sabbatical

September 6, 2019

Sabbatical, Day One Hundred Three

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A gift from a friend that speaks to me.

Last week I was sitting at a table surrounded by adults who had come with their children to move them to college.  I learned each of those people had lived in some place I had lived.  Some of them are current military personnel, some are ARMY children, one is a basketball coach, one a pastor, all of them love to travel and value the gift of education.  I sat with them enjoying the chance to talk to others who were letting their babies move away because they knew it was the best even as they wanted to hold them more tightly to keep them safe.

I enjoyed the unexpected morning conversation because I found a place to belong.  Among strangers I found people who spoke my language, who laughed easily, who were brave, and who asked direct questions.  I found that morning the continued challenge I have encountered this sabbatical – to find connections with others through sharing our stories.  I do not want to let that challenge go upon my return to the church.

This sabbatical is ending on Monday.  Come Monday I will return to the people and work I have been given.  It will be good to see familiar faces and hear the voices of those I love.  I have missed being in their presence.  I have missed their stories.

Yet, as I return I am struck by my need to continue to make connections to others.  I want to help others find a place of belonging.  I find when I think about the future of my call to ministry I dream of ways to create moments of connection between people.  I dream of people feeling they belong to a group of people who love them.  I dream of people seeing the church building and instead of fear or anger, they see openness and love.  I dream of people sitting together, singing together, praying together, and listening together as they learn about God’s love for them and how that matters.

As this sabbatical comes to an end I have been reflecting on my call to ministry, which is one of the major questions of this sabbatical.  The answer I have discovered is that I have been called to help create community wherever I am planted.  To do that I plan on spending my days combating the fear and anger forcing us to isolate ourselves.  We are made for community, we are made for each other, and in honor of that truth I plan to spend my life creating connections and helping others feel they belong and are loved.

I am looking forward to the stories I am going to learn and those moments of belonging I stumble upon at unexpected moments just as I did last week.

 

August 19, 2019

Sabbatical, Day Eighty-Five

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Last night’s sunset.

One of the biggest concerns the elders and I addressed when preparing for this sabbatical was how to assure the members of our community they or their families would be taken care of at the time of a death.  Time and again we answered the question, “Who will do the funerals?”  We answered, “The pastor we hire to work during the sabbatical.”  We also reminded everyone when I am gone on vacation/continuing education the pastors on-call have been the one to officiate funerals.  We did not want to make light of the concern of the community, but we did want to remind everyone there was a time before I was pastor and will be a time after I am pastor.  We wanted them to remember their role as a congregation, the people who stay and care for each other for generations through multiple pastorates.  Even though we wanted them to feel confident we also hoped there would not be a funeral while I was on sabbatical.

There have been two funerals since I have been gone.  One for a community member, and another for a person who was a vibrant and active member of our congregation who experienced a rapid decline in health in the last year.  The funerals were held on back-to-back Saturdays.  I have heard beautiful examples of how the congregation came together and cared for both of these families.  I am thankful for the love and grace demonstrated by people I know who are willing and able to walk beside families in their grief.

I have been away before when there have been funerals of members of our congregation and community.  I have experienced the grief and guilt that come when I am not the person who stands before the community and assures them of the promises we hold dear.  I have experienced the overwhelming gratitude for my colleagues who step in when I am gone, just as I step in when they are gone.  Caring for a community is a team effort and the sharing of that work with my colleagues continues to remind me of the goodness of being a pastor.

Yesterday I walked out to the cemetery to pay my respects for the three people who have died in the last two weeks in our community.  I passed by the graves of people I have known, I recalled the words I spoke and the words I heard my colleagues speak at each graveside.  I stared at the beautiful blue sky and reminded myself at this time and in this place I have been given the privilege to care for others, but I am not the only person.  I am one of many who will spend their years among these people.  I am thankful for the privilege of this time to learn from this community how to love and be loved.  I remain hopeful the people of this community will recognize the gift they have been given in each other and in the pastors who get to spend some time caring for them.

 

August 7, 2019

Sabbatical, Day Seventy-Three

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Lake Superior

To be clear I love all the Great Lakes.  Lake Michigan has claimed the most of my time; Lake Huron never seems that far away while I am in Michigan; glimpsing Lake Erie always brightens my day; and Lake Ontario welcomed me like a long lost friend when I finally stepped into it a couple of years ago.

However, Lake Superior is my favorite.  Since I was a child this lake has captivated me with its wildness and power.  Time spent at Lake Superior always leaves me humbled, in awe, and longing to live on its shores.  As a child I was certain I would one day move north to the sandy land of Lake Superior, never dreaming I would be planted firmly in the life-giving soil of farmland.

It had been years since I had stood on the shore of Lake Superior when I returned this summer.  I returned like an old friend, with memories of other visits playing in my head, excitement for new memories to be made, and comfort in knowing where I stood.  I am certain all of us have places like this, touchstones to ground us in our lives.  Fields of crops, mountains, homes, or towns are a few of the places others have told me ground them.

The purpose of this grounding is not to weigh you down so you cannot go exploring, rather to be a place you touch down on to remind you of where you have been as you find a new place to be.  I wonder if part of the reason the world seems so hate-filled lately is because we have forgotten to return to the places that ground us. . .

I am not talking about just the horrific acts of violence that seem to come regularly around the world, or the hate-filled racism and sexism that is allowed to be spewed at anyone the speaker chooses.  I am also talking about how impatient everyone seems to be, or how easy it seems to be to justify our rudeness, or how people can justify standing in a crowd of people shouting for harm to come to another person.  I cannot understand how we as a people have forgotten who we are, unless we are purposely choosing not to remember, unless we are purposely choosing to live selfishly and hatefully.

Maybe if we remembered the places that have shaped us and we returned to them we would find echoes of our old selves, so we could see if we have lived into the person we dreamed we would become.  And if we found ourselves lacking the grace and kindness we once had, hopefully the power of that place would inspire us to try again.

I stood on the shore of Lake Superior this summer and remembered the tiny, pony-tailed, knobby-kneed dreamer who believed if everyone was kind to each other no child would ever have bruises from angry hands, or have empty bellies, or hear racial or sexist slurs used to describe them.  That child had faith people would always choose the greater good over themselves.  That child believed if adults only knew she was suffering they would step in and make life different for her and all the kids she knew.

I stood on the shore of Lake Superior this summer lamenting the loss of that innocence and trust, while recommitting myself to being the type of adult that hopeful child needed.  I trust you will do the same because the kids of this world need us to be adults who always choose the greater good.  Always.

 

July 22, 2019

Sabbatical, Day Fifty-Seven

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Looking up on the Kaskaskia Trail.

I have passed the halfway point of this sabbatical.  I have now officially spent as much time away from the church as I typically do in a year given my vacation time and continuing education time/study leave.  All the time after this is extra time, time I would not normally have away from my daily tasks.  I remain thankful for the gift of this time.

This past week I found myself walking along a trail that was beautiful.  The temperature was the coolest it had been in over a week, the trees were a brilliant green, and the trail just wild enough to quiet my footsteps.  I was planning to spend the whole afternoon walking a loop of eight miles so I applied lots of bug spray, put on my hat, and grabbed my full water bottle.  About half a mile into the hike I was doing an invigorating rendition of the slap the bugs away dance.  The bugs were so thick and persistent I was walking faster than normal to get to the first break in the trail so I could get out of the woods.  Even protected as I was against the bugs my skin was swelling with so many bites I was rethinking ever going outdoors again.

True to form I have been thinking of all the sermon illustrations I can get from that abbreviated hiking experience.  One revelation was how the walk reminded me of my emotional state eight weeks ago.  At the beginning of this sabbatical I was deep in the woods, walking through a swarm, looking for a way out.  As protected as I thought I was against burnout I was breaking from the emotional and physical toll of the life I have been called to live.  Eight weeks ago I would not have looked up at the sky because I was barely putting one foot in front of the other to stay on the path.

Today I am finally breathing deeply and looking up.  Today I am not looking for the first break so I can get off the trail.  This feels like freedom to me.  Freedom to dream again.  Freedom to explore again.  Freedom to fail again.  Freedom to delight in the chance to serve God and God’s people.  I have missed that feeling of freedom.

I am thankful today I am getting a glimpse of that freedom again.

 

 

 

July 7, 2019

Sabbatical, Day Forty-Two

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The River Walk in downtown Spokane, Washington.

As I have traveled I have enjoyed scenery unlike the kind I see every day.  I have spent time in places were there are no people for hundreds of miles; and places where there are so many people I could not move without bumping into someone.  I have not seen a corn field or a soybean field in weeks, and very few people have waved back when I instinctively wave while driving or walking.  I have been outside of my usual habitat long enough that when I spoke to a family from the Mid West I felt my ears relax.  I had not even realized how different everyone sounded until I heard someone close to home speak.  I am still chuckling about this revelation days later. 

I love to travel.  I love what I learn about myself and others while traveling.  I love hearing other languages, watching people interact, making connections because of a t-shirt or food order or children.  I love being surrounded by strangers and finding ways to build connection.  Even if those connections are only for as long as it takes for us to take photos of each other’s traveling party.

Like water shapes rocks, those moments of connection shape me.  I want to find a way to make those connections happen for others so we can all see how connected we are to each other regardless of where we come from.  I want us to realize unless we are willing to listen when it makes our ears, mind, or heart work harder we will not experience the vast goodness of this world God has created for us.

We are responsible for what we learn and how we apply that knowledge.  My hope is that I never get to a point when I decide I am too old, too sick, too cranky, or too comfortable to learn from others.  I may get to a point when I cannot pack a suitcase and travel, but until my last moments I plan to live as a traveler looking for glimpses of home in all my wandering.

June 24, 2019

Sabbatical, Day Twenty-Nine

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Arches National Park

Yesterday I sat in the sanctuary of Second Presbyterian Church of Albuquerque for the second time.  It is a beautiful building, full of symbols that I find at home or in other PCUSA congregations around the country.  Last time I visited I was greeted warmly by many people, and this time I was greeted even more warmly by some of the people who remembered meeting me three years ago.  I love sitting in the pew in the sanctuary, attempting to follow the cadence and language of this worshipping community.  I love feeling connected to others even as I am away from the community I call home.

Yesterday, I sat swinging my legs in the pew because I am too short for my feet to reach the floor if I sit back in the pew.  The act of swinging my legs was as delightful the second time as the first, I felt like a child enjoying the moment.  I was seated between a friend who has walked beside me all these years as I learn to be a pastor, and my second child who has only known me as a pastor. I sat between these two people I love, who love me, and I listened to another  friend lead a worship service that felt created for me to find God.  The announcements, joys, concerns, and an update of the asylum seeker and refugee ministry were all the things I needed to hear.  The prayers and hymns in Spanish and English felt as if they were cracking open my heart so the words of the sermon could be felt.

Most days, I create worship services for others.  I know the limitations of a pastor in creating a worship service; and how easily Sunday becomes a habit instead an expectation of having your heart cracked open so you can feel.  Understanding how easy it is to forget to expect I will encounter God in worship, I treasure the moments I get to follow instead of lead because it changes my perspective.

Yesterday, I was given the privilege of sitting in a pew, a privilege I do not want to waste.  I learned how another worshipping community is living their faith and call to serve God and others.  I was reminded that I too am loved by God in all my brokenness, and in fact my brokenness is often used for good.   I tell this to others daily, but to hear it spoken to me was life giving.

Yesterday I was told I was loved by the God who created the sandstone beauty I saw and touched today.  I am not sure how to explain how I needed to be reminded that words I regularly proclaim to others are also for me.  But I did.

Thank you to the pastor and the community who welcomed me and reminded me I am loved too.

June 10, 2019

Sabbatical, Day Fifteen

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Some of the books I have read so far; the others have been loaned out.

Based upon all I have learned from more experienced clergy and read in books my current state of being is just fine.  I have mostly stopped jumping out of bed thinking I am behind schedule.  I have reduced the number of to do lists I have been scrawling on scraps of paper.  I have experienced the crushing emotional weight when I realized I could not answer the hospital call I received.  I have felt the guilt that comes when others make comments about not having adequate vacation time, let alone employment that allows them to receive the gift of a sabbatical.  I have even cleaned some parts of our home that had not been cleaned in some time.

Seven months ago when this sabbatical was approved I was shocked when I did not immediately feel refreshed and restored.  I laugh in disbelief at myself then and laugh still.  For whatever reason my mind believed once the sabbatical was approved I would feel as if I had taken a sabbatical already.  That same kind of thinking followed me all through the planning stages and into these first weeks.  For some reason I thought handing over my keys and shutting off my cell phone would make me feel completely rested, even when logic tells me this is not likely.

Since I am slow in slowing down I have managed to read half of the books from my sabbatical reading list.  Though it has felt luxurious to finish one book and pick up another without worrying about what tasks I should be doing instead.  It has felt wonderful to be in conversation with these authors.  As we have traveled north and south to join some of our dearest friends in their celebrations the landscape and time have given me ample opportunity to ruminate on what I am learning.  I am looking forward to the rest of the books in my pile and maybe discovering a few new books.

I am also hopeful the next two weeks will find me enjoying the rest I have been given.  I believe it is possible, even if I might have to create a to do list for how to make that happen.

 

May 27, 2019

Sabbatical, Day One

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The view from under our lilac bushes.

Today begins the gift of a fifteen week sabbatical.  I have committed to posting every other week so I begin today. 

This morning I awoke with a jerk and immediately thought I was late.  This is funny because today is a school holiday so there are no sounds in the house or outside of children preparing for school.  There was no reason for me to bolt upright in bed worried about the day.  My arrival downstairs shocked my always early rising spouse and our dog.

I am not surprised by my early rising today, I expect this will last most of this first week and into the second.  I have an excess of energy and my mind is rushing with all the tasks I think I need to be doing; those tasks I have handed over to others to do for this sabbatical.  I know this feeling of needing to get things done will settle down as I ease into the rest of this sabbatical.

To help slow me down I am learning a poem today.  I am memorizing “The World I Live In” by Mary Oliver, found on page five of her book Devotions, published in 2017 by Penguin Press.  I am struck by the reality that I have lost some of my sense of wonder and am not watching for angels.  Yesterday at our monthly session meeting (church board) the elders talked  about watching for God and I realized how much I missed watching for God myself.  I tell people about God all the time, I mention how I see God working in their lives daily, but I have lost the sense of wonder in watching for the Holy Spirit to work.

This first day of this sabbatical gift I am confronted with how I have closed my eyes.  I am committed to opening them again so I can see the wider world.

December 9, 2018

A Radical Community

20181204_082455[1]I know when people describe our congregation, radical is not the first adjective that comes to mind.  We pride ourselves on being simple people who strive to live showing kindness and respect.  However, the first stories I heard about our congregation when I was making reference calls all those years ago was that the congregation in question was a radical one.

This congregation was radical from its beginning.  Two congregations, one Presbyterian Church U.S.A. and the other United Methodist, had leaders in their thirties who saw a bigger vision for the future of the congregations.  They were not the only leaders, leaders with more age and wisdom also saw this vision, but the younger leaders were the ones who filled in the story when I accepted the call to serve.  The radical decision was made to unite the congregations as one and become a brand new congregation.  The leaders made decisions about property, pastoral leadership, and denominational status and the congregations followed those leaders.  I have been told there was much to be afraid of and some struggles in the beginning, but the radical vision of a vibrant congregation kept them going.

The second radical story I was told in the beginning that has been re-told many times, is the decision the congregation made to spend their money to hire a full-time pastor instead of yoking with another congregation or hiring a part-time pastor.  This might not seem radical to you but for a rural congregation living in an area with a diminishing population, the decision to spend money that has been saved for decades is a huge leap of faith.  I was told that the congregation decided the only way to continue to grow into their vibrant vision was to use the resources they had been given.  It was some of those original leaders, now forty years older, who filled in the details of that story for me.

A third, and by no means final, characteristic of their radical nature is that I am the sixth female pastor to serve with them.  This is radical because there are still congregations in our denomination (PCUSA) who have not had a female pastor.

I share this radical nature of our congregation because today they made a new radical decision, they agreed to enter into a sabbatical in 2019.  Sabbaticals, spending money, uniting small congregations (or consolidating businesses), and hiring women may not seem radical to some of you, as in many fields these are normal practices.  But for a rural congregation a sabbatical is typically a brand new experience.

Today we had an honest and heartfelt discussion as a congregation about our concerns and dreams for taking a new radical step into the future.  We decided we would use this tool we have been offered to nurture our pastor-congregation partnership and dream of that vibrant future we have been living and want to continue to live.

Tonight one of our oldest members said to me that a sabbatical is such a good idea and is exciting not only for the pastor but also the congregation.  I heard in their words that same radical nature that has kept this congregation serving God and the community all these forty-nine years.

I am inspired by their faith and thankful I get to learn how to live simply and radically with them.

December 2, 2018

If the Way Be Clear

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Looking out the windshield. 

In Presbyterian Church U.S.A. vocabulary the phrase “if the way be clear” is used to acknowledge though we plan, dream, and hope, sometimes the way forward is not what we imagined.  I was thinking of this phrase yesterday afternoon while I drove my family home through a massive thunderstorm complete with a tornado warning.  We arrived home safely thanks in part to smartphones, internet access, and my husband’s use of those tools to give me guidance about when to get off on an exit to wait out a portion of the storm.

Yesterday I could not see more than a few feet in front of me, I had to trust my knowledge of the road, the tools I had at hand, and the rules of the road.  I could see the yellow dotted line on my left, and the white solid line on my right, that was about all.  I knew stopping would likely result in a crash.  I knew going forward meant I had to trust what I could not control.  I am not the first person, or pastor, to find the act of driving to be a powerful metaphor for life.

I am thinking about that drive home because I feel stuck in the storm.  About two years ago I reached my tenth anniversary of ordination as a Minister of Word and Sacrament.  I was elated to reach this milestone and thrilled to be celebrating it with the congregation I had been partnered with for those ten years.  It is not all that common for fresh out of seminary (first-call) pastors to stay with their first congregation that long.  We celebrated and looked forward to the future.

In the two years since that milestone a fair number of difficult experiences have taken place, making me feel stuck in a storm and surrounded by fog.  Each one has taught me a new lesson and helped grow the Fruits of the Spirit in me, but they have left me feeling as if I cannot see more than a step in front of me.  I have the yellow dotted line of my faith, the white solid line of my partnership in ministry with colleagues and the congregation, the tools or spiritual practices of my faith tradition, and my trust that God is in control.  So I keep putting one foot in front of the other confident one day the storm will cease and the fog will lift.  But as driving in a storm sometimes requires a chance to rest, so does life as a pastor.

Our polity as members of the PCUSA states the elected elders serving on the session (governing board) and pastor are partners in ministry.  The congregation takes a vow to support and care for the pastor and family, and the session vows to help lead the congregation with the pastor.  As I have put one foot in front of the other I have shared my experiences with the elders and they have prayed with and for me, they have walked with me through these struggles, they have helped me find joy, and they have reminded me we are partners. Even as I have felt stretched thin as I care for our congregation and community, they have joined me in carrying out our worship and work.

It is from the elders that the idea for us to take a sabbatical came.  In the past year and a half we have prayed, studied, discussed, met with others, and dreamed of what a sabbatical could mean for our congregation and for me.  The dream of a time of rest, reflection, and renewal fills me with hope.  The idea that others would care for me and my family in this way fills my heart.  My family and I have spent over twelve years loving this community and congregation and we have sunk our roots deep here.  Yet, right now, even though I know the road forward is there, the fog of weariness makes it difficult to see.  So, like yesterday while I was driving, it is time to pull off for a bit and rest, to wait out the storm, and trust once I have rested the fog will have lifted.

Life as a pastor is unique and amazing because not only do you get help others be their best self but they get to help you be your best self, and together you get to make the world a better place.  That means sometimes as a pastor you have to let others take care of you and your family, even though that does not come naturally.  I do not know if the way will be clear for a sabbatical, there are more details to work out, but the simple fact that the elders, who I have met in their own storms, are meeting me in mine and are willing to guide me with the tools we have, fills my heart to overflowing.