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