Redemption Centers

My mom used to collect S&H green stamps. (If you remember those, you probably qualify for a discount at your local restaurant.) I would help in the surprisingly fulfilling exercise of gathering the stamps into piles, licking them (or moistening them with a wet paper towel, when the novelty of licking them wore off), and sticking them in little booklets. Sometimes I would go with mom to the redemption center, and trade the booklets for something clearly more valuable. The only thing I remember getting was a yellow blender. I remember using it to blend orange juice and ice cream, to make our own version of an Orange Julius. It struck me as somewhat odd that we could buy a blender with a bunch of otherwise worthless green stamps, but if the store was okay with it, so was I. Contemporary coupon-cutters regularly experience the same phenomenon. You don't have to understand the motivational dynamics of promotional marketing to experience the wonder of getting "something for nothing" (or almost nothing); you just need a pair of scissors, or a talent for a straight tear.

(Abrupt change of topic; but I will return...)

I have burned out more than a few brain cells in recent months trying to figure out what motivates (or fails to motivate) people to come to church. To repeat previous strong statements, I do not believe that church attendance is a prerequisite for admission into heaven, nor even that it is essential to personal righteousness. But there is something that draws you here - with more or less regularity - and having been a paid employee of the church for sixteen years (where my attendance is pretty much a condition of continued employment), I fear I may have lost touch with your reasons for coming, with your sense of purpose in being part of this church.

My background and education offered me this structured understanding, that people come to church for one (or more) of four reasons: Bible Study, Worship, Fellowship, or Service. In previous articles, I've revealed some of my thoughts and frustrations about this congregation's apparent "level of interest" (or lack of it) in these traditional cornerstones of church life. After many helpful conversations and considerable reflection, I think I may have discovered an important ammendment to my understanding.

Despite it's somewhat over-engineered organizational structure (our constitution and by-laws identify more leadership positions than we have adult members), ours is actually a very simple congregation. We do not attempt grand programs, nor do we engage in heated debate over competing priorities. We do not energize ourselves in aggressive fundraising, and we do not bombard our members with appeals for more generous donations. We do not see each other as potential assets and liabilities in the pursuit of organizational objectives. While we appreciate the diversity of gifts and contributions made, we tend not to evaluate each other in terms of institutional loyalty or "value added" to the congregation. We tend to do something very different from that.

I don't yet have the words to define this "something different", but I know that it has a lot to do with the way we get to know each other. It's a slow process, sometimes lacking in clear purpose or evidence of progress, but over time, we get to know each other's stories. When I first became your pastor, I was struggling to learn who was related to whom (and in how many different ways). As the years have passed, joys and sorrows have been shared, and I find that I have gotten to know many of you in ways that have surprised me. I have found value and depth in you in ways that have nothing to do with the church as an institution, that have no bearing on any organizational goals. I don't want to embarrass anyone with praise, but I have found some rare treasures buried deep in the hearts of this congregation, and I have been blessed by the discovery. To be honest, I have also discovered usefulness and value in myself that I did not know was there, in areas that have little or no connection with my job description as pastor.

There is a theme here. This simple, amazingly unpredictable process of knowing and getting to know each other is, at its heart, based on the God-given capacity to recognize and appreciate that which is good. We help each other see the value that is not obvious at first glance. We discover in each other the worth that is not readily apparent. At our best, we look past the scar tissue of sin and shame, convey the grace we have ourselves received, and embrace with compassion the healing and growing heart within.

We have been called to be a center of redemption.

Drop by when you can.

No green stamps required.

-- Brother Tom

In The Interim

An old friend of mine from college (Jeff C) just let me know via Facebook status that he's starting a stint as Interim Pastor, on top of his "day job" as a drug-rehab counselor. I've no doubt he'll serve well, and that both he and his church will be blessed by the exchange. (One of Jeff's favorite quotes is from Mary Cosby: ""A meeting of persons is an exchange of gifts." It's a good line.) But the thing that struck me about Jeff's announcement was the odd power of the adjective attached to his title: "Interim". Quite obviously, it means he will hold the position only temporarily, as opposed to those of us who serve in "permanent", "eternal", or "everlasting" ministries. An interim pastor is just the guy or gal who serves as pastor "in the interim", or in between the last guy or gal (who either got fired or "called away") and the next guy or gal (for whom the search has already begun, unless the search committee is procrastinating, which they almost always never do). I've never been an Interim Pastor. Either that, or that's what I've always been, and just didn't know it.

Technically, I guess, all the pastors between the first pastor and the last pastor are interim pastors. Both my brother and my friend Chuck were "first pastors", in churches they helped start. I watched them both ride the roller coaster of joys and anxieties that come with the birth and early growing pains of a new congregation. I don't believe I've known any "last pastors", though I've got a strong suspicion that I may soon become one. I do not know how many more years Big Spring-Bloomfield Presbyterian Church will be in existence, but I've known for some time that I will (most probably) be their pastor on their last day, whenever that may come. I can't see into the future, and we don't know yet what Trinity Baptist Church will do when the Presbyterians close their doors, but I've already been Trinity's pastor for more than half of their history, and I just might be their pastor through the rest of it.

These are thoughts I don't know what to do with. No seminary student imagines a "till death do we part" relationship with a church, certainly not with the first (and second) churches he or she might pastor. But I'm no longer a rookie; I've had a lot of time to think about this. Only the very young and the very foolish fail to come to terms with their own mortality, but rarely do we apply such timeless truth-telling to the institutions we form and support. Churches are not immortal; at least not the ones that have buildings, bank accounts, and board members. Businesses -- like Texas Instruments, Lehman Brothers, Saturn Motors, and someday mine -- likewise suffer the fate of limited life spans, despite our common desire for eternal employment security. We don't usually hold funerals for institutions; we don't have a pattern of mourning or a habit of grieving their loss. As in the last episode of Cheers, we simply turn out the lights, lock the door, and walk away.

Surely there is no reason that I should ever fear also becoming the last pastor of Bloomfield Christian Church. (That would be too much for one man to take.) About half the congregation is younger than me, so I have no fear of outliving all of you. I have every reason to believe that after my departure -- by death, dismissal, or "divine redirection" -- the church shall come together, find another pastor, and continue to worship and serve together for many years to come. Of course it will. Because you care deeply about this church, it's ministry and it's mission. At least, I think you do. I mean, you don't always act like it, but you would act different, if you really needed too. For now, you can go on acting like the church will always be there, whenever you feel like popping in to hear a sermon or some beautiful music, or just to catch up with friends. Someone will always be there to get the temperature in the sanctuary just right (or close to right), to print the worship bulletins, to prepare communion, to take up the offering, to pay the bills, to lead the prayers, to keep the nursery, to teach the children. The church will always have plenty of people to do all those things. Won't we?

Not always. Not forever. Only as long as you care; only as long as your heart is in it. After that, it's time to turn out the lights.

Forgive the melancholy, but I find this truly and deeply important. I do NOT want to be the last pastor of Bloomfield Christian Church. I want to be an Interim Pastor, the guy between the last guy and the next guy. I want to be a part of a congregation that is invested in its own future, focused on its own mission. Clearly I have not been a visionary leader; perhaps you have not wanted me -- or allowed me -- to be one. But I will be honest with you. When I look around me, I do not see the passion, the energy, the commitment to each other and to the mission of the church that I believe is needed, not in sufficient measure to last another generation.

If you see it differently, please say so. I would welcome a brighter, more hopeful perspective.

In the meantime, I will continue to serve you, to the best of my ability, for as long as you and God allow.

-- Brother Tom