I have a sense of humor like the next gal. So does one of my members. Yesterday, she sent me one of those email forwards. It got me laughing out loud at first, until I realized some of this resonated a little too close to home. Still it was sent in good fun and so I pass on to you pastors (and congregations) out there. Here goes.
Good News and Bad News For a Pastor
Good News: You baptized seven people today in the river.
Bad News: You lost two of them in the swift current.
Good News: The Presbyterian Women voted to send you a get-well card.
Bad News: The vote passed by 31-30.
Good News: The Elders accepted your job description the way you wrote it.
Bad News: They were so inspired by it, they also formed a search committee to find somebody capable of filling the position.
Good News: You finally found a choir director who approaches things exactly the same way you do.
Bad News: The choir mutinied.
Good News: Mrs. Jones is wild about your sermons.
Bad News: Mrs. Jones is also wild about the "Gong Show," "Beavis and Butthead" and "Texas Chain Saw Massacre."
Good News: The trustees finally voted to add more church parking.
Bad News: They are going to blacktop the front lawn of your parsonage.
Good News: Church attendance rose dramatically the last three weeks.
Bad News: You were on vacation.
Good News: Your biggest critic just left your church.
Bad News: He has been appointed the Executive Presbyter.
Good News: The youth in your church come to your house for a surprise visit.
Bad News: It's in the middle of the night and they are armed with toilet paper and shaving cream to "decorate" your house.
Now, I don't know about you, but where there is some truth in these "funnies," I felt my face flush. We actually are looking for a new choir director, and some of the praise team DID mutiny last year.
However on reflection, God is always up to something good in every so-called bad situation. Bad news is relative, isn't it? Bad news to some is good news to another. Bad news can be a wake up call. Bad news can cause us to face our fears, consider the other person's angle, and evaluate our own poor judgment. Bad news may be a way of affirming something God is trying to tell you.
Take for instance the one about attendance going up while you're on vacation. If a pastor believes everything revolves around her preaching, then she has put herself at the center of worship, not God. Perhaps the Spirit was waiting for her to get out of the way...
Maybe God has something to say through Beavis and Butthead. Craig Detweiler, Professor at Fuller has devoted his career to exploring God in culture and indeed, would say "Preach it, Beavis!"
And if we truly believe that it is God who calls one to serve, could it be that the critical member was actually called to the EP position because of this gift? The gift of telling it like it is in a time when straight talk, critical reflection, and difficult conversations are called for? And could it be that the pastor's job description was the work of the Holy Spirit's vision for change in the life of the church, and in the life of the pastor?
At the end of the day, bad news may be truth that transforms.
I would like to assume that the youth group targeted my house because I was cool.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Monday, August 25, 2008
In life or death we belong to the Lord
The day after my last posting, my Mom and I learned from her oncologist that the chemo she had been taking since December to inhibit the metastasized breast cancer that had spread to her liver, was no longer holding it at bay. We suspected the same. Month after month, her already frail body was collapsing from the cancer's reign in her bones, her breath was shortening, her memory was escaping her, and she was tired. On August 5 she stopped the chemo. On August 7, Hospice joined our family. On August 15 she moved to Hospice House. And on August 18, she went to be with the Lord. Peacefully, painlessly, finally. She was 89 and fought the good fight.
I'd like to say I was prepared for this, being a pastor and all, and knowing Mom had lived a long and full life, loving people, serving the Lord through the church. In my ministry, I have sat at the bedside of many in the same condition, and prayed with families preparing to say goodbye. I presided over the funerals of my husband's parents. I said the words, many, many times, "Dust to dust..." I listened to countless stories about loved ones now departed, in preparation for the funeral message and to comfort the families. I knew what was happening to her, to me, and what was to come. After all, every nano second, someone dies. It is the way of life.
But, I found myself experiencing this death as a daughter, not a pastor. Thank God. Because I did not miss one minute of the pain and loss, the weight of decisions made from day to day about her care, the embrace of friends, and the tears from family shed as we watched her slip away. I struggled with running on empty, as families do when a vigil is underway, relatives coming and going, phone calls of conversations about her love and friendship. I sat on the other side of the table making funeral plans, and realized, everyone needs to be ministered to. Even a minister. Especially this one.
I thank God for this occasion. For the tender and holy way Mom was cared for. For the reunion with Mom & Dad's friends of my childhood who came along side us. For being able to rest in the assurance that she was going to be with the Lord. For her pastor, Fr. Gar, who understood that this pastor would need him to gently lead me back to my place as daughter, and tease out my emotions. For my congregation, who gracefully suspended me from my duties and loved us with food and prayers. As it turns out, no one wanted me to miss what it means to be fully human - to come face to face with death, in all it's glory. In all it's pain and confusion. In all it's loss. In all it's hope.
Mom's home Hospice nurse was Erin. Erin has a young daughter who was telling her teacher what her mother did. "She's a nurse, " the child said. When the teacher said "How nice that is," her daughter replied, "yeah, but all my Mom's patients die." My sister asked Erin, "How do you do this? Knowing your patients always die?" Erin said with a smile, "It's like a birth to me, attending them as they transition through this life to the next."
That was the gift I received too. Watching my Mom transition from this life to the next. And like a wee baby coming into the world, this transition is not without struggle, pain, worry and wonder. But unlike a birth, I shall not be able to hold my Mom in my arms for awhile. For she is resting in the arms of Jesus now.
"In life or death, we belong to the Lord. Even at the grave, we make our song 'Hallelujah!' "
Mom, rest in His peace. I promise I will too, as I soon begin the journey of missing you.
I'd like to say I was prepared for this, being a pastor and all, and knowing Mom had lived a long and full life, loving people, serving the Lord through the church. In my ministry, I have sat at the bedside of many in the same condition, and prayed with families preparing to say goodbye. I presided over the funerals of my husband's parents. I said the words, many, many times, "Dust to dust..." I listened to countless stories about loved ones now departed, in preparation for the funeral message and to comfort the families. I knew what was happening to her, to me, and what was to come. After all, every nano second, someone dies. It is the way of life.
But, I found myself experiencing this death as a daughter, not a pastor. Thank God. Because I did not miss one minute of the pain and loss, the weight of decisions made from day to day about her care, the embrace of friends, and the tears from family shed as we watched her slip away. I struggled with running on empty, as families do when a vigil is underway, relatives coming and going, phone calls of conversations about her love and friendship. I sat on the other side of the table making funeral plans, and realized, everyone needs to be ministered to. Even a minister. Especially this one.
I thank God for this occasion. For the tender and holy way Mom was cared for. For the reunion with Mom & Dad's friends of my childhood who came along side us. For being able to rest in the assurance that she was going to be with the Lord. For her pastor, Fr. Gar, who understood that this pastor would need him to gently lead me back to my place as daughter, and tease out my emotions. For my congregation, who gracefully suspended me from my duties and loved us with food and prayers. As it turns out, no one wanted me to miss what it means to be fully human - to come face to face with death, in all it's glory. In all it's pain and confusion. In all it's loss. In all it's hope.
Mom's home Hospice nurse was Erin. Erin has a young daughter who was telling her teacher what her mother did. "She's a nurse, " the child said. When the teacher said "How nice that is," her daughter replied, "yeah, but all my Mom's patients die." My sister asked Erin, "How do you do this? Knowing your patients always die?" Erin said with a smile, "It's like a birth to me, attending them as they transition through this life to the next."
That was the gift I received too. Watching my Mom transition from this life to the next. And like a wee baby coming into the world, this transition is not without struggle, pain, worry and wonder. But unlike a birth, I shall not be able to hold my Mom in my arms for awhile. For she is resting in the arms of Jesus now.
"In life or death, we belong to the Lord. Even at the grave, we make our song 'Hallelujah!' "
Mom, rest in His peace. I promise I will too, as I soon begin the journey of missing you.
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