Bee Keeping

“I hadn’t been out to the hives before, so to start off she gave me a lesson in what she called ‘bee yard etiquette’. She reminded me that the world was really one bee yard, and the same rules work fine in both places. Don’t be afraid, as no life-loving bee wants to sting you. Still, don’t be an idiot; wear long sleeves and pants. Don’t swat. Don’t even think about swatting. If you feel angry, whistle. Anger agitates while whistling melts a bee’s temper. Act like you know what you’re doing, even if you don’t. Above all, send the bees love. Every little thing wants to be loved.”
Sue Monk Kidd, The Secret Life of Bees

Seems like bee keeping and just living have a lot in common.  I wonder how life would be if we tried: don’t be afraid; don’t be an idiot; don’t swat; and . . . send out some love.  Every little thing wants to be loved.

Remember That You Are Dust

“Above all, trust in the slow work of God. We are quite naturally impatient in everything to reach the end without delay. We should like to skip the intermediate stages. We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something new. And yet it is the law of all progress that it is made by passing through some stages of instability–and that it may take a very long time. And so I think it is with you. Your ideas mature gradually–let them grow, let them shape themselves, without undue haste. Don’t try to force them on, as though you could be today what time (that is to say, grace and circumstances acting on your own good will) will make of you tomorrow. Only God could say what this new spirit gradually forming within you will be. Give our Lord the benefit of believing that his hand is leading you, and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.”

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, SJ

Faithflation

http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/219342/february-23-2009/turning-to-religion—jim-martin

I swear someday soon I will learn to imbed a video.  Stephen Colbert continues his word-creating roll– I love “faithflation” and I think I will adopt it as a new official term when I talk about what we can do and be as the church in these difficult times.

Gift

Picture me rushing to the mail box September 1 right before final pick-up.

(This crazy, deadline-flirting style would be nothing unusual for me, as many of you know.)

But when I wrote and submitted my application to The Louisville Institute Sabbatical Grants for Pastors program I knew that even if I got it there in time, my winning a grant was a long shot by far. Over 400 pastors applied this year, and believe me, the work it took to meet application requirements (not to mention getting a September 1 postmark) was nothing to sneeze at. And, I suspected even as I slid the manila envelope into the mail slot, many of the applications submitted included far holier proposals than mine.

Calvary, as many of you know, has a very generous sabbatical policy for the pastor: three months of paid leave every four years. This summer will mark my sixth year at Calvary, and I can regularly feel the fatigue my work invites, so I knew it was getting to be time to take a sabbatical. Studies show, hands down, that regular sabbaticals are healthy for both pastors and congregations, increasing clergy retention and health, and even congregational health and growth.

My own need for renewal along with these compelling statistics are enough to convince me that we could all use a sabbatical around here, but the thing is . . . I could never afford the sabbatical of my dreams. And this knowledge was what fueled my rush to the mailbox last September 1, with an envelope laying out my best wish for sabbatical: I would make my way back home to spend some time exploring the various influences that birthed my call to ministry initially, to try to rediscover the optimism, enthusiasm and energy that carried me through early years of ministry.

As this would, by definition, take me to the Hawaiian Islands for an extended period, I thought The Louisville Institute folks might find my application less than holy . . . and, in fact, maybe even a little suspicious.

Thus you might imagine my surprise when, in late December, I received a letter informing me that I had been awarded one of 40 sabbatical grants by The Louisville Institute. Because of the incredible gifts of sabbatical time from Calvary and this grant from The Louisville Institute, I will, in fact, get an opportunity to go to Hawaii for most of the summer with my family . . . to spend time with my parents . . . to revisit all the places and people who birthed and nurtured a call to ministry in my own life. I’ll also have the opportunity to return to Guatemala City, to take two intensive weeks of Spanish language study in the city where I lived my first five years of life. My sabbatical will begin June 13 and last through September 6th.

This past week I traveled to Louisville to visit the Institute and to receive training for how to maximize sabbatical, both for me and for Calvary. It was really not until I sat there among the incredible folks who had also received grants, that I realized how very fortunate I am. I finally had some dedicated time to consider what sabbatical might mean for my life and my work . . . and I have to tell you, the gratitude I feel for having come to this time and place in life and ministry and to be presented with such an incredible opportunity . . . it’s overwhelming.

Thanks to the training I received last week in Louisville, I got a lot of my own questions about sabbatical answered. However, I know all of you must have some, too. What will happen if there’s an emergency? Who will be preaching? How can we keep up with Amy’s adventures? Who will take over the task of providing cutting-edge, evocative-yet-timely quotes to the press??!?

Since all these lingering questions remain, it’s a good thing that our very own moderator, Amy Dale, happens to have a father who is an expert in pastoral leadership and healthy church systems. Bob Dale will join all of us after worship on May 3rd in the Chapel for a short presentation about sabbatical. Then, we’ll all have the opportunity to raise questions and concerns, and Bob will help us talk through some of the details that still seem unclear. Among other things Bob will help us understand why sabbaticals are important, what sabbaticals are and what sabbaticals are not, what things will be like when the pastor gets back, etc. The Pastoral Relations Committee, the team tasked with watching over pastoral matters while I am gone, will also be present to share their perspectives and help us all understand the role they will play while I am gone.

I hope you will join us May 1 after worship to talk with Bob and to hear a little more about what sabbatical will look like for all of us.

And, thank you again for your commitment to healthy community life and to caring for me and my family.

Love is . . .

. . . making chocolate cupcakes with Hannah! 

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Some Thoughts on Following

I used to think that pastors sat around thinking about following Jesus all the time.

(Pause here for uproarious laughter.)

However, I happened to notice the other day that I’ve been thinking a lot more than usual lately about following Jesus. I know if I mentioned it to her, my spiritual director would tell me that, if it’s on my mind, something there is worth noticing. So here’s what I’ve noticed:

The idea of conscientiously following Jesus for me personally has always felt a little unsettling. You know, most days I understand the exercise of following Jesus kind of like working with a trainer at the gym, always pushing me beyond the safe place where I’ve just settled in for a little rest.

“Look harder, Amy, I know you can see the next thing.”

“Go a little further-push that edge; I’m waiting for you to grow a little.”

“I know you never thought of me/life/faith/church like that before. That’s the whole point.”

“I know you’re scared. Come on, I’ll go with you.”

Yes, this understanding of what it means to be a disciple is just a little bit disconcerting for me. See, I grew up understanding faith as a whole list of nonnegotiable rules that I just had to figure out some way to obey, and that my decision to follow Jesus was like a safety net-you know, when I screwed up I could always count on Jesus to bail me out.

It was a very transactional way to view Jesus’ invitation to follow.   And, honestly? For someone like me, who loves the illusion that I can control everything, this approach is quite appealing. It’s very clear and easy to understand . . . mark off the boxes and know for sure that you’ve got it all covered.

I’ve found, in fact, that this approach is much easier than what I now understand about following Jesus . . . which is not transactional at all, but rather more relational.  That is, not black and white rules dropped into my lap, but an entire life of living in relationship with God, learning little by little what it might mean for me to live a life learning to love God and love other people.

And, the more I think about following Jesus the more I hope that in this case, as in as many cases as I can muster, Amy the disciple is the same as Amy the pastor, because there seem to be a lot of people around here who really want to follow Jesus.  I confess I’ve been wondering-a lot-do I ever imply that following Jesus is a lark, a simple adherence to a bunch of rules, a clear-cut transaction? Have I told them enough how following Jesus is full of mystery and can very often lead one in very strange directions? Am I leading this church to understand the walk of faith as an invitation to discipleship in the truest sense of the word, one that might even lead us to live in ways that many would find ridiculously radical? Uncomfortable? Stretching? Maybe even painful? I wonder . . . how do I communicate this strange mystery that cannot, it seems, be quantified or codified? How do I communicate the rigors of being a disciple when I won’t-when I can’t-supply everybody with a laminated pull out list of dos and don’ts to affix to the back cover of their Bibles?

Thanks to a new friend Molly Brummett, I think I might have found one way. She and I were chatting just the other day and she told me something her father always tells her: “Cling to Christ and to everything else be uncommitted.”

When she said it the first time I loved it, then I asked her to say it again so I could let the words sink into my heart a little deeper.

This is exactly what I want to wrap up and give to each dear one I have the honor of accompanying into the waters of baptism or welcoming into church membership or sharing a moment of opening a heart to God. I want to tell them: “In the struggle ahead . . . in all the times when you wonder if you’re really following, if God is even there, if there was only a formula for following Jesus because you just don’t know if you’re headed in the right direction . . . for those times, remember to cling to Christ and to everything else be uncommitted.  Because who knows where following Jesus will lead you? Hang on tight and follow close, no matter what comes your way. “

And I hope, in the deepest part of my heart that I always know that, too.

PTSDmin

Many kind people have asked me this week if I feel relieved.

You see, it was Monday afternoon when I turned my back to walk out of the doctor of ministry office at Wesley Theological Seminary, leaving my huge, final DMin project, that hovering monster who has lived with me for three years now, without one little shred of regret.

I didn’t think I would miss it.

And . . . I sure don’t.

Honestly, while I loved my research and thought my topic was incredibly interesting, there was no acceptable reason on this planet why I should have been engaged in such a rigorous academic process, particularly in light of the few other things I have going on in my life.

Why did you do it then, you ask? That is a fine question, one that provides fodder for countless hours of future therapy, which I may just start now that I have all this free time on my hands.

Regardless of the multiple layers of psychosis just waiting to be explored, however, the fact remains that the project is done, awaiting minor revisions, and I will never, ever have to live with February 1 hanging over my head ever again.

So, I should most certainly feel relieved, wouldn’t you think?

I have been curiously observing the fact that I do not, in fact, feel relieved. Isn’t that strange?

This was underscored last night, when, after hours of insomnia I finally fell into a dream-filled sleep in which I was apparently in the process of completing final papers and projects so I could graduate-simultaneously-from every single school I remember graduating from (this, in other words, does not include preschool). Intertwined throughout my dream were teachers from high school and seminary profs, the faces of my master’s thesis committee staring at me across a very big table waiting for some answer I couldn’t seem to access, and a particularly annoying English professor I had at Baylor. There were other strange details, like getting lost in my own neighborhood because a new development had been built while I was studying . . . but there was a moment of crisis in my dream where I finally realized there was no humanly possible way for me to finish every single thing I had to turn in, and as a result I could not graduate. From anything.

When I woke up, heart pounding, covered in sweat, I decided I have a new disease: Post Traumatic Stress from DMin.

As far as I know there is no known cure for such a disease, so I’m pretty concerned. In fact, I am thinking maybe I should look into possibly finding a cure myself . . . aren’t there some pretty good medical schools around here?