Talk With the Preacher

We’ve instituted a new plan at our house. I totally stole the idea from my sister and, frankly, had my doubts about its effectiveness. So far it has worked shockingly well.

Watching the curious phenomenon of this plan’s implementation in our household has been very funny and, I got to thinking, rather instructive. Here’s the deal.

Each member of our family under the age of 13 (except the dog) receives 21 marbles (okay, really they are beads because I couldn’t find marbles at CVS) every Sunday night. These marbles go into a small container labeled with each person’s name. Each marble represents one half hour of television, computer or X-box.

(Here. Let me do the math for you. That adds up to 10 ½ hours of electronic media per week. If you disapprove I don’t care. We’re doing the best we can.)

Each under-13 member of the family can spend his or her marbles anyway he or she likes during the week. At the end of the week any leftover marbles may be redeemed for .25¢ apiece.
There are, as you might imagine, some accompanying rules:

1. You may not sell or trade marbles, use extortion, torture, bribery or any other means to acquire or hand off marbles. What you get on Sunday night is what you get.
2. Each person must redeem a marble for each half hour of television viewing, computer using or X-box playing. (In other words, if your sister is watching That’s So Raven you cannot sit in the room pretending to read while at the same time watching for free. Even if you swear you’d never be caught dead watching That’s So Raven.)
3. You have complete control over and responsibility for your marbles. What that means is: we’re handing you control over the way you spend your time and the choices you make. What that also means is: don’t lose your marbles.

Mark and I had thought that the announcement of this new system would spur utter outrage. Luckily, either the math skills in our house are sub-par (the practicalities of the matter are that, even if the kids spend 10 ½ hours a week using electronic media, that’s—sadly—far less than they have been doing—those X-box games and visits to www.barbie.com can add up, you know), or the kids were feeling overwhelmed by electronic media out of control, too.

Whatever the reason, watching the new system work has caused quite a bit of amusement on the part of the parents.

Here’s what we’ve noticed so far: Heated corporate mathematical calculations with three little heads bent over the kitchen counter trying desperately to figure out how much money could be made if one were to give up X-box for the ENTIRE week; conversations we’ve been dying to overhear forever, like: “Hey, you want to play hide and seek outside?”; formerly reluctant readers going through bookshelves annoyed because we seem to be missing one of the Box Car Children books; funny notes posted to the bottom of the marble containers that read, “Don’t Forget! Saving for an I-Pod Nano!”.

Strangely enough this new system, while originally meant to be limiting in its enforcement, has suddenly become empowering. Everybody has the tools to make choices; there is no threat of “losing TV privileges,” the severity of which depends solely on how mad you made your mother (instead you’ll just have to hand over a marble and wait a little longer for your I-Pod . . . .); all of the other options of life suddenly appear so much more compelling (who knew our backyard could be so fun?).

What have Mark and I learned from this?

Well, so far we’ve had a whole lot of fun watching our kids figure this out (who knew dreaming up interesting disciplinary tools could be so much fun?). We’ve enjoyed observing non-coerced math practice. We feel strangely successful (if only in brief spurts) at this task of parenting.

And we’re reminded that learning to make the most of what you’ve got can be applied successfully even if you happen to be older than age 13.

You might imagine that an additional perk to this new system is that Mark and I have had much more access to the television and computer (I’m currently thinking about learning how to play Star Wars on the X-box). The question has come up, though, of why it is Mark and I do not have marbles to pay when we want to use electronic media.

Employing our clearly exceptional parenting skills we patiently explained that, since we’ve been parents for over 12 years, our marbles were lost a long time ago.

For as long as I can remember I’ve maintained a list of things I really want to do before I die. Up until this point I have been unable (read: unwilling) to do most of those things because I have been too busy trying to accomplish all the things I am supposed to be doing in life (you know, college, marriage, children, career, graduate degrees . . . this is suddenly making me feel very tired).

It occurred to me a few weeks ago that this is truly a pointless exercise as, if I try to keep up this pace I will most certainly work and work and work . . . and then I’ll die.

Which, of course, will happen to all of us.

But I got to thinking that if I don’t stop to smell the flowers along way then I might miss a few of the things on my short list.

I won’t reveal my whole wish list (have to maintain some mystery, you know) but I will tell you that I have always wanted to learn how to take really good photographs. To this end my husband Mark gave me a gift certificate to take a day-long class with Washington Photo Safari—you know, to try my hand at the shutter and see what happened. (You can see some of my results here. Don’t steal them, as, having taken this class, I am now a professional. And, if you count this blog, published.)

Our small class began the adventure near the Corcoran Gallery of Art and immediately we learned a few critical pieces of information.

First, every single one of us in the class was holding our camera incorrectly. Horribly incorrectly, to be exact. I can’t reveal how you should hold your camera as this is a closely guarded secret of professional photographers (take the class!). Suffice it to say I no longer hold my camera incorrectly. I also learned some interesting things about light and composition, framing and color (oh, that sounds so sophisticated, doesn’t it?).

One thing in particular we learned was that in order to take a good picture you have to remember to see your subject clearly and get low and close.

The teacher made us repeat this mantra over and over (low and close, low and close . . . ); he snuck up behind us and yelled it; he made us kneel, sit, lay on the ground to demonstrate.

You see, he said, you can’t really see something clearly unless you get as close as possible to whatever it is you are studying. And never . . . NEVER shoot down at something. Always get yourself on the same level as whatever you are photographing . . . the same level or lower, in fact.

“Don’t you remember what it means in the English language,” he asked us, “to look up to someone? When you capture an image on film you are marking a moment, registering an identity. You are giving what you see respect.”

I’m glad I took the class; I learned a lot. I’m pretty sure that, in addition to never holding my camera wrong ever again, I could pretty much take that low and close rule and apply it liberally to every area of life.

Just try it:

What is in need of my attention? Low and close. Aren’t those cherry blossoms gorgeous? Low and close. Who needs me to listen? Low and close. Sometimes God seems so far away. Low and close. That church member is driving me nuts. Low and close. I have ten minutes to be quiet and pray. Low and close. I am so happy right at this moment I think I could cry. Low and close.

Life is beautiful, isn’t it? It took four hours of instruction this week to remind me that there is exquisite beauty, heart-breaking pain, tremendous hope and eternal potential all around us.

To see it clearly, though, well . . . you know . . . low and close.

Amen.

I am a very occasional television viewer but recently have become mesmerized by a show called Flip That House. It seems like every time I turn on the television another episode is on (could it be because the show is on about 20 times a day?).

Have you seen it?

The premise of the show is that the cameras follow someone who “house flips” for a living—that is, buys a house, fixes it up and sells it for a huge profit. Usually this process takes 4-6 weeks and involves dramatic changes the appearance of the house. The suspense is, of course, that we won’t know if the flipper will get a return on her investment at the end or not . . . we hang on all through the show, critiquing tile choices and agonizing over uncooperative Real Estate agents. It’s all so suspenseful.

(Now that I think about it, though, I’ve never seen an episode where they didn’t make a whole boatload of money.)

Nevertheless, some of us still feel the suspense.

I pastor an urban church that has gone the way of most “big steeple” downtown churches in recent years . . . when everybody moved out to the suburbs the grand church began to look a little worse for wear, slightly worn around the edges. The big crowds weren’t coming like they used to; the staff spent most days dealing with nursing home visits and homeless people. These downtown churches are kind of like a tarnished Aladdin’s lamp—potential still there but hidden under layers of grime and years.

In Calvary’s case, the potential is hidden under endless fake flower arrangements and donated furniture.

So what would it be like, I thought, if a few of us downtown “big steeple” church pastors got together and figured out what it would take to FLIP THAT CHURCH?

That’s what we were hired to do, right Jim? We’re here to save the day, turn the tide, spiff things up, make everything better, turn a profit! We’ve been hired to FLIP THAT CHURCH!

So what’s it going to take?

By watching Flip That House I have already learned that if you want to make a profit selling your house you must do at least three things. First, kitchens and bathrooms must be modern, clean and new. Second, all appliances should be top-of-the-line. And third, the landscaping has to be immaculate.

I’ve only been on this church flipping adventure for a few years, but I have to say that those three guidelines seem to apply to a church as well. Come to think of it, I just got a message on my voice mail from someone complaining about how the bathrooms are being cleaned. (At least I think I’ve gotten all the fake flower arrangements off the counters!) I also learned this winter when the boiler was not working that more people attend church when the heat is on . . . so I would have to chalk that up as yet another example of these universally applicable axioms. And I think it was about my second month of work back in 2003 when a friend and I dragged electric hedge clippers down to the church and chopped down large portions of overgrown hedges. I can’t prove that this attempt at landscaping has positively impacted the church’s situation, but it is objectively observable that worship attendance has increased since that time.

Even though all of these things help, I suspect that flipping a church is not as formulaic as flipping a house. All of those facility improvements are necessary and good (the building committee of our recently completed 11 million dollar renovation project hopes so, anyway) but there’s something intangible that must find a home in the life of a congregation, take root and become firmly planted in the hearts of every person in the community for a real, genuine church flip to take place.

It sounds so obvious but let me tell you . . . that intangible is love.

And not just a mushy, air-kissing kind of love.

It has to be a real, gritty, stick-around-and-work-it-out kind of love. It has to be the kind of love that keeps us here, praying, contributing, investing, relating . . . because we believe the gospel of Jesus Christ can transform us, our community of faith, our world.

I am hoping for some colorful petunias in the front beds whenever it is that we decide on the landscaping for the new space. Personally, I think I would definitely attend a church with a pretty flower garden. But I’ve been around enough to know that a nice bunch of flowers (or really cool new bathrooms without fake flower arrangements) is not enough to flip this church. The future of these “big steeple” churches–the future of Calvary–depends on whether or not those folks who come by to smell the flowers stay for the business meetings (you know what I mean?).

The real question of whether or not we can flip this church will be answered right after we make our way through the flower garden into the community. If this is a place where people love each other and want to follow Jesus, well, then, this flip is going to turn a profit in the end.

This is certainly far from politically correct, but I must confess that the Dixie Chicks‘ song Goodbye Earl has often been blasted on my CD player and sung at the top of my lungs in the relative privacy of my car.

This song would be a highly inappropriate sentiment for any religious professional, you know.

I have to tell you, though, over the years I’ve had a few Earls in my life. Mostly because I am a religious professional.

So, you might imagine how excited I am that the Dixie Chicks have a new album which includes a song I suspect may have me singing in the car again. (Don’t worry, I’ll keep the windows rolled up.)

Check it out:

The following appeared our March Calvary Caller. I get a whole page every month, you know–the Pastor’s Column. Whenever I write these things I wonder who reads them . . . if anyone. This month, though, I’ve already stopped counting how many people have mentioned the article to me.

Must’ve struck a chord . . . .

I am also beginning to notice that the life of our congregation often mirrors themes and trends in my own life, so hearing all the comments this piece made me think of one of my favorite Sara Groves’ songs: Painting Pictures of Egypt. In it she writes about the story of the Israelites tramping through the desert to the Promised Land wishing so much they were back in Egypt where everything was at the very least familiar.

I feel that way sometimes; I think a lot of us at Calvary feel that way right now, on the verge of this big change. So, here’s the column and the lyrics.

It was a few weeks ago that I was driving down 16th street NOT late for my meeting (very unusual) when a car turned into the driver’s side of my car. For the record, it seems that I was clearly not at fault (also very unusual).

As a result of this accident I had to take some time off work and sit around with a heating pad on my neck. And while I am currently back at work, I still have a rather sore neck.

My point in recounting this story is that in the wake of my accident I had an experience that was more painful than whiplash, more painful even than the $10,000 worth of repairs on my brand new Toyota. You’ll never believe it, but the most painful part was . . . stepping aside.

It’s hard for some people to understand the strange compulsion we preacher types have, the compulsion to be needed. It’s unlikely that this is news to any of you, but just in case . . . did you know that it’s very difficult to do anything without the preacher? Can’t get married, can’t go to the hospital, can’t die . . . all along you thought that was because it was the pastor’s job to be there.

I can’t speak for all pastors, of course, but here I confess my own need for you all to need me, and for the entire church (if not the whole world) to live under threat of complete collapse if not for the influence of my steadying hand.

Go ahead, laugh.

Sometimes I live with that delusion, though, and that was part of the pain I felt when I realized that, in the blink of an eye that morning on 16th Street I had suddenly opted out of monthly Church Council meeting, weekly staff meeting, a marriage counseling session, staff supervision sessions and—horror of horrors—Sunday worship.

Well, you’ll never believe what happened.

Everything went along quite fine without me.

The Church Council met and carried on; the staff still has everything under control; the wedding is going ahead, even with rescheduled premarital counseling; and worship, well worship was beautiful. All this, even without me there.

These thoughts were on my mind last week when I noticed that there is a significant number of new church members populating important committees and boards in the church structure this year. It’s been a few years of rebuilding but it seems like this is a notable year . . . with the work of the Nominating Committee finished and with us well in to the new year, there are many newer church members holding important leadership positions.

In light of this revelation I started to think that some long-time, dedicated members might feel, like I did after my accident, a strange mixture of relief and a little bit . . . okay, a rather significant amount . . . of pain. Things just aren’t the way they used to be. Usually we don’t do things that way (Staff members solving problems on their own? New ideas updating and streamlining old procedures? These are good things!).

I can feel the pain that change brings on, but I also have learned a very important and painful lesson, that lesson being that while I am clearly important and needed . . . well, so is everybody else.

And everything will go on just fine (maybe not the same . . . maybe . . . even . . . better!) while I sit with my feet up for awhile.

So, for all of you old-timers feeling the pain of change, let me assure you . . . I know how you feel. And, the contribution you have made over the years through hours and hours of hard work and unflagging commitment, well, that’s the very thing that has brought us to this point in the first place. Thank you.

Things won’t be the same with all these new folks bringing in new ideas; they won’t be the same, but they might be just as good . . . maybe . . . even . . . better!

You have quite a task ahead of you as you try to teach the new folks what it takes to live a life of commitment to God’s work here at Calvary. But while their enthusiasm is carrying the day, take advantage of the break. Put your feet up for a little while; you haven’t been able to rest for quite some time. Things will change, but as long as we’re all in this together it will seem more like an adventure and less like . . . well, less like an accident!

Everybody needs a LaLa.

Her name is not really LaLa, of course, it’s Bethany, but her Chinese name is Hou Le (happy) and it just seems right to call her La or LaLa. And happy she is, into everything and very busy in her little two-year old explorations of the world. La is my sister Maile and her husband Tim’s fourth child, adopted last year from China. (You can read the story of La’s adoption in a sermon I wrote for Advent last year.)

For some reason that puzzles everyone (though I can’t quite understand why folks are so surprised), my little two year old niece LaLa adores me.

Adores.

And this is not just my own personal opinion. All of LaLa’s dollies are named Amy and she’s totally and utterly convinced that any present she receives comes from Amy. This is perfectly fine with me, of course. I love being adored.

LaLa came to visit this week, as you know if you read my recent post about my sister’s visit, so I got a chance to think about why it is she makes me happy. There are many things about LaLa that warm my heart, one of which is the fact that I am an adoptive parent myself so I know the special, miraculous connection you feel to a child who seems to have dropped straight from heaven into your heart.

In her favor is also the fact that La is totally cute.

But I cannot lie that one of the best things of all about my little niece is the miraculous way she seems to think I hung the moon (or at the very least invented Cheerios). She spent the last few days at my house following me around and exclaiming, “Love you, Amy!” at various unpredictable intervals, running up to me for hugs or snuggling up with a book on the couch right next to me.

Our family is full of spunky girls who seem to take life by the horns. LaLa is no exception, and all the promise I see in her little face gives me hope for the future of this planet we live on. But, I have to say, the thing I love the most about her is how much she adores me. She doesn’t know yet, of course, that sometimes I am not totally and completely adorable.

Until she discovers this, however, I fully intend to enjoy being adored.

One of the crosses I bear in this veil of tears we call human life is that I have two of the most beautiful sisters (Maile, left, and Katie, middle). This may not sound like a particularly difficult burden in the overall scheme of things, but at least give me chance to make my case, would you?

Not only are both of my sisters beautiful, but by any standard, both are also extremely talented and wonderfully kind. (Katie is a fluent Spanish speaker. Maile teaches Pilates and home schools her kids. Arrrggghhhh!)

To add insult to injury they are both younger than I am (which seemed to be a point in my favor growing up but somehow seems less and less like a victory as the years go by).

Maile and Katie are also both fabulous cooks and wonderful managers of their respective homes and they LOVE being stay at home mothers (I was born lacking this gene). Their children are lovely and (usually) well-behaved and their homes are warm and welcoming.

Are you starting to see my side here?

The worst thing of all, and this just adds fuel to the fire, is that both of them are really, really, genuinely nice. I saw where they came from so I don’t feel too bad about expressing my shock at this particular detail; they used to be totally annoying and I have stories to prove it. (Here’s a picture of my 9th birthday party. You can see me in the front row, second from left–love the glasses! Maile–who clearly has aged well–is sitting in the row behind also wearing glasses. Katie is gazing adoringly in my direction on the far right. The other girls were my best friends ever. I can’t remember their names.)

This week has been a hard one, with Mark out of town, some important doctors’ appointments, the start of soccer practice and the move into Calvary’s brand new space. So, my geographically closest sister Maile (high school cheerleader, not that I am bitter) decided to pack her four kids into their van and drive 6 hours to keep me company.

Besides turning my house into a replica of the Cheaper by the Dozen movie set (although, technically there are only 7 kids and one dog here now), what this has meant for me is: my anxiety relieved as my kids are delivered to and met at the bus stop instead of heading out on their own while I try to juggle early morning meetings or fight afternoon traffic; dinner thoughtfully prepared from scratch, shockingly planned more than 5 minutes in advance of its preparation; my house cleaned from top to bottom while I was at work (”just thought it might help”); my kids’ drawers and closets cleaned out and reorganized (I am not lying); and significant progress made on Hannah’s science project (thanks be to God).

While I holed away and finished Sunday’s sermon yesterday afternoon everybody was engaged in meaningful activity (how my sister orchestrates this I have no idea). I took a break from my work and was musing about the unfairness of it all when my sister just happened to walk by (looking gorgeous, I might add), bend down and kiss me on the cheek. “I really love you, Ame,” she said.

This brings tears to my eyes when I think how totally lucky I am to have such wonderful people in my life, despite the totally egregious fact that Maile went to senior prom with Rob Fulford when she knew perfectly well that I was desperately in love with him. (Here’s a picture of me and Maile a few years before she stole my date. Don’t buy her innocent baby face; you can see that, even that early, I was already in pain.)

And, I think it might be time to apologize for that unfortunate incident on the swing set . . . . As I recall it involved Maile jumping off a high swing and getting her skirt caught on the seat. As she dangled in the air screaming in terror I believe I was rolling on the ground laughing until my sides ached. And now, with the benefit of hindsight, I think perhaps I could have stifled the laughter at least until I helped her down. (But it was funny.)

Yes, it is indisputable that life is not fair. But in this case I think I may just be an unfair recipient of too much blessing.

Everyone should be so lucky.

I spent some time with a friend yesterday who told me her mantra for life these days. I thought it might come in handy for me, too. Thanks, Lia.

The Calvary staff spent a day this week with Mark Holland, pastor of Trinity United Methodist Church in Kansas City, Kansas. Mark was kind enough to come in and do a day-long presentation and exploration of a new model of church staffing which calls for a commitment to what he called . . . transformational ministry.

Sounds totally holy, doesn’t it?

Upon hearing this model, all of us in the training thoughtfully nodded throughout the whole presentation (mostly to make Mark think this was nothing new to us).

It’s been a few days, though . . . some time to mull things over. And with the benefit of that time, I’ve started to think that what Mark was asking us to consider was rather radically different from what most of us do. If you really wanted to be wild you might even argue this transformational ministry model goes against some of the basic things that got us into this business in the first place (specifically, that would be, the need that some ministry professionals–none that I know personally, of course–to be the center of attention . . . ).

Mark explained that transformational ministry is an approach to church ministry that challenges the paradigms many of us have accepted as the norm through years of watching them modeled in churches we grew up in and later served. Rather than building a church around a pastor or a staff (how many times have you heard “If only we could get a young/dynamic/energetic/enthusiastic/well-trained/great speaker/handsome pastor then our church would really take off!”), transformational ministry is a model in which everybody is consistently giving everything away.

That is, rather than working to accumulate power, influence, success, kudos, attention, well, the pastor should be working to empower staff who work to empower lay leaders who work to empower congregation members who work to empower visitors, and we keep on empowering, encouraging and equipping each other to be transformed and to enable the transformation of the world through the Gospel.

Mark gave the example of a church food kitchen. He told us (as if we didn’t already know!) that the best job in the food kitchen is serving the mashed potatoes. Remember the first time you served the mashed potatoes? Everybody was so grateful that you were there to serve them hot, nourishing food (as Jesus would!).

And then, Mark explained, when your life is touched by the ministry of serving mashed potatoes, you go out and find someone else who needs to experience the joy of serving others. In so doing, you become a coordinator of ministry–not just a doer, and you start actively empowering many others to experience what it means to live out the Gospel.

The thing the stymies this wonderful process is that it starts to be very fun to have a whole line of people who think you are totally fabulous because, well, because without you they might not get their mashed potatoes.

In fact, sometimes that feeling of being the cheery mashed potato supplier gets so rewarding that we start to really want to always be the one scooping out the mashed potatoes.

And, then, if things really start getting out of hand, I, uh, I mean, that person, who regularly scoops mashed potatoes might start to think that they are the very best mashed potato scooper in the entire world.

In fact, it could be a very real possibility that NO ONE IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE can scoop mashed potatoes in such a holy, Christ-like way.

And then what happens if the pastor, for example, insists on serving mashed potatoes every single day because, well, everyone likes mashed potatoes? That’s nice, except the pastor is being a real hog. He’s doing ministry . . . yes . . . but not for the sake of the Gospel transforming lives but rather for the sake of a lot of people thinking he is holy and a very nice person for giving them an extra scoop of mashed potatoes.

See what I mean?

Transformational ministry . . . what a great idea! It’s kind of like what Jesus did, you know, studiously turning the attention of everyone he met away from political power grabbing, trying always to get on his good side, and toward genuine relationship with God.

At the very core of who I am and what I do, this is what I want . . . for myself, for people I meet, for this whole entire world, to be transformed by the living and the sharing of the Gospel. Wouldn’t it be amazing if the transforming power of the Gospel, instead of being clutched to our chests and hoarded like a mashed potato scoop, could be handed over and multiplied again and again and again, until the transforming power of the Gospel changes not just us but the whole world?

When will we learn this is not about us, no matter how good we are behind the counter? Slow learners though we are, I hope it’s not too much longer.

Nobody likes cold mashed potatoes.