Frustration . . .

Have you ever had one of those weeks where you feel as if you are being pulled from every single side . . . this is where I have been this week and it ain't fun.

In my last call I served as an AP . . . before the church moved to the Senior Pastor/ AP model they tried the Co-Pastor model . . . it didn't work out . . . from everyting I have read and heard they rarely do, but I think most of this is because they are entered into for the wrong reasons . . . I know this was true in this former situation . . . although they called this pastor the Co-Pastor he was an AP . . . by calling him as the Co-Pastor they avoided the search process. RABBIT TRAIL . . . anyway, I never met him, but someone in the congregation told me that one of their problems with him was that he always felt tomorrow was another day . . . now, at first blush I couldn't see what was wrong with this . . . that is until the person continued, 'he was putting in enough hours as he always thought there would be time tomorrow.'

But you know what . . . I think I must think like that member of the congregation . . . and this, ultimately is what leads to my frustration . . . I can talk the talk, but I don't walk the walk . . . yes, I can talk about wanting to be more like Mary . . . sitting at the feet of Jesus . . . heck, I even used that image today in the prayer I offered after Women's Bible Study -- which, by the way, I did on my day off . . . but to be honest they changed it to Friday as I was going to be out of town for a church thing, but I am Martha . . . I want to be Mary.

It's Friday night . . . moving onto midnight . . . tomorrow I will be working on policy . . . something coming form a committee I chair . . . three people were working on it and when I received the copy of it tonight I was FRUSTRATED so started on revisions . . . I will also begin planning Ash Wednesday services that will lead into a study of the spiritual disciplines during Lent.

As I leave let me share a poem with you that I found on line at AgentOrange -- a strange place to find a beautiful poem that describes the journey through Lent that I want to be able to take this year . . .

winter's like an inside wilderness:
it's broken branches and creaking bones;
it's like a fast from light and heat, a cold retreat.
it's not just beyond the body walls:
there is an inside frozenness, too;
a winter of the heart and soul, dark-cold as coal.
the inner wild is evil-laden,
filled with devils and bright temptation;
marked by love of self and pride, the us we hide.
but there is a way that leads to life:
a lenten journey from dark to light;
a passion path through days of lent and winter spent.

My prayer for Lent is that I learn to slow down . . . to learn to be as the title of a book reads, "A Mary in a Martha World" . . .

What is your prayer for Lent?

Lydia

The congregation I partner with has been involved . . . or we say we have, in a process of intentional transformation. I say "we say we have" as I haven't seen any real commitment on the part of the congregation . . . we said we were . . . more than 1/2 the congregation signed a commitment for openness to transformation when we began working with an internationally known consultant in church transformation over 18 months ago . . . but I had begun to wonder if we were only giving lip service to being open to the Holy Spirit working in and through us to capture this new thing God is wanting to do here . . . to use this church in building the Kingdom by reaching out into our community with the saving grace of Jesus Christ.

As I wrestled with this, I realized that I was judging the congregation while not really looking at myself . . . I spend about two months in prayer and reflection asking God how I needed to be opened to the Holy Spirit so to be in a better position to help lead God's people through this process . . . in the process, I was lead to an unlikely book of the Bible (Nehemiah) and to Andy Stanley's book on visioning.

I have spent the better part of three months now kind of engrossed in Nehemiah -- three weeks ago I began preaching a series on The Building Blocks of Vision (much of the credit here goes to Stanley), provided the Session a Bible study on what it means to be spiritual leaders based on Nehemiah, and am in the middle of planning a Visioning Retreat for the Session and congregation as we seek God's vision for this church.

You see I had forgotten the first key to transformational ministry -- it begins with the individual, even, and perhaps most importantly, the pastor allowing herself to be transformed by the Holy Spirit . . . Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect. Romans 12:2

I don't know where this process of transformational ministry will lead this particular congregation . . . I pray that we will continue to go deeper and further with Jesus . . . there are signs that many of us are on the way . . .

Lydia

Learning to tell time . . .

Tomorrow in recognition of the beginning of a new year, I am preaching from Ecclesiastes 3: 1-14 about the cycle of life . . . moving into the cycle of life of the local church . . . this comes on the heels of my finding out that the church where I was a charter member and who I was under care of in seminary is closing its doors in March of this year . . . if the presbytery approves it.

Before Katrina there was a move to do this . . . membership was around ten . . . although no longer a member of that presbytery I heard that a fairly new member of this smaller membership church made an impassioned plea on the floor of presbytery to keep it open . . . and her plea was echoed by the pastor of a sister church (mid-sized) about 20 miles away . . . so Presbytery kept the church open . . . after Katrina God graced the presbytery and this church with funds to bring in a bright and forward thinking Minister of Word and Sacrament . . . the church yoked with another church in the same town . . . the yoke didn’t work -- it was one-sided . . . the church changed its name . . . and the woman who gave the impassioned plea to keep the church open, her family and her sister’s family left the church shortly after Katrina . . . the church wasn’t able to help them the way they wanted after Katrina . . . Remember, membership was about 10 -- most of them her family and Katrina had done a job on the entire area.

As I have shared this news with folks here they have offered their condolences . . . telling me how sad I must be . . . but I’m not . . . I am nostalgic . . . but more than this I think “what ifs?” . . . what if the organizing pastor hadn’t left? . . . what if after that we had called so and so . . . What if we really understood what it meant to be a church . . . like many churches it was, for a large majority of us, about us . . . not about those outside our doors. When we were doing the mission study for calling a new pastor I remember the fights . . . over whether or not we really wanted to grow . . . If we really wanted to fulfill the mission of the Church and the local church . . . to go into the world and make disciples . . . It is the same struggle that continues in so many congregations, including this one . . . Yes, we want to grow as long as we don’t have to change.

But life -- whether a human life or the life of a local congregation, is about change . . . we are always changing . . . Change is inevitable . . . The question is will we manage change depending on God’s leading us through or will we change drag us kicking and screaming or worse yet passively into the future . . . If the church is alive and organic then they have life cycles just like human beings . . .

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.

This new year I pray that we will learn to tell time,

Lydia

Encountering Jesus . . .

Many, many years ago as a young Elder I volunteered to take our youth group to Montreat. After that experience I vowed “never again!” Flash forward about a quarter of a century -- I am now doing my seminary internship when I am told by my supervisor that we’ll chaperone the youth group on their annual mission trip. “No, Brad, you don’t understand I don’t do youth trips.” After Christmas I find myself in the front passenger seat of a van with 15 teenagers heading down to work with the PCUSA Border Ministry in Nuevo Laredo.

It was one of the most amazing experiences . . . not the work . . . there wasn’t much of that as once we got down there they decided we weren’t the construction type . . . we had been scheduled to work on laying the foundation for a new building in the medical compound where we were staying. Instead they scrambled to find us work we could do . . . we were assigned to paint the orphanage in the colonia (neighborhood) where we were staying.

The orphanage wasn’t like those we think of where children who have lost their parents or have been abandoned live until they can, hopefully, be adopted. This orphanage housed many of the children from the colonia; their parents placed them there so they would have a place to sleep, running water, food to eat and could get, at the very least, some education. The colonia was marred by abject poverty -- shacks made out of cardboard, sewage running in the streets. As a social worker who early in my career made home visits to some of the poorest areas of the Mississippi Gulf Coast I thought I knew the face of poverty, but I was shocked. And frankly I was worried about the teens . . . white upper middle class kids who wanted for nothing.

After the first day it became obvious that we weren’t going to get a lot of work out of the teens . . . they had found playmates in the kids of the orphanage . . . so Brad and I painted . . . later we were joined by some of the parents . . . our kids and their kids played and got to know each other, despite the language barrier.

As I write this the tears come back . . . for you see all of us experienced Jesus on that trip in ways that none of us could ever imagine. Our trip ended on Epiphany . . . that’s the big celebration in Mexico . . . it ended with Worship and although my little Spanish wasn’t much help in understanding what was being said in that small chapel with plain wooden benches, a dirt floor and in the cold of winter words weren’t needed . . .

We are all just travelers on this journey called life;
Some walk in darkness, while others follow the Light.
We carry our treasures so close to our heart;
Some we let go of while others never part.
And somewhere on this journey we encounter a King
That will change us forever, to Him our treasures bring.
(Lynn Cooper)

A fellow traveler,
Lydia

Balancing Act . . .

I am not sure where the time goes . . . I checked in on my blog today only to find that it has been almost three weeks since I last posted . . . where has the time gone? My goal was that my blogging would be a spiritual discipline for me . . . when it began it was . . . now, more than often I forget . . . this is OK . . . when I need it, it is here . . . but I fear that it is reflective of my own spiritual life right now . . . catch as catch can . . . I tend to keep "busy" with important church things . . . perhaps I am a little more like Martha than I want or need to be . . . I have often thought were I born at an earlier time I would have been a contemplative . . . yet, it seems that as a friend of mine says I have not learn to either say "no" or "to sit on my hands" . . .

As we move into Advent my prayer is that I will learn to slow down and be more like Mary . . .

If you are tired from carrying heavy burdens, come to me and I will give you rest. Take the yoke I give you. Put it on your shoulders and learn from me. I am gentle and humble, and you will find rest. This yoke is easy to bear, and this burden is light. Matthew 11:28-30

Any advice?

Lydia

Politics of hatred . . .

Recently a member of the congregation here suggested that she had been hearing more racist comments in the last six months that she had in the whole previous year . . . her comment made my ears more sensitive . . . although I hate to I have to agree with her.

Having grown up in the deep south white, middle-class I realize I grew up a child of privilege . . . I don't know the reason that this is my life, but it is and I am thankful . . . but it also means that I have a responsibility . . . a responsibility not only as a child of privilege, but a responsibility as a child of God.

Three are a couple of vivid memories about race that stand out for me:

The first was when I was about six . . . we moved to the small Southern town where I grew up . . . driving along the main drag (Jeff Davis!) we pasted the laundry . . . "Mama why would you bring whites only to wash?" . . . my Mama had to tell me that the sign meant that black people couldn't use the washing machines . . . I remember thinking that this was odd.

The second was about 13 years later when I was attending a small liberal arts church related college . . . primarily white students, but a handful of African-Americans . . . several who were friends . . . I night one of the women in my dorm asked if I would drive her and a couple of her friends (women I didn't know) over to the historically African-American universities in town . . . "sure" . . . for the first time I realized how it felt to be a minority . . . it wasn't a comfortable experience for any of us, but it got better as we talked.

Then while I was doing an internship, again in the South, a co-worker and I went to lunch . . . he was an African American Captain in the USAF . . . the restaurant we chose refused to serve us . . . I was shocked and wanted to protest . . . to speak to the manger . . . he wanted to leave, go somewhere else . . . we did.

With the comments I have been hearing since my ears have perked up I realize that we are still living in a country that is deeply divided . . . along color lines -- not just racial color lines, but red and blue lines . . . economic lines -- the haves and the have-nots . . . and among so many other lines of our own making . . . what does this say about having been made in the Image of God? What does it say about Scripture like the Golden Rule and the Matthew 25 text where the sheep and the goats are divided . . . "Lord, when did we see you . . . Truly, I tell you when you did it to the least of these you did it unto me."

Lydia

Where did the time go?

It is hard to believe that I haven't blogged since September 14th! I am not sure where the time has gone . . . time is flying . . . things are so hectic . . . I barely have time to breathe some days . . . I know this isn't good for me, but there is so much to do on so many fields.

We continue to lose members at the church as more people are choosing to leave this area, especially after this last hurricane season . . . more than this, people are choosing not to move into the area . . . lots of "hiring" signs, lots of "for sale" signs with houses not moving . . . I understand the plants/factories are not able to hire people as people aren't willing to move here. And in the face of this the majority of the congregation seem to be giving up . . . yet, we know that there are many in our community who are not connected with any church.

Things in our governing body are horrendous . . . running out of money . . . probably having to cut back on staff which will mean that local pastors will have to carry more responsibility . . . I am not sure that I can continue at this pace . . . several of us will be on retreat in about two weeks to figure out where our governing body goes from here . . . it is both exciting to see that God may be doing something new here, while it is also scary as we will probably be moving into uncharted waters . . . but, of course, in a way we have been here since Katrina.

After the retreat I will begin two weeks of vacation. Perhaps after vacation I will find balance . . . stop being Martha so much and take time -- more time, to be Mary.

Lydia