Krista is seven months pregnant. She doesn't know exactly when her first baby will be born, but she knows it will be soon. Her father is in a coma. They took him off life support this week. They don't know how much longer he will last, but they know it won't be very long.
There is a time to be born, and a time to die, and we have very little (if any) control over the timing of either. There is a peculiar anxiety that comes from not knowing, from both eager anticipation and lingering dread. The waiting is in so many ways the worst part. Something deep inside us seeks resolution, conclusion, completion, closure. The unfinishedness of life, whether pregnant with potential or struggling for survival -- or both -- strains our patience with uncertainty, and humbles our proud designs.
The question most frequently asked of me throughout my slow eight-year trek through seminary was, "What are you going to do when you graduate?" At first the honest answer came awkwardly, but eventually with comfortable ease: "I don't know." It is the most honest answer I have ever given, to any question. It's not that I didn't (or don't) want to know the future; I'm as curious as the next guy, and my Magic 8-Ball has been consulted more than a few times. But increasing age has brought with it some improvements in both wisdom and authenticity. I know myself now better than I ever have before, and this one thing I know most clearly and confidently: I don't know much, and much less that I used to think I knew.
***
My article from last month stirred up more response than anything I've ever written. All of the responses were helpful, and all appreciated. So many of you have demonstrated genuine concern, both for the church and for me personally, that I have been deeply touched and powerfully encouraged. Thank you for the many notes, calls, and conversations that you have blessed me with. On top of all that, the events of the last three weeks -- not least among them the youth mission trip to Harlan -- have refocused my attention and stretched my perspective. I would like to report that all of this has made my frustrations fade away -- but I can't. I can tell you that I am now seeing more clearly, and that the things that frustrate me are surrounded by things that are fulfilling, by potential that is promising, and by people who are loving.
My coach, Scott, challenged me recently to spend less time focused on the things that aren't working well, and more time focused on the things that are, trying to keep the two in balance. I don't have the words to express all the thoughts that this challenge has prompted, but let me mention just a few.
(1) Watching six young adults -- and my wife -- devote themselves to the service of others in need, with determined energy and uninhibited cooperations, was deeply inspiring. Being able to participate in the project was, well, priceless.
(2) Learning of Jane's recent fall and desperate circumstance reminded me of the fragility of life; learning of the attentive and caring response of her good neighbors reminded me of the strength of our community, and of the very good hearts of our leaders.
(3) Numerous conversations, over coffee, computer, and cell-phone, with friends and fellow disciples, have rejuvenated my passion for dialogue, my deep desire to share dreams and doubts, hopes and fears, frustration and fulfillment with those who understand and those who desire understanding.
***
I don't know what comes next. I don't know what will become of the frustrations I have expressed. I don't know how our church will respond to the many challenges it faces. I don't know what role you will play in our church's future.
I do know that God is good. I do know that the people of our church, and the leaders of our church, are good people. I do know that I love being a part of it.
I know that to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.
I know that God makes everything beautiful, in its time.
-- Brother Tom
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
Venting Frustration
Anybody who has ever played golf understands that the little white ball rarely goes where you wanted it to. Unlike most other sports, there is nobody playing defense: no defender trying to block your shot, no cornerback trying to intercept the pass, no pitcher trying to throw the ball past you so fast you can't hit it. It's just you, the little white ball, and the big ball of dirt and grass upon which you both stand. Granted, the big dirt ball gets in the way sometimes, but mostly it just provides the gravity that stabilizes the encounter. You choose where to stand and how long a club to use. You control all of the big and tiny muscle groups that mobilize hips, shoulders, elbows, and wrists along a chosen plane. You provide the force and determine the angle of impact. You control almost every variable that dictates the flight path and destination of the ball. And yet, it very rarely goes exactly where you want it to go. When it does, it's exhilarating -- just cause for inward celebration for having mastered all of the intricate internal mechanisms. When it doesn't, it's exasperating -- humbling if not humiliating evidence that your physical, mental, and emotional components are rebelling against the authority of your will. I lifted my head; I dipped my shoulder; I bent my elbow; I lifted my foot; I stood too close to the ball; I rushed the backswing; I chose the wrong club; I misread the green. Whatever went wrong, I did it. I have no one to blame but myself, but my self becomes an uncooperative collection of parts that don't work well together, and I spin my mental wheels spreading blame among the offending parts.
Pastoring a church can be a lot like playing golf. Things very rarely go the way you want them to. Under normal circumstances, nobody is playing defense: no defender is consciously trying to make your task more difficult (though it often seems as if there's an army of them). It's just you, the church, and the world in which you both live. A pastor often sees the church much the same way a golfer sees the ball: sitting passively on the earth, waiting to be struck, lifted, guided to a chosen destination, gloriously envisioned by the pastor. Through green pastures, beside still waters, over shifting sands, and around treacherous hazards, the pastor intends to guide his flock by the passion of his vision and the skillful mastery of all his shepherding skill. You choose the tools, take your stand, and focus all of your energy on the effectiveness of the swing. But it almost never works out the way you planned. When it does, it's serendipitous -- a joyous fulfillment of God's trusted promise. When it doesn't...
I mentioned last Sunday that I have grown quite frustrated. Don't get me wrong: there have been many fulfilling moments, many relationships formed that I value and treasure, many opportunities to walk difficult paths together, many affirmations that strengthen my resolve and confirm my conviction that God has led me to this place at this time, and that He is able to make my ministry here useful.
But if you look at who we are, who we claim to be, why we have come together, and what we claim as our purpose, you might just notice that something seems amiss. Allow me to be specific:
(1) If our purpose is to gather together to worship God, then it is surprising what a large percentage of us are content to worship only when it is convenient, or only when we have a scheduled duty to perform.
(2) If our purpose is to learn and grow in wisdom, then it is surprising how few questions get asked, how little interest there is in deeper study, how many seem content with a weak understanding of scriptural teachings.
(3) If our purpose is to support each other in the warmth of Christian fellowship (perhaps our strongest trait), then it is a bit surprising how shallow an understanding we have of each other's struggles, how loosely connected we are with each other, how little effort is shown to befriend the stranger, to visit the sick, to carry the invitation of communion and community to those outside our walls.
(4) If our purpose is to serve our community (perhaps our weakest trait), then it is quite surprising how little evidence we have of organized effort to that end, how many seem content with directing a few dollars to fund someone else's work.
Of course, it could be that I have simply misunderstood my role. Perhaps in a congregation historically accustomed to student pastors, it is the congregation who is the golfer, and the pastor who is the golf ball. Perhaps you see the purpose of the church as one of providing funding, guidance, and encouragement to some young, ambitious minister, so that he or she may go do the "work of ministry". Perhaps you see your task as one of striking your pastor with just the right club, to send me off into the community and throughout the congregation to minister on your behalf: preaching, teaching, counseling, serving -- with your full and enthusiastic support. (The more I think about it, the more I must admit -- this seems to be what is happening.) Perhaps you are the ones more frustrated, because this golf ball rarely goes where you want it to.
I'm going to need to think this through carefully, and I sincerely hope that many of you will do some deep thinking as well. One thing I know for sure: if you had told me eight years ago that you wanted me to be a golf ball -- that you wanted me to do the work of ministry, so that you don't have to -- I never would have taken the job.
Frustration is a tough enemy. Please work with me as I attempt to deal with it.
Pastoring a church can be a lot like playing golf. Things very rarely go the way you want them to. Under normal circumstances, nobody is playing defense: no defender is consciously trying to make your task more difficult (though it often seems as if there's an army of them). It's just you, the church, and the world in which you both live. A pastor often sees the church much the same way a golfer sees the ball: sitting passively on the earth, waiting to be struck, lifted, guided to a chosen destination, gloriously envisioned by the pastor. Through green pastures, beside still waters, over shifting sands, and around treacherous hazards, the pastor intends to guide his flock by the passion of his vision and the skillful mastery of all his shepherding skill. You choose the tools, take your stand, and focus all of your energy on the effectiveness of the swing. But it almost never works out the way you planned. When it does, it's serendipitous -- a joyous fulfillment of God's trusted promise. When it doesn't...
I mentioned last Sunday that I have grown quite frustrated. Don't get me wrong: there have been many fulfilling moments, many relationships formed that I value and treasure, many opportunities to walk difficult paths together, many affirmations that strengthen my resolve and confirm my conviction that God has led me to this place at this time, and that He is able to make my ministry here useful.
But if you look at who we are, who we claim to be, why we have come together, and what we claim as our purpose, you might just notice that something seems amiss. Allow me to be specific:
(1) If our purpose is to gather together to worship God, then it is surprising what a large percentage of us are content to worship only when it is convenient, or only when we have a scheduled duty to perform.
(2) If our purpose is to learn and grow in wisdom, then it is surprising how few questions get asked, how little interest there is in deeper study, how many seem content with a weak understanding of scriptural teachings.
(3) If our purpose is to support each other in the warmth of Christian fellowship (perhaps our strongest trait), then it is a bit surprising how shallow an understanding we have of each other's struggles, how loosely connected we are with each other, how little effort is shown to befriend the stranger, to visit the sick, to carry the invitation of communion and community to those outside our walls.
(4) If our purpose is to serve our community (perhaps our weakest trait), then it is quite surprising how little evidence we have of organized effort to that end, how many seem content with directing a few dollars to fund someone else's work.
Of course, it could be that I have simply misunderstood my role. Perhaps in a congregation historically accustomed to student pastors, it is the congregation who is the golfer, and the pastor who is the golf ball. Perhaps you see the purpose of the church as one of providing funding, guidance, and encouragement to some young, ambitious minister, so that he or she may go do the "work of ministry". Perhaps you see your task as one of striking your pastor with just the right club, to send me off into the community and throughout the congregation to minister on your behalf: preaching, teaching, counseling, serving -- with your full and enthusiastic support. (The more I think about it, the more I must admit -- this seems to be what is happening.) Perhaps you are the ones more frustrated, because this golf ball rarely goes where you want it to.
I'm going to need to think this through carefully, and I sincerely hope that many of you will do some deep thinking as well. One thing I know for sure: if you had told me eight years ago that you wanted me to be a golf ball -- that you wanted me to do the work of ministry, so that you don't have to -- I never would have taken the job.
Frustration is a tough enemy. Please work with me as I attempt to deal with it.
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