Don't Feed the Bear

We are creatures of calendar.

In recent conversation with a colleague in which we were conferring on a date for a possible meeting, I reached for my iPhone to touch the icon that opens my calendar app. He, on the other hand reached inside his blazer and there found his little black "Cokesbury" calendar.

Doesn't matter the medium, we are bound by what we mark inside our calendars. Appointments, events, meetings--ah, yes, the many, many meetings...these things written in a calendar become the official record of our lives. We do what it says and when it says to do it.

Standing there with my clergy friend with calendars open offered a moment of clarity glimpsed only for a second by any with awareness to notice, as we both did. Almost instantly a memory sparked of life growing up in a parsonage, as we both did, when the "preacher's pocket calendar" would arrive in mid-December just ahead of the new year.

I watched that calendar referred to, checked and studied with a frequency and intent one normally reserves for sacred texts. Many were the times I recall several preachers being together when someone would mention the date for an upcoming event, it was as if a liturgical cue had been uttered on a par with "The Lord be with you." The hands reaching inside suit coat pockets to bring forth the appropriate response was an automatic as is now a congregation's "And also with you." (By the way, interesting thing, that...how a response comes so freely and automatically that, only 25 years ago in the Church, was a strange and foreign tongue).

For me, that little black book, which I've not used in years, was among a handful of talismen verifying and validating who I was as a Methodist preacher. Long before I was credentialed by my Conference to be an Elder in the Church...I knew I was a Methodist preacher when I received my black robe (which I haven't worn in 20 years), possessed my very own bonded leather hymnal, and when that little black calendar came in the mail addressed to me.

When I wore or brandished these things in public, more than me knowing who I was, I wanted to be sure you knew who I was.

These things all mattered more than they should. But as we all try to figure out who we are, there's a tendency to place more value on the exterior than those things of ultimate meaning found within.

As I've journeyed, and as I still seek to know who I am, I lean on those exterior things too much.
The complexity of life right now is such that dependency on a calendar is required. I'm not sure I know where I'm supposed to be and what I'm supposed to be doing without it.

Hmmm, maybe the comparison to calendars and sacred texts is more prescient than it is a cute observation?

The exteriors, those things I allow you to see, are not what they once were, but they're always there. I'm not alone and hardly unique in this regard. We clergy all have them. For some of us it's the toys...I mean, tools we use to "do our work." Maybe it's what we drive, or where we're appointed, or what committee we're on....if not grounded well in things of ultimate meaning, how we think we appear to the world (and especially to our peers) holds way more power than it should.

I written many times about clergy and our relentless pursuit for relevance. Given the personality types of many of we who are clergy, you can't really blame us. Each week we are charged with the task of saying something of meaning framed from the text of the day to help guide the lives of those under our charge. Sometimes we're able to do that and we know we've done it. Often it's the case that we get through a sermon fairly certain we've completely screwed it up only to hear in the gratuitous "enjoyed it preacher" line someone with teary eyes and open heart look at us and say "you said exactly what I needed to hear, thank you," and you've no earthly idea how that happened (no earthly idea, indeed).

I learned several things long ago from Michael Williams, who's now at West End, Nashville. I don't really know him, but I remember him preaching at Benton Chapel, VDS, when I was there. Rather than stand in that venerated pulpit he stood there, in the nave, with us and proclaimed Gospel. I was transfixed. And I remember saying to myself, "I've got to do that." The other thing he said when asked about the task of preaching was seeking to be very clear about getting out of the way. He said that the prayer he prays before he preaches, every time he preaches is something like this, "Lord, if I screw this up, please use it anyway."

Ever since then, I've prayed it, too. Oh sure, my mouth may say "Let the words of my mouth and the meditation....," but my heart is praying "Lord, if I screw this up (and being from where I'm from and given what my mood may be at a given time, the language may be more colorful than that), please use this anyway."

We like to feel like we've made a difference. When that's acknowledged, it feels good. I don't care how much we feign modesty, it feels good. There's nothing wrong with that. But when we depend on that and conspire by what we say or write to receive it, we become little more than actors on a stage begging for applause.

Preachers, did I just break the code? Ooops, sorry.

And now we've more ways to feed that narcissistic beast than ever...Facebook, Twitter, sermons streamed across "the internets," and blogs, blogs, blogs. We've multiple avenues to say something, be seen as important, insightful, a mover and shaker. Exterior stuff, that.

Nothing wrong with the exterior...so long as there's something of value inside and our intent is clear as it comes through what we say.

As one of my clergy parents (and I have a few) is want to say, and speaking at a time when none of the above existed, "Some people have something to say, and some people just need to say something."

No longer driven by the calendar that says we've got to find something to say because Sunday comes every week, we now have the opportunity to proffer a "relevant" comment about everything, everyday in real time. We've gone from week to week to minute by minute.

Some of my colleagues are really good at this. Their sense of awareness of life, the world and the challenge of the Gospel provide real guidance along the way. Some of my brothers and sisters (mostly brothers) need to learn the wisdom found in that great hit by the Tremolos, "Silence is Golden."

There's a lesson to be learned by clergy from the greatest sportscasters. In the moments of highest drama, of greatest impact...they fall silent to let the moment be, to let it breathe among all the witnesses. There will be ample time to speak to the moment, to reflect upon it and offer perspective. But in the moment to fill the space with words is to get in the way.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to wrap this up and push "publish."

I've not posted anything on my blog since September.

Like I said, we're creatures of calendar, and I'm oh, so late in writing something for people to read.

Memo to My Colleagues

To Whom It May Concern,

Now that our truly connected Conference "leaders" ("connected," here not so much as in The United Methodist connection, but more in the manner of, say, The Sopranos - fugitabowdit) have taken care of each other in the latest round of "discerned decisions," if it's o.k. with you, may we please now do some real ministry?

I'm just asking.

Because this game we play to maneuver and conspire to get what we want and when we want it - has truly become an art form - which as you know with all art, what one person may think is a thing of beauty, someone else knows is a bunch of crap.

Oh yes I did just say that.

And if you want to see some real leadership, I know a clergy woman who recently itinerated to a congregation in Marshall County, Kentucky, whose commitment to the connection and passion for her call is a continuing object lesson in integrity that judges all this foolishness. More than a few of us need to sit at her feet and take notes.

God bless us - please.
Johnny
an Elder in the Memphis Conference of The United Methodist Church

Preaching to Your Own

It is a rare thing to preach in front of colleagues.

It is especially rare for me because it's not something I seek, or relish.

Last week, I did it twice.

The first time was a joke. I had not meant for it to be.

I had committed to substituting for a colleague whose family emergency precluded her from being present at the Board of Ministry retreat. I was glad to offer help, as she's my friend and member of the clergy with whom I am in a weekly covenant group.

I could swear she told me I'll be preaching Tuesday afternoon.

You could imagine my surprise when, on Monday afternoon, the worship leader looked at me as if to say, "You ready, we're starting, RIGHT NOW!"

I said, "Me?" "I thought I was preaching tomorrow." Which meant I was going to spend some time Monday night working on what I was going to say Tuesday.

Nope. Right here. Right now.

Panic.

I ran to my laptop to check to see if my rough outline for what I was preparing for "Tuesday" was in a form I could do anything with.

It may have been, but my panic was such that I couldn't pull it together.

So, I did what any other reasonable person would do. I pulled up the previous Sunday's sermon on my laptop and went with that. To make it even more strange, I didn't have time to get a hard copy printed so I carried the laptop into the pulpit. That's the only time I see that happening again. The original version of the sermon, as preached at Saint John's, is linked here from our church's website. The version preached at Lakeshore, hopefully, will fade into obscurity.

I got through it. People were kind. Candidates for ministry knew better than to be anything other than that, at least to my face. My colleagues of many years were kind, but enjoyed the laugh. No doubt, I would have to0, on the other side.

It was hardly my best. But it got my heart pumping!

The other opportunity came last week as we hosted the clergy from my district. I was numb from the previous days' work with the Board, and the next day I've got preachers coming into our church?

Forget about it.

One sure way to insure I'll attend such meetings is to have me host them!

Anyway, I've been living with this one for quite awhile. There's some things on my heart I felt I needed to say to my sisters and brothers. Something that burned. I have to believe it was of God.

And as it is when you've got something to say, God's humor is such that despite my passion, you can rest assured the folks you most want to hear you don't show up.

Isn't that just the way?

Nonetheless, that sermon is here, and I'm thankful I got that opportunity.

Ring Around the Collar

Then Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples, 2“The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat; 3therefore, do whatever they teach you and follow it; but do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they teach. 4They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them. 5They do all their deeds to be seen by others; for they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long. 6They love to have the place of honor at banquets and the best seats in the synagogues, 7and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have people call them rabbi. 8But you are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all students. 9And call no one your father on earth, for you have one Father—the one in heaven. 10Nor are you to be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Messiah. 11The greatest among you will be your servant. 12All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted. Matthew 23

I have a clerical collar.

I used to wear it all the time.

The reasons were less theological as they were practical.

See, when I started out in ministry, I was a bit of a baby face - I know that's hard to believe.

Going into hospitals to visit folks, especially in ICU, I grew weary of suspicious looks from nurses who couldn't quite buy that I was the pastor of the folks I was trying to see, and having to provide a business card to verify my claim and purpose.

But, in my collar, you'd a thought I was Moses parting the Red Sea. No problems.

I found the collar a part of my "uniform." I'd wear it on holy days, at funerals - especially funerals for clergy colleagues.

I don't wear it so much anymore. I still have it, I just haven't felt the reasons to wear it as compelling as once they were. In fact, the reasons I wore it in the first place should be judged and judged harshly.

If my sole motivation in wearing it was to make it clear to anyone who saw me that I'm clergy, so that I may have access and favor, then shame on me.

If I wear it in the company of the hurting so that in me they may find a safe place to belong - that feels right. I began to notice that whatever my motivations in wearing it, the responses of those who saw me in it grew to be of great interest to me.

Some thought it was another expression of what they perceived me as a "closet-Catholic." Some mocked it and laughed. That never really bothered me. Truly. Those who know me also know that I have never given a damn about what people thought of my attire.

Since I've not worn it much in the last few years, I've begun to wonder why. And in this I'm coming to a newer, and I hope more honest understanding of this garment. If the collar is a ring, and the wearing of rings denotes covenant, promises made, vows even, then I get it.

So when I wear my collar again, and on whatever occasion that occurs, know this - I wear it not to show you that I am somebody, but like that ring on my finger that reminds me I'm promised to my wife, so, too is that ring around my collar reminding me to Whom I've vowed my life. And, just as it is the case with my marriage, life in that covenant carries with it requisite attitudes and actions that are manifold expressions that each covenant is more than perfunctory and vital to my very being.

What are the "outward and visible signs" of the sacred covenants you've made?

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