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revdorothyl at 08:35pm on 21/10/2004 under favorite sf reading
revdorothyl at 08:35pm on 21/10/2004 under favorite sf readingIn a bit of irony that it's taken me a few days to come to appreciate, a former colleague of mine (a minister I knew when I was pastoring my first solo parish, who has spent the last 12 years or so as part-time pastor to one of the churches I'd served in that first call) called me up Monday night -- totally out of the blue -- to pass on a compliment to me. Or so he thought.
He'd recently asked the church members to reflect on their best spiritual growth experiences, and it turned out that quite a few of the long-time members had mentioned a Bible study I'd led while I was there, taking them through the entire Bible in one year. I thanked him kindly for the compliment, even though I clearly remember that I wasn't actually able to participate in that study at all.
I remembered the Bible study more and more clearly as we spoke on the phone. I remembered finding the curriculum for it, buying a copy of the study and leadership materials out of my own pocket, and then handing it over to the woman who ran the funeral home across the street and the five or six other adults who regularly attended worship at that church, so that they could -- for the first time in far too many years -- have an actual Sunday School class which they would take turns leading themselves.
I myself was only able to sit in on the class once or twice, when the other church that I served in that yoked parish cancelled services and I didn't have to be 30 miles down the road preaching and leading worship during their Sunday School hour.
But apparently the church members remember it differently -- or at least they gave my colleague the impression that they remembered me as the guiding spirit in that Bible study. Fine.
That's better than not being credited for the things that I did do, I suppose (which happened as a matter of course at the other church I served during those years -- the parishioners would complain that I didn't do this or that or the other thing, in complete contradiction of the facts and what they should have been aware of, if the whole congregation hadn't been so deeply wounded and disturbed from past traumas that nobody filled me in on until it was too late!). But I digress. . . .
By yesterday, I was able to laugh about it, noting that apparently nothing quite so became me in my early ministry as my absence, and that my most effective pastoral leadership consisted in taking myself out of the picture altogether.
And that led me to reflect further on the issues and quotes I'd been playing with since Sunday.
Here's a quick re-print of the two crucial quotes from Lois McMaster Bujold and Madeleine L'Engle.
I've transcribed L'Engle's words from an interview aired on NPR's Weekend Sunday Edition on Nov. 15, 1998 (an audio recording of the complete interview can be found here):
"There's a story that I love of a student who says to his rabbi, 'Rabbi, in Deuteronomy, why are the words of God placed on the heart, instead of in the heart?' And the Rabbi says, 'Well, we are not yet ready to have them placed in the heart. But if we lay them carefully on the heart, when it breaks, they will fall in.'
"We have to be broken. Abandon power. Listen. Go to unexpected places."
And then there are these words from near the end of chapter 26 of Lois McMaster Bujold's 2001 novel The Curse of Chalion:
"I'd storm heaven for you, if I knew where it was.
"He knew where it was. It was on the other side of every living person, every living creature, as close as the other side of a coin, the other side of a door. Every soul was a potential portal to the gods. I wonder what would happen if we all opened up at once? Would it flood the world with miracle, drain heaven? . . ." (pp. 403-4)
and
"Welcome to sainthood, Cazaril. By the gods' blessings, you get to host miracles! The catch is, you don't get to choose what they are. . . .
"Betriz had it exactly backward. It wasn't a case of storming heaven. It was a case of letting heaven storm you. Could an old siege-master learn to surrender, to open his gates?
"Into your hands, O lords of light, I commend my soul. Do what you must to mend the world. I am at your service." (p. 405)
The words from the prophet Jeremiah (bemoaning the way that God has 'stormed his citadel' and used him to work miracles not at all of his choosing) that I didn't have time to track down on Monday morning are in Jeremiah 20:7-9:
O Lord, you have enticed me,
and I was enticed;
you have overpowered me,
and you have prevailed.
I have become a laughingstock all day long;
everyone mocks me.
For whenever I speak, I must cry out,
I must shout, "Violence and destruction!"
For the word of the Lord has become for me
a reproach and derision all day long.
If I say, "I will not mention him,
or speak any more in his name,"
then within me there is something like a burning fire
shut up in my bones;
I am weary with holding it in,
and I cannot.
What I have found particularly compelling and troubling about these words, ever since I first studied Jeremiah in seminary, is that in the original Hebrew Jeremiah's accusation that God has 'enticed' and 'overpowered' him could be interpreted as saying that God has seduced and raped him, in forcing him to prophesy against his will.
The book of Jeremiah can't get much more disturbing than that -- at least, not for me.
So, as I'm trying to reconnect myself with some sense of purpose and mission in my PhD work, and discovering all over again just how very little control anyone in ministry has over the way that we're remembered after the fact or the effectiveness of our words and actions in helping people to connect with God and find food for their souls, and all that, I'm wondering . . .
I'm wondering if it isn't, perhaps, high time that I allowed myself to be a little heart-broken (that the words of hope and redemption may not just lie on top of my oh-so-impressive mind, but fall into my dusty old heart and take enduring root there).
I'm wondering if maybe I should just accept that I'm a window or doorway for whatever work God needs to do in my little corner of the universe, and that all my careful planning and choosing and trying never to say the wrong thing or take the wrong road may not amount to very much, compared to God's ability to work best through my throwaway lines and unremembered gestures and even through my continuing absence.
And I'm wondering if it's time to just give in to that fire burning in my bones, and write something -- write anything -- in order to get my life and my work moving forward again, and give voice to whatever of God still resides within me.
He'd recently asked the church members to reflect on their best spiritual growth experiences, and it turned out that quite a few of the long-time members had mentioned a Bible study I'd led while I was there, taking them through the entire Bible in one year. I thanked him kindly for the compliment, even though I clearly remember that I wasn't actually able to participate in that study at all.
I remembered the Bible study more and more clearly as we spoke on the phone. I remembered finding the curriculum for it, buying a copy of the study and leadership materials out of my own pocket, and then handing it over to the woman who ran the funeral home across the street and the five or six other adults who regularly attended worship at that church, so that they could -- for the first time in far too many years -- have an actual Sunday School class which they would take turns leading themselves.
I myself was only able to sit in on the class once or twice, when the other church that I served in that yoked parish cancelled services and I didn't have to be 30 miles down the road preaching and leading worship during their Sunday School hour.
But apparently the church members remember it differently -- or at least they gave my colleague the impression that they remembered me as the guiding spirit in that Bible study. Fine.
That's better than not being credited for the things that I did do, I suppose (which happened as a matter of course at the other church I served during those years -- the parishioners would complain that I didn't do this or that or the other thing, in complete contradiction of the facts and what they should have been aware of, if the whole congregation hadn't been so deeply wounded and disturbed from past traumas that nobody filled me in on until it was too late!). But I digress. . . .
By yesterday, I was able to laugh about it, noting that apparently nothing quite so became me in my early ministry as my absence, and that my most effective pastoral leadership consisted in taking myself out of the picture altogether.
And that led me to reflect further on the issues and quotes I'd been playing with since Sunday.
Here's a quick re-print of the two crucial quotes from Lois McMaster Bujold and Madeleine L'Engle.
I've transcribed L'Engle's words from an interview aired on NPR's Weekend Sunday Edition on Nov. 15, 1998 (an audio recording of the complete interview can be found here):
"There's a story that I love of a student who says to his rabbi, 'Rabbi, in Deuteronomy, why are the words of God placed on the heart, instead of in the heart?' And the Rabbi says, 'Well, we are not yet ready to have them placed in the heart. But if we lay them carefully on the heart, when it breaks, they will fall in.'
"We have to be broken. Abandon power. Listen. Go to unexpected places."
And then there are these words from near the end of chapter 26 of Lois McMaster Bujold's 2001 novel The Curse of Chalion:
"I'd storm heaven for you, if I knew where it was.
"He knew where it was. It was on the other side of every living person, every living creature, as close as the other side of a coin, the other side of a door. Every soul was a potential portal to the gods. I wonder what would happen if we all opened up at once? Would it flood the world with miracle, drain heaven? . . ." (pp. 403-4)
and
"Welcome to sainthood, Cazaril. By the gods' blessings, you get to host miracles! The catch is, you don't get to choose what they are. . . .
"Betriz had it exactly backward. It wasn't a case of storming heaven. It was a case of letting heaven storm you. Could an old siege-master learn to surrender, to open his gates?
"Into your hands, O lords of light, I commend my soul. Do what you must to mend the world. I am at your service." (p. 405)
The words from the prophet Jeremiah (bemoaning the way that God has 'stormed his citadel' and used him to work miracles not at all of his choosing) that I didn't have time to track down on Monday morning are in Jeremiah 20:7-9:
O Lord, you have enticed me,
and I was enticed;
you have overpowered me,
and you have prevailed.
I have become a laughingstock all day long;
everyone mocks me.
For whenever I speak, I must cry out,
I must shout, "Violence and destruction!"
For the word of the Lord has become for me
a reproach and derision all day long.
If I say, "I will not mention him,
or speak any more in his name,"
then within me there is something like a burning fire
shut up in my bones;
I am weary with holding it in,
and I cannot.
What I have found particularly compelling and troubling about these words, ever since I first studied Jeremiah in seminary, is that in the original Hebrew Jeremiah's accusation that God has 'enticed' and 'overpowered' him could be interpreted as saying that God has seduced and raped him, in forcing him to prophesy against his will.
The book of Jeremiah can't get much more disturbing than that -- at least, not for me.
So, as I'm trying to reconnect myself with some sense of purpose and mission in my PhD work, and discovering all over again just how very little control anyone in ministry has over the way that we're remembered after the fact or the effectiveness of our words and actions in helping people to connect with God and find food for their souls, and all that, I'm wondering . . .
I'm wondering if it isn't, perhaps, high time that I allowed myself to be a little heart-broken (that the words of hope and redemption may not just lie on top of my oh-so-impressive mind, but fall into my dusty old heart and take enduring root there).
I'm wondering if maybe I should just accept that I'm a window or doorway for whatever work God needs to do in my little corner of the universe, and that all my careful planning and choosing and trying never to say the wrong thing or take the wrong road may not amount to very much, compared to God's ability to work best through my throwaway lines and unremembered gestures and even through my continuing absence.
And I'm wondering if it's time to just give in to that fire burning in my bones, and write something -- write anything -- in order to get my life and my work moving forward again, and give voice to whatever of God still resides within me.
(no subject)
Open the basket and let that light shine. The world will be better for being scorched by your fire and hearing your song.
Scorched earth policy
You never fail to amaze and inspire me, Miss M! Thanks for being one who 'gets' me in such a powerful and "wow-is-that-really-how-you-see-me?" way.
(no subject)
I myself was only able to sit in on the class once or twice, when the other church that I served in that yoked parish cancelled services and I didn't have to be 30 miles down the road preaching and leading worship during their Sunday School hour.
But apparently the church members remember it differently -- or at least they gave my colleague the impression that they remembered me as the guiding spirit in that Bible study.
But you were the guiding spirit, first by finding and giving the participants a really good curriculum--and as a Sunday school teacher, I know how important that is--and then by having faith that the class members could handle it themselves and letting them do it. I really believe that sometimes "getting out of the way" is a special kind of ministry, and not always the easiest. This particular case sounds like an example of the old 80/20 rule--that 80% of your results come from 20% of your effort.
Apparently, the 80% of your efforts that were netting 20% of your results were at your other, traumatized congregation. Aren't church politics just delightful sometimes?
I want to talk more about your whole exploration of God's power as potentially violent, but I'm going to have to think more about it first. But thank you for those quotes.
(no subject)
(no subject)
'Apparently, the 80% of your efforts that were netting 20% of your results were at your other, traumatized congregation....'
I think you're right on target in your analysis of the situation. Thanks!
And one part of the problem at that other church was definitely that I was doing all those things for them (partly because they screamed bloody murder whenever I made it seem like they should be doing the work of the church, and partly because it was just easier to do it myself -- a dilemma familiar to mothers and pastors the world around!).
The people didn't recognize or remember what I'd done for them, because what they really needed was a basic rebuilding of their own community, to the point where they themselves could have been involved in the after-school program and bringing in new members and all the other pet projects that were nominally successful but far too dependent on me.
However, I suspect that the challenge of taking them back to the point thirty years earlier when everything had started to go seriously wrong and helping them build a real community instead of the dysfunctional and xenophobic "family" they'd had ever since then was simply beyond my capabilities, even if I'd had the information I needed up front. I couldn't grieve, really, when (some 6 years ago) I got word that the traumatized congregation had finally made the choice to close their doors and dissolve the church.
I'm trying, right now, to apply the lessons inadvertently learned from my ministry to my university teaching -- building into my syllabi a small-group discussion time every week, to make sure that I have to shut up and get out of the students' way for at least 40 minutes of class time a week. (And then try not to be jealous that they're able to have such good discussions and build such cool friendships with each other, without me being the center of attention!)