life sentence?

Even today, there are many who do not accept Jesus, who simply cannot find room for him in their hearts or lives. And we are no exception to that. We spend much of our lives telling Jesus, “ I have no room for you to be the center of my life right now. Why don’t you go wait on the outskirts and I’ll call you whenever I need you.” John proclaims that, “From the fullness of his grace we have all received one blessing after another,” but we cannot seem to find time even to thank Jesus for the great blessing his life and death is to us. What could the birth of one of millions of babies thousands of years ago possibly mean for our lives today?

But it’s not just Jesus’ birth that means something to our lives. In fact, John’s gospel makes it clear that the manner of the birth is not the real issue—it is the very fact that Jesus came into the world. He sat alongside God, creating the world and its first inhabitants. Didn’t he already do enough for us by giving us life? This doesn’t seem to have been enough for Jesus, however. He came into the world to be the light for the world, the light that no darkness could snuff out, the light that just grows and grows. Yet his own, the very ones he created, did not recognize him, and we continue to not recognize him. We have taken the holiday that celebrates his birth and turned it into a day full of greed and ill will. We have taken his great sacrifice for granted, instead of celebrating each day as a gift from God. We have acted as if we do not know the Lord when he stands right in front of us.

How is this possible? Jesus is called the light of the world. When someone walks into a room and turns on the light, it is immediately noticeable to everyone in the room—especially if they had become accustomed to the darkness. Occasionally, there is groaning from the pain of moving swiftly from darkness to light. Some people might squint or blink repeatedly. But no one is able to act as if they didn’t notice the change. Yet this is what we manage to do on a constant basis. Jesus came into the world, bringing light to it. And the world ignored this fact. Rather than celebrating how Jesus changed the world, we like to pretend it didn’t happen. We’re afraid to tell other people that we have seen the light and the light is good. We’re scared to say that we have learned about Jesus and he has changed our lives. We continue to let the darkness in the world attempt to overcome the great light that God sent.

But there is good news—in fact, there is great news. Jesus didn’t come into the world because we were worthy of his sacrifice. He came precisely because we were unworthy, because we needed his death and resurrection so desperately. God sent Jesus into the world knowing that he would die at the hands of the very ones he came to save. And Jesus came. He not only came, he was willing to come in one of the humblest, most vulnerable ways possible—as a helpless baby. This is where we receive the many blessings of which John speaks. Jesus’ entrance into the world, death, and resurrection are blessings enough. Yet day by day, we continue to have blessings rained down upon us: the blessings of home, work, family, love, and so much more.

Jesus’ coming into the world means that we are blessed beyond measure. We can never pay back the wonderful gifts we have received, and no one expects us to. That is grace. Jesus died for us, sacrificing himself because we had fallen so far into sin. And he doesn’t want anything in return for that gift. Even more amazing is the power that the gift of grace has. John says, “to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God— children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.” God has adopted us as God’s own children!

What does this mean for us? What does it mean to be children of God? We all have human mothers and fathers—most of us were not orphans, and we don’t know what it means to feel totally alone in the world. Yet all of our fathers and mothers have fallen short of perfection. Each has made some mistake in their lives, whether neglecting to help us through something, punishing us too strictly, using harsh words against us, or however else they may have failed us. Some of us might have “substitute parents,” those cool people who watch over us as if we were their own children, who bring us gifts, and who never have to discipline us. Even these “parents” are not perfect. So although we were not orphans, we have felt the pain of feeling completely alone, left without the protection and love of our parents.

So God steps in as the perfect parent. This doesn’t mean that life is made perfect, only that we can be sure to always have a wonderful, perfect parent in God. God has adopted us as God’s own children. God even sacrificed the life of Jesus to save us from our lives of sin. Being the perfect parent, God never punishes us more than we deserve. God never neglects or ignores us when life gets too busy. God listens to every word we say, knows our very thoughts, and loves us with all that God is. This kind of love is called “agape”—perfect, unconditional love. Although parents strive to have this love for their children, they inevitably fall short. God, however, never falls short of perfection. There is nothing God would not do for God’s children. Adoption by God is the final say—we cannot make a mistake too big, say something so wrong, or do so poorly that God will ever give up on us. And all because Jesus came into the world to rescue us from our sins.

Jesus’ coming into the world changed everything. Sure, there are always those who do not recognize the change—those outside of the auditorium, those who can’t see that the real thing has come onto the stage. But to those who are present and alert, there is no denying that the world will never be the same. It will never be enough to go back to the opening act or the announcer. We want more and more of the real thing. Jesus was born into the world to save us from our sin, and through his great love and sacrifice, we are now called sons and daughters of God. There is nothing that can rival the grace we have received from Christ. We have been adopted and set free through the light of the world. Thanks be to God! Amen.