The Many “Hats” of Ministry Development

It has been nearly a year since I last posted to my blog. Not out of a lack of interest: I do enjoy writing. But I would guess it is more a matter of my difficulty in determining which hat or hats I am now wearing and whether I can hold on to them long enough to post something before the winds of change blow them away. 

Over the past year in the picturesque mountains of rural Western Maryland, I have experienced the highs and lows of mountaintops and valleys. I have held hands with a dozen or so active parishioners as they decided that they no longer could continue to hold services as a viable independent parish. Exhausted of energy, time and a range of needed talents, the people needed to look elsewhere to develop new church community relationships. We grieved together, but we knew that we needed to say “goodbye” to that which no longer was viable to participate in something new and growing. It was a courageous faith-filled decision, and I was blessed to be one of their companions.

I mourned that change as their parish priest, but I rejoiced in their strength of faith and resilience as they moved on to other parish communities. They have since discovered new interests and activities in their new church homes. Some have explored other new interests now that they no longer have had to be the sole (and soul) sustaining force in their previous community.

And now I rejoice again as I wear my ministry developer and diocesan staff “hat” as I see other church communities look at those same tired buildings and envision new possibilities for those facilities. Imagination—God-centered imagination--is at work as these church communities tour the buildings and suggest new life to be born inside. Like a young butterfly emerging from a cocoon, the possibilities are yet to unfurl.

Yet, I also explore several of the other “hats” that I wear as well. I continue to visit the sick, the dying, the grieving. I listen to their stories. I sit quietly beside them. I coax them to see the possibilities. I invite them to acknowledge God’s presence with them in the times of struggle and of rejoicing. And sometimes—yes, sometimes—I hear them speak of new ways in which to direct their energy as they emerge from loss, sickness or grief. Those are very special moments. I witness new life, and I am invited to the most precious of invitations: to companion them in their grief, fears and sadness.

Ministry development requires many hats and many hat changes. I wonder which hat I will wear next?! I guess I will know better tomorrow.

 

Theresa+

 

Church and the Three-Ring Circus

I write this message while I am attending the third annual Living Stones Partnership meeting held at the Circus Circus resort in Las Vegas, Nevada. This is the annual meeting of the partnership of dioceses, seminaries, individuals, and communities of faith interested in mutual/shared ministry. Through the partnership, communities explore ways to assist and support persons in discerning their gifts and then empowering them to use those gifts as God and Christ are calling them to do. At its essence it is a matter of letting the light of Christ shine forth, much like the focus of the Epiphany season’s Sunday lectionary readings of recent weeks.

 

As I meet with colleagues and friends in this city of bright lights and overstated opulence, light and brightness surround me. Christ is right here, serving the thousands of people who work very hard in the entertainment and hospitality business, those who support those businesses, and the many who are suffering from financial or other adversities.

 

But Las Vegas also is a city of noise. The clamor of slot machines, as well as the voices of patrons and workers, surround me. I meander through the floors of smoke and noise, making my way to meetings and to quieter spaces where I can concentrate on what I am here to do. I attend these meetings not to bathe in opulence or escape the snow but instead to grow my gifts in empowering, guiding, and assisting ministers in the Church and world.

 

 But I cannot escape the three-ring circus motif of where I am staying. It reminds me greatly of the Lenten season that we enter in just a few short weeks. We leave the season of light and begin the more penitential season of Lent. On Palm Sunday, we read the Passion of Christ and begin our “red” Holy Week filled with emotion and sadness. We immerse ourselves in the sadness of the Good Friday wake, only to celebrate the Feast of the Resurrection three days later. Alleluia! The alleluias are jarring after 40 alleluia-less days of personal reflection and worship.

 

Yet, Lent is not a season of calm. In many ways, it is a “three ring circus” of another nature. Whether Lent begins in February or in March, we enter Lent in the midst of uncertain weather patterns, posing its many risks for our friends and neighbors. We devote additional time to shoveling, de-icing, and stoking wood, pellet and coal stoves. We devote additional time to checking on friends and neighbors to make sure that they are warm, safe and fed.

 

We exit our season of hibernation from regular educational, social, and fundraising activities. The flurry of other circles of activity begins, with ebbs and flows as the different activities draw our community members together. We now must make choices between immersing ourselves in one circle of activity, catching a glimpse of this event, or perhaps a glimpse of that. We foster the energy that surrounds us as we support and encourage one another. The simultaneous rings of action trigger laughter and new discoveries, as we learn and tap into each other’s stories and gifts. It is a glorious and energy-creating beauty to behold. And the greatest joy is in confirming once again that, with God’s help, we can do and be all that we are called to do and be.

 

Theresa+

 

Discernment

As a ministry developer, my vocabulary often centers around the words “call” and “discern” or variations on either term. I prod the people in the pews on Sundays and the people whom I counsel throughout the week to consider God’s call on them and their lives. I companion them, with pokes and prods, to discern what those calls might be. I suggest—with puzzled looks from my strongly extroverted companions—that they listen with full hearts and minds. Their quizzical expressions become even more so as I speak of the differences between listening and hearing, and as I speak of listening for the nonverbal clues to what is “really” being said.

Perhaps it is my “sensory” nature, but collecting information is a parallel activity to all that I do. Perhaps it also is natural that discernment is a constant activity for me as well. Recently, at least, it seems to be something that I am doing more proactively as well. Like the biblical prophets, I ask God repeatedly for “whats” and “hows” and sometimes even some “whys.”  The “whys” particularly coming when I find God is stretching me or showing a sense of humor.

But in the current midst of the flurry of activity, I sense a strong need for some peace—a brief respite for me to collect my thoughts and to shield me from the distractions of service. In essence, I am seeking a respite to allow time for discernment.

Although not well timed—they never are I realize—I got such an opportunity over the weekend. A spiritual retreat of silence, spiritual direction and scripture for three hours in a neighboring state. Three hours that I desperately needed. Three hours that I could devote to listening and being silent so I might hear God’s voice and feel God’s touch on my heart and soul. It was during that brief retreat that I wrote the following haiku, which I share now as I realize it speaks to my own need for continued discernment.

And, yes, God, I am listening. I await your direction.

Beauty surrounds me

In the leaves and in the mountains

The wonderous colors.

But the real beauty

Is in the faces of friends

Their smiles, tears and eyes.

Eyes that twinkle bright

Aware of the love of God

In all that I see.

A hand that is held

An arm embracing another

Empathetic love.

Being a pastor

Allows beauty to enter the soul.

Oh what a blessing!

I am so thankful

God gifted me this present

Of serving others.

I in creation

All part of the Father’s world

Let me see the joy.

Immerse me, oh God

In the beauty of service

Planting grace and love.

Allow me to serve

How you so intend me to

And to hear your voice.

Do I hear clearly?

Do I discern your great call?

Or hear my own will?

Weed out distractions

So I might hear you clearly

And bravely obey.

Theresa