foolish vigor

While I might be young, I'm also a bit daring. I have found myself in recent events at the front of the room instead of the back. Maybe it is my naiveity, but even standing at the front or on a committee, I wonder where the hope has gone. I wonder where the risk has gone. This isn't even a commentary on my denomination, the United Methodists... I have had many ecumenical conversations recently and I am sideswiped by "we can't do that, or get away with that" comments.

It sometimes feels like the church has lost its foolish vigor.  We have neglected St. Paul's call to forget the ways of the world, forget success by earthly standards, and to just take a chance and stand with the cross.  We have neglected the call to take up our cross and to follow Jesus - because we are scared of where the cross takes us. It isn't just fear, or temptation to suceed, sometimes it is just down right laziness and the tedium of daily tasks that keep us from diving in.

I think I'm able to keep going, because in the midst of all of the "safe" choices and the call to "increase numbers" and the forms I have to fill out... I hear about a few folks are taking risks.

A local presbyterian church held a Christmas Eve service this year at a bar in town. They took the risk and were invited back for next year. It wasn't a success numerically - but they were out there, in the world, and if even one person thought in a different way, they were successful.

A group of young pastors gathered in Washington, D.C. for an event I attended.  We gathered in the chapel at the capital building and prayed and sang.  We have found some courage from one another to try new things, to apply for grants, to start programs and to ask questions.  We are putting ourselves out there - and we do so knowing that there is a small community of support to help us.

Congregations in Cedar Rapids are responding to the changing communities around them and are throwing open their doors for native African congregations to meet in their midst. 

The churches who have joined mine for the Co-Missioned transformation process are all taking risks and trying to pay attention to what the Holy Spirit is calling us to be and do.  We have had to let go of some things in order to embrace this time of listening and waiting.  It is hard, and it is scary to let go of what we think works for us.  But every time we do so, we have been blessed by God's movement.

I want us to be more foolish. To be more daring. And to trust where the Spirit calls us. Don't be afraid to step out there.  Don't let your head tell you "no" when your heart is screaming "yes." Don't get caught up in this world's definitions of success - numbers and money and power... just go where God tells you, wipe the dust off your feet if people don't respond, and then go to the next place.  Don't be afraid of failure.  Don't worry about looking stupid.  Take up your cross, with foolish vigor, and follow.

the world is my parish

Bishop Trimble recently reminded a group of young clergy that we are not appointed to congregations... we are appointed to communities.

It was something I had not really considered before he made that statement... and it was a refreshing thought.

In many ways, I had assumed that my ministry was both in my church and in the community that surrounds it.  That's kind of the way my missionally-minded brain works.

But since he spoke them out loud, I have really taken his words to heart and have felt emboldened in the work I do "out there."

If I'm honest, it might be one of my favorite parts of my job. 

Way back when... okay, only three or four years ago... wait... holy crap... seven or eight years ago!... I thought I was called to be a deacon.  I felt that my ministry was as much about being out in the world as it ever was to be in a congregation.  I heard God calling me to be a bridge between the church and the world.  And that is the essence of what I understood the ministry of a deacon to be.

But then this little whisper started to tug at my soul.  It was the sacraments.  The bread and the wine and the water kept speaking to me.  And then they took hold.  My ministry might include the world... but God was also calling me to use the church as the vehicle of my ministry.  God was calling me to break bread as much as he was calling me to break barriers.

Long story short... my journey has come full circle.  I am now an ordained elder with sacramental authority AND I get to work in my community. God had a plan long before I could ever see it or understand it.

I've blogged before about my outreach and relationship building through funerals and weddings in the larger community. I have been the main organizer around the community worship in the park for the last two years - an amazing opportunity to share in worship with one another AND to share in the one loaf and the one cup.

What I have not done as well in my first three years of ministry was to get involved actively transforming the community.  But this year, my work with youth got to me.  I realized I had to go deeper to help them.  And somehow I'm now on a school improvement advisory committee and hosting an ongoing conversation about how the community can better support and encourage our youth.

This work is so completely different from what I do on a day to day basis in the church. Much of that difference has to do with having the authority of a pastor.

My ministry in my congregation is ministry "with"  not ministry "for." I am not someone who throws around my weight... instead I see my role as empowering my people to do ministry themselves.  I would rather work alongside my parishoners than lead them.

But in the community, the role of the pastor takes on a different flavor.  As one youth parent said a couple of weeks ago, "When I go to the school office and talk about a problem, it's more of the same.  When Pastor Katie says something, they listen." 

To be honest, that authority scares me a little.  But it is also exciting.  God has put me in a place where I can speak on behalf of these parents and I have a powerful voice.  God has put me in a place where I can make connections between people and provide a literal space for those new relationships. God has put me in a place where I have a real and tangible ability to make a difference. 

Tonight, our little community group met again.  And while the start of this journey is small and the momentum is slow, I can already sense the possibilities.  I am energized by the true and living hope that God is doing something in Marengo.  And I pray with thanksgiving that I get to be a part of that work.

the disarming power of a story

Social Justice.

General Board of Church and Society.

Social Principles.

In some circles... those are swear words.

To take a stand, to say that the Bible speaks to our world today, to speak truth to power is DANGEROUS.

But it is also what we are called to do.

I found out about the GBCS Young Clergy Capital Hill Leadership Forum through an email and my first thought was: SIGN ME UP!

You see, I read my bible and I come across those passages where we are supposed to welcome the stranger... and then we have anti-immigration laws being bandied about in our states.  How do I preach God's word in the midst of that?

I read my bible and I find this tension between life that doesn't completely count as life in the laws of Exodus 21 and the idea that God knows us even in our mother's wombs in Psalm 139.  How do I respond when our state legislature proposes changes to laws about abortion? How do I lead my congregation through a discussion where we can be open to God's instruction and aware of the reality that surrounds us?



Photo by: Wayne Rhodes. Full article here.



So... I saw this event as an opportunity to educate myself even more about how to navigate the Bible, the positions that we take as United Methodists, and the lived reality of my parishoners.

What I did not expect was to be surrounded for four days by stories. 

Day after day, presenter after presenter, we hear stories of call.  We heard stories of barriers broken down.  We heard stories of hope.  We heard stories of awareness and maturity.  We heard stories of belonging and stories of being on the outside.  We heard stories of mentors.  We heard stories of challenge.

Every single presenter told us where they were coming from.  They spoke out of their own faith experience.  They told us how they got to the place they are today. 

And then, and only then, and with very little time remaining, they talked a little bit about the issues.

For a day or two, I have to admit that I was frustrated by this.  I was wanting some meat... some practical tools... some things to take home and do.

But then I realized that was exactly what I had recieved.

I realized that the simple act of telling your story changes the conversation.  When you tell the story of your faith and invite the person sitting across from you to tell yours - you no longer can hurl labels and threats.  You can no longer question that persons faith or sanity or patriotism.  You have met them as a person and now you must treat them as a person. 

Any discussion of the issue starts from a completely different place.  It begins in a place of mutuality, of respect, of awareness that we are both children of God.

It starts in a place where we each have something to tell, we each have a way that this story has personally impacted our lives.  And so we move past the soundbytes and the bullet points to a place of real dialogue.

I came home from Washington, D.C. with the disarming power of a story.

I believe... help my unbelief

The other night, I sat down to watch a film that has been in my Netflix queue for a while now:  King of California.  It's the story of a young woman and her mentally questionable father and his quest to find buried treasure beneath their suburban community.  It's quiet, a little quirky, but all and all a really good flick.

I think the thing that stuck with me long after the movie ended was the idea that you could follow along with someone - even if you weren't entirely sure you believed.  The character, Miranda, is about 90% sure that her father is full of crap, and yet she loves him and is interested in the possibility that he might be on to something.  She follows him all over the countryside.  She listens to his ramblings.  She does some reading and research of her own.  She gives up her job in order to get hired on with the Costco her dad thinks the treasure is buried beneath.  In spite of every instinct in her body that tells her he is absolutely crazy... she goes along with the plan.  She is there.  But she doesn't believe.

There are many days that I feel that way about my faith.  I know that God loves me.  And I want to love God with all of my heart, soul, mind and strength.  But I'm not always sure what on earth we are all doing.  I'm going along with the plan... seeing how things turn out... but there are absolutely doubts. I listen.  I read.  I would love to believe it all hook, line and sinker.  But there is too much of a scientific rationalist in my heart.  So I'm here.  I'm doing it.  I'm sticking it out.  But...   

There is that "but".  And I often worry about that "but." I worry that I'm not faithful enough.  I worry that the little "but" in the back of my mind is going to be my downfall.  I worry that maybe I am just going through the motions. 

King of California reminded me that it's okay to have questions.  Miranda was a faithful and loving daughter.  She would have done anything for her father.  She did the best that she could with what she had - and that included having questions, and doubts, and acting out in faith in spite of them. 

Maybe that's the key... acting in spite of our doubts.  Taking the leap of faith - even when it goes against every instinct in our bodies.  Deciding to follow - even if we are pretty sure that we have no idea where we are going.  Taking all of those doubts and carrying them with us and not ignoring them... but not letting them keep us from finding out the truth, either. 

There is a scene at the end - and I don't know that I'll ruin any of the plot if I say this - when something that Charlie (the dad) said actually came true.  Miranda is standing by the ocean at sunrise and a bunch of chinese men and women come running out of the ocean wearing only their underwear.  And she gets this look on her face - this look of curious wonder.  She saw for her own eyes the truth.  I pray that I might keep my eyes open and someday see for myself... see it all as it really is... and finally know.  Until then  I'm going to take my doubtful leap of faith and see what happens.

the Church

Describe the nature and mission of the Church. What are its primary tasks today?

If the sacraments call us into the world, the church is the “us” that is called. In my previous paperwork, I talked about the church being the place where we come to know and begin to embody the Kingdom of God – but as I have grown in my understanding of the church, I realize more than ever that the church is not a place, but a people. It is the community in which we first participate in the means of grace and the Body of Christ that sends us forth in mission to the world.

I would heartily agree with our denominational vision that we are called to make disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world – but how we define “church” dramatically changes how we understand that mission. If the church is a people, then our task is not necessarily to get someone to join a particular congregation, but to invite them into the journey of faith – a journey that may never take them inside the four walls of a traditional congregational building. They may worship God with other believers in a house church, or study the bible in an intentional community of faith that meets at the local bar, or be a part of a new monastic community.

As I have been in conversation with emergent and missional theologies, I have begun to drawn a distinction between the church and the congregation, the church being the fullness of the body of Christ – not limited to a building, or a congregation or even a denomination. That is not to say that the congregation and denomination are unimportant. They are the institutional partners that provide structure and support for the work of the church in the world. But I think what is key is that the mission of the church lies outside of the bounds of any particular congregation or denomination. As I have taught this in my own congregation, we remember that the church is to embody the Kingdom of God in all that we do. We are the church when we are at work, when we are at play, and we are the church to each and every single person that we meet. We carry with us the faith, hope, and love that have sustained us in our journey and we invite others to be travelers on that journey with us.

Photo by: Jascha Hoste

the blue couch

In my last post I mentioned really connecting, even if for a short time, with my host in Indy.  And as we talked about some of her decor, we talked about antiques and things passed down, and then she brought up the movie The Red Violin.

I haven't actually seen it, yet, but she said it's the story of how this violin traveled through war and love and hat and across continents and the journey that it took.  And instantly, I realized that I had found something that I have been looking for a very long time.

There have been lots of times when I have had to share my autobiography in my ordination and educational processes.  But I realized to really share that story - not because I had to, but as a means of helping other young women know that they weren't crazy as they tried to figure this whole ministry and calling thing, I would want to write a book. It would include my vocational journey, my relationship with B, my own self-discoveries - but I never could figure out where to start?  How would I do it?  I could just start writing - which is kind of where my blog has sprung out of, but it hasn't had the focus and direction I've wanted.

On this trip I also picked up and read (in one short 35 minute sitting) Becca Stevens, Funeral for a Stranger, and marveled at how she used the one experience to talk about so many different things... it was the vehicle for the rest of her tale.

And then I heard about The Red Violin. And I found it.  I found what I couldn't figure out.

Brandon and I have this modern, down, cat-scratched, taped, misshapen, used and abused blue couch.  We have dragged it everywhere.  We got it for free from a business that was throwing it out and for 8+ years it has journeyed with us.  And as I've made mistakes and gotten things right and said yes and said no and finally ended up as a minister in Iowa, I've dragged that couch along with me.

I have a title. I have an outline.  Someday I may sit down and try to actually write the thing.

My Calling...

While some people are born into a church and live their entire lives in that context, my faith journey didn’t begin until my sophomore year in high school. My family has never been extremely religious; although both of my parents grew up within the United Methodist Church they did not make it a priority within their relationship or for our family. Yet during the middle of high school we decided to start attending church. I was baptized and confirmed at a United Methodist Chruch as a junior and quickly found myself in leadership positions within the church, serving on committees and eventually even co-chairing the Youth Annual Conference.

My experiences within the church planted the seeds for my calling. One of the values instilled early in youth group was that Christianity comes in many shapes and sizes. We sang Native American hymns and looked for God in secular music; we learned that asking questions was as much a sign of faith as having answers; we traveled across the country and as far away as Peru and experienced how God was working in all parts of the world. In Peru, I experienced true forgiveness for the first time on a mission trip. After our covenant was broken one night, we came together as a group and prayed over what the “punishment” should be. Reflecting on our own sins, we realized the forgiveness freely offered to us through Christ was meant to be shared. Grace has since been the foundation of my theology.

I later attended Simpson College, where I majored in religion and speech and rhetoric communications. My experience with the Religious Life Council (RLC) put me into ministry, bringing out my gifts of listening, speaking, leading and planning, as well as giving me amazing mentors. My class work in the religion department, as well as communications cultivated a quest for more knowledge and a deeper understanding of my relationship with God. They also led me to see the importance of diversity and to value the story and experience of an individual or group. I was challenged in my beliefs, which only served to strengthen them. RLC helped me to explore discipleship in entirely new ways: covenant discipleship groups provided accountability; a retreat to a monastery opened my eyes to the liturgical hours; communion became a weekly ritual.

I was also involved with a group (the Progressive Action Coalition or PAC) that encouraged awareness and action on behalf of political, environmental, and social injustices. I went to protests and rallies, volunteered, researched various topics and was enabled to speak with and teach others. We even lived in cardboard boxes for a week in November during National Homelessness Awareness Week. Issues like poverty became real, had faces, and forced me to live out the Christian faith I had previously only thought about.

But there were also difficult times. I helped students from both the chapel and PAC create a memorial of crosses during the initial weeks of the war in Iraq, providing a space to express the emotions and feelings surrounding us, not intending to make an anti-war or pro-war statement. However, many students on campus were upset by the display. The first night, the crosses were torn down and the broken pieces used to spell out “God Bless the USA.” Realizing I stood on one side of the issue and that others held the exact opposite viewpoint, both for religious reasons, was difficult and I struggled with how to be a leader for the RLC and stand up for what I believed. Above all, it helped me realize that negotiating religious views on a political issue, whatever it may be, is never easy. We cannot avoid them; we must speak the truth to one another in love and through our communal process of discernment, move forward with what we feel is God’s will. In my later work in church ministry, these divides have come up again, specifically around the issues of homosexuality; I have gained more confidence in navigating these conflicts and helping the various parties listen to one another.

I have often related to the call of Samuel, because it took me a long time to hear my call to ministry as something authentically of God. While I had dismissed those who encouraged me into ministry, hearing the Samuel scripture read at an Exploration event opened my eyes. I can still hear the voice of the Latina woman who read that morning as I finally realized my calling was from God. My decision to go to divinity school and continue in this process has been my way of saying, “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.”

So I went to Vanderbilt Divinity School, an institution known as the Schola Prophetarum or “School of the Prophets.” The Divinity School’s history of being a driving force in the fight against racism and segregation in the South showed me it was a place where I could learn how to speak out of my faith to the world. Yet it also has a very strong academic reputation, which was important to me.

My experience at Vanderbilt helped me tie these pieces together, particularly through field education and my United Methodist courses. Wesley’s vision of uniting “knowledge and vital piety” is fundamentally about the importance of inward and outward expressions of faith. The language of the academy helped me understand the tension I experienced at Simpson between “religious” and “activist” communities as a struggle with practice and belief and gave me the theological resources to navigate and unite the two.

It is the embodiment of our faith that demonstrates to the world that we are Christians, not simply our assent to a belief. I learned at Vanderbilt how important bodies are to theology, especially in contexts of suffering and illness, and how we need a church that is willing to address not only the spiritual, but also the mental and physical aspects of our human condition.

On a very personal level, I have experienced how taking seriously that embodiment is necessary for ministry. My grandmother died at home after spending months under hospice care. The ability for our family to be with one another and for us to experience “dying well” was a blessing and it would not have been possible without hospice. Completing Clinical Pastoral Education in a Nashville hospital helped me to understand the power of pain, but also the power of touch and presence. Shortly afterwards, my grandfather died after months in a hospital (in many ways the opposite experience of my grandma). I was far from home, but the times I was able to be there and minister to my family and my grandfather were meaningful.

Recognizing that it is not always possible, I feel called to help create community and wholeness in the midst of illness and death and know I will have the opportunity to do so in my ministry.

Vocational decisions can never be made without impacting those we love. My husband, struggles against the beliefs of his childhood and the institutions that perpetuated them. Yet, in spite of all of his reservations about the church, he is very supportive of my decision to be in ministry and understands this is my call. Our conversations have helped us understand how we start fundamentally in the same place, with a concern for the hypocrisy of a Christian culture that wears WWJD t-shirts yet fails to support the poor and needy in our midst. The difference is that he chooses to not participate in the institution and I seek to transform it.

For the past year and a half, I have served as the pastor of a small town congregation. And I LOVE it. I love baptizing babies and holding them in my arms. I absolutely love speaking God's grace and comfort and peace to families at funerals of their loved ones. I love standing in front of the congregation and letting God's love flow through me as I break bread or speak God's word. My experience in the church has been one of encouragement, learning, support, and growth. My congregation is full of grace and has been an amazing place to learn how to be a pastor.

knock-knock

I have posted on here many times that home visitation is not my strength. And if I'm to be honest with myself, even though it is the number one priority of my PPR, it's not as high as it should be when I sit down and schedule myself for the week.

And reason #1 - I'm a huge introvert. We've been there and talked about this before.

These past two weeks, two very active people in the congregation fell (at different times) and have required surgery. And one of these people in particular is the woman who does SO much behind the scenes that no one even thinks about, until she wasn't there. My own grandma (Babi) was also having her knee replaced.

My own ability to visit them was compromised by the fact that I was at School for Ministry and then came home with the crud... but I discovered/remembered some amazing things about my congregation and my ministry in the meantime.

1) Yes, the PPR puts visitation as my number one priority, but they also have it as the main priority of the congregation.

2) The people in my church know how to look after one another. They have made countless visits and delivered countless meals without being asked and simply because that's what they do.

3) At SFM, some colleagues helped me remember that my calling/vocation gives me permission that no one else has to "intrude" on people's lives - that if the congregation has made that a priority, they are in many ways inviting me to know things others don't know and to see them in vulnerable situations.

4) sitting for 2 hours in a waiting room with someone - even if you have nothing to say - is rewarding ministry.

5) I have never lived in a community or family where people stopped by to visit if you were sick. Living in the country, we weren't that neighborly - at least as kids. There were regularly scheduled Sunday evening visits to my great grandparent's house, and we always came and went from Babi's, but I never learned the art of "dropping in"

6) I was blessed to sit with my Babi for well over four hours in the hospital. I didn't want to leave in part because it was good to catch up and spend that time with her, but also because I didn't want to leave her there alone.

7) I really don't want to leave my church family "alone" either. It is part of my calling to drop in and help them to know that they aren't alone - that we are thinking about them and that God loves them.

8) everytime... and i have to keep reminding myself of this... everytime I "drop in" I am blessed.

FF: Fork in the Road

For today's Friday Five, share with us five "fork-in-the-road" events, or persons, or choices. And how did life change after these forks in the road?

1. the first that comes to mind is a choice in high school. I agreed with the decision of a teacher instead of sticking up for one of my best friends in the whole wide world. It was a choice that caused lots of heartache and distance for a while, but I'm thankful that God and our other friends kept us together so that we came through on the other end.

2. The second is where I chose to go to college. I had a lot of places I could have gone - lots of places where I was accepted and who were offering scholarships. I didn't feel called to go to the small liberal arts college only an hour away (where communication would have been my focus). I really wanted to go to the large private university four hours away (where science would have been my focus). I ended up applying after graduation to a small Methodist college where a bunch of youth ministry friends were headed, got in, and God told me that's where I was supposed to be.... which led me through science to religion as a major and the rest is history.

3. The beginning of the war in Iraq. This was a major fork in the road for me, because I had strong feelings about it, both personally and spiritually. And I knew there were lots and lots of people who disagreed with me. I was in college at the time and in community with a group of people however who helped me to use my voice and my hands and my feet to make a statement about the war publicly. We created a memorial of crosses on the lawn in front of the chapel - in honor of those who had died, both soldiers and civilians since the conflict had begun in the week before. Overnight, the crosses were torn down and the broken pieces used to spell "God Bless the USA." As a Christian, I was heartbroken and ashamed of my neighbors. As someone who always though that there was a way to find agreement, I lost a piece of that in myself.

4. Exploration in 200something - The speaker for the day was Hispanic and she recounted the story of Samuel's calling in the temple. For the first time, I felt called into ministry and it was because Samuel kept thinking the voice of God was just his master. I thought before that time that the voice of God speaking to me was just the voice of my youth pastor, or pastor, or a friend, never did I think it was actually GOD speaking to me. Until she spoke those words, "Samuel, Samuel" with the hispanic pronunciation. It stays with me until this day.

5. My friend Nicole - in the airport in Nashville - convincing me to go to Vanderbilt. I was kind of torn at that point and I really wasn't sure what I was going to do until I sat down in the airport at that silly little food stand with Nicole. By the time I got on the plane (and I was almost late!) I was convinced that I needed to go to seminary there. And I haven't regretted it for a millisecond. It was where I needed to be to grow and thrive and find my place. It brought me into contact with tons of amazing people at my church there... I am so grateful for that conversation in the airport!