Sunday, May 10, 2015

Sermon for Sunday, May 10, 2015 St Paul’s Hanover Courthouse Acts 10:44-48, 1 John 5:1-6, John 15:9-17“The Mother Love of Jesus”

Happy Mother’s Day! It is so good to be with you on this glorious day. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Mary Thorpe, Director of Transition Ministry for the Diocese of Virginia, and I am your travel guide through the wonderful journey of seeking your next priest. Every now and again, I have the privilege of being with you as the one who leads worship and preaches, and it is my delight whenever I do so.

So as I said, it’s Mother’s Day. It’s one of those really sticky challenges for us preachers – to take the lessons we have been given for a particular Sunday and somehow acknowledge the secular holiday without taking away the awesome power of these Eastertide readings. We don’t want to forget those we honor but we don’t want to twist the scripture into a pretzel to serve that end.

But today, the creators of the schedule of readings – the Lectionary – have given us a gift. 

All of these readings are about how God cares for us as a loving parent, invites us all into his love, baptizes us into relationship regardless of where we came from, and instructs us to share the love we have learned from all this.

Seems to align pretty nicely with our ideal vision of motherhood, doesn’t it? Just like on the cards we may have given our mothers, or have received, at breakfast this morning.

All the Hallmark cards talk about motherly love and gratitude and sharing and appreciation of love given and lessons learned.

But love is a complicated thing, and so too mother love.
Some of us may have had the painful experience of wanting to be a mother, and having nature refuse to cooperate. All that love, and the plan to have children in the time-honored manner goes awry. What to do with that love?

Some of us may have had the equally painful experience of having lost our mother early, or never having known our mother at all. I think of my husband’s uncle, whose mother died giving birth to him. That’s a complicated sort of love – love mixed with gratitude mixed with guilt.

A few may have had mothers who, for whatever reason, were unable to give love. 

Something was broken in their hearts, and they couldn’t be that Hallmark card mother. How to love someone who couldn’t love them back in the way that mothers are supposed to? It seems an impossible situation.

Others of us had the gift of a mother who was the embodiment of love. Not perfect love, to be sure – none of us are perfect – but heartfelt endearing caring. The quotidian tasks of motherhood were hard to be sure, and you might get snapped at if you misbehaved, but still you never doubted the love.

What are the lessons of the infinite variations of love that are possible within the overall rubric of motherhood?

First, love is rarely perfect, except the love of God. Mother love may occasionally come close, but even mothers do not do it perfectly. Mothers are human. My grandmother had a notorious temper and a sharp tongue. Woe be to her children if they misbehaved! Sometimes she was right to get so angry – they were not the easiest of children – and sometimes it was disproportionate to the crime. Looking back now, over a few decades and knowing more of her story, I understand why she was that way. Her children didn’t doubt her love but sometimes they were hurt by her outbursts…and yet I know she loved them in spite of it all. Would that she could have found better targets for her anger, but in her small world, there was nothing else. But even imperfect love is a start. This is why Jesus tells his disciples in today’s Gospel, “I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another." He knew we needed to be reminded to love one another, because sometimes we forget. Sometimes we don’t do it very well.

Second, love sometimes comes in an unusual package. My mother was 44 years old when she and my father adopted me. She looked like a grandmother, not like my friends’ moms. But her love was as fresh and intense – in some ways more, since she had to work so hard to get me. She wasn’t the normal package, but she loved deeply and well.  A friend who is married to another woman recently gave birth to their first child. It is not necessarily the way some of us may be used to seeing mother love – two moms – but seeing them with their child, there is no doubt that there is deep mother love from both of these dear women for this child. This is what Peter was talking about in the reading from Acts, when some people questioned whether the Gentiles should be baptized as Jewish Christ-followers were. In their eyes, the Gentiles weren’t the right people. They didn’t look and act like Jews. But Peter said "Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?" The package that love and faithfulness comes in may vary. Love does not.­­­

Third, love each other because God loves each of us. I don’t know about you, but I don’t always feel so lovable. I may be cranky and short-tempered if I’ve worked too many days in a row without a break. And if one of my children call me with a problem or a question, I may be short with them. I’m not a perfect mother, not by a long shot. But when I see them, even at my worst or their worst, I can see a little bit of the light of God in them. I know God loves them. It reminds me that God loves me, too, in all my crankiness, in all my short-tempered comments, in all my imperfection. God loves me in spite of my failings. Jesus says so in the Gospel: "As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love.” I’m not the only mother like that. Maybe your mother was like that, maybe you were, too. But God still loves us and encourages us, and gives us the gift of the Holy Spirit to keep reminding us of divine love, the love we are to share with others, and how it marks us with that divine light to change the world.

Lastly, love can change the world. If your mom ever told you when you brought home a less-than-A+ paper from school “you can do it. You can do anything you set your mind to,” you know what I mean. Mother love at its best is all about building up one another, saying “yes, you can do it. I believe in you.” That is precisely what we hear in these readings today: God, through his son Jesus Christ, lets us know in a thousand different ways that God believes we have the capacity to love as God loves, a love so vast and all-encompassing that it can change the world. God gives us the tools to remember that love and to share it, to get back into the habit of love when we have fallen out of it, to offer it even to others who seem unlovable in the moment.

That’s the kind of love that can truly change the world.

Remember that story about when Jesus was twelve and slipped away from his parents to go and teach in the temple, and scared his parents out of their wits? When they found him, his mother said “where were you? We were looking everywhere for you.” He replied, as only a smarty-pants 12 year old boy can “I was busy doing what God wanted me to do.” In Scripture, we don’t hear anything more from that mother of that unusual boy, but in my heart, I can hear her saying, “we were so frightened. We love you so much. Please don’t run off like that without telling us. You can do anything, accomplish anything, but just don’t forget to tell us where you’re going.”

Jesus tells us where we should go – to the place of the heart where we love each other as a mother loves a child, as his mother loved him, as his heavenly father loved him, as he loves us. And sometimes, he even uses the language of a mother to remind us of his love: “How often I have wanted to gather your children together as a hen protects her chicks beneath her wings.”

If we remember nothing from this day when we honor mothers, remember how mothers love, how deeply and fiercely, remember how Jesus loves us even more deeply and fiercely, and remember Jesus’ wish: that we love in the same way, with the same passion, even loving the ones who are sometimes unlovable or who don’t look like the “right” people to love, or who cannot return our love. Love them all. Change the world. Because Jesus loved us and changed the world and each of us with nothing more than love.


Amen.

Saturday, April 25, 2015

Sermon for Sunday, April 26, 2015 Celebration of New Ministry of the Rev. Sara-Scott Wingo, Emmanuel Episcopal Church, Brook Hill John 10:11-18 “A Different Shepherd”

This is Good Shepherd Sunday, when we focus on how lovingly and faithfully Jesus is our Good Shepherd. He cares for us, guides us, leads us to places of refreshment, rest, and restoration. We are forever grateful for how Jesus does this, aren’t we?

In many ways, the calling to the priesthood is one that instructs priests to serve in the same manner as the Good Shepherd. We are to care for our parishioners, teach them, preach to them, offer comfort when they are afflicted, encourage them to see their mission as extending beyond the four walls of the church, speak out for those in need…well, the list of things we’re supposed to do is lengthy and daunting. And here’s the challenge for any priest: Jesus, the Good Shepherd, is a hard act to follow.

And it goes without saying that if we priests think that we can be the clone of that Good Shepherd, it is inevitable that we will fail. There is only one, the one who died on the cross for us as the ultimate gift in shepherding the flock. We cannot be THE Good Shepherd, but we can aspire to be A good shepherd.

Sara-Scott, that’s good news – nobody around here expects you to give up your life literally, although on some days, you may feel like you’re giving up your life metaphorically.

The nature of the work of shepherding the flock hasn’t really changed much since the time of Christ, at least in a metaphorical sense. A priest knows that, like a shepherd, she is often on a hillside or hospital in the middle of the night. A priest knows that, like a shepherd, she occasionally has to herd the sheep with a little more force than that sheep might like. A priest knows that, like a shepherd, she may need to go round up lambs that have gone astray. And in today’s culture, a priest knows that, like a shepherd, she may not always be respected, despite the sophistication of her education, the intensity and necessity of her work, and the personal cost it exacts.

So why would anyone want to be a priest, to shepherd a flock of souls?

Simply put, when God calls, no matter how much one may resist, eventually, one answers that call.

And similarly, when a parish calls a priest to shepherd a particular flock, one cannot help but answer that call.

And so we come to the reason why I am here today. Sara-Scott Wingo accepted your call three years ago to be your Priest-in-Charge. That title is an odd one – you’re a shepherd on a timetable, you’ve got a letter of agreement that is time-limited. Hard to think of a shepherd who signs on knowing that the time of tending the sheep will end on x date. But in our tradition, there is a possibility that the relationship may morph from one where there is a defined end-date – the Priest in Charge model – to one where you enter into a covenantal relationship which does not have a defined end-date – the Rector model.

When the relationship morphs in this way, it’s like a long engagement that results in marriage. Today is the wedding feast! Sara-Scott is now your rector. Thanks be to God!

Now I’m going to stick with the marriage metaphor here rather than the one about shepherds because marriage is familiar to many of us and I doubt we have many real-life shepherds in the crowd.  So on to marriage.

Those of you who have been married a long time know that after the wedding feast ends, the hard work of sustaining the relationship begins.

Therefore my challenge to you sitting in the pews today is this: the work of relationship with your rector is just like the work of relationship with a spouse. Sara-Scott has a particular role, defined by her ordination vows. She is to proclaim by word and deed the Gospel, to fashion her life in accordance with its precepts, to love and serve the people among whom she works, caring alike for young and old, strong and weak, rich and poor. She is to preach, to declare God’s forgiveness to penitent sinners, to pronounce God’s blessing, to preside at the sacraments and other ministrations.

But as in a marital relationship, both parties have a role and responsibilities. So let’s reflect on your particular role. Here’s your part of the relationship:

1.     Listen. She has much to teach you. She has much wisdom and learning.

2.     Respect her, even if and when you disagree with her. No mumbling out in the parking lot or grumbling on facebook. Just as such actions are harmful in a marital relationship, they are poisonous in church, and will cause pain to the whole Body of Christ. If you’ve got an issue with your rector, go to her and talk to her about it. She is a great and generous listener, and it is a sign of your respect for her that you bring concerns directly to her.

3.     Show her grace. She will have some rough days every now and again – everyone does. Be as willing to forgive her when she fails – and we all of us priests fail on occasion – as you want her to forgive you when you fail.

4.     Don’t expect your rector to have ESP. It’s like when your husband forgets your anniversary and you give him the cold shoulder, and he says “what’s wrong honey?” and you say “Well, if you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.” The number of times I’ve talked to parishioners who say almost exactly the same thing about their rector is uncountable. And when I say, “Your rector can’t read your mind,” disgruntled parishioners tell me that of course the rector should know. Here’s the truth: rectors are not mind-readers. Tell your rector when you’ve got an issue with her, and give her the space and the grace to work with you. Tell her when you’re sick and in the hospital. Tell her if you’re having problems. Tell her your joys as well. She will not know unless you open your mouth and your heart.

5.     It’s not your church. It’s not Sara-Scott’s church. It’s God’s church. Everything she does with you is to serve God. Her gifts are at your service, not only for your edification, but for God’s greater glory. So if she challenges you to stretch out of your comfort zone, consider it the work of the Holy Spirit, and take a risk. We are called to take risks – Bishop Michael Curry says we are challenged by God to be “crazy Christians” who actually believe we can make a real difference in the world. If Sara-Scott speaks of this challenge from God, don’t immediately dismiss it because you may not have done this sort of thing before. She is teaching you as well as challenging you. Take the risk.

Five things. That’s your job description. Now back to Sara-Scott.

Shepherds have all sorts of jobs in their care of a flock of sheep. Priests, too, are required to be generalists – who else has the job description of preacher, teacher, prophet, counselor, liturgist, administrator, occasional maker of coffee, and rarely (we hope) plunger of toilets?

Jesus was able to do it all because he was, well, Jesus. Being divine is a helpful attribute. Sorry, Sara-Scott, you’re not quite divine, although we will admit that you’re fabulous.

But know that the one thing we all can do in this complicated, beautiful, difficult, joyful work of being the Body of Christ, whether we are priest or parishioner, Senior Warden or junior acolyte, soloist in the choir or hummer of hymns in the pews…the one thing that we can do that honors this covenantal relationship between Sara-Scott and Emmanuel Brook Hill is to love and care for each other, as the Good Shepherd always loves and cares for each of us and desires our love.

We can do no less, in thanksgiving for the Good Shepherd and in thanksgiving for Sara-Scott’s ministry in this wonderful place.


Let all of God’s people say “Amen.”

Saturday, April 04, 2015

Sermon for the Easter Vigil April 4, 2015 Ezekiel 34-1-17

Crypt of Santa Maria Della Concezione, a Capuchin Franciscan church in Rome. All decorations are constructed from the disinterred bones of Capuchin monks. By these three skeletal monks is a sign that says "As you are, we once were. As we are, you will be."
You sense something, something you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re awake. You haven’t been awake in a long time. There is still an emptiness within you. You are as hollow as an abandoned anthill. Feelings are alien. You haven’t felt anything in a long time.

You are alone. You know there are others here…their bones rattle in the indolent hot breeze as yours do.

That’s all that’s left of you. Bones. Dry. No marrow anymore. It’s all been sucked clean by beasts. Dry bones, rattling in uneven rhythms in that scorching breeze. You are nothing anymore but hollow emptiness. Dead bones, not even good for the desert creatures to gnaw upon. Dry, empty.

Once you were God’s beloved, rich with marrow and color and muscle and sinew. Blood coursed through you, beating powerfully, rhythmically – thump, bathump, bathump…you were loved by someone, you loved someone, you held an wriggling warm infant in your arms, you hugged a friend. You ate a good meal, gnawing on a lamb bone as now something has  gnawed upon you. The feelings are distant memories now, faded in the same eroded sepia tints of this landscape. But still the palimpsest of feelings, their faint shadows remain.

And in the well of hollowness that you have become, there is a longing that swells up like a dust storm. It is hot and intense – where does this strength come from? How can anything come up like this out of hollow, empty, dry bones? This demanding, urgent longing, this desire…can dry bones desire?

And still the feeling comes. Emotion, rising huge and unstoppable, a tornado now…

…a longing to once again be alive, to feel the breadth and depth of love, to be cradled again in the love of One who has always loved…

…and then there is a whisper, a susurration, the gentlest shift in the breeze. It grows, and it seems to answer the wordless longing…

I am here. I am with you. I will restore you.

You think, can these dry bones live? I am barely more than dust. I am defeated, broken, dead, irreparably destroyed.
But something within says again, “I am here. I am with you. I will restore you.”

And the emptiness within you lessens a bit as the susurration becomes a wind, a breath, the breath that has been gone for so long you have forgotten what breath feels like. The breath comes, and now you are breathing too, you are connected to the source of the breath, and strange and wonderful restoration is happening…your bones are knitting together, not a mere jumble of calcified rocks, but bone connected to bone, sinew, then muscle, then flesh. The breath is rebuilding you, piece by piece.

In what little thought you had before now, you had accepted that you were nothing. Dead. Of no use. Not even a memory anymore. But now you feel the power of the breath filling you, and you are feeling those lungs like bellows, and the warm, life-giving breath  is like the way wine used to make you feel – you’re drunk on it, ecstatic with the feel, and now you feel your heart beating thump bathump bathump and you are alive. You are alive. And not only you, but all the others around you. Not a zombie apocalypse, not some weird apocalyptic horror show, but real life. Restored. Raised up from a desert of brokenness to life once again.
Full of the breath, the spirit, the wind that comes from the source.

You know that this is nothing that you could have accomplished yourself. Were it so, would you not have done it eons ago, before the marrow was gnawed from your bones? No, only the source of all life could have accomplished this. You were raised from that which was nothingness, you were restored from death, you were brought  back to life with nothing more than love and breath.

Would that you could do more than simply praise the One who restored you…but God is simply fulfilling a promise: “I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act, says the Lord."
But it does not end with that life-giving breath. There is more from the promise-fulfilling God. Full of divine joy, God weeps. Tears of gladness that what was sere and lifeless has been brought back to life. The tears wash over you, cleansing the last of the dust that had clung to you. Tears like raindrops, refreshing you, to be sure, but also refreshing the parched ground. You are washed. The land is washed. Not only have you been reborn, bones reknit, flesh and sinew on bone, but now the land is reborn as well. Those tears have watered your heart and soul and have freshened the parched earth…the first shoots of new life are pushing up through the crust of dirt.

Flower buds, vegetation, all signs of new life.
New spirit, rebirth. Resurrected. Breath and tears have revivified the earth, and all who are in it and on it.

We hear this strange story from the Book of Ezekiel and we wonder what it has to do with us. We are not dead. We are alive. We’re sitting here on this Easter Vigil night, thinking about what this means in the context of Jesus’ death and resurrection, and we think we know the story. But we only are thinking about the half that is Jesus’ story – his death. His resurrection. It’s a great story, the greatest one of all. We know that.

But if we do not reflect upon how we live that story, we diminish its power. We – each of us in this room – have been in that valley of dry bones. We have been as dry and as broken and as forgotten as those in Ezekiel’s vision. We have lost the power to think, to feel, to breath. In our own brokenness, we have lost our connection with the story of God’s breath, of God’s love, of God’s eternal promise… 

And so when we feel most in need of that connection, of remembrance, of healing and reconstruction of our souls, we ask God to help us to remember the promise. “I the Lord have spoken and I will act.” 

In a few minutes Justin will ask God to help him to remember that promise, in the sacrament of baptism. His soul will be brought up out of a place of disconnection to a place of new breath, of new life. We each of us have felt the deep, deep longing for connection with the Divine – it’s a thirst that can only be quenched by the waters of baptism, and when Justin lifts up his head from above the font he will be filled with the breath of God. He will be connected as we all are connected, with the life-giving, restoring, completing spirit that will help him to always remember what connection to the One who is the source of life feels like. God’s promise is clear: “I will put my breath within you and you shall live.” 

It is will be a dramatic moment, that pouring of water, that spirit entering into Justin, and it is, in its own way, a little resurrection. He is not dead, of course, but his old way of life is dead, and he is reborn as an adopted child of the God who loves him. 

It is good to be present to this little resurrection, because it reminds us that we too have little resurrections in our own lives. The obvious physical one of our birth. The spiritual ones, such as the moment we were baptized.  

But how about the moment when we realize that we don’t have to live in fear of an abusive spouse, that we can walk away? I call that resurrection.

How about the moment when we realize that we are capable to being fully who we are, without hiding ourselves in a closet of shame? I call that resurrection. 

How about the moment when we realize we are not just the sum of our sins and offense, but of our gifts and graces? I call that resurrection. 

What we all need to remember is that little resurrections occur in our lives every day because of the greater moment of resurrection when those dry bones were knit together by means of breath and love. The even greater moment of resurrection when a rabbi who was cruelly put to death rose from the dead. Because of those moments, little resurrections occur in our lives every day. 

We are no longer dry bones, meaningless remnants of forgotten lives. We are eternal because the One who breathes divine spirit into us promises us eternity. We are joined with God, as Justin will be joined as God’s adopted child, not just on this mystical and beautiful night, but forever. Justin will become part of that divine breath forever, washed and refreshed by God’s tears of joy. 

This is the message of Easter: nothing that was destroyed cannot be brought to life again, by God’s love, God’s breath, God’s tears of joy. You are alive. The earth is alive. Our own little resurrections happen because of the big resurrection: Jesus is alive, who conquered death. Sing songs of praise and revel in all the resurrections that you have been given! AMEN.


Tuesday, January 27, 2015

New Rector Boot Camp - What Does It Need?

I've been recommending Bob Harris's new book "Entering Wonderland: A Toolkit for Pastors New to a Church" to some priests who are starting their first rectorate (senior pastor position.) I love Bob's techniques for getting to discover the soul of the congregation (see also the book with that name.) It's a challenge when one enters into a new system to get at the stories behind the stories, what the power dynamics are, where the scar tissue is...all of which are things that we need to know to minister well. All of these things are usually not in the parish profile you read when you applied for the position, nor are they usually spoken of when you interview with a search committee or a vestry.

The aforementioned resources are fabulous, but we might benefit from some other practical instruction, I'd wager.

In this diocese, a large one with a lot of parishes in flux right now, we've been talking about having a retreat for clergy who are in their first senior pastor (rector) position, sort of a boot camp to share the stuff we didn't learn in seminary or in other venues.

What would YOU want in such a boot camp? Stuff on how to sort out the financial condition of the parish? Stuff on how to encourage changes in leadership to replace folks who've sort of fossilized themselves into place? Stuff on creative ways to use the space to evangelize and/or raise funds? Stuff on staff management? Stuff on work/family/spiritual balance?

What do we need to know that we wouldn't learn elsewhere? What do you wish that YOU had been taught before you took your first head-of-staff position?

Monday, December 15, 2014

Sermon for Sunday, December 7, 2014 Isaiah 40:1-11, Mark 1:1-8 “Make Straight the Way for…Whom?”


I am Director of Transition Ministry for the Diocese of Virginia and it is my delight to be here with you today, bringing greetings form your Bishops and Diocesan staff. I am your guide and adviser as Christ Church enters into its time of transition, having said farewell to Pierce, as you begin the process of your search for a new rector.

Oftentimes when we talk about the time of transition in a parish`s life, we hear the metaphor of journey. It is an apt one - it does feel like we are moving from one place, with one leader, to another, with a new leader. And like the Exodus, that journey of the people of Israel from enslavement in Egypt to the Promised land, a transition can feel frustrating, confusing, overly long, misdirected on occasion, lacking in a clear destination on other occasions...there is a reason why the Israelites muttered and complained. It took them 40 years to get from one place to the other!

I will guarantee you one thing as you travel on this journey - it will not take 40 years.

That is the good news. However, it will take some time and some work and perhaps a misstep along the way to get from Pierce’s ministry to the ministry of your next rector.

That would be a frightening bit of news for me to share with you, but for one fact: you do not walk this path alone.

And here I am going to shift metaphors, in a way that I hope will provide some comfort.

There is still a journey in this new metaphor, but I invite you to imagine another journey, one foretold in the ancient books of the people of God. Imagine a woman great with child, a child who is proclaimed to be the salvation of the world. Imagine her on a journey riding on the back of a donkey, with her husband walking ahead. Each jouncing step of the beast hurts her hips and resonates up her spine. This trip, so late in her pregnancy, is more than a little frightening. She knows her time is near, and yet her mother and other female relatives, the ones who should attend her as she gives birth to her first child, are not with her. It is just her, and her husband, and the tired donkey.

And yet one more...the one she carries, the one to whom she will give birth very soon, the one whom the angel identified as the Promised One. Mary knows that her God is making this journey with her, within her. She feels God's heartbeat under her ribcage. She groans as God's little feet kick against her full bladder. She aches, and every ache is sensed by the child within her, who knows her as every child carried by every mother does, but who also knows her as her God knows her. She may not have her mother with her, but she senses the presence of God in the core of her very being, because it is God she is carrying.

What a remarkable thing this is...God with her, Emmanuel, always present, always sensed, always in rhythm with the body of this woman who is the God-bearer. Barely more than a child herself, and yet entrusted with the work of bringing the world's savior into the world in human form.

She does not travel alone. God is with her.

So too with Christ Church, with each and every one of you. each one of you, young and old, male and female, married, single, whatever...God is with you. This beloved place is pregnant… pregnant with possibilities, pregnant with what the future holds for you as the Body of Christ. And the thing that will get you through this time of transition, this pregnancy, that will take you all the way to the new birth of a new relationship with your next rector, is that fact that you do not travel alone. God is within you, just as surely as God was within Mary. God is ever-present, with that God heartbeat in rhythm with yours. God is on the back of the donkey with you, when you have an uncomfortable feeling that you aren't going in the right direction, when you reach a crossroads point and you are not sure which way to go, when you wonder if you will ever get there, when you finally call a new rector and think "Will this be someone who will guide us with the same loving care that Pierce did?"

God is with you each step of the way. We who serve you at the diocesan offices are a part of your support team as you proceed - consider us your GPS through the process - but ultimately it is God who will direct you.

As you prepare to celebrate Mary's journey, bearing the Christ Child within her, and as you sing with the angels to rejoice in the child's birth, remember that God is within you, in this journey and in all your life's journeys, now and always.


Amen.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Questions du jour for clergy friends

What were the big surprises you had when you accepted a call?

Were there things that congregations said that they wanted that they didn't really want?

Were there things that they didn't tell you about that turned into ugly little messes?

Were there moments when you realized that they had gifts that they didn't recognize?

Were there moments when you realized you only had half of an important story that someone should have told you earlier on, or before you accepted the call?

As I try to help parishes find their next priest, and as I try to help priests looking for new calls, I'm realizing what a poor job we do of telling the whole story...what has your experience been?

Sunday, November 02, 2014

Ch-ch-ch-changes Ch-ch-ch-churches

Part of this new position at the diocese is the odd condition of having no church home.

I left my parish behind when I left my call as rector there. They will do well and prosper under new leadership because they're great folks who understand what living the gospel means. Their fabulous deacon, The Woodworker, will be a source of continuation of God's love as they move through the space of transition.

And as I've said before, I'm in transition, too. So too my husband, who has said goodbye to friends and the choir at the old place.

So we're church shopping. Since I will often be presiding at various and sundry parishes throughout the diocese on Sundays, it's more of an issue for him than for me. He is ordained in a different denomination and does not work in a parish, but has come to love liturgy, so he's become an Episco-friend. Given my times away, a church that works for him is more important than one that works for me.

Odd thing when you're a priest going church shopping (particularly, since as my husband says "you know at least one person in every church in the diocese") - folks come up to greet you. Sometimes I wear the collar, sometimes not. But there really is at least one person in every place that knows me, so we cannot be anonymous. Not so bad a thing...as long as you greet my husband with the same interest and respect as you do me.

This has been a great reminder of what it is like to be a stranger (or at least somewhat a stranger) in a new place. Some places are large, and if you're a newcomer, you are easy to miss, since everybody doesn't know everybody and just assumes you're simply a member who normally attends another service. Some places are small and you stick out like a sore thumb, and you get inundated with folks wanting you to feel welcomed, which has its upsides and downsides. Some places just don't have the hospitality gene, so you sit with your significant other in your pew and at the passing of the peace, you greet each other, then look around to greet another person and they are studiously looking down, avoiding your line of sight.

Some places have orders of service that have the whole service, just about every word in it. Since I'm used to flipping through the Book of Common Prayer and the Hymnal, it's not really necessary for me, but it's a nice thing - keeps my head in the worship rather than in the logistics. Other places have orders of service with page numbers - that works fine for me, although not for all newcomers.

Then there is communion time. What's the plan for getting humanoids up to receive communion and back to their seats? Everyone says the ushers will guide you. Some places do that better than others. There is nothing that feels quite so awkward as turning to walk back to your pew and not knowing if you should go down the center aisle, down the side aisle, or through a mystery door ("I'll bid on Door Number Two, Bob!")

Signs. What door do I walk into? Sometimes it's obvious. Sometimes it's not. Signs help. Where are the restrooms? Please, by all that is holy and good, have good signage. I'm at the age where I don't give a darn about saying "where's the ladies' room?" but a 14 year old girl? Not so much. How do I get to the parish hall, since you've invited me to join everyone for coffee there? This morning, the rector was utterly clear in explaining how to get there...made it easy for all newcomers.

I'm learning, in ways that I was not always aware of when I was a parish priest, how the little things make a world of difference in making one feel welcomed.

Have we decided where our home parish will be? Nope. Lots more cool places to visit and consider.

But I am grateful for the welcome we've experienced thus far. It's going to be a hard decision!