On People Who Support Their Pastors

I was out running Advent and Christmas errands this morning. The sort of errands which, if I’m lucky, mean I won’t be running around the week leading up to Christmas. Having all the stuff we need not only at home, but at church (and, in our case, also camp) for the long list of events and projects in the month ahead…well…you’ve got to have a plan. Even with a plan you may hit twice as many stores as you expected.

Which is, of course, what happened today.

In the midst of a 3-for-1 stop at Joann Fabrics (the sales clerk groaned a bit when I explained I needed to ring up my items as three separate orders), I ran into a former parishioner—someone who knows the life of a pastor more than most, because of committees she has served on and well, having the heart for her pastors that some people just do.

All churches have these people. Well, I hope they do. All churches I have served have had these people. Many of them, in fact.

These are the people who are grateful for the ways your work takes you and your family a bit out of the holiday spirit others get to settle more deeply into. These are the people who do actually understand that even a fun church event is still work for you. They are the people who recognize that at church, as kind and accepting as people may truly and genuinely be, your kids and spouse are also kind of “on.” And they understand that their graciousness toward you matters, but also that even they can’t make that need to be “on” go away. And so they cut you and your family some slack.

These are the people who don’t tell you how you should be balancing all of this. Because they’re pretty confident you’re doing your best. And they do their best not to make it any harder on you. But they also have high expectations. Because they know this is your job, and you do it because you love it, and yes, this is game time. This is why you do this. To tell this grand story of God incarnate.

These people know, however, that as much as you love what you do, it drains you.

That if all you had to do right now was the holiday stuff, that would be enough. But that the business of church doesn’t stop. Pastoral needs don’t decrease this time of year—in fact they usually spike. And there’s always—ALWAYS—some candle crisis around Christmas (it’s in the Bible somewhere too, I’m sure). These people know that if you do your job even half-well, they will never see all the proverbial (and yes, sometimes literal) fires you’re putting out (remember the candles?) just so others can enjoy worship this time of year. They know the new year is coming quickly, and you’re hustling not only to prepare for Christmas Eve, but also to get enough done on the next two Sundays that you might actually get to spend calm time with family some after Christmas.

I thank God for these people.

Pastors know who these people are.

****NOTE: These people are almost never the ones who tell you they are these people…it’s like humor…if you’ve got it, you don’t need to tell people, “Hey look, I’m hilarious!” First church I served, the ones who told me how close they’d always been to the pastor…were the first ones who eventually left (and caused drama as they did).****

Sometimes all these people do is share a word of gratitude, other times they pitch in without being asked, but especially if asked. These are the ones who just by their spirit and bearing and the drama-free space they create around the pastor, make this time of year not only bearable, but even enjoyable. These are the people who see the pastor and their family as people. People just like them, their kids, their parents, etc. And they do, actually, treat their pastor and family the way they’d want to be treated.

As I said goodbye to this former parishioner before we each headed off to find our required craft supplies, she said, “Make sure you don’t run yourself too ragged getting ready for Christmas!”

Thank God for these people.

Advent, Week One: God Is With Us

Mornings are busy at our house. Well, no more so than for most households with young children. We live in a rural area—at the end of the school busy route, no less—and our oldest, Anna, is the first child picked up by her bus in the mornings. Bright and early. So we too are up bright and early and have a half hour from when alarms wake us till Anna’s bus pulls up to the end of our drive.

While the requisite adherence tour kindergartener’s schedule means our former flexibility in mornings is gone (daycare has a window for drop off) the accompanying structure has been good for us. But it has, nonetheless, been an adjustment.

As we began this week, the new year on the church calendar as Advent begins, I dusted off the booklet of family Advent devotions I purchased last year in an attempt to help our family find some grounding in the midst of the Christmas hoopla. Last year our mornings, being less structured and admittedly a bit more lazy, meant we never could get into routines aside from “Hurry up, hurry up!”

Yes, ironically, the lazier you are, the more you often have to rush.

I hate that.

This year, though, I thought we’d try. So we are.

Each morning, as the girls eat a quick breakfast at the dining room table (it’s clear of piles of stuff at present, which itself is a feat in our house) we light the Advent candles. We don’t have an Advent wreath, but somehow ended up with five spare Christmasy candle cups, which works for us! We light the Advent candle, read the devotion, sing a verse of “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” and close with a prayer.

Don’t be too impressed. We’re two days in and a meltdown started over who got to blow the candle out today.

Today’s reading included one of the verses (Isaiah 7:14) which gives Jesus the name “Emmanuel,” which means “God is with us.”

Years ago, I was asked to summarize the message of the Gospel in one sentence. I could do it in that one word. That one title: Emmanuel.

God is with us.

John Wesley is said to have affirmed it in his last words: “The best of all is God is with us.”

It is what the Christmas story is about.

It is what makes Christianity unique amongst world religions.

It is what we mean when we affirm Jesus’ words that he is the way, the truth and the life.

It can be easy to toss around these verses and songs like “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” this time of year without really thinking of their implications. Of their promise. And their challenge.

When I look at the world around me—heck, when I just look at the year this has been in our own family—I see many times and situations when God felt far. When It was one thing to affirm God’s presence and power but quite another to actually believe it. And yet…

I cannot help but be powerfully struck by the ways God showed up. Showed up in incredible ways.

Sometimes God showed up through new opportunities or good news from doctors. Other times God showed up in the midst of disappointments and fears. God showed up in the words and support of others, and God showed up when we had the chance to reach out in love to God’s people.

And yes, God shows up on busy mornings. When the morning routine can spare only three minutes, overlapping with a few bites of a breakfast bar, to be reminded the God is indeed with us.

With us.

God.

With us.

How incredible.

May your mornings…and days…be filled with the firm assurance of God’s presence in the midst of busy-ness. Joy. Devastation. Work. Rest. Play. Love. Brokenness.

God. Is. With. Us.

SARAH’S HEALTHY(ISH) – because that’s what adults are supposed to be doing, even though this admittedly isn’t as tasty – BREAKFAST BURRITOS

The other evening I posted a pic on Instagram and Facebook of a batch of breakfast burritos I was making to freeze so I could reheat them in the mornings for breakfast. I bemoaned that this was what adulthood had made me resort to. Here’s the pic:

Ironically, some of the rest of you have also fallen prey to the perils of adulthood and asked for my recipe. Ah, brave, sad souls.

But…I’ve of late decided to blog more, and since at present my highlights of the week are just being frustrated my body won’t cooperate with 100% of whatever I want to eat or do (wah!), well, I’ll spare you that. Well, let me at least say I went for a therapeutic massage yesterday for my neck, which since I made the appointment, had greatly improved, but still got tight at times. You know how they tell you that a good (read: intense) massage can be to your muscles like a workout (and can make them a bit more sore)? Yeah. Which was clearly that I needed, right?! But we just keep looking ahead and for forward progress, even if along the way there are bumps in the recovery. Just keep repeating that…

So…burritos!

First of all, I should never be considered a culinary expert. I don’t even follow recipes well. The being told precisely what to do bugs me. My husband is very good at following recipes and can make wonderful dishes. And do so consistently. I’m often more hit or miss. But I often go for simplicity and quantity.

When I need good solid, tasty and basic recipes, there are a few sites I’ve come to love (we have cookbooks too, which I occasionally use for classic items—books like Fannie Farmers, The Joy of Cooking and America’s Test Kitchen stuff):

The Pioneer Woman (Rea Drummond)

Six Sisters

Alton Brown (via The Food Network)

I’d seen the idea of making ahead a batch of breakfast burritos, but of course didn’t save the link. So when I decided to do it again, I pulled up recipes.

I used The Pioneer Woman recipe as a loose basis, though added the wrapping-for-freezing instructions I found somewhere else (sorry I don’t recall where).

So, if you want a good recipe, use Rea Drummond’s. Otherwise, here’s mine (and sorry no snazzy blog recipe pics):

SARAH’S HEALTHY(ISH) – because that’s what adults are supposed to be doing, even though this admittedly isn’t as tasty – BREAKFAST BURRITOS

INGREDIENTS:

12 8-inch tortillas (though mine were overstuffed and prob. 14-16 would have worked well—16 is how many comes in a Wegmans package)

14 eggs (because that’s literally what was in my fridge and the spare 2 would go bad soon; but I think 1 per burrito is a good ratio. For real though, follow your heart)

2 red peppers

2 green peppers

1 large onion

2 cups (ish) of breakfast potatoes (either from frozen, or bake a couple potatoes, dice them and fry them up)

1 can of black beans, drained and rinsed

Olive oil, to saute

Salt and Pepper (to taste…sorry, I have no quantities for you…this is the art part of it; salt the potatoes well though—they always seem to need more salt than I think they should)

¼ cup sour cream (figured I’d finish off what was in the fridge)

½ cup of salsa (I tasted the filling, as any good chef should, and it needed something, so I pour some salsa in— ½ cup sounds like that’s maybe how much)

You’ll also need wax paper and foil.

INGREDIENT NOTES:

I was going for healthy here, so I omitted or replaced or otherwise minded the following things that normal people would want to include (and that Rea does):

Sausage – I replaced with black beans

Cheese – I know, so sad; I did toss in a bit of sour cream, though I’m sure they’d be fine without.

I’m confident the burritos are yummier with sausage and cheese, and for kids or adults fine with tanking their health—I’m not judging, but still—you’ll want to include these. You don’t have to overdo them, even still. Also, be more mindful of salt you’re adding if you put in cheese and sausage—both of these bring their own salt to the party. I don’t generally worry about adding salt, since (1) I know I don’t go crazy with it and (2) most people won’t come nearly close—like in the same galaxy—adding salt to home cooked and you’ll get in prepared foods, so even adding salt, you’re prob. Still doing just fine.

DIRECTIONS

1.       Dice the peppers and onions.

2.       Saute the pepper and onions in a reasonable amount of olive oil. I tried to do all together, and they got cooked but not nicely like on Rea’s page. Would prob. Have been better to at least do the onion and peppers separately. But I was trying to make these just before the girls’ bedtime, so I was rushing.

3.       While all this is cooking, prep your wrapping. Place 12 squares(ish) of foil on table or counter, or whatever you’ve got. Put a piece of wax paper about the same size on top. Then a tortilla on top, in the middle of each. Why wax paper AND foil? No idea. That’s what a website I found on Google said. So it must be right.

4.       Set peppers and onions aside.

5.       Saute potatoes in olive oil, add salt and pepper. You def. want this pan to be hot so the peppers get crisp some. I had to take a break just before this (for bedtime) and actually put the pan on a cold burner and poured the potatoes in to thaw while I was away. Saved me time later.

6.       Once almost done, add black beans. I used canned, though you could use rehydrated. I don’t think heating them with the beans actually accomplishes anything. But hey. Why now.

7.       Set aside beans and potatoes. If you want to get a head start on mixing, just add these to the peppers and onions in a big bowl.

8.       Wisk your eggs, add some water (or not, this is a random thing I picked up from watching a cooking show) and toss in your pan to cook scrambled. Be sure you’re using a bit of olive oil and salt and pepper. Though I really shouldn’t have to tell you this at this point. After all, you’re an adult making healthy food. Also, your pan will likely look funky at this point. It’s okay. Just don’t scrape too hard when you take the eggs out and the yucky stuff will stay in the pan (though come our easy with a soak in water).

9.       Just as eggs are solid, removed from heat and add to all the other stuff.

10.   Taste, and add sour cream, salsa (and yes, cheese) as you desire. Remember your doctor is going to be testing your cholesterol at some point though. Just don’t blame me, is all I’m saying. You be sure you tell your doctor that I said no cheese or sausage. What you do from there is on you.

11.   Put a scoop of the complete mixture in the middle of each tortilla. I had a bit more filling than really worked for 12, but I went with it.

12.   Wrap your burritos: one side in, then both perpendicular sides, then roll into the final side. Ok, this is hard to explain. If you don’t know, Google it. It’s an important life skill (and it takes time to master, so cut yourself some slack—the burritos will hold together better after being frozen and microwaved than you think they will at this point).

13.   Roll the burritos in the wax paper, then, wrap the foil around them securely. I made the mistake at this point of twisting the ends of the wax paper (like they were fancy breakfast burrito candies!). But then little bits of wax paper were hard to get out later. So just be careful.

14.   Put them in the freezer. I’d suggest not stacking on top of each other, esp. if the filling was still warm, so they cool and freeze quickly.

TO REHEAT

1.       Pick a burrito out of the freezer.

2.       Unwrap and remove it from both the foil and the wax paper.

3.       Roll it in a full size paper towel.

4.       Microwave on high for 2-3 minutes. There are so many variables in how long this will take, so you’ll just have to troubleshoot for yourself. I do fine it helpful to rotate it a quarter of the way every 30 second or so in order to get even heating.

5.       Eat it.

So there, you have it. And also an illustration about why I don’t post recipes. J

But, I am an adult, after all. And apparently this is the sort of stuff adults do. Posting recipes online and making a dozen burritos at 9 pm on a Monday.

Living Life Out Loud: Sometimes You Can't Just Snap Out of It On Your Own (and that's okay and you're not alone)

“…so then last week I went back to my primary care doctor. The physician’s assistant I saw listened to me and asked questions for a long time. Like 45 minutes. She told me she thought it would be a good idea if she gave me a prescription to help with the neck pain for a couple weeks. Then she said that many of the symptoms I was describing sounded a lot like depression.”

 “And how did you feel about that?” 

“I mean, it made sense. I had realized the way I was describing how I was feeling was how, professionally, I would describe depression: like I was caught on a merry-go round and couldn’t get off.  And I meant that both physically and emotionally. She asked if I had a counselor. So I told her I had you, and that just that morning my husband and I had been talking and decided I should schedule to come back in to see you. I emailed you to make an appointment while I was sitting in the room with her.”

 “You know what? When I walked out into the waiting room to get you, I looked at your face, and I thought to myself, ‘She is depressed.’ You can often see it in a person’s face.”

After spending most of that session describing this summer (and even back into the spring) from hell—a sort of health care odyssey that involved tests, surgery to remove my gallbladder, and anxieties that mounted which each day waiting for surgery or each day afterwards when I thought I should be better than I was—this was where my counselor and I landed.

I started seeing this particular counselor when my brother Dan started struggling with his own mental health issues again in early 2014. I’ve been in counseling on and off since college, and I’d learned a lot about family systems and mental illness and diagnosed patients, and well, I figured I could best help myself and him if I was getting counseling.

I often tell people, when I’ve had occasion to have discussions about health issues, that one of my least favorite medical questions is “Tell me about your family’s heart history.” Ha. Well, here goes…

It’s not pretty.

But an equally challenging question is this, “Tell me about your family’s mental health history.”

Because of my family’s heart history, I know I need to take seriously eating well, getting (and keeping) my weight down, and exercising. I know that doing all these things may still not make problems stay away, but given our genetics, it is foolish to do otherwise. Doesn’t mean I always do them well…but I know I should.

In the same way, it is foolish to pretend that my body does not carry tendencies that may make it easier for me to stumble into depression, or, since most people have down times, perhaps it’s even true to say, may make it harder for me to snap out of them. And while life experiences (and some really good counselors over the years) have taught me tools to maintain my emotional health most of the time without really even being aware of it anymore, sometimes life collapses on me—as it does on anyone.

By the time I was sitting there in my counselor’s office, a week had passed since my primary care doctor had given me meds to help relieve neck pain. My body (and yes, probably mind) has taken longer to bounce back from the summer and my surgery than I would like. And it’s been all too easy to let any physical symptom get rolled into all the others and try to self-diagnose what’s wrong.

Or turn to Google. The great enemy of having realistic views of any symptom you’re experiencing.

The simple, “You need to rest and let your body heal,” is a terribly unsatisfying answer (and truth) for me.

As my counselor told me, part of the challenge is that you cannot disconnect the body and mind. It is impossible to know for sure which came first—the body or mind (and that such a distinction was artificial anyway, really). I was already feeling a ton better—not back to normal—but a different person than when I’d been at my doctor’s office. The medicine had indeed helped ease my neck, and, perhaps just naming that I was struggling with the weight of all of this gave me the clarity and permission to cut myself some slack.

I’d already starting using the tools I knew I needed when I had to work more intentionally to stay well. This time, I’d even started using tools my father did when he was coming off of his diagnosis and hospitalization for bi-polar depression: things like posting positive, affirming notes (I used post-it notes) to re-wire the mental messages I’d been telling myself. Instead of convincing myself I was sick and not better enough, those notes reminded me what people had told me but I had trouble remembering: my body had been through a lot—it was strong but just needed patience; I needed to rest, and if being a mom and a pastor meant I couldn’t rest as much as maybe I really should, then yes, recovery was going to drag on a bit; that needing rest was a sign my body knew what it needed, not that it was broken.

I’ve had occasion, both recently, and throughout my life, to have conversations with people who have struggled with depression, anxiety and other mental illnesses. Everyone is different. Bodies are different. Life circumstances are different. Resources (money, time, relationships) are different. And all these things shape what treatments are helpful or possible.

For me, counseling, exercise, and behavioral changes have been powerfully helpful. Medication, intense psychotherapy, etc., are tools which have been helpful to so many. All of these can help people get to a place where they no longer feel caught in a feedback loop. For some, successful treatment will still mean they work harder day by day to be energized and motivated. What passes as success and health for one person will look different than it does for another. We do harm to ourselves and others when we hold expectations which are unreasonable and simply keep us feeling stuck. This is why we need professional support—not only to find helpful treatment (sometimes this takes lots of time—it took my father at least a decade to be solidly stable) but also to identify what a reasonable and maintainable degree of mental (as with physical) health looks like for you.

After Dan’s suicide (because even the best counseling for me couldn’t change the challenges he faced, and the pain he often overcame with great effort and strength but could not one night) a song that helped shape how I and my family wanted to move forward was Rob Thomas’ song “Someday.” It includes the words,

And maybe someday

We'll figure all this out

Try to put an end to all our doubt

Try to find a way to make things better now and

Maybe someday we'll live our lives out loud

We'll be better off somehow

Someday

This song is powerful to me not only because of Dan’s struggle, but because of the family system he and I were both tied to. A family system which for over a decade actively hid my father’s mental illness from so many--almost everyone. A system which did not live life out loud. People smarter than I could more accurately assess what went wrong. In my analysis, though, keeping secrets is a burden no one can bear long. Keeping secrets which prevent you from getting support you need can (well, definitely will) make you more and more unhealthy. And keeping those secrets makes all of us feel more and more alone—like we’re the only ones struggling.

So I decided after Dan’s suicide I was going to live my life out loud, try to throw a bit of light, even when much of what I learned and practiced for many years screams at me to keep it shut up. I want to do this for myself, for my husband and kids (who I don’t ever want to feel like they can’t confide in someone when I am having a rough time, or God forbid if they ever are) and for others, who maybe think they’re alone, or broken, that it’s they’re fault (especially if they’ve been told stupid things by other pastors or church folks, like just pray harder, or that struggling is a sign of spiritual weakness).

To be sure, my faith journey and spiritual disciplines are important ways I stay grounded and healthy. But they are just part of the tools God has surrounded me with. The tools God has provided for all of us to be whole and healthy.

For me, I remain committed to regular professional care (I love my counselor, and heck, I’d see her every day, but that seems excessive) and my body is indeed still physically recovering from surgery and my doctors are keeping a close eye in case anything else needs physical treatment or care going forward. I still get tired more easily than I’d like, but for the first time in my adult life, am trying to listen to that feeling and not just power through (people tell me I’ll come to enjoy naps, though now I mostly resent them). And it ain’t for nothing that experts are increasingly learning about the connection between mind and gut—stupid gallbladder. After all, you cannot separate your mind and body.

This Sunday, I’m preaching on the lectionary Gospel (Luke 13:10-17) about Jesus healing the woman, “who had been disabled by a spirit for eighteen years. She was bent over and couldn’t stand up straight.” While her healing is clearly a miracle—Jesus lays hands and says the words, “Woman, you are set free from your sickness”—it is important to note, I think, that Jesus doesn’t just tell her to walk it off. Shake it off. Mind over matter, you know. Jesus provides the tools she needs to return to health. For her it was his hands and words. For me it has been different tools these past few months. For you it may be different still.

God calls us to—and offers us—healing and wholeness. And there are many tools to do so. You are not alone. You are not uniquely broken. We are, all of us—every single one of us—broken. And some seasons are more difficult than others. Sometimes we can walk through difficult seasons—walk through fires—seemingly unscathed. Other times, there are mountains we cannot cross under our own power. Mountains even the Little Engine That Could couldn’t.

But healing and wholeness lie ahead of us.

Therefore, let us lay aside our shame, our pain, our isolation, and find ways to support each other along the journey, encourage each other to find the tools and treatments which will lead us to greater healing and wholeness, and yes, the faith and strength that only God can give which can up gird us in our darkest moments.

Let us live our lives out loud.

On Unintended Consquences

Yesterday the theater teacher at a local high school committed suicide. The official posts were characteristically vague. The comments and private posts spoke of a battle with depression lost.

I know those words.

Those were the same words we wrote when my brother Daniel committed suicide two years ago.

Recently my husband and I worked our way through the series Band of Brothers. It tells the story of one unit of men fighting in the US army during World War II, on the European front. Many things were striking to me about the stories told, but one thing that kept coming back to me was how quickly actions and decisions had to be made—and often resulted in unintended outcomes. Unintended consequences.

I cannot imagine being fired upon constantly for days, weeks, even, at a time. I don’t know how you make anything approaching reasoned decisions under such pressure. That any such decisions were made with intention is remarkable. That some decisions and actions led to injury, brokenness, and yes, even death, is, well, the nature of battle. Of war.

If “war” had a sub-title, perhaps it would be “unintended consequences.”

Indeed, modern warfare techniques—precise weapons, increasing reliance on relationships and negotiations, etc.—seem thus geared to decreasing the chances of unintended consequences. But unintended consequences, to some extent, are the nature of human life. And as in warfare, perhaps all we can really do is lower their occurrence, not eliminate them.

After Dan’s suicide, I, as did many others, reflected on so many interactions I’d had with Dan. I asked questions like “Why?” and “What if…?”

I had this sense that if I found the right pieces and figured out the path to him getting to that night…well I’m not really sure what I thought it would do. But I craved an order to it all. I wanted to know how we could have stopped him. I don’t even think I needed to know who to blame—blame is rarely concerned with actual facts, and there were plenty of people, including myself, around to blame.

Except, of course Dan. Whom I was most angry at. Because in the end, while many of us may have been part of unintended consequences in his life, he held the final say in what was, to some very sad and misguided extent, an intended consequence.

I read a lot about suicide after Dan’s death. Much that I wish I had known beforehand. I wish I had understood that for most people, suicide doesn’t come at the bottom of a downward spiral. For many it comes as they start getting better. As my counselor said, the most severely depressed people often  lack the motivation to do anything about it. That most people who attempt suicide are not decided that suicide is their only option (you’d think they would be, but we know from those who survive attempts this is not usually true). The most prevalent feeling they have is ambivalence. Which is scary. A human being can be moved to take their own life out of ambivalence.

As I learned all this I am ashamed to admit I realized there are far more unintended consqeunces than I imagined.

At the same time, there are also so many more opportunities to invite people to healing and wholeness than I imagined.

I also learned as I read, then, that while there are many things you can do to help someone who is feeling suicidal (and DO these things, don’t put them off or wait for someone else to help someone you love) as with war, and as with life, you cannot always predict outcomes. I read of two mothers who tried to help teen children struggling with severe depression. One mother had her daughter committed to receive good regular care. The other mother didn’t want to make her daughter angrier than she already was, so she cared for her at home, trying to give her space. Both daughters took their own lives. Which mother, then, did the right thing? Which did the wrong thing?

Clearly life (and death) are more complicated than one decision. Even when the result of one key decision, a whole lifetime of patterns and decisions…and yes, unintended consequences…pave the way.

I’ve reflected on unintended consequences as well in the wake of the UMC’s recent General Conference, and the Baltimore-Washington Conference’s Annual Conference last week. After the Executive Session (clergy only) of the BWC declined to approve T.C. Morrow, a candidate for provisional deacon (and a woman married to another woman), by a narrow margin. As soon as the vote happened, and in the days which have followed, I’ve heard (and been part of) many different “What If…” discussions. We seem sure with a tweak here or there, we would have come away with a different outcome. We may not know whether such an outcome would be better or worse (surely some outcomes could be either) but we worry about unintended consequences. We struggle with all that we can’t control. 

Which is people.

People are the things we can’t control.

And life.

And…

So actually there’s a whole lot we can’t control.

Basically everything but ourselves.

And that’s darn frustrating.

Because we often can’t even do that well.

I wish we could look at any situation in life—and life in general—and say, “If only I had…” And know for sure the right answers.

To some extent those reflections are healthy and helpful. We can grow and change—this is our conviction as followers of Jesus Christ. We can be more faithful today than we were yesterday.

And yet that does not protect us from unintended consequences (or, God forbid, intended consequences).

We are called to be our best selves. To be faithful in the times and places God has located us. To reflect Christ in all we do. To stop trying so hard to control others, but also not letting ourselves be held captive. By saying we are sorry when our words or actions hurt others—but also not being bullied by those who define our lives (but usually not their own) by the unintended consequences of life.

So I don’t know.

I don’t know how to fix it.

I am quite sure I cannot fix it all. Maybe not even most of it. Or some. Or any.

And I am not sure I could have fixed it before.

But this I call to mind,
    and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,
    his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
    great is your faithfulness.
             (Lamentations 3:21-23 NRSV)

But this I DO know...

YOU are not an unintended consequence.

You are a beloved child of God.

I need you. We need you. You need me. And we need God to draw us together in to a community with far greater grace and intention and love than any of us are capable of on our own

Rest

This morning I’m back in the office after what seems like eons away.

Last week was Annual Conference, the yearly gathering of clergy and lay delegates from United Methodist churches throughout the Baltimore-Washington Conference. It was a good time. It was a hard time. It was packed. I am tired. Worn, is perhaps more accurate.

This past Sunday was a wonderfully packed and joyous day as we welcomed Pastor Kathy back with us, celebrated just about everything we had to celebrate (graduates, children’s ministry leaders, choir, kids going to church camp). And it was communion Sunday. And our missions team hosted a cook out and ice cream social. It was an awesome Sunday.

Yesterday, we had Trustees and Church Council. Yes, I sat in three hours of meetings, but they were Spirit-filled meetings and we did lots of good work, work and discussions about God calling us to new things and to growth.

It’s been a long stretch though, and I am still regrouping. Some days—some weeks—are like that.

One of my seminary preaching professors spoke about the importance of fallow ground in preparing a sermon. In order to have something to say, you have to not only research, write, pray, but you need it to rest. You need to step back and let the Spirit work.

All of ministry is like that sometimes.

All of life.

In the creation accounts, God is busy for 6 days, then rests. RESTS. God. God did that.

Surely we can.

Sometimes (as well it ought) that rest is the true Sabbath God commands us. Some days, it is simply taking it slow, settling back in, and being at peace with not keeping a fervent pace.

God did that.

Surely we can.

So today I try to ease back into things after not only this past week, but the previous weeks of General Conference (noteworthy for our family as Chris was away at GC for 2 weeks), and the impending summer camp season which always seems to find a way to be overwhelming even before it begins.

Rest.

Sometimes in the midst of the busiest seasons, it is both the hardest and the most vital space to make for ourselves.

Go get yourself some rest. Especially if you are sure you have no time for it. Because surely, then, you need it. Because God made you that way. Go, dear friends, find rest.

Come, Sit Beside Me

Baltimore-Washington Conference, 2007.

Incidentally, held at the Marriott Wardman Park (Washington, DC), where this year’s session will be.

I had been a provisional elder (back then we were still called ON PROBATION) for a couple years. Long enough to be sure I knew everything. Not long enough to have sufficient good sense to temper my, eh, forthrightness.

You know those people who go to the microphone too much?

Yes, that was me that year.

I’m not saying that’s not me other times. But it was definitely me that year.

I—I kid you not—am pretty sure I asked a point of order of the Bishop (Bishop John Schol).

Yeah.

I know, right? But at least I’m owning up to it. Oh, and by the way, sorry, everyone, for 2007. J

After I think my third trip to the microphone in probably the first two days, my father simply said to me at break, “Why don’t you come sit beside me?”

You see, I’d been all worried about just being seen as Rick Andrews’ kid that I had wanted to establish my own space. I was sitting a couple sections over from him. My father and I were very different people. For many reasons. It’s always a bit surprising to me (but I suppose I’ve gotten more used to it) that people tell me how much of my father they see in me. Like many parents and kids, I suspect, our relationship was often most about our differences. I also think it takes some pretty special people (and our colleagues are clearly just that) to see a father’s image in his daughter—our culture I think has a harder time with that one than a mother and daughter.

So I sat beside Dad.

And wouldn’t you know it, the urge to get up and go to the microphone quickly waned.

My father never told me not to go.

I suspect there was something about knowing he might, but also something about being alongside someone with a bit more experience, a bit more perspective. Someone to learn from. Be sarcastic with (I really don’t know how I’d survive any church conference without humor and sarcasm).

I have had the opportunity to sit beside Dad at other times, and also to sit beside many other mentors and elders thus far. Whether in local church ministry, denominational meetings, parenting, you name it. I have grown so very much from those sitting-beside-times.

Sitting beside allows us to learn from those with more experience—and less experience. Sitting beside leads to conversation both ways. It deters talking AT the other person. It inspires connection and relationship.

Last summer, as I was part of the VERY VERY SERIOUS GROUP 4 at Pastors’ School in Zimbabwe, I was also able to sit beside some powerful and gifted people. The very first day, as we all separated into our groups, my group grabbed chairs from the chapel and circled up outside the back door of the chapel. It was a popular site, since it was in the sun, and July is winter in Zimbabwe. As I first sat, the pastors around me spoke and joked with each other in Shona as we got settled. I had tried my level best to learn a bit of Shona in the few months since I’d known I would be with them, but it simply wasn’t enough time.

As our group began to focus on the discussion questions at hand, a pastor (with a bit of ribbing from others) took pity on me and scooted close. He came to sit beside me. And he translated for me. Through the remaining days, various others would do the same. Our group developed the rule that they would speak in English if they felt comfortable (all knew English, but as with anything, their comfort levels varied—and hey, we all prefer our native tongue) and otherwise, whoever sat closest to me would be changed to translate. And let’s be honest—some sessions people tried not to be the ones sitting next to me). J

But always someone sat beside me.

And in many ways, the entire group sat beside me. And I beside them.

I learned of the ways we are similar—like how humor and sarcasm are needful parts of any church conference. How we are all trying to wrestle with how to make Jesus Christ’s good news relevant in a rapidly changing world.

I learned some ways we are different. How deep poverty can shape the church’s work in ways which aren’t limited to a few communities, but spread across an entire nation. How old cultural rules about marriage—in Zimbabwe it’s plural marriage—create very real challenges for a faith tradition which does not accept such practices (and what that means for those already in it). How pastors offering dramatic faith healing and sudden experiences of God can challenge our best efforts at helping people understand the importance of a constant, growing path of discipleship.

Come to think of it, maybe we are more similar than we might think.

Perhaps we need to sit beside each other more.

My earnest prayer is that the next two weeks, as delegates from United Methodist Churches around the world gather for General Conference in Portland, Oregon, will be a powerful time sitting beside each other.

As the rest of us watch from afar, I hope those present will endeavor not so much to talk at as to talk with each other.

It has been a great honor to have been part of our larger delegation from the Baltimore-Washington Conference. As a jurisdictional delegate, though my work will happen in July in Lancaster, I have been honored to sit beside some amazing people who are there in Portland beginning their work today as our delegates from the BWC. I know them to be earnest, prayer-filled, faithful disciples of Jesus Christ who firmly rely on scripture to discern God’s leading, using the Wesleyan tools of reason, tradition and experience to help focus in on God’s guidance in scripture. I look forward to hearing more about the conversations they will have as they sit beside delegates from places like Zimbabwe, Texas, Maine, Finland, etc.

I invite you to join me in prayer for our United Methodist General Conference—both for their decisions, but also the ways in which the do their work. That they may do it sitting beside each other. And in so doing, embodying the love for each other which Jesus calls us to.