Chapter 28 - Staying in Church

Welcome to one last entry in our blog conversation around This Odd and Wondrous Calling!  Rev. Lillian Daniel and Rev. Martin Copenhaver have offered us stories from their ministries – stories of the oddness and the wonder of parish ministry – and invited us to reflect on our own stories as parish pastors and as parishioners.  I volunteered to write the last blog without remembering the subject of the last chapter.  When I flipped to page 228, I laughed.  The chapter on staying!  I have a deep affinity for staying.

                Rev. Duane Meyer, at that time an Associate Conference Minister in the Iowa Conference, offered me this advice as I prepared to begin parish ministry at Olds UCC:  “Just don’t leave.”   I didn’t leave the dear folk at Olds for 7 ½ years and then I didn’t leave the dear folk at Central City UCC for 19 years.  

                Some of you know that I am drawn to life in spiritual community.  (I’ve spoken with other ordained women in my generation who felt called in childhood to be nuns before they could imagine being called as pastors, never having seen an ordained woman or even a good movie about one!)  I’m drawn to a vow in communities following the Benedictine rule:  the vow of stability.  To vow stability is to promise to fulfill one’s vows in the same community for life. 

                But I also write to you as one who did not stay, one who is no longer a parish pastor.  I did leave, answering a call to cheer on pastors and congregations as a member of the Iowa Conference staff.  God and I continue to exchange occasional sharp words over that leaving and this calling.  I miss parish ministry very much and I have a deep, deep affection and respect for those who have taken up an odd and wondrous calling and who have stayed.

                I also write to you as one haunted by a statistic that prompts a great deal of searching conversation among folk in wider church ministry, among Committees on Ministry, and among first call pastors and their congregations:  half of new parish pastors leave parish ministry within the first five years.  Half. 

                If you’d like to join in this final blog conversation about staying in church, I have some questions for you!

·         Pastors, what makes you stay in church?  What mix of odd and wondrous call, financial and geographical reality, faith and fear, makes you stay? 

·         Pastors, what sorts of things push you at times to think of leaving parish ministry?

·         Parishioners, is your church a place where pastors stay?  Or frequently leave?  Why do you suppose this is?

                It’s been a delight to join you in this journey of shared reading and conversation.  I’ll look forward to our next conversation!

Jonna Jensen, Associate Conference Minister for Eastern Iowa

Chapters 26 & 27 – Preaching and Pastoral Care

In these two chapters from This Odd and Wondrous Calling, Lillian Daniel and Martin Copenhaver reflect on the two most obvious things a church pastor does -- preaching and pastoral care (visiting the sick). If you questioned average folks on the street about what a pastor’s work is, they’d probably be able to name these two things. For authors Martin Copenhaver and Lillian Daniel, these tasks live at the heart of their ministry.

Indeed these two ‘tasks’ are integral to pastoral ministry. They are where a pastor meets the people of a congregation in particularly intimate ways --while sick, or during a sacred conversation while worshipping God. They write about how the rest of their work informs these tasks: “In meeting with couples in crisis, I realize that my own reflections on marriage are being shaped and enriched in ways that undoubtedly will make their way into my preaching. In the administration meeting where we agonize between two important budget items, my thoughts on stewardship are being shaped. Later when I read a text for the week, all these experiences will be part of what ends up on the page,” Daniel writes on page 225.

None of what they say is particularly surprising, for those of us engaged in pastoral ministry, at least. I find it interesting that their reflections do not mention how these tasks relate to being religious leaders. By making a pastor’s work center in Sunday morning or hospital visits, Copenhaver and Daniel might have inadvertently diminished the call of the pastor and, indeed, all Christians. Jesus certainly preached and taught and healed the sick. But, none of those things were ends unto themselves. Those things were done in order to transform lives, to give people a sense of purpose and value that came from God, nowhere else.

Preaching and pastoral care are mere tools in the toolbox.  These tasks facilitate holy relationship, allowing the pastor to be both a comforting and challenging presence to members of his or her congregation. Over time, the relationships that are built allow pastor and congregant alike to grow spiritually in ways they could never do alone. Hopefully that personal growth transforms them into new people, allowing them to transform the world.

Nicole Havelka
associate conference minister for youth and young adult ministries

Chapters 24 & 25

I’ve heard rumors that clergy are human beings.  Could it be true?

In chapters 24 and 25, Martin Copenhaver and Lillian Daniel offer the reader entre into two different instances of clerical humanity.  There could hardly be more stressful moments than the unexpected death of a parent, and the diagnosis of a serious disease in one’s 8 year old child.

Important questions get begged at such moments – questions about professional boundaries and priority of purpose.  After all, it’s clear to me, at least, that clergy exist for churches and not vice versa.  It’s a prescription for trouble when a pastor begins to treat the congregation as if it existed mainly to care for (or stroke the ego of, or satisfy the financial aspirations of, or – God forbid – meet the sexual needs of) the pastor. 

The church is foundational – the office of pastor was invented for the welfare of the church – churches weren’t invented to meet the needs of clergy. 

But clergy have needs.  We are human beings who struggle with loss and sickness and relationship trials and death just like all other people do.  Should the pastor, in his or her ministerial role, function as if immune to the ordinary and troubling challenges faced by every other member of the congregation?

Of course not.  Any pastor who is so emotionally shielded from the congregation will inevitably fail to connect with them in the deep and profound way that is necessary for truly effective pastoral work to occur. 

Martin Copenhaver implies some ambivalence about his undisclosing behavior on the occasion of his father’s death.  I do not fault him for what he actually did, but I think his hindsight assessment is right.  The people we serve need to know that we are also fallible human beings who struggle with all the same human challenges as do our people.  We must allow them to offer care and support – but we must do so carefully.  It is one thing to be appropriately transparent with the people we serve – it is quite another to persistently depend on them in ways that fundamentally turn the table of ministry.  Ordinarily and appropriately the pastor exists to care for the congregation – occasionally the tables can and should be turned – but ONLY occasionally. 

If it is true that clergy will face as many life challenges as anyone else, there is an important implication in this observation – that the pastor MUST have other sources of support and care beyond the congregation.  Do I?  Do you?  I believe we can only be faithful and effective if we do.

Rich Pleva
Conference Minister

Chapter 23

Did you come away from reading Lillian Daniel’s chapter, “Money Off the Shelf”, inspired to truth-telling and tithing?  Didn’t she do a fine job of capturing the nuances and ambiguities, the attractions and repulsions, the spiritual struggles that bubble up and over in congregations as pastors and people talk (or don’t talk) about money and giving?  Some coffee and conversation about this chapter would be a great beginning for a congregation preparing for the annual gathering of pledges.

You’re welcome to practice a bit of that conversation in this space!

 

Was it easy for you to resonate with the image of offering plates hidden away on a little shelf out of view?  Rev. Daniels helped us to recognize that our resistance to conversations about money is not the simple expression of a social grace, but often the expression of painful fears, anger, and shame about money we have learned from childhood.  A congregation is a family made up of families.  Plenty of fear, anger, and shame about money to go around!  Where is it safe to tell the stories that shape our feelings about money?    

I tithe.  I understand that Jesus didn’t teach and preach using fractions like 1/10^th.  He used other sorts of numbers, like “all” and “everything”.  He invited us to a way of living that was lavishly generous. What experiences have you had as you tried to apply “Jesus math” to your earning and spending? 

Like Rev. Daniels, I experience both the pull beyond tithing and the pull toward things.  There’s plenty of tension and motion in my thoughts and prayers (more tension and motion than progress, for sure) about material comforts and things.  Do disciples buy bubble bath (I do love bubble bath)?  How many pairs of shoes should a disciple have?  What decisions have you made about possessions that bear witness to your faith?  Do you feel comfortable and welcome to talk about these sorts of questions and decisions in your congregation? 

I’ll watch for your posts as we share both our odd and our wondrous experiences with taking money off the hidden shelf.

Jonna Jensen, Associate Conference Minister for Eastern Iowa

Chapter 22 - Marriage

It’s more than a little ironic that the only single gal on the Iowa Conference UCC staff was given the chapter on marriage in This Odd and Wondrous Calling. Martin Copenhaver writes of his marriage to his wife, Karen, who they somewhat jokingly refer to as a pagan.

More accurate is that she is a doubter, a skeptic. She doesn’t take religious beliefs or ideas at face value, instead bringing good questions to the table. Copenhaver talks about how this has been both a blessing and a challenge for his ministry and his marriage. Karen is a faithful wife, attending worship at the churches Copenhaver has served over the years. Karen, who professionally is a lawyer, has even taken the bar exam in six states so that Copenhaver could answer his call. She has not been a traditional “preacher’s wife.”

I don’t think you need to be a married minister to observe that the traditional “preacher’s wife” is going away. Now we have mant “preacher’s husbands” (who don’t have the same long-standing expectation of church participation that women seem to face). Both women and men have professional lives outside the home and the church. Men can stay home to raise children while women work. The variety of ways in which marriages function can be astounding and even confusing to some.

A documentary recently aired on PBS’ Independent Lens, “The Calling,” explored the stories of six young clergy people. In one segment, a mentor coached a young rabbi NOT to tell a congregation at which he was interviewing that he wanted their part-time position because he wanted to stay home with his children. The young rabbi struggled mightily with this reality. He wanted to be faithful simultaneously to his calling, his wife and their children.

In a world where relationships and gender roles are constantly changing, Copenhaver’s transparent chapter on his own marriage is instructive. It’s best not to make assumptions about what a pastor’s spouse might think or believe. It’s best not to expect that a pastor’s spouse is going to be involved in the church in particular ways. It’s best not to think that a pastor’s marriage is going to function exactly how they did back in “the good ol’ days.” Instead let’s treat each of these people and marriages as individual entities and wonder at the many ways God reveals God’s divinity in them.

Nicole Havelka

Chapter 21 - Married to the Minister

I have a confession to make. This book has bothered me from the beginning and I have never been quite sure why. As I was reading Chapter 21, it hit me.

I know why the book really troubles me. It’s not that the book isn’t well written. Daniels and Copenhaver are gifted writers and the book bears testament to their skills. It’s not that the subject matter of the book is boring. Who among us wouldn’t be entranced by a study of what it means to be a minister of the gospel in today’s world? It’s not even that the book is boring. It’s not. It’s an easy, entertaining read. No. My disquiet has nothing to do with craftsmanship, content or readability. What really gravels me about it is that it is so depressingly, soppingly self-indulgent.

In Chapter 21 Rev. Daniels has shared with us her take on what it means to be the spouse of a pastor. As I read it, I wanted to scream “What in heaven’s name makes you think things are any different in any other two-career marriage?”

I was a lawyer for 35 years. My wife knows all about 75-hour work weeks; vacations interrupted or cancelled by the vagaries of some judge’s trial calendar; dinner dates missed because some client’s son chose the night of our anniversary to see if a six pack really screwed up his ability to drive; school events missed because a client’s plant picked the night of the 6^th-grade play to explode or catch fire. For 35 years she had to live with the fact that I could never talk about my work or even about how my day had been because to do so might betray a client’s confidences.

In the first 10 years of my legal career, we moved three times, each time so that I could take a new job. With each move, my wife went to the final interview. My wife went on the tour of homes and schools. My wife had to endure the same boring chamber of commerce lecture about how “life in our fair city is just about as good as it can possibly be.” With each move we had to deal not only with my new employment but how the move would affect her career. I’m pretty confident that these moves were no easier for Julie than they have been for Daniel’s husband, Lou.

Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t mean to make light of the difficulties faced by anyone who goes into a career in the ministry. It is a difficult, emotionally draining enterprise that takes a huge toll on everyone who chooses to engage in it. I am afraid, however, that we have perpetuated a myth among ourselves that somehow our calling is more difficult or emotionally and physically costly than other careers. In so doing, we have put ourselves on our own little islands. This enislement, it seems to me, is a dangerous thing. By indulging in this kind of self-centered isolation, we hobble our ability to identify with and minister to our congregations. And it is just this sense of separation, this idea that somehow we have it worse than everyone else, that Daniel’s work encourages.

Sure, ministry is hard. But so is just about every other way of making a living that you can think of. There is, after all, a reason why they call it work.

Tony Stoik

Chapter 20 - The Twin Imposters

Ages ago the prophet Elijah came face-to-face with one of the biggest challenges of “faith work” – that it doesn’t lend itself to empirical verification.

Think about it: in the biggest showdown of his career – the contest with Jezebel’s prophets of Ba’al – he’d put them to shame.  After taunting them over their inability to evoke a response from their oh-so tangible gods, he’d drenched his sacrifice with water and stood back so Yahweh could send down a fire that not only consumed the sacrifice per se, but licked up the water and atomized the stone altar upon which it had all been arrayed.

You’d think this would suffice for validation of one’s ministry, wouldn’t you?  But it didn’t.  Elijah retreated to the wilderness where he struggled with a depressive episode of epic proportions.  I can only imagine what he might have thought had occurred out there in field with those Ba’alian prophets.  Perhaps it went something like this:  “Yeah…there’s nothing to their gods, but how do I know there’s anything to mine?  Maybe I just got lucky.  It was probably nothing more than a random bolt of lightning.”

The point is this:  there’s nothing about faith that’s empirically verifiable – whether in the affirmative OR in the negative – you can neither prove, nor disprove religion. 

This isn’t news, of course, but it’s important.  Consider this little gem, “God called me to ministry.”  Is it true?  Perhaps….   The fact is, lots of claims have been made in the name of God, and I’d vouchsafe that not all of them make God proud.  Still, nearly every clergyperson I know (including yours truly) claims to be have been called by God into pastoral work.  Does that claim make it so?

In chapter 20 of TO&WC Martin Copenhaver takes on the oh-so-common problem of approval craving in the pastoral office. 

My suspicion runs something like this – we crave approval because we aren’t so sure what we’re about.  We cover our insecurities with pious assertions (“This is God’s work I’m about [and nuts to anyone who takes issue with me]), or else we leave God entirely out of the equation and seek all our validation from those we are ostensibly called to lead.

This sword (the lack of objective criteria by which to surely measure our alignment with God’s will) cuts two ways, and both cuts can be bad:  those who boldly assert having their own private and certain Word from God make themselves unaccountable to other individuals and communities – certainly a perilous state.  But it is equally possible to despair of any certitude in this work and succumb to either depression, or else to a servile devotion to whatever the people want.  In that case, the pastor becomes either a “quivering mass of availability” or else a craven manipulator of the parish in which their affirmation becomes god (and all sense of appropriate boundaries gets lost).

Is it hopeless?  Is there no way by which to helpfully assess one’s faithfulness?  If it is not right either to arrogantly and single-handedly claim access to the infallible mind of God, but neither appropriate to grant the parish total right to assess one’s faithfulness – what is one to do?

Ah….the challenge of living in the tension between the poles of seductive extreme! 

The fact is (it seems to me) we need both.  We need a relationship with God that gives us focus and direction for the living of each day, but we also need to hear the voice of the community and its word of critique and correction.  Either one in the absence of the other is likely to lead to error.  Only as we hold both in faithful tension are we able to maximize the possibility for effective ministerial leadership.

“I believe.  Help me in my unbelief.”

Rich Pleva