On Writing Weekly Sermons

“One of the things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good for a better place later is the signal to spend it now. Something more will arise for later, something better. These things fill from behind, from beneath, like well water. Similarly, the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.” ― Annie Dillard, The Writing Life


When my husband and I used to run trails, I had a really hard time pacing myself. Somewhere in the middle, when I had no idea how far we had come or how far we had yet to go, I'd just give up and start walking, just praying to live long enough to see the end of the trail. But then when we got to the last stretch, I would find that I had enough energy to sprint to the end. I guess maybe I could have used one of those fancy watches that tracks distance and pace and all that good stuff, but I didn't have one, and I was too timid to go all out. I always held back.

I just started reading Sarah Bessey's book, Out of Sorts. I'm only on page 17, but it is a whirlwind. I don't know how she can keep up this pace!

I've been thinking about Annie Dillard's words on writing for the past few weeks. Every week I write a sermon, and sometimes I accept a final draft that is not what I want it to be. Sometimes I fear that if I say everything, then I won't have anything to say the next week, and so I'm tempted to hold back.

"But the weeks are relentless," I tell myself. Every Sunday is followed immediately by another Monday, another new text, another week spent composing words that will somehow bear witness to the Good News. The Best News. But God's faithfulness is also relentless. His mercies are new every morning. Next week, there will be more to say.

"Next week will be better," I tell myself. Well, yes, sometimes next week is better. And sometimes the sermons that I feel really good about are the flops, and the ones I think aren't so great are the ones that really speak to someone. I'm not called to be great; I'm called to be faithful, to spend it all every week, to give it everything I've got.

I've been preaching through the book of Hebrews for the past few weeks, and in my study, I learned that Hebrews is unique in the way that the author introduces Old Testament quotations. Rather than references to the past in the form of "It is written," or "The prophet said," quotations are introduced in the present, as in, "God says..." The focus on the present brings these familiar words from Israel's history out of their historical setting and into the church today. God is still speaking. Today.

And as long as it is called "Today," God will keep speaking. (Hebrews says that too.)

Reading Sarah Bessey's book gives me hope. We'll see if she can keep up this pace, but I have a feeling that she has a lot of really good stuff to say. If she can come up with a whole book worth of good stuff, maybe I can come up with one more week's worth.

And for me, I need to gather up my courage and run a little faster and harder. I keep looking for some kind of finish line: when my husband will be able to start preaching more, when my kids will both be in daycare part-time or even school, when I'll have enough experience under my belt that some of this comes a little more easily. Yes, those days will come, but in the meantime, I need to take a page out of Annie Dillard and Sarah Bessey and give everything that I have now. I don't want to look back on things that I didn't say. I don't want to regret holding back. I want to give everything I have to this Sunday, to this sermon, to this church, in this season. As long as it's called Today, God is still speaking to His people, and it's my job to listen carefully.

Spend it all every time. The well will not run dry.

I could also learn from this kid. He doesn't hold anything back!

On Motherhood and Ministry

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful." - Hebrews

A friend of mine asked me to write a blog about balancing motherhood and ministry. My initial thought was that I don't know the first thing about that, but I guess after a year, I've learned a thing or two. I'm sure there are others who can write more profoundly on the topic, but I'll share some of my experience.

How I Got Here

This is the short story. (You can read the long story here.)

I became a pastor really fast. One week, I was at my church doing temporary pulpit supply; the next week my husband and I were appointed "co-lay-supply pastors." I went from preaching sporadically to preaching every week literally overnight. I was a stay-at-home-mom with an almost two-year-old and another baby on the way, so I was suddenly very busy.

The biggest word I've learned in the past year as I've worked to balance motherhood and ministry is pretty simple: trust.

Trust the process

The balance in action

"If I waited till I felt like writing, I'd never write at all." - Anne Tyler

I have a series of steps I go through in preparing a sermon each week.

Tuesday: read the lectionary texts and write down initial thoughts and reactions
Wednesday: read the sermon passage in context and a few commentaries and take notes
Thursday: reflect on why this text matters
Friday: write a sermon

My process may change down the road when I have more time for research, study, and advanced preparation, but that's the basic outline. I got it from my husband who learned it from Dan Boone in his preaching class at Nazarene Theological Seminary.

For the first few months, every week, when I got to Thursday, I fell apart. I wrote a blog here about that experience. In short, I fear that all the work I've done doesn't matter. I fear that I have stumbled across the one passage in the Bible that has absolutely nothing to say to me or my congregation.

On Friday morning, my son goes to daycare, and my husband takes the baby as much as he can. And I sit down to a blank page. Every week, I type "Good morning." And then I look over my notes, I pray (read: beg God for something, anything to say), and I start typing. Sometimes I type multiple drafts of sermons. Sometimes I don't finish until Saturday night. But usually by noon on Friday, I have a 3,000 word sermon. Sometimes I feel good about it. Sometimes I know in a few years, I'll be able to do this better. But every week, I do it.

And now, when I start to panic on Wednesday or Thursday, I just say to myself, "Trust the process. Do your work, and let God do his work. Sow the seed, and let God provide the increase."

God has opened one door after another for me to be in this position, and I trust that if I am faithful in my efforts, he will be faithful to give me something to say for yet another week.

Back when we were young.

Trust my husband
I have an amazing, wonderful husband who absolutely supports me in every way he possibly can. But it's still hard to trust him sometimes.

I have to trust that we are on the same team. When I am trying to write my sermon, and he starts watching YouTube videos right next to me, maybe he doesn't realize how loud they are. Maybe he didn't realize that I was writing my sermon right then. Maybe he just needs to watch a two minute video to learn how to do the project he needs to get done. Whatever the reason, I have to trust that we both want our church to be a place where people can meet God--through the sermon, the music, the atmosphere--every aspect of worship, and that he is also doing everything he can to make that happen. Even if in that moment, it feels like we are headed in two different directions.

I also have to trust him as a parent. I've read in various places about how babies can challenge a marriage. (John Gottman's book is a great resource). One common source of division is that many women feel more equipped to care for a baby than their husbands do and react to that feeling by taking over, saying, "Let me do that. You don't know what you're doing." I stay home with my kids, so I know more about their ever-changing interests, vocabularies, abilities, etc. But my husband is a very competent parent. In order for me to get my work done, I can't afford to take over every time he encounters a challenge with one of our kids. I have to trust that he is a good parent, capable of finding a way forward--whether that's calming a crying baby or negotiating with an angry toddler. At times, that has been a challenge for both of us, but I would not be able to do what I need to do if I didn't trust him as a parent. (Even for full-time stay-at-home-moms, this is a really important habit to cultivate. We need to trust our husbands and release our children into their hands.)


Trust the congregation
This past week, our little boy suddenly decided that he needed to take a much more active role in the service. He wanted to be on stage singing. He wanted to pray and give a testimony. He wanted to dance with the music.

I'll be honest. I get really uncomfortable when my kids do anything besides sit perfectly still and quiet (despite a proliferation of articles like this one advocating for the sometimes unruly presence of children in church). I'm afraid that people will be horrified by how lax we are with our kids, letting them run wild. I'm afraid that we are spoiling our kids, letting them think they should always be the center of attention. I'm afraid that people will feel like they can't focus on God and worship with the distraction of a kid disrupting the service.

But I have to trust the congregation in two ways. First, I trust that they have grace. I trust that most of them had young kids once and know what it's like. I trust that they truly care for our family and take joy in seeing our children's joy. I trust that they will forgive us and our children when we do mess up.

Sometimes kids look like this...

Second, I trust that they will tell me if there is a problem. I trust that they will not just sit quietly and fume about what awful parents their pastors are, but will instead voice their concerns. And I trust that they will give us the benefit of the doubt and assume that we've noticed the problem too and are trying to fix it.

One of the worst collisions of pastorhood and motherhood happened after we had only been at our church a few weeks. Unbeknownst to us, while we were practicing music, our little boy had a dirty diaper, but it wasn't just the diaper that was dirty. Somehow he left a trail right down the middle aisle of the sanctuary. We didn't know how bad it was, so I got to work changing the diaper while my husband left to teach Sunday School. It wasn't until later that I found out that an incredibly good-hearted man in the church cleaned my kids' poop off the carpet. Seriously. People are awesome. Sometimes all we can do is humbly say, "Thank you."

Trust God
Even with a good process in place, the best husband, and the most forgiving congregation, balancing the care of a church with the care of children is a constant challenge.

Especially when I was pregnant, I never got enough sleep. I was tired all the time. I panicked constantly--when nap times weren't reliable, when I started feeling sick, when my son started acting sick--anything that disrupted our routine drove me to tears and worry about how I would be able to fulfill my responsibilities. If someone called me, I was terrified that I would be so tired that I would just say stupid things.

But I experienced what I would describe as divine intervention time and time again. For example, even though I really hate to get up in the morning most of the time, sometimes I would wake up at 4am ready to work. In the stillness and quiet, the words would come to me. Or I would suddenly find a burst of energy to stay up late getting work done. Learning to be a pastor and a mother at the same time has made the last year challenging, but God has been faithful every step of the way.

No matter where in life a pastor is, there are always challenges and even obstacles that seem insurmountable. I've heard many people say how important it is to remember one's calling. Again and again, no matter what chaos is surrounding me, I find peace when I turn to God and ask with a sincere heart, "Can I really do this?" Again and again, I find the strength to make it through another day, another week, another child crisis, another church crisis. Truly, he who promised is faithful.

Installation service--a year and a month after we started

Voices in My Head

"Get behind me, Satan." - Jesus

I always thought Jesus' words to Peter in Mark 8 were really strong.

Whoa, Jesus. Satan? Really? It's one thing to misunderstand someone's words. It's another thing to be the voice of Satan!

This passage was the Gospel reading a few weeks ago, and in the past few weeks, I haven't been able to get it out of my head because it finally makes sense to me.

Here's what happened. Someone questioned whether God had truly called me to ministry. A good friend. Someone I trust and care about. Someone whose opinion matters to me.

I was devastated.

I began to question everything I've done as a pastor over the past year. Everything I've preached. All the work I've done to prepare sermons, to be the best pastor I can be. Did any of it matter? Was I an agent of the devil?

And then I started to give up. Why bother? If there are people sitting in my congregation who think that by preaching I'm defying God, then why bother? Why prepare? Why study? I can't possibly say anything worth hearing anyway.

Then I came across this video on Facebook with Brene Brown. (If you watch it, her language is a bit strong, but sometimes strong language can get the point across. And she gets her point across.)

According to Brene Brown, our brains are wired to explain the world around us. We write stories to explain the interactions we have with other people. But sometimes our stories are totally wrong. Sometimes, we just really miss it.

Her example: someone gives me "the stink eye." I say, "He thinks what I'm saying is stupid. He thinks I'm terrible at this." But then if I gather up the courage to ask him, he says, "Sorry about that. I had something in my eye." Wow, was that first story wrong!

According to Brene Brown, people who are strong and successful know what their first stories are. They know where they tend to go when something negative happens. But they don't stop there. They start investigating. Why is this the story I always go to? What is the truth?

Christians believe that some of those negative stories can come from more than just our own minds; they can come from Satan, or "the accuser" as the book of Revelation says.

When someone questioned my calling, my mind was completely taken over by the voice of one who was definitely accusing, saying things like:

 - "You're not good enough to do this pastor thing and you never will be."
 - "You're trying to do too much. No one can take care of small kids, run their household, and pastor a church."
 - "A woman's place is barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. I don't know why you ever tried to leave. And truth be told, you're not even very good at the whole kitchen thing! You really are a failure."
 - "One person said it, but everyone thinks it."
 - "Who do you think you're kidding? You have no idea what you're talking about, standing up in front of all those people. Why don't you just sit down and shut up? We'd all be better off."

I'm a pretty creative person, and I came up with a lot of really negative stories.

Unfortunately, it wasn't as easy as simply asking to get to the truth, to be able to say, "Oh wow, I totally misunderstood you." But, that still doesn't mean I just stop there and accept the negative stories that my brain is telling me.

To be strong and courageous is not to never be told anything negative. Nor is it to never think anything negative about yourself.

To be strong and courageous is to search for the bigger story. And it is to say, with Jesus, "Get behind me, Satan."

In the case of Mark 8, I think it's possible that Peter voiced the story that was already playing in Jesus' head:

"He's right. I shouldn't have to die! It will devastate my friends, these people I care about. There's got to be another way."

But Jesus knew his story was bigger than that. It was for Peter's sake, and James' and John's and Martha's and Mary's, and for our sake that he suffered and died. He walked right into suffering as no one has before or since and defeated it.

And my story is bigger too. Here are some other stories:

"Yes, I'm not good enough, but God's strength is made perfect in my weakness."
"Too many women can't see a way out of the kitchen or wherever else they are confined, but by standing in front of a congregation and preaching, I can offer an invitation to full participation in the body of Christ, and not just to a few tasks that men have decided are acceptable for women."
"It doesn't matter if everyone agrees that I'm not good enough. God called me, and that's what matters. And for what it's worth, my husband thinks I'm awesome."
"I actually do know what I'm talking about. I am a seminary graduate. I read as much as I can. I listen to the people around me. I'm not perfect, but I'm not doing this half way. I'm committed to doing everything I can to be good at what I do."
"We would not all be better off if I stopped talking. Because every time someone succumbs to the voice of criticism and silences themselves, the Kingdom of God loses out. We are not called to take the path of least resistance; we are called to be faithful--even if that leads us to the cross."

It's been a rough few weeks. I've preached some sermons I didn't feel great about.

But I'm done.

I'm done letting those negative stories consume me. I'm done giving up.

I wrote a blog last year about women in ministry. I said I didn't want to fight. But as it turns out, I am ready to fight. I'm ready to fight the voice of the accuser in my head that tells me to sit down and shut up. I'm ready to fight to do what I'm called to do. I'm ready to fight for a chance to preach the good news of the gospel. I'm ready to fight to give a voice to the voiceless through my ministry.

I'm ready to say, "Get behind me, Satan. I'm doing this thing."

This little girl is watching everything I do.
I'm ready to fight on her behalf too!

5 Reasons Female Pastors Are Awesome

"Sometimes the best man for the job is a woman."

Too often, we women sell ourselves short. Whether we're pastors or in other professions, we spend too much time observing what men do that makes them successful and then trying to emulate them. But we women have our ways--and I think our ways can actually work pretty well for us! Thus, this post.

Right up front, I should let you know that I'm not going to make any biblical case for the validity of female pastors. Others have done that more thoroughly than I am able. Ben Witherington wrote a great article here. One of my own professors, Joseph Coleson, wrote a book available in its entirety online here. Nazarene Seminary President Carla Sunberg co-authored an excellent book about the role of women in the church, available for purchase here. There are many more excellent resources exploring biblical and traditional understandings of women in ministry.

Phew. Now I can tell you my five reasons that female pastors are awesome!

1. We can be friends! When I was debating about pursuing a call to ministry, I had a conversation with a friend from my church. I remember it vividly. We were riding a ski lift up to the continental divide, and I was going to snowboard my first black diamond. An odd time to have a conversation about female pastors? Yes. But my friend wanted to share his concerns, and we had some time (it's a long way up to the continental divide). He said, "I've always been friends with my pastor. But if my pastor was a woman, I couldn't be friends with her. I would really miss that!"

A great place for important conversations

I neglected to point out to him that he and I were riding a ski lift together while his wife skied the more tame slopes below. I wasn't sure what about my becoming a pastor would suddenly cast me off that ski lift with him. I think it may be possible for men and women to at least have fairly serious conversations from time to time without becoming best friends and developing an inappropriate relationship.

However.

If men and women cannot be friends, then guess what--statistically, almost every church has more women than men. Now all those women finally get a chance to be friends with their pastor! They can casually call up their pastor to ask about a verse or a question of theology. Or they can call up their pastor to get a cup of coffee or go shopping together. They can talk to their pastor about the things in their lives that have been uniquely important to them as women--wondering if they will ever find a husband, finding their identity as single women, redefining their identity as Mrs. ___, having children, raising children, doing the bulk of the household chores, planning meals, running a household. 

(I don't want to dismiss the role of men in these aspects of life, but this is where a lot of women live. I wrote a blog here about the centrality of the mundane in women's lives around the world.) 

These big and small concerns that consume their thoughts a good amount of the time are shared by their pastor. 

With a female pastor, the other half gets a chance now to be friends with their pastor.

2. Women's work is God's work. In Matthew 25, Jesus tells the parable of the sheep and the goats. The sheep and the goats are separated by what they did or did not do. Those deeds all fall under the category of what we would probably now call "compassionate ministry"--hospitality, visiting the sick, providing food, drink, and clothing for those in need, and visiting those in prison.

In many churches, women oversee these ministries. If someone is in the hospital, women organize meals for the family. Women prepare their houses for guests who come to visit. Women also work to make the church a hospitable place through decoration and coordinating potluck meals. Women organize clothing drives and other donation-based ministries. Different churches do more or less of these tasks and in different ways, but especially in the days when many women did not work outside the home, women's groups performed this segment of the church's work.

A hospitable table

I don't want to downplay the study of Scripture and the tasks of reading and writing in preparing a weekly sermon or the behind-the-scenes administrative tasks required of many pastors. But I fear that a disconnect has developed between the tasks traditionally done by women and the theology informing the message from the pulpit. 

I see churches today who preach hospitality but cannot coordinate a potluck with enough food for everyone to eat. Churches who advocate caring for those in need but don't have the network of communication to actually know when someone is in need. Churches who want to help those in need in their community but can't gather the manpower (or womanpower) to gather, sort and distribute resources. 

A female pastor who has participated in "woman's work" may have a greater ability to value the compassionate ministries of the church and also to let those works inform the Sunday sermon and the overall life of the church, rather than downplaying that work as "less important" and an appropriate task for "the weaker sex."

3. Women can find their voice. Two quotes:

“Paulo Freire believes that for human beings the essential decision is between speaking or remaining embedded in a culture of silence, between naming ourselves or being named by others, between remaining an object or becoming a subject. The heart of his vision is that every human being has an ontological vocation to be a subject, namely, someone who can separate from the world in his or her own consciousness, be critical of it, act on it, and transform it—in the process making the world a subject too.” – Maria Harris 

"Accustomed to hearing the preacher speak to them and about them, women traditionally have not been encouraged to discover that they have voices of their own and distinctive experiences to contribute to their communities." – Mary Farrell Bednarowski

 When the person at the pulpit is a woman, giving voice to the experience of women, it gives other women an opportunity to find their voice. In a world where domestic violence, human trafficking, and even income inequality disproportionately effect women, the church that gives female victims of these injustices a voice can become a powerful force for justice. A female pastor who speaks can communicate that this is a place where anyone can speak--even if they are saying something difficult or uncomfortable.

A female pastor also communicates to young women that they can expect to have a voice in their chosen profession, that they can speak to a room full of men and women--whether a sanctuary or a corporate board room.

4. The biblical world did not distinguish between working in the home and working outside the home. There is a marked distinction in our culture between those who leave their home and go to their workplace and those who do not leave their home. Working from home is becoming more and more popular, but the distinction is still very present in our cultural framework. 

Gardening can yield some great results!

Such a distinction did not exist in the biblical world. 

Men worked in the fields. They worked at trades and sold their goods or worked for others. Women did all of these things too. They worked in fields or gardens. They worked at trades. Men and women worked together to provide all the necessities of a household and to build wealth. 

The stereotypical "desperate housewife" did not exist--women who spend their days shopping and going to spas, going through her husband's income as fast as he can earn it. (Although the prophet Ezekiel might disagree with that.)

The parables of Jesus are pretty far removed from the cubicle life. 

"A sower went out to sow..."

"The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed..."

"The kingdom of heaven is like yeast..."

"The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field..."

"The kingdom of heaven is like a net that was let down into a lake..."

I recognize that I'm making sweeping generalizations here. Many women work in cubicles. Many men do not. I'm just going to borrow from the 1950s sitcom stereotypes for the sake of simplicity. When men leave in the morning, go to work, come home, put their feet up, wait for dinner, and then watch tv until bedtime, they will never experience any of these things: sowing seed, mixing yeast into dough, finding treasure in a field, catching fish. 

The tasks now seen as women's work may actually enable women to more easily identify with many of the biblical stories.

And many, many other biblical passages are far outside the realm of experience of either men or women in today's culture, but women's tendency to listen to each other's stories may enable them to more easily listen to the biblical stories. 

I don't want to say that men can't identify with the Bible, that men can't listen to the experiences of others and enter into them emotionally and spiritually, or that most men live lives like the men in a 1950s sitcom. However, as I said at the beginning, we women sell ourselves short when we don't recognize that we bring something important and unique to the table!

5. Women have spaghetti brains. I love this video where Mark Gungor describes men's brains and women's brains. In short, men's brains are like waffles. They have boxes for each category, and the boxes do not touch. Women's brains, on the other hand, are like spaghetti--everything touches. One subject leads to the next in seemingly random ways, we can go from laughing to crying and back in seconds. 

Spaghetti brain in action!

In the days when every good sermon was a three-point expository sermon with a clear, linear structure, waffle brains served all those male pastors well. But have you watched popular tv shows lately? Or music videos? They are all over the place! From one point in time to another, from one scene to another. (Check out this music video by the band Fun. as a great example of the craziness of popular media.) There is a sequence, but it's all over the place. Everything's related and connected.

I struggled at times as a seminary student because I would ask questions that my male professors thought were completely irrelevant, but in my spaghetti brain, they were connected! This kind of brain is great, though, for writing sermons. I can go from scripture text to story to music clip to literature and back to scripture because it's all connected in my head. A lot of men do that very well, too, but I think we women might be ahead, waiting for the men to catch up!

What do you think? Female pastors, have you discovered yourself in possession of traditionally female character traits that serve you well? Members of congregations with a female pastor, have you found new and different ways to interact with your pastor? And the rest of you, do you agree, disagree, want to go out and find a female pastor for yourself?

Keep Your Eyes Open

"I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars." - Og Mandino

As a pastor, I get paid to say things that are both profound and interesting every week. Of course, I have the living, active Word of God to draw from, but there is an expectation that I add some of my own words to that--some of my own interpretation, some of my experience, some of my appreciation for those God-breathed words.

Every week when I think about that expectation, I panic. Every week I think that there is no more to say. Every week I fear that this good news has ceased to be either good or news.

At first that terrified me. I had images of standing at a pulpit in front of a congregation watching them watching me. 

This actually did happen briefly one Sunday. Someone forgot to put the collection plates at the front of the church, and I stood with the microphone in my hand and waited while they were retrieved. There was no music, no one said anything. I just looked at them and they looked at me, and we all waited together. 

But that silence was short-lived.

The silence I fear is bigger than that. 

Every week I read the text for Sunday, and I begin to think about it. I think about the characters in the story. I think about God's actions. And I start to wonder how an ancient God dealing with ancient people could possibly be relevant to my life. To anyone's life.

And then I begin to descend into darkness. I get hopeless and discouraged. Does anything I do matter? Is anything I say heard?

Now, I know this isn't rational. I know that my emotions are driving me downward.

But it's where I live.

Then, a few months ago, I started reading Anne Lamott's journal of her son's first year of life, Operating Instructions.

In Anne Lamott, I found a companion in the darkness. She loved her son, of course, but there were days when she fell apart. There were days when she couldn't bear to hear him cry for one more second. There were days when she felt hopeless. 

As I read her words, I began to realize the power of looking into the darkness. It's tempting to close my eyes. It's tempting to preach joy, peace, and victory from a safe distance. It's tempting to preach words that sound good and nice and make everyone wish they could be that kind of Christian. But we all have places of darkness in our lives, and what good is a pastor whose words only make sense in the light? What good is a church that refuses to acknowledge the presence of the darkness?

I don't fear the darkness anymore because I know it comes and goes, and when it comes it is a gift. Then I can experience it and describe it so that those who hear my voice know they are not alone in their darkness. When it goes, I give thanks for the light. I give thanks for peace and joy. But I know the darkness will come back again, and I will be waiting to meet it.

I believe that one of the most powerful messages Christianity can speak to the world is that there truly is darkness. It is okay to grieve loss and pain. It is okay to ache with loneliness and heartbreak. It is okay to look at this world and feel hopeless, to feel the impossible weight of sin and death. It is okay be crucified by the powers and principalities. It is okay to feel like death buried in a tomb.

Because "The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it."

We need not fear the darkness because we have seen the light.

Every week, my task is to keep my eyes open, to look straight into the darkness and to discern the light always emanating upward and outward.

That is what I must speak every week. I must give voice to the darkness. I must speak words that let those walking in the valley of the shadow of death know that they do not walk alone.

And then I must allow the light to shine in that darkness. The light of the Gospel, the light of the good news, the best news.

I especially want to share this with anyone growing weary of preaching. Do not be afraid of the darkness. Look into it and share what you see. And then go looking for the light that still shines even on the darkest of nights. As pastors, this is the task before us: to keep our eyes open.

Keep your eyes open!

Needtobreathe - Keep Your Eyes Open

Five Things that Pastors Can Learn from Jimmy Fallon

"In art the self becomes self-forgetful in order to meet the demands of the thing seen and the thing being made." - Flannery O'Connor

In my last post, I wrote about the pastor as tour guide. I'd like to offer another paradigm for pastors. The pastor as talk show host.

I've heard over and over that in our culture, it's impossible to hold the attention of listeners by just talking. We need multimedia. We need music and drama. We need action and interaction.

Talk show hosts, however, still hold the attention of their audiences mostly by talking. They often have music and, of course, commercials. But Jimmy Fallon still holds my attention with words.

What can pastors learn from him?

1. Ask the right questions. What would Morgan Freeman sound like if he sucked helium out of a balloon?

Can we hear Billy Joel sing?

Is Kevin Spacey any good at impressions?

Those are three of my favorite clips. As a pastor, I think about this question when I'm reading the text for Sunday. What does the congregation want me to ask of the text? We're going through 1 and 2 Samuel right now. So, I might ask, why is David such a big deal? What was wrong with Saul? On Wednesday nights, we're studying 1 John. If John was in our church today, what would we ask him? What questions would we bring to him? How might he respond to those questions? Approaching the text this way has given me fresh eyes to ask different questions. If the authors of these biblical texts were sitting on a stool next to me in front of the congregation, what would we all want to ask them?

Now, one thing about all of these interviews. I'm sure that Morgan Freeman, Billy Joel, and Kevin Spacey knew what was coming. Jimmy Fallon did his research. He knew what they were bringing to the table. This wasn't a shot in the dark. He didn't just say, "I don't really know much about you. What would you like to tell us about yourself?" It's our responsibility as pastors to do the research to know that 1 John has a lot to say about love. This is a big deal to him. 1 and 2 Samuel have a lot to say about God's mission for his people. We should make sure we give space for the text to share its passions. A good interviewer makes the interviewee look good and allows space for him or her to shine. Asking the right questions means doing research and getting to know the interviewee ahead of time.

2. Participate as an audience member. I've read in other places about Jimmy Fallon's joy. (Check out this article from Christianity Today.) He obviously has a good time doing his show. His willingness to laugh at the silly stuff that happens invites the audience in as co-participants. He feels like one of us, laughing at Kevin Spacey's impressions, loving Billy Joel's singing. He isn't aloof and distant, immune to the emotions that the rest of us feel. His joy is contagious.

When I was pregnant and preaching, I cried all the time, and I hated it, but my husband told me over and over that it's okay to cry. I discovered that he was right. It's okay to read Exodus 1 where Pharaoh ordered that all the Hebrew boys must be thrown into the Nile and cry at the horror of their loss and heartbreak.  It's okay to read Exodus 15 where Moses and Miriam sang after the miraculous parting of the Red Sea and be overcome by joy and relief at the Israelites' narrow escape from Pharaoh's army. Sometimes we've read these stories so many times that we forget to feel the impact of them. But if we are not receiving the text right along with our listeners, we are missing out. We're missing out on the chance to hear God speak to us, and we're missing out on joining in with the community that we are a part of to hear these crazy stories and be amazed.

3. Don't be afraid to look dumb. Jimmy Fallon is incredibly talented. He's hilarious. He can sing. He can do impressions. He's tall. He could easily coast on what he can do well. But there's one thing he cannot do: throw--a football, a subway sandwich, a bowl of chip dip--whatever.

Check out this video of Blake Shelton and Jimmy Fallon going head to head:

As pastors, it's tempting to stick with what's comfortable, what we can do well. We're good at studying, reading, writing, talking, presenting, praying, maybe singing. Too often we build our church programming around the things that we do well. But if we expect other people to participate in our program, we need to be willing to do things that we're not good at. If we like to plan, maybe we need to be spontaneous. If we like to be spontaneous, maybe we need to plan. If we like to talk, maybe we need to listen. If we like to be in control, maybe we need to allow space for the unexpected. And maybe, we'll look dumb when we're doing things we're not very good at, but maybe others will feel a little bit more willing to try something they aren't as comfortable with--like praying out loud or giving a testimony--and the whole body will benefit.


4. Invite participation. One of my favorite segments on Jimmy Fallon is his hashtags. He announces a topic and invites people to share their responses. He reads the best ones on the show. This is a new thing. Talk show hosts used to pay professionals to write their jokes. They still do, of course, but now they recognize that normal people are funny too. Here's a clip of #MyWeirdFriend:

Especially as a young pastor, I need to remember that the people in my congregation have a lot to offer. Many of them have been reading the Bible for a lot longer than I have. They have life experiences I don't have. They have wisdom and insight into life situations and into the biblical texts from their reading and experience. I need to find ways to allow the members of the congregation to share their wisdom, knowledge, and experience. Jimmy Fallon has a lot more viewers and a lot more participants to filter through, and it limits the amount his audience can participate, but in a small church, I can look for all kinds of creative ways to create space where we can hear and learn from each other.

5. It's not about me. I don't know Jimmy Fallon personally, but I would guess that his focus is not on doing whatever he can to make himself look good, but on making a great show night after night. Sometimes, he probably doesn't feel like doing another interview or comedy bit. He probably has interviews that go poorly that he wishes he could just bail out on halfway through. He probably even interviews people that he doesn't really want to. But his hard work and dedication pay off every time he makes a great show.

As Flannery O'Connor wrote, art is self-forgetful. Good preaching is art. A well-crafted sermon is not about making the pastor look good; it's about proclaiming the gospel. It's about getting out of the way and letting the Word of God shine. A well-crafted sermon points the listeners to God, to the beauty of his Word, and to the magnificence of the Gospel message. Now, Jimmy Fallon is a huge star. Maybe for him, it's not entirely about the art. But I probably never will be a huge star, and that's even better. It just gives me more opportunity to forget about myself and let the Gospel take center stage.

"'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me." - Paul

Tuesday Afternoon Thoughts: Pastor as Tour Guide

"I have found out that there ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them." - Mark Twain

Can you believe these country kids went to New York City??

When I was a kid, my family took a trip to New York City. One of my favorite parts of our trip was the bus tour we took around the city. I remember two landmarks: Katherine Hepburn's apartment and the only grocery store in all of Manhattan with a parking lot. I'm sure the tour guide pointed out lots of other noteworthy places along the way, but those two stood out to me because I never would have noticed them otherwise. Katherine Hepburn's apartment looked just like the others around it. And that grocery store looked just like any other midwestern grocery store. The tour guide helped us see the city with new eyes.

We just returned home from a three-day pastor retreat, and while we were there, I had some time to think about some ways of understanding the pastoral role. One image came to mind that I thought I might take some time to develop further: the pastor as tour guide.


1. Tour guides aren't responsible for creating landmarks. 
It's easy to fall into the trap that my job as pastor is to create a "worship experience" and to think that if life-altering moments aren't happening in our services, it's my fault. But I've seen God work in my life and in the lives of those around me in LOTS of different ways. Whenever I start to get anxious about preaching bad sermons, one of my friends is fond of reminding me that she can't remember a single sermon she's ever heard. She still felt called to be a missionary. My job isn't to create landmarks in the lives of the people in my congregation. That's up to God.

2. Tour guides do know the names of landmarks. 
I grew up in the church, and one of the things that saddens me the most is the sense of inadequacy that so many people feel. I saw godly men and women who cared for me and my peers, who prayed for us, taught our Sunday School classes, let us stay up all night at their houses, rode roller coasters with us, and listened to us complain endlessly about each other. From these same godly men and women, I sense sadness and loneliness, a feeling of failure, a desire to serve God more fully but doubt as to whether they can succeed. Tour guides don't create landmarks, but they point them out. I want to point out the miracle of that investment in our lives, of loving one person, of forgiveness, grace and mercy, of compassion and empathy, of casseroles and sympathy cards, of a sincere musical performance by a nervous teenager, and the loving applause that inevitably follows. I want to name these landmarks, to point them out and stop the bus so we can all appreciate God's hand at work.

3. Tour guides are not celebrities.
Nobody wants to see the home of a tour guide or the restaurant where they drink their coffee every morning. Tourists want to see Katherine Hepburn's apartment and the hospital where Princess Kate had her baby. One of my seminary professors was fond of saying that there are a lot of dyslexic pastors nowadays; they talk more about their D-O-G than their G-O-D. Now that I'm a pastor I know why. It's not always easy to think of something to say every week, and a good anecdote can take up a decent chunk of time! But my job as a pastor is always to direct those who listen to me back to the real celebrities--the apostles and prophets, the saints who have come before us, Jesus, himself. If I get caught up in my own stories and anecdotes, the tour loses its value.

4. Tour guides listen to the experts.
This didn't happen on our New York City tour, but if there happened to be someone on board who had lived in a certain part of the city for thirty years, I would hope the tour guide would hand over the microphone. It's interesting to hear about the famous people who have lived in a place, but it's even better to hear from people who knew them. It's tempting as a young pastor to think that I'm some kind of expert. But most of the people in my congregation have been serving God for much longer than I have. I would be a fool not to draw on their wisdom and experience.

5. The tour guide rides the bus too.
Fortunately, we didn't have any incidents on our tour, but if our bus would have been in an accident or somehow gotten swept away by a flood or some other crazy natural disaster, the guide would have been in for whatever happened right alongside the rest of us. Again, it's easy to think that my life is separate from the life of my congregation. If economic disaster strikes our area, I can pick up and move on. If our church falls apart or splits, I can simply walk away. I can conduct funerals and weddings as an objective outsider. After all, I won't be going in the ground or to the honeymoon suite! But the church is God's church. I'm along for the ride every bit as much as any other member of the congregation. We're all called to respond to whatever happens, good or bad, in faithful obedience to God.

We could have used a tour guide for this trip.
This was supposed to be a waterfall!

6. The tour guide better know the area.
A good tour guide can recite facts and anecdotes, remembers names and dates, and can answer questions. That doesn't happen naturally. It takes intentional study. I have a responsibility to prepare for every sermon. I have a responsibility to keep learning more. I can't coast along on what I already know. There is always more to learn, as well as the need to keep reviewing what I already know. Which brings me to the last similarity:

7. Tour guides make the same trip over and over.
My husband told me that every pastor preaches three sermons. At first, I was sure that I would be different, that I would preach something new every week. After two weeks, I realized I was out of material. But that's not such a bad thing. I just need to make sure my three sermons are worth hearing! I've been reading 1 John. Do you know how much that book talks about love? It's like he only had one sermon! Maybe two--God loves us, we love others. If I'm going to be in this for the long haul, I need to find joy in visiting the same landmarks over and over--grace, forgiveness, healing, mercy, compassion, the kingdom of God. It's my job to name those landmarks every time we drive past them, to remind all those on the journey with me of their location. And sometimes, I need the people on the journey with me to remind me where they are.

In the past few months that I've had this pastor job, I've had some anxiety. Am I up to this task? Can I proclaim the good news of the Gospel with my words and my life faithfully week in and week out? What if our church doesn't grow? What if it shrinks? What if I stand up to talk and forget how to use my mouth to make sounds?

I think this image might help with some of that anxiety. Yes, I have a great responsibility to do my job faithfully, but I don't create the landmarks, and I'm not on my own. I'm traveling with a group of people, and I happen to have the great privilege of pointing out some sites along the way. And just because I'm the one holding the microphone, doesn't mean I'm the expert. I should always be listening and learning from the ones who know this place better than I do.

What do you think? Is this a good analogy? Does it have some limitations? How do you see your role as pastor? As congregant?

Should churches look more like this?

Tuesday Afternoon Thoughts: On Drinking

"Knowledge puffs up; love builds up." - Paul

Here's what I have to say on the topic of alcohol. I'm just going to put this out there on the interwebs, where it will be just one more voice in a cacophony of opinions, but it's Tuesday, so why not?

Alcohol is not just a chemical; it is a culture. That is the crux of my position.

A Lesson from History
In Paul's letter to the Corinthians, he addressed the question of meat sacrificed to idols. Commentators speculate that the apparent division in the church was as much along economic lines as anything. The wealthy had one experience of eating meat sacrificed to idols; the poor had a different experience.

The Wealthy

Source: Corinth Computer Project

In the city of Corinth, it seemed like every other building was a temple or shrine to an idol. For the wealthy members of the city, gathering at these temples for dinners to meet and greet one another was a regular occurrence. The consumption of meat sacrificed to idols was a normal part of the meal, with no religious significance, other than the cult of status-seeking.

The Poor
While the wealthy frequently gathered for dinners and parties and ate and drank together, the poor tended to join in only for the big events--the religious festivals. On the rare occasions that the poor ate meat at all, it was usually part of an event steeped in pagan worship and ritual sacrifice.

The Disconnect
The Corinthians evidently had some disagreement about whether it was acceptable to eat meat sacrificed to idols. The letter that the Jerusalem council drafted to the Gentile churches (Acts 15) specifically forbid the consumption of idol meat, but Paul felt the need to address the issue again. Paul's words to the wealthy were harsh. He attacked their so-called knowledge that permitted them "freedom" on this issue  and said that it, in fact, would lead to the destruction of the weaker brothers and sisters. Christ had given his very life for them, and they couldn't give up even a small thing like meat sacrificed to idols.

But maybe it wasn't about the meat for them. Maybe it was about the lifestyle. The eating and drinking, the hobnobbing with the other important citizens of Corinth, the dinners, the opulent lifestyle. To go to the house of a wealthy citizen of Corinth and reject the food--well, that would be an unforgivable offense. Suddenly all their dreams of wealth and prestige would be gone.

Photo Credit: Jefferson Hitchens

The Table
But the invitation to the Lord's Table isn't an invitation to wealth and prestige. It's an invitation to a place where the hierarchy of status is discarded, where slaves and landowners sit down side by side, where men and women are sons and daughters of Christ together, where Jews and Gentiles are all participants in the same meal. What the Corinthian Christians might not have expected was the exclusivity of this table--that when they sat down to this table, it might negate their chance to sit at any other table in the city.

So what's this have to do with alcohol?
Just like the meat sacrificed to idols wasn't just a food but a lifestyle, I think the same is true of alcohol in our culture today. What images come to mind when you think of drinking?

A guy wearing a cut-off t-shirt that doesn't quite cover his beer belly, sitting in a recliner watching NASCAR?

An upscale dinner at a trendy restaurant with a five-page wine list?

A pulsing club with a wall of top shelf liquors ready to be poured into unique and creative concoctions?

A family gathering where the food, wine, and conversation are flowing freely?

What's your image?

A gathering with friends at the end of a long week with some good burgers and home-brewed hard cider?

A homeless woman living on the street in a drunken, cloudy haze with a flask in one hand and her other hand holding a sign asking for money?

These are pretty diverse images. When we talk in our churches today about alcohol consumption, just like Paul, we have to know our context. And furthermore, we need to hear the real issues that concern the people at our table.

Because here's the thing. If we preach against a life of excess--overeating, overspending, excessive alcohol consumption--to a community where alcohol is the only escape from a life of inescapable poverty, we're not preaching the Gospel of abundance; we're just heaping guilt on those often paralyzed by guilt for their failure.

If we preach against pluralism and moral relativism--including a lax stance on drinking--to a congregation of legalists whose circle of the "saved" seems to be ever diminishing, then we're not preaching the Gospel of love and forgiveness of joy in God's good gifts; we're just patting ourselves on the back for our failure to minister to the needs of those we don't understand.

If we preach against slovenly drunkenness to a community of professionals where image is everything and it's just as much a faux pas to be seen drunk as it is to be seen without a classy beverage in hand, then we're not preaching the Gospel of authenticity and vulnerability; we're teaching that this is not a safe place to be real.

If we preach against the club scene and the drinking and sex that come with it to a congregation of young parents who are drinking their wine at home every night as a way to unwind from the craziness of the day, then we're not preaching the Gospel of dependence on God for peace and wholeness; we're creating a wider gap between the already wide gap of those "out there" living "that life" and us "in here" living "this life," which we're stuck with whether we like it or not.

Love Excluding All Else (Not Sobriety Excluding All Else)
Who is eating beside us at the table? What message of hope does the life-changing, joy-filled good news of the Gospel have for them?

Alcohol is not just a chemical; it's a lifestyle. And the Gospel calls us all out of our lifestyles of self-sufficiency, self-focus, and self-gratification and into lifestyles of love, humility, and submission to the community gathered at the table, where God's love and forgiveness flow freely.

We must be careful that our identity is not defined by what we're against, but by what we're for. I, for one, am proud to be part of a tradition where what we're for is love of God and love of neighbor.

I hope that the love we preach isn't overshadowed by a line in the sand over an issue that is nuanced and complex. When it came to meat sacrificed to idols, even the letter from the counsel in Jerusalem wasn't enough to settle the question once and for all. And when it comes to the issue of alcohol today, I would hate for us to be any less willing to have another conversation than Paul was with the Corinthian Christians.

Who will be seated next to you at the table?

Little Lambs

"Feed my lambs." - Jesus (to Peter)

Today is Amos's first full day of daycare. I am very excited about this new development in our lives, but I am also anxious. As I was thinking about what I hope of Amos's teacher, I realized that maybe there are some correlations between that and what God wants for me as a pastor.

1. Patience. Anyone who spends all day every day working with one and two-year-olds probably has a lot of patience. But I'm afraid that Amos's teacher will get impatient sometimes with him--with ways that he is behind developmentally, routines and customs that all the other kids know that he hasn't learned yet, his adjustment to different expectations of him. I know he'll learn, but in the meantime, I hope that his teacher is really patient with him and gives him time to adjust.

I came across a thought-provoking blog the other day here. The author said, in short, that too often the people we want in churches are the ones who have been "fixed up" somewhere else and are sent to us "pre-packaged." As a pastor, do I have the same patience with new Christians as I hope Amos's teacher does of new students? What if they are developmentally delayed--don't speak "Christian-ese," lose their temper easily, struggle with the most simple Christian tasks like finding a book of the Bible? What if they don't know the customs, like being quiet during prayer or answering questions with the appropriate combination of openness and reservation? What if they don't live up to my expectations of them? Will I be patient? Will I give them time to learn and adjust? Or will I get angry and frustrated?

2. Listening. Sometimes the straw thing on Amos's water bottle comes out of its little connector hole. I'm not sure why it's designed like that (maybe for cleaning?), but it upsets him greatly whenever it happens. Will his teacher know that when he holds his water bottle full of water up to her and makes upset noises that he needs her to fix it? I hope that she takes the time to listen to his concern and figure out what's wrong, so she can help him. I'm afraid she'll just think he's making some kind of ridiculous request for more water when he clearly already has some.

One of my favorite sayings is, "The issue is never the issue." When someone comes to me upset about something, it may be that what I said really isn't the issue. There may be something much deeper going on. I think that as a pastor, I am called to listen beyond their words and hear their concerns, their past experiences, their grief, their hurts. I hope that I can listen to people who, even though they can talk, struggle just as much as Amos does to communicate their true needs.

3. Seeing. Even though Amos doesn't talk, I know him well enough to understand his feelings most of the time. Sometimes he gets in a mood that we call the "Amos tornado." He just goes through the house randomly destroying things--taking things out of the trash, throwing things on the floor, opening drawers and cabinets, clearing off tables. Usually, he's just hungry. If I say, "Amos, do you want to eat supper now?" he stops immediately and comes to his chair to sit down and eat. But it's not at all obvious to anyone who doesn't know him that he's clearing off end tables because he's hungry.

As a pastor, I know I can't pick up on every single nonverbal cue of every congregant. However, I want to know my people well enough to perceive when someone is having a bad day, or is depressed, lonely, upset, angry, or whatever. I want to take the time to get to know people, and I want to continue to take the time to see them as they are.

4. Protecting. It's okay for Amos to learn about social interaction through conflict. However, I expect Amos's teacher to not let a stranger leave school with him. I expect her to not place him in situations that are beyond his ability to navigate safely. I also hope that she helps guide him through conflict, teaching him skills for interacting with his peers.

As a pastor, I know I can't protect the people in my congregation from the difficulties that life throws at them. However, there are things I can protect them from. I don't need to pass along every negative comment that I hear. I can preach in a way that keeps the focus on God and the Scriptures; they don't need to hear every thought I have as I prepare my sermons. If I have a negative experience with the church leadership above me, I don't need to pass that on to my congregation. I also need to pray fervently over my congregation, to stand alongside them as they battle all the difficulties that come their way.

5. Feeding. I do mean this literally. I hope that Amos gets enough to eat at daycare and that it's somewhat healthy. But I also mean it metaphorically. I hope that he gets lots of new experiences. That he's learning new songs, meeting new people, learning new words. He came home from his first afternoon already signing "more." I would never take him to a daycare that felt like a holding cell. The scenes of the daycare in the movie The Pursuit of Happyness have haunted me for years--graffiti on the doors, kids zoned out in front of the tv, kids fighting. I hope that Amos's time at daycare pours life into him, rather than sucking it out of him. I hope that his teacher works to feed him.

As a pastor, I want the time that people spend at church on Sunday morning to be more than carrying out a lifelong sentence to spend four thousand hours at church. I want to make the effort to put time into what I do, so that I can pour life into my congregation, rather than sucking it out of them. I know that God is working, and that it's not all about my effort or what I do, but I still want to use everything I have to feed my congregation the Word of God, so that their time at church adds to their life, teaches them something new, helps them grow, expands their understanding of the world. Again, I can't do this on my own, but I also can't do it without working at it.

6. Loving. I love Amos so much. It's hard for me to leave him in a place where people don't love him like I do. But I expect that his teacher does come to love her kids, to care for them, to not just do her job out of obligation.

It stops me in my tracks to think about how much I love Amos and how hard it is to entrust him to someone else. God loves his children the same way. Of course, God doesn't leave us completely in the hands of other people, but it makes me realize how deeply I am called to love and care for my congregation. I need to have the same expectations of myself that I do of Amos's teacher: to look past Amos's faults and difficulties and to see a wonderful, sweet little boy that desperately wants to be loved. And so I am called also to look past the faults and difficulties of the people in my congregation and see the beautiful children of God who desperately want to be loved.

Who wouldn't love this kid?

I pray that God will continually increase my ability to love and care for his children just as much as I want Amos to be loved and cared for even when he's not with me. And I pray also that God will help me to not spend the entire time that Amos is at daycare worrying about him!

The Haps

"The days go slow but the years fly by."

I don't remember where I heard that quotation, but it hit home for me immediately. The months that have gone by since I last wrote a blog post are proof of the flying years (or months) in my life! So, here's an update.

On December 3rd, we had a baby girl. She's great! Here she is at about four weeks old.

Photo credit: Sondra Laughlin

On December 18th, we celebrated our little boy's two-year-old birthday. Here he is with his dad on his birthday:

On December 21st, I returned to preaching. Here's a picture of me preaching a few weeks before the baby was born:

Photo credit: Jeren Rowell

On December 22nd, we bought a house. We moved in on January 10th. Here's a picture of our beautiful fireplace:

Throughout all of this, we have been surrounded by an amazing community of people who have helped with cleaning, babysitting, packing, moving, unpacking, and lots of encouragement. Our church has been incredibly supportive of us. Our seminary community made meals for us after the baby was born and helped with babysitting, moving, and unpacking. Our families helped so much in the crazy time between the baby and moving.

I was worried about being isolated in a new community, but a surprising number of people have been willing to make the forty-five minute drive to our new house. I've enjoyed their company, and I feel so fortunate to have a house that people can enjoy. I hope our house is a place of hospitality for years to come.

One of my college professors was fond of saying that all theology is inherently practical. This season has definitely been one filled with the practical--babies, places, friends, and family--but after preaching during Advent about God's incarnational presence in those parts of life, I'd say that this season might also be one of the most profoundly spiritual.

Here's one more picture of our sweet kids:

Thanks be to God.