The first time I got a taste of the reality of being a minister was when I hadn’t even started seminary. I was talking with the group of women with whom I went to a step aerobics class. While standing in our sweaty workout gear, talking as we often did after class, I confessed that I was planning to attend seminary and become a minister. One of these women (one who I knew to be a college-educated professional), said immediately, “Oh, I don’t believe in women being ministers.” I was so stunned by her comment that I had no snappy comeback. The group just stood staring at each other for an awkward moment and the conversation moved onto something else.
After several of these kinds of conversations (most of which are far more benign), I learned, like Martin Copenhaver in Chapter 6 of This Odd and Wondrous Calling, to avoid telling people what I “do” – particularly on an airplane or other similarly confined spaces. The minute that cat is out of the bag, you can almost guarantee that you’ll be involved in a protracted conversation about the church (and your companion’s uncensored feelings about it) that you’d generally rather avoid.
What I dislike more than the often annoying conversations that erupt from this revelation is the fact that I have to be “on.” I am no longer Nicole Havelka, average airline passenger; I am Rev. Nicole Havelka, representative of church and God and all things holy. I can’t roll my eyes at the passengers who just can’t seem to find a place for their baggage in the overhead bin. I can’t mutter swear words under my breath when I can’t get a connection to the in-flight Wi-Fi.
In Chapter 5, Lillian Daniel tells a version of this story when her neighbor, with whom she used to share beers on her porch, became a member of her church. The friendship (appropriately) went away. She became his minister, which gave her access to her former friend’s spiritual and religious life in new and amazing ways. But, she lost the times of “talking about nothing” on her porch while enjoying a bottle of beer.
Even with all this griping about the loss of “normal” relationships when you’re a minister, I wouldn’t go back. There are few other professions that would give you opportunities to witness to the wonders of the divine in random public places. Not many other people get to talk very often about how their faith is different than the ones people typically hear about on cable news networks. I get to tell people that it’s OK to swear in front of me; that I think that God has more important things to worry about than a few “bad” words that slip out of our mouths. I get to hear people struggle honestly with their faith, trying to make sense of God and the world.
This reality of living a minister’s life simply makes me appreciate even more the people who allow me to just be “me.” Those people are the friends and family who knew me before I was a minister and the colleagues I know through work in the church. They keep me honest and engaged; they tell me if I’m straying from my core values; they tell me quite simply when I’m being a jerk. Having these supportive relationships are not only good for a minister’s soul; recently, they’ve been found to actually grow the church. In an article published recently by Duke Divinity School’s Leadership Education program, Dave Odom writes about how effective minister leaders are the ones who have vibrant peer relationships. He writes, “Congregations are more robust, growing communities of faith if the pastor is a part of a robust community of faith. By practicing the essential elements of Christian community, pastors are likely to nurture such practices in others.”
Isn’t this true of everyone? We are at our best when we have the right kind of support, when we take the time to nurture our spirits.
For me, this means that I am more likely to shut my book and have a conversation on the next plane I step onto, opening to the possibility of a holy conversation.
Nicole Havelka
Associate Conference Minister for Youth and Young Adult Ministries
Even in my newbie position as a second career person, I get little bits of this "gear-changing."
ReplyDeleteLately, I've been reminded, once gears have shifted, that the signs are right for the end times. Bring it on!
I am not a minister, but I married one. I have some funny stories to tell. I am glad I can now laugh about them (though I remember shedding a few tears years ago).
ReplyDelete1. One elderly church member told me I should never ever call my husband by his first name. She was most serious!
2. Some of my co-workers always apologized for language they used (as though I had never heard a cuss word or two).
3. One church custodian kept removing my baby stroller from behind the last pew – even handing me my sleeping child. I would sit in the last pew so that I could leave if the children became noisy. I am sure he never tried to hold two children and a hymn book at the same time on a Sunday morning.
4. Once during worship my toddler bit my arm. My reflexes slid her down the pew. I was holding our baby in the other arm. So much for good parenting!
5. During one sermon, our oldest yelled out: “Daddy, I have to go potty.” So much for any point he may have been trying to make that Sunday.
I think nursery or cry rooms are wonderful. I did not have one available to me. I understand why some parents just stay home when their kids are babies. For a healthy church we need to welcome the noise of little ones. I’m just glad mine are grown.
I finished reading the book and may or may not blog again. I thank the conference staff for their writing.
As clery (or a clergy spouse) you are confronted with challenging or even annoying conversations, but my intention with this blog was to emphasize the many, many other holy conversations we are privileged to take part in. Being in this role also helps you to constantly strive for your "higher self," meaning that you're constantly challenged to come closer and closer to the Divine in all your daily interactions -- regardless of how difficult they might be.
ReplyDelete