A Church for Starving Artists

A couple weeks ago something happened in my kitchen that has haunted me. Actually it didn’t happen, but it could have.

I was feeding the dog when I got between Spense (the dog) and his dinner which is a dangerous place to stand. Spense jumped hard onto the back of my knees causing me to lose my balance and – almost – fall backwards onto the corner of the dining room table.

I once buried someone who died from falling backwards into a dining room table. (Note: much of my parenting involves this scenario. When our kids asked if they could ride a motorcycle, climb the side of a building or play with a pack of wild dogs, I usually responded, “I just buried someone who died doing that.”)

I caught my balance and didn’t hit my head but my heart was pounding and I shuttered a little and – for the rest of that day – I considered how different life would be if I had actually experienced a head trauma and my family spent that night discussing whether or not I would have wanted life support. Christmas this year would have been very different.

When people say, “It couldn’t happen to me” I find myself not only knowing it could happen to them, but not being surprised when it happens to any of us – “it” being the random fall, the fiery crash, the wayward tree branch, the out-of-nowhere terminal illness. We who are pastors have seen things. Trauma happens and it can happen to anyone. It often happens to the best people.

And so as we pray for those who’ve endured unspeakable traumas this year – and there are millions of those people – let us also be thankful for the traumas that could have happened . . . but they didn’t. We caught our balance. The crash was avoided. The falling branch missed us. The tumor was benign. Even if we have indeed suffered mightily in 2023, it could have been so much worse. In the throes of our actual traumas, it’s possible that we also had people who love us, work that fulfills us, creature comforts that soothe us.

I thank God today for the traumas that didn’t happen. And yet that’s not good enough. If we are fluent in the language of gratitude, may it fuel us with the energy and desire to walk alongside those whose traumas actually did happen. Merry Christmas, friends.

Feel free to sing along to this tune. I don’t care that it’s not really a Christmas carol. And thank you LORD for another year.

New York Times food app and Kristen Scott Thomas

Books by Cole Riley and streaming Brit dramas.

Traveling to places with beautiful scenes

These are a few of my favorite things.

(insert waltz music here)

Driving Amalfi and podcasts with women

Barbie and Ken and some sweet tea with lemon

Crunkleton tastings and babies who sing

These are a few of my favorite things.

When the dog barks, when the church frets, when I’m feeling sad

I simply remember my favorite things and then I don’t feel so bad.

Also among my favorites in 2023: happy progeny settled in their for-now homes, organizations and people who invest in other organizations and people, Pink Turtle cookies, Brie Larson as Elizabeth Zott, Katie Porter, The Walled-Off Hotel, Crema Di Caffè, Fun Guy empanadas, the Dutch guy in Season 3 of Ted Lasso, our electric composter, homemade focaccia, Villa Rufolo, Fred’s birthday camel ride, the ordination of RME, the people who married my children, and The Word Made Flesh.

And in 2024 I look forward to the release of Evan Gershkovich (and all those imprisoned unjustly but his imprisonment is personal.) May God bless you and all in the New Year.

In my tradition (the Presbyterian Church USA) we call ordained clergy either “Ministers of the Word and Sacrament” or “Teaching Elders.” A wise pastor (thanks BW) said to me this past week that he was constantly reminding himself that as a Teaching Elder, his role involves constantly teaching people. The teaching never ends. (Also the learning never ends.)

Often our teaching involves correcting misinformation. Correcting Biblical misinformation (e.g. the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah was not about homosexuality; Mary Magdalene was not a prostitute), theological misinformation (e.g. the pulpit is not elevated because the preacher is the most important person in the room or because the acoustics are better but because The Word of God is to be elevated), and polity misinformation (the richest person in the congregation doesn’t automatically get to serve as an elder) is often difficult. If we’ve always believed something, we assume our beliefs were correct, especially if we haven’t done any Bible study since the third grade.

If we’ve always done things a certain way – from always worshipping on Sunday mornings at 11:00 to always having a member of The ____ Family on the preschool board – there might be pushback when someone says, “You know, we could worship at 10:30” or “Let’s elect a new church member to the preschool board.”

Correcting God’s children – especially in these days when authority figures are not always considered trustworthy – is not for the fainthearted. Obviously it’s more effective to teach in ways that don’t shame or slam people. Now more than ever, our spiritual leaders need people skills. 

It’s a joy to teach curious, interested humans. But what if God’s children in our particular context are not only incurious or disinterested, but they are unteachable? What if we serve a people who have always believed X and plan to always believe X – whether it’s true or not?

I don’t have an answer for this. But I believe this is at the crux of our political and theological divides. If we have no interest in learning beyond what we already know, it’s impossible for us to grow spiritually. The God we learned about as children is different from the God revealed to us today. The world we knew as a child is different from the world we know today. Or at least, it should be.

Something to ask ourselves: How teachable am I? How willing am I to change my perspective? How willing am I to consider something I’ve never considered before?

I believe our ability to grow closer to God and each other depends on our answers.

I was in a local neighborhood last week behind a private school bus, slowed down by regular stops in front of palatial homes in one of Charlotte’s more expensive neighborhoods. Little children leaped off the bus and walked up to multi-million dollar homes without a care in the world. Or maybe they had so many cares in the world. Who knows?

I was wondering, “What is it like for a child to grow up in a house like that?“

People – as adults – often refer to their childhoods by saying “I didn’t know we were poor” or “I had no idea we were rich.” Kids imagine that their worlds are like everybody’s world . . . until they experience visiting a classroom friend whose home life is very different from their own. And some kids are never exposed to anyone who’s life is in a different caste from their own.

Yes – we live in a caste system in the United States. There are kids (I was one of them) for whom college was an expectation. And there are kids for whom college is a dream . . . unless they go into profound debt and then they might spend the rest of their lives paying it back. Unless they sell a multi-million dollar app to Silicon Valley, they will never be able to own a home in a middle class neighborhood much less in the Home Alone neighborhood pictured above. And there are kids who know from an early age that they will never escape their circumstances.

Remember that Jesus was born in a cave.

I have visited that cave – or at least the space below the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem which is presumed to be the site of Jesus’s birth – and it was safe and dry. But it was not a proper home. It was a space to keep farm animals. In spite of the plethora of creche sets framing the Holy Family in a wooden stable, there were no stables except for caves. Jesus was born in a cave.

[Note: Although it’s for another blog post, also remember that the birthplace of Jesus along with many places where he taught are now under fire and/or being settled illegally by people dispossessing those who’ve lived in the West Bank for generations.]

Especially today when money seems to be everything, when young people aspire to “be rich” rather than serve a calling that brings them meaning or purpose or offers service to others, we need authenticity and goodness and grace and altruism and compassion for other human beings. Even in my Church Bubble, I find it surprising when people make sacrifices for each other. (I just watched Leave the World Behind which illustrates our tendency to take care of our own families at the expense of our neighbors.)

As we approach the day when we remember that our Creator came to us in the form of a poor Palestinian child who was called The Son of David because of his Israelite heritage, we must remember that wealth separates us in more ways than one. Most of us don’t live in million dollar homes or drive new cars or have college educations or travel internationally on a regular basis or eat in 5 star ( or even 3 star) restaurants or have dependable health care. The wealthiest among us are generally separated from what our poorer neighbors goes through every day.

And so we wait. We wait for justice. We wait for the coming of God’s reign. We wait in hope.

Please tell them.

As I often tell Pastor Nominating Committees, it’s better not to have a pastor than to wish you didn’t have one. There are too many pastoral leaders out there who are in the wrong role or unwilling to pivot or are unteachable. And so if you appreciate your pastors, please let them know by:

• Telling them – preferably in writing. Emails count as writing.
• Honoring their Sabbath. That means you. No phone calls or emails unless it’s a life and death situation.
• Gifting them with something meaningful – and I’m not talking about a church plate or a photo of the sanctuary. Gift cards to restaurants and book stores are always lovely.
• Pay them as generously as possible.
• Remember they are called to serve God, not your personal ecclesiastical whims.
• Remember they are called to serve God, not to perpetuate an institution, even if it’s your longtime Church Home.
• Remember that Scripture says their job description includes equipping you to fulfill your own ministry.

Mosaic of Martha – Matron Saint of Clergywomen – by pastor and artist Beth Merrill Neel who is someone you should know.

I attended a interesting gathering recently with people who identify as Christian entrepreneurs. Several pastors were also there, but – interestingly – I only recognized one of them and I know a lot of pastors in this town. Admittedly I don’t know everyone but I was clearly in a room of strangers.

I was invited by one of my favorite Christian entrepreneurs and I know that she and I agree on several things like the ordination of women and LGBTQA+ people.

Like in every other interaction in these divided times, my ears perked up when I heard the speakers make positive references to “biblical marriage” and Hobby Lobby just like some people’s ears perk up when they hear terms like “gender-affirming care” and AOC. There are cultural code words that immediately cause us to make a judgement – positively or negatively. And we sort ourselves accordingly.

I decided to give the speakers some grace and – as they spoke – I looked up their organizations. All of them showed leadership that was 100% white and 100% male (except for administrative assistants or leaders specifically identified for their ministry to women.) Obviously organizations have the right to pick their own leadership. But then there was an invitation to participate in some upcoming cohorts and conversations. I think I would love to participate. But – honestly – I’m not sure I would be welcomed.

I would not participate to pick a fight. I’m truly interested in the intersection between faith and entrepreneurship. And yet, would our basic theological differences get in the way?

(Note: this is what it must feel like to be a Person of Color in White Spaces or a Queer Person in Straight Spaces every single day. I am usually welcomed in every room I find myself.)

The future of Church involves people of different backgrounds and perspectives seeking God’s will together in love and respect. The Reign of God includes people of every kind from every neighborhood brought together by the Creator who made us all.

So . . . I completed an interest form at the Christian Entrepreneur event and I would love to participate in one of their 2024 cohorts. And I also noted in “other information” that I was a PCUSA clergywoman who believed that God also calls LGBTQA+ believers to lead and that I hope I would still be welcomed to participate. I’ll let you know.

Image is from Etsy and you can order your mat here.

“Over the course of her long ascent from ranch girl to the first female justice on the Supreme Court, (Sandra Day O’Connor) had come to understand that self-restraint and civility would make her more, not less, powerful.” Evan Thomas for The Washington Post

I deeply respected Sandra Day O’Connor in spite of our political differences. She dealt with both her personal and professional life with a kind of calm and maturity I aspire to have. More calm and maturity would be helpful in politics, in business, and especially in church these days.

When Sandra Day graduated third in her Stanford Law School class but could not get a job because of her gender, she pivoted and served as a deputy county attorney in California offering to work without pay.

When Chief Justice Warren Burger introduced Sandra Day O’Connor as the newest member of the Supreme Court with these words – “You’ve never seen me with a better-looking justice” – she most likely noted it but waited to respond with actions over words.

When her husband was ill with dementia to the point of believing that a different woman was his wife, she was relieved that he was at peace, knowing that Alzheimer’s was the reason for his confusion.

When the Supreme Court voted to uphold Roe v Wade in 1992, she voted to keep the law for the sake of the wider population knowing this would displease some in her own political party.

Many of us who are not white and male have learned to keep our frustrations to ourselves through the years. And my point here is not that there is never a time to speak up. My point is – and this makes me so weary – we have got to learn how to treat each other with calm restraint.

• When we know God is calling us but the world is not cooperating, we might need to pivot.
• When someone makes a comment about our shoes, our spouse’s hair, our kid’s personality, or anything else that we’d call unnecessary if not inappropriate, we file that away and move on.
• When we can be a drama queen – or king or ruler of any kind – we choose to be unflappable.
• When a huge decision is to be made, we choose according to what’s best for the whole, not what’s easiest for ourselves.

Yes, sometimes I want to scream, lash out, send an angry email, retaliate, avenge, blackball, gossip about, blow off steam and/or throw shoes in response to the actions of others. And I need safe people with whom I can express my frustrations. But we have got to restrain ourselves.

Last week in multiple conversations with pastors and other church leaders, the same issue kept popping up: we have forgotten how to treat each other. Not every off-handed comment deserves a nuclear reaction. Not every bump in the road requires a defensive strategy. Not every slight means we are a hapless victim.

Again, there are times to speak up and out.

And yet there is enormous power in restraint and civility. Exhibit A: Justice Sandra Day O’Connor.

Image of Justice Sandra Day O’Connor painted by Jean Marcellino for The National Portrait Gallery in Washington, DC (2008)

If we claim that we’re free of sin, we’re only fooling ourselves. A claim like that is errant nonsense. On the other hand, if we admit our sins – simply come clean about them – God won’t let us down. 1 John 1:8 MSG

As families of every kind gather this week for good food and good company – or so we hope – the truth is that each of us can be a jerk. Every one of us has moments when we are not our best selves. We might be whiners. We might be liars. We might be selfish. We might hold grudges we have no desire to release.

This is a great week to be pardoned. Maybe we need to ask God to forgive us. Maybe we need to forgive ourselves. Maybe we need to forgive someone else.

How do we forgive hostage takers or war criminals or terrorists? How do we forgive political enemies whose policies literally hurt us or people we love? I don’t know.

But maybe there is a turkey out there we can pardon this week. Maybe that turkey is us.

Have a peaceful Thanksgiving. We all need to be forgiven.

MSG = The Message transliteration of The Bible by Eugene H. Peterson.

When TBC was 4 or 5 years old, there was a guest soloist in church who was so striking. She was statuesque and beautiful and sang as if the roof would blow off the sanctuary. TBC watched from the second pew and – like everyone else – couldn’t take her eyes off the soloist.

On the way home in the car, in our weekly review of worship, I asked TBC, “What did you think of the singer?” and her response became one of our family sayings:

“She thought she was the prettiest girl in the room.”

TBC continues to have an uncanny ability to read people to this day.

My usual prayer of confession on Sunday mornings is “Please forgive me for making things about myself.” I secretly want to be the prettiest girl in the room even though I also don’t want to be the prettiest girl in my most pious moments.

Every day we can watch people: coworkers, politicians, Academy Awards winners, and frenemies who think they are the prettiest girl in the room. I’ve seen many a pastor – male and female but mostly male – who believe they are the prettiest girl in the room. (Sorry, guys.)

Like most of my blog posts, this one is directed squarely at myself: let’s strive not to be the prettiest girl in the room. The world is not about us. Our work is not about us (especially professional ministry.) And Thanksgiving next week will not be about us.

Nobody baked your favorite pie? Don’t pout about it. Eat more sweet potatoes.

We have Biblical illustrations about people trying to be the prettiest girl in the room and they are challenged about that. This is an especially good time to remember that life is bigger than we are and while we might be statuesque and good-looking and blessed with a beautiful voice, we are not the center of the universe. Not today or any day.

Have a lovely weekend, all you Children of God.

When one of our kids was in summer camp, they started each session with a litany of healthy practices:

Leader: We will play outside . . .

KIDS: EVERY DAY!

Leader: We will read books . . .

KIDS: EVERY DAY!

Leader: We will be kind to a stranger . . .

KIDS: EVERY DAY!

I found myself tonight saying to one of my favorite pastors who – like me – is exhausted even though we both got a sabbatical last summer:

“Even though there are so many storms, something hopeful happens every day” I told them. I even surprised myself when those words came out of my mouth, but it’s true. Just this week:

• Monday – Coffee with a seminarian under care whose brain I love.
• Tuesday – Brunch with our newest members of Charlotte Presbytery (even though some have been with us for three years. We’d stopped doing these during COVID.) It was fun to watch them connect.
• Wednesday – Gathering with Mid-Council Leaders in a national conference to talk about church finances. Love the statistics because they spark possibilities.
• Thursday – Talking with one of my favorite pastors about a family memorial service.
• Friday – Lunch planned with one of my favorite aunts.
• Saturday – Holiday Market here is Charlotte.
• Sunday – Preaching at one of my favorite congregations who prayed that they would grow and they welcomed 30+ new members last month from the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Of course these are not the only things happening in a given day. Every day in Church World there might be meetings that make our eyes glaze over or conversations that exhaust us or conflicts to mediate or missteps that require grace or complaints that make us feel frustrated or even vicious behavior that breaks our spirits. (See my last post.) But I am channeling the summer camp leader who started with a healthy practices litany:

Me: Something hopeful will happen EVERY DAY.

Image of fall bulbs planted in hope.