Moving Into the Future: Renewing, Recycling, and Reducing

Exhaustion, uncertainty, and overwhelmed.  Those are words that resonate well with me these days.  

With our home on the market and potential buyers walking though with just a couple of hours notice, I've had to keep the counters cleared, the floors clean, and the evidence of our leaving under control.  As I take things off the walls, I patch the hanger holes and touch up the paint.  As I fill a box with the stuff of daily living, I try to rearrange the space so everything looks "normal" to a visitor.  As the boxes stack higher and wider in the garage, I try to keep the chaos in order.  It's exhausting to move!

Yet, there's the anxiety of not knowing where I'm going, of whether the house will sell before my consulting work is finished (then where would I live until it's done?!), of whether I'll have a position to move to when both are done.  There are days when I feel like I'm walking on a gang plank while blind folded; I don't know where the end of the board is, how far it is to the water, and how far I'll have to swim (tho I'm confident I can swim) before I find security.  

So much to do, so much to think about, so much unknown.  There's that interview with that church, items to mail to another church, items to upload for another church, a sermon to write for Sunday, interviews to conduct with members of the consulting church, bulletins to write, work on that dissertation (no, it's not yet accepted), yadda, yadda, yadda.  Walking is a great stress reliever, but the blisters from my new Ryka's limit that.  So I pack boxes.  

Can you find the two cats?

This afternoon the bed Dan will take to Ohio is covered in the items that have been on our walls.   I've packed the "power walls" and the family photos. What remains are the decorative items that each have significance to us as a couple: a clock given to us as a wedding gift, a framed print of celebration, original art work from Cape Cod artists, photos of our parents, mementos from our travels here and abroad, my mother's hand blown glass barometer and so much more. These are the evidence of our lives together, memories of time gone.  There is nothing on the bed that I could not live without.  There is little I would choose to dispose, however.  Memories revive us when we're exhausted, anchor us in these times of uncertainty, and steady us when we are overwhelmed.

In our nearly 30 years of marriage, we have moved together 12 times; we have moved into separate homes (doing separate and distant ministries while living a commuter marriage) four times.  This will be the fifth.  This is deja vu all over again!  As before, there are boxes all over the house as we gather what Dan will need in his "borrowed living space" in the parsonage of his interim ministry.  Once again, there are packing materials all over the house as we also pack most of our home to make a major move (when the Spirit decides to tell where to go!).  Once again our cats are feeling insecure as their favorite hiding places vanish. Once again, we struggle to devise creative meals from what exists in our refrigerator and cupboards.  These things are echoes of past experiences. 

As I wrap the protective paper and bubble wrap around each item, as it is carefully placed inside protective cardboard, as it is securely sealed with tape the memories of times behind us are neatly packaged and secured.  These will be the anchors in the days yet to come.  

Every faith community needs to move every now and again in order to be anchored in their identity as a part of the body of Christ. Every congregation needs to carefully comb through their existence and recycle or refuse the traditions, patterns, issues, and stuff of life together.  They need to handle the facets of their being and check for relevancy, quality, and depth of faith.  They need to determine and secure those things that are of value and bid farewell to those that are not.  Each member of the congregation needs to listen for the still small voice of the Spirit that calls forth the path and passion for ministry in the name of the Body of Christ.  Men will dream dreams and women will see visions.  Children will lead them into a new way of being the Church. 

Rejection

So the final count of votes is in. I'm not to be the candidate for the church that I felt is an excellent fit for my ministry gifts.

I was in a meeting in Indianapolis when I received an e-mail arrived in my in box. I felt my face turn red and watched my hands begin to shake when I saw the return address on my iPad. I excused myself from the meeting and sat down in the office of a friend who helped me read it. The committee was meeting that afternoon and she would call me afterward. No hint of what was to come. But small tell tale signs in the language of earlier notes had given away some of what had been happening at the search committee meetings. She had started signing e-mails "Your Friend, ......" She had asked if I was “even still interested” in the position.

I left the meeting early so I could be well away from others when the call came. I drove half way home and sat in a Wal-Mart parking lot waiting for the call to come. The time arrived, then passed. I sat nervously playing a game on my phone while I waited. Then the phone rang.

Initially, it was small talk about the weather – not a good sign. I could hear the pain in the voice of the woman who has for 6 months called or emailed me almost weekly as she told me the search committee could not reach a consensus about candidates and would be searching into the Fall. I was not to be their candidate for their pastoral position.

The only reason given was that they could not agree that it would be a good fit. There was something about how they had to think of the whole congregation and not just their own feelings, and something else I can’t remember. All of that was a blur as I tried to focus on her pain in having to make this phone call, as I realized she really didn’t want to make this call. While she never said it, I could hear that this was the hardest phone call she ever had to make. So long as I could focus on her, I could be numb to the emptiness, the panic, the absolute void that was growing in my own gut.

The tone of my voice probably gave away my disappointment. I thanked her for her call. I told her things would work out for the church and wished her the best in their discernment. I held back my own tears as I hit the “end call” button. I sent a one word text message to Dan, “Nope”, and quickly powered down the phone so I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. I sat in that parking lot and let the tears fall. Six months of waiting for an answer was over. I had the answer and now I wish I hadn’t prayed so hard for an answer. I was at once angry, doubting, and hurt. 

Angry because I felt (feel) so strongly that this was the church to which I was called and there is a more than a bit of injustice in the belief that you’re called only to not be called. What’s up with that? 

Angry because this is the 104th “No Thank You” I've received from churches in 15 months. I've not gotten so much as an interview with most before they sent out the form letter offered as an example in the Search and Call materials. I've been the bridesmaid so many times and wonder when my opportunity to be the bride will ever be.

Doubt: How many rejections can a person handle before they begin to question their own value and ability?

Hurt because after nearly 29 years of ministry, placement staff – specifically one that knows me well – are telling me that I can’t expect to get a position in anything but the smallest of congregations because my tenure in congregations has been primarily interim, short term ministry.  Healing and renewing congregations who are between pastors, in conflict, or having experienced loss or division disqualifies me to bring a healthy congregation into the future why?

Hurt because without even looking for a position, Dan was OFFERED a position -- in a new ministry direction at that! So despite it being my turn to take the call and him follow me, he’s moving into interim ministry before I have a called position; our house is on the market because so long as I'm unemployed and he lives in a parsonage, there is no housing allowance and therefore the lack of funds to pay the mortgage. I have actively sought a position and had 104 nos. He’s not even looked and has an offer. Where is the justice in that?

Hurt because while I sit alone in an emptying house looking for a distraction from my anger, doubt, and hurt, Dan has a wedding to officiate, worship services to plan, youth activities to organize, and social gatherings to attend… and does, leaving me to face my anger, doubt, and hurt alone. Not that his presence here would make it all go away.

I left the phone on the seat next to me as I drove the 2 lane roads that connect to the unfinished I-69 that would take me home. There is comfort in the geography that looks so much like that of my youth in the Berkshires. The slower traffic in front of me offered the opportunity to let the colors of spring flowers and the budding leaves wash away the negativity within me. The rain on the windshield masked the stream flowing down my face.

Just before I pulled on to the interstate, I emailed the woman who had called me. I thanked her for the call. I acknowledged that it was a difficult call for her to make. I assured her that we’d all get through this. I offered her blessings on the continued search.

Then I deleted her contact information from my address book.

Moving on means moving through the anger, doubt, and hurt.  Getting onto that interstate ramp, seeing the straight and empty road ahead, knowing that home was an hour ahead, I pressed the pedal to the floor and let the engine roar until any grit and carbon in the fuel injection system was history. I  have to travel this road, but I'll do it at my own speed.  I know where home is; I know how to get there.  I just wish the road weren't so lonely.