Chapters 14 & 15

Martin Copenhaver reminds us that the day when the pastor was the smartest guy (and it was a guy!) in the community has long passed.  No matter what a pastor might be called upon to do, there’s probably someone around who can do it better. 

Okay pastors, how do you feel about this?  Is this threatening?  Is it discouraging?  Should it motivate us to bone up on some point of esoterica so we can be the best at SOMETHING?

Copenhaver’s thesis is that the pastor in 21^st century America is not called to be an expert – she is called to a ministry of wisdom.

When I was days short of my 30^th birthday, on a January weekend of record-breaking cold and wind chill in Platteville, Wisconsin, I preached a candidating sermon (before a congregation of 31 persons – 16 of whom got up to sing when it time for the choir!), and was subsequently called as pastor of this fledging congregation I would serve for the next 8 years. 

No big deal, right?  In fact, though I was thrilled at the call, I was also scared to death.  Among the seven founding families of this congregation were seven (count ‘em!) PhD’s – and two or three more would join in the first few months.  What in the world was I thinking in accepting such a call?  I grew up in a decidedly blue collar family – was the first on either side of the family to go to college – and really knew nothing of the world of academia or professions.  My first pastoral call had been with people about whom I at least knew a little – this was utterly cross-cultural!

By God’s grace (and certainly nothing more than that), those eight years became the most formative of my pastoral career.  I can remember thinking that I faced a choice – to pretend I knew more than I did, or to lay my inexperience and ecclesiastical clumsiness right out in the open, and see what this congregation – and God, through them – might teach me.  I believe that decision – to eschew pretension – was as important as any I’ve ever made.  I had no idea what I was doing – my bag of tricks was meager – my level of sophistication was laughable.  If I possessed any wisdom at that point it was far more potential that realized.

There’s no sure-fire recipe by which to get wise – except perhaps to acknowledge one’s need for wisdom.  If there’s anything sure to sink a pastor-parish relationship, it’s for the pastor to pretend he’s something he’s not.

Martin obviously learned a lot from his father.  The story about the way his father led his congregation through the decision of UCC affiliation was instructive.  He kept his ego in check.  He gave voice to those with whom he disagreed.  He listened carefully before he ever spoke.  These are all disciplines by which wisdom may be grown.

I’m not as smart and certainly not as articulate as Copenhaver – but if asked about getting wisdom, I’d suggest this:

·         Don’t pretend you’re something you’re not.  You’ll never convince anyone anyway, so don’t try.  Humility – especially if it isn’t affected – is very becoming.  It’s honest, too!

·         Keep your eyes and ears open.  Unless you are already dead, there’s still more to learn, and sometimes the most important lessons originate from the most unlikely sources.  As soon as you or I decide there’s nothing to be learned from this person or that situation, we are on the verge of impoverishing ourselves.

I’m curious….what have YOU learned about wisdom in the course of your ministry?

Rich Pleva

Conference Minister, Iowa Conference UCC

Chapters 12 & 13 - A Ministry of Relying on Grace

To a casual observer of people in ‘professional’ ministry, it may seem like they are always the ones extending grace to other people. Most of the time it’s actually the other way around.

Martin B. Copenhaver and Lillian Daniel in Chapters 12 and 13 of This Odd and Wondrous Calling recall two instances early in their ministries of their own overwhelming need for grace as they live God’s calling.

Copenhaver recalls a time early in his ministry when he was arrogantly lecturing one of the homeless men who stayed overnight in their Westport, Connecticut church. During the “Stern Lecture,” he was interrupted by a call from the police telling him that he had “stolen” gas when he filled up at the local gas station. Although it was a mistake, the police officer initially insisted that he had to arrest him; at least until he told him that he was a minister.  The recipient of “The Stern Lecture,” who as in his office the entire time, simply said, “Well, nobody’s perfect, I guess.”

Daniel tells a story about working out her own demons while serving as a fearful intern at a mental hospital. Her demons told her that no one respected her because she was young and not ordained. Her supervisor insisted that she go out and simply talk to the people in the halls who were spewing conspiracy theories or rocking in corners. She did this reluctantly for months until she was finally able to lead a worship service. During the more than 20-minute sermon, a woman piped up and asked if they could pray to Princess Grace of Monaco. Daniel tried to redirect her without success. Daniel finally paused, realized that Jesus called her to minister to these poor and dispossessed people. She scrapped her plan and invited the group to sing hymns and tell their stories.

The practice of ministry is peppered with these kinds of moments. Moments when you realize that, as one of my favorite seminary professors always said, “It’s not about you.” The Holy Spirit undoubtedly works through these moments to keep you “walking humbly with your God.”

I remember serving as an intern with The Night Ministry in Chicago while I was in seminary. I served as a “ministry intern,” which meant that I went out with the organization’s health and outreach bus and talked to patrons who came to the bus for basic health care services, hospitality and some nonjudgmental conversation. I spent months talking with people who were homeless and lonely, sometimes even addicted to drugs or involved in sex work. These people would tell me about their simple needs – food, a safe place to live or $20 to use the bus that week to get to their new job.

In my supervision meetings each week, I’d rail about how easy it would be to fix these simple problems if people were just willing to share more of their own things. I’d wonder out loud: Why did these problems even have to exist? Why don’t people do more? Why can’t I do more?

After weeks of this rant, my supervisor, who’d been serving as a night minister for years, said to me, “These people survived before they knew you.” His words were like a splash of cold water in the face. It wasn’t about me. It was about them – about them finding their own abilities and dignity that was granted to them by God and no other. They didn’t need me or anyone else to DO anything for them. They needed me to remind them of that loving, compassionate God that was with them always.

God was the one who who was in charge of the transformation. Not me.

Nicole Havelka
Associate Conference Minister Youth and Young Adult Ministries

Chapters 10 & 11 - What Shall I Call You?

In a classic comedy routine entitled “Seventy-Five Dollar Car” Bill Cosby, the physical education major, tells the story of his super-intelligent philosophy major girl friend who goes around asking questions like “Why is there air?” The years may have dulled my memory of the routine, but I remember that his answer went something like this: “I’m a jock. Every jock knows why there’s air. There’s air to blow up volleyballs and basketballs.”

I was reminded of this routine when reading Chapter 10. Martin Copenhaver asks the question “What shall I call you?” On the surface, it seems almost as silly a question as the one posed by Bill Cosby’s girl friend.  Unfortunately, it seems just as silly a question when you scratch beneath the surface.

I don’t mean to be crass or overly simplistic, but as ministers we are providers of personal services. Those to whom we provide those serves are, in a very real sense, our customers. To me, that is the end of the analysis. “What shall I call you?” is the same question as “Why is there air?” My response is like Cosby’s, simple, direct and completely prosaic. “I provide a service. What you should call me is whatever makes you most comfortable in consuming that service.”

How I react to what you call me is my problem, not yours.

I Was Looking for a Pastor, but You’ll Do.

Lillian Daniel is really clever. Her essay seems to be aimed at those who are thinking about taking the plunge into assistant pastor-ship. But is it really? I think not. I think she’s really looking through the other end of the telescope. She is talking to senior pastors, and not just to senior pastors, but to all of us who spend any part of our day supervising employees. What she has to say about treatment of newly minted seminarians is just as true about the treatment of secretaries, custodians and organists. They’re people too.

As I travel around the western part of the conference, I seem to spend a lot of my time trying to put out fires caused by my colleagues who temporarily lose sight of this simple fact. In his seminal work  A Hierarchy of Needs, Abraham Maslow argued that human behavior is influenced by the desire to satisfy various physical and psychological needs. This hierarchy  of needs is often represented as a pyramid. At the bottom of his pyramid of needs are the most basic physical needs, the ones upon which our actual physical survival depends: air to breath, food to eat, water to drink.  Once these needs are satisfied, however, behavior is influenced by “higher” hungers: the need for self-esteem, achievement, respect by others.

Whether we are senior pastors in large churches or sole pastors in churches with only part-time employees, we are all managers. One of our jobs, whether we like it or not, is to motivate those we manage. We need to influence their behavior in ways that maximize their performance. We need to remember Maslow.

An “attaboy” or an “attagirl” is a much stronger motivator than telling those we supervise that “The floggings will continue until morale improves.”

Tony Stoik, Associate Conference Minister Western Iowa