I haven't written about being a caregiver in a long time. Mostly my silence on the subject has been because I've compiled my earlier writings into a memoir and am looking to publish. It's all very exciting and scary and vulnerable. But over Thanksgiving weekend, Pete and I went to DC for our 20th wedding anniversary. Travel has become more difficult and we haven't been on a vacation in over a year together. I've traveled without him but we've been slow in figuring out what to do together - what will work? What won't? Do we have the energy to figure this out? to fail? We weren't sure. But 20 years of marriage deserved some kind of vacation and so to DC we went. We live close enough to drive, just 3 1/2 hours away. We booked a room with a wheel in shower at the Harrington Hotel, just a block and a half off of the mall. We were excited to see some museums and eat some good food. Here are some pictures of our time away with some commentary of what worked, what didn't and bits and pieces of Scibienski humor sprinkled in here and there. We traveled with one really large suitcase because I can only pull one suitcase at a time. And we decided to bring a pull bar that Pete uses in bed. His computer and my ipad were a must. Other than that we figured we would be in civilization and we could purchase something if needed. (And in fact we had to buy umbrellas on day two; thank God for hotel lobby stores.) We both really enjoy art and we love good conversation - it's been the foundation of our lives together. So museums and food were a really good idea!
The thing about Pete and I is that we actually like one another. And so our mantra with traveling this time was "whatever happens, it's going to be ok. We're together." I'll admit that I almost lost my patience at least twice because his fatigue didn't kick in when I would've preferred it to kick in. I read at least 300 pages of a book. In other words, there was a lot of down time while Pete rested. But the truth is I really needed to rest. Sometimes I swear his fatigue is one of the greatest gifts in my life. Oh and the first morning, I almost wigged out when I thought there was no hot water - only to find out that I didn't know how to work the shower. The number one learning I have from being a partner to someone who has a chronic illness is that things don't go as planned. So too much planning is a waste of time. And not enough planning is just plain stupid. In the end, we came away with some Christmas gifts and some memories. Pete is still the coolest person I know and I'd pay $14 to marry him all over again. I estimate on any given Sunday, 25% of my congregation struggles with mental or emotional health. Another 10% is struggling but unsure or uncomfortable addressing the issues they see or feel. I am the pastor of a vibrant, small congregation in central NJ. I am not a professional therapist. The estimate above is based on the data I have collected while providing pastoral care. In any given week, I have dozens of conversations with people about their lives, their relationships, their families, their jobs, their joys and their concerns. Sometimes I have these conversations in a formal setting, a scheduled appointment in my study. But most of the time, these conversations happen more informally. A woman hugs me after worship and says, “I've been really depressed this week. I almost didn't make it to church. Pray for me.” A man stands next to me when pouring coffee at fellowship time. I ask how he is doing with his brother's death. I know from previous conversations that he struggles with anxiety. He answers by saying, “my doctor upped my meds and I'm doing ok.” Or I notice someone's facebook status indicating that today is not a good day, I comment with encouragement, prayer and an offer to listen. Whether in my study, in the receiving line after worship, during fellowship time or on facebook, the bulk of pastoral care that I provide deals with mental and emotional health. Depression, Anxiety, Bi-polar disorder, Schizophrenia, Borderline personality disorder, and Addiction are all represented in our sanctuary. The numbers above do not include those who are not neurotypical, like those on the Autism Spectrum (ASD) or those with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD). Yet the stresses on families and individuals dealing with complex medical and mental conditions like ASD or ADD are included in the numbers above. This is not just my congregation; it's yours too. We need to get rid of the stigma associated with mental illness. We need to talk about mental and emotional health – from the pulpit. One Sunday, I did just that. I told my congregation from the pulpit, “on any given Sunday 25% of our congregation struggles with mental or emotional health.” This statement allowed us to begin accepting one another, supporting one another, caring for one another. Our deacons can now engage in conversation with people about therapy and medication, support groups and hospitalization. If we can accept that people struggle with brain chemistry and emotional stability, we can be intentional about the way we care for one another. We can begin to do our part and allow professionals to do their part. And in the best case scenario, we will work together. I feel joy when I get to refer a congregant to a trusted therapist. It means we're growing up. I am humbled when I am allowed to support a family as they send a loved one off to rehab after a lapse in sobriety. It means we are fragile. I am honored when a congregant gives me permission to speak to a service provider so that our congregation can support him or her in health. I don't want the church to be mental health professionals. I want us to be a community of believers who love one another the best we can and with all of the resources at our disposal. The scriptures don't speak directly to mental illness. However, Jesus most definitely addresses mental and emotional unrest. We have a story about the Gerasene demoniac (Mark 5) whose healing affected the economic stability of an entire town. It was as if Jesus used the pigs to pay for the appropriate treatment. Perhaps we don't talk about mental illness because we don't want to deal with the financial inequity in our world regarding healthcare in general. We have a story about a man with “seizures” in the NRSV but who is called a “lunatic” in the NASV (Matthew 17). His healing is an opportunity for Jesus to rebuke his followers for a lack of faith. Perhaps we don't talk about mental illness because we aren't comfortable with how chronic illnesses affect our faith. We have a story about anxiety; “Martha, Martha, you are worried and anxious about many things,” says Jesus (Luke 10). His treatment plan was for her to recognize the value in stopping work. Perhaps we don't talk about mental illness because we prefer to be busy and sabbath seems unrealistic. Mental and emotional unrest is complex and the available treatment is equally complex. These texts ring true, in that once our congregation began to talk about mental illness, we were also faced with the economics of healthcare, the struggle for faith amidst chronic illnesses and the need for sabbath. We began to swim in a sea of complex issues that affected those we loved. We started looking a whole lot messier. But the truth was, we were already that messy; we just weren't talking about it. 25-35% of the people who walk through the doors of our churches are struggling with mental and emotional health. Let's start talking about it so that God can help us love one another the best we can with all of the resources at our disposal. My congregation, Grace Presbyterian Church, just returned from an annual canoe trip. This is a tradition that comes to us from one of the parent churches of our merge. I wasn't able to attend last year, so this was my first time. A newbie, I was. And I'll admit, I was anxious. I don't canoe very well and I hadn't kayaked in awhile. I was sure my skills on the river would irritate seasoned members. And I didn't know what kind of "spiritual leadership" might be needed. The trip was inter-generational, ages 8-68-ish. I have years of experience camping with youth but none in this context and none since I've been the pastor of a church. However, I was quickly reminded of so many wonderful truths of good ministry. Here are five things I have learned from youth ministry - and was reminded about on this past trip. We do not all consume the same information - and therefore, do not have the same reference points. Until last Sunday, I didn't know anything about Roulette Doritos – a bag of Doritos that contains both regular Doritos and Hot/Spicy Doritos so you never know what you're gonna get until you put it in your mouth. At this point in my life, television that I consume doesn't try to sell me Doritos – or Monster drinks or Twizzlers that you pull apart like string cheese. But the television, apps, video games, and social media that the group of 7th grade girls I got to know this past week are sold very different things than me. The junk food industry is driven by the youth culture. It may a simple thing, and maybe I'm making too much of it – but the people to whom I minister are not always like me. They don't see the world the way I do – not because of some deeper belief system but because they watch and consume different types of information and media. I try to remind myself that the “people in the pews” aren't thinking about church all week long. I try to remind myself that the “people in the pews” haven't spent as much time thinking about faith and religion as much as me. They don't get paid to do this. In the same way I knew nothing about Roulette Doritos, there are myriad things that my parishioners think about that I haven't thought about. Good ministry to any age seeks to know people, their interests and their choices. Nothing is better at creating relationships than a road trip together. Being in the car together is a special, unique opportunity to listen in on conversations that I might never get to have. Sometimes the students forget I'm there and they begin to talk - about their friends, about their interests, about their fears, about their hurts and insecurities. But the thing is - I am still there so I try to sprinkle a question or two to keep conversations going. I don't add pressure or judgment, just a question to help us all think deeper about this, or gain clarity about that. I was grateful for the reminder to cultivate conversations. We all worry if we will be accepted and loved. On the two hour ride up, all of the insecurities of middle school emerged – will people accept me and love me. All of the sharing centered around information – I like this kind of music; I'm friends with so in so. Let's listen to Blood on the Dance Floor... no the Beattles... no Nirvana. ("Hey did you know that Nirvana's lead singer killed himself?" One asked.) By the car ride home, there was no concern about being accepted or loved. Instead, we were a cohesive group. And they all decided to sing along to Disney songs – Prince Alli Fabulous He, Alli Ababwa... These budding young women turned back into kids. The truth is - inside us all is a id hoping to be accepted and loved. Campfires hold a little bit of magic. We all look good by the light of a fire. We're warm and relaxed. We talk about the beauty of fire and of the night sky. We offer to roast marshmallows for one another. We eat s'mores slowly – enjoying every bit of the sticky, sweet, and crunchy. It's hard to pull ourselves away from a fire shared among friends or strangers. I remember a fire pit at one of my parishioners home a few years back. My husband and I stopped by impromptu. We ended up making dinner, eating outside and ended up around their fire pit. A couple years back, we set up a fire pit at church for the solstices and the equinoxes. It was so much fun. The kids brought gliders to play with at the summer solstice. We lingered around the warmth at the winter solstice. I had forgotten how comfortable folks feel around a fire. Small group conversations create depth in our spiritual lives. This past week's canoe trip with my congregation has taken me full circle. Traditionally, in youth ministry, at the end of the day, I would gather my group together and talk about the day. What went well? How'd you do? And what do you think about the things of God that were shared or experienced that day? Where I held these small group conversations among youth in my previous life, we held them inter-generationally this past week - an 8 year old beside a 13 year old, beside 33 year old, beside a 63 year old – all answering questions about their day on the river. Small group conversations, among any age(s), create depth in our spiritual lives. In an inter-generational context, the littlest learn from the eldest and let's be honest, the eldest learn from the littlest. Intentional small group conversations like these at the end of the day camping can be employed in parish life - at the beginning of meetings, during prayer time in worship services, or even occasionally around tables at fellowship time. Asking folks to talk about their faith in small groups enables us to learn the language of faith from one another.
My writings are in a book! I've contributed a lectionary reflection fairly regularly to the website,textweek.com. For those of you who are unfamiliar with textweek, let me introduce you to Jenee Woodard, a gift to the church. She curates copious resources for the weekly preacher at her website textweek.com. Her website is the first stop for many who follow the Revised Common Lectionary (RCL). The RCL is a rotation of scripture texts that follow a three year cycle and cover a whole heck of a lot of the Bible. In fact, I have said and continue to believe that had I been a topical preacher rather than a lectionary preacher, I would have preached significantly less of the Biblical canon to date.
Anyway, I have relied on the resources found at textweek.com. I had an idea a few years ago to start blogging my way through the lectionary. I'd write a few hundred words early in the week that were my beginning musings toward my upcoming sermon. I thought I would offer those reflections to Jenee on textweek. She kindly added my reflections to the host of others writers, who I often thought myself unworthy of their company.
Be gentle first with yourself if you wish to be gentle with others.” The Charter for Compassion posted the quote above on facebook this morning. It caught my eye because my Epiphany word for this year is "Gentleness." Each year, for Epiphany my congregation receives a word to reflect on or live with. Next year, on Epiphany we share what the word has meant to us. This year, my word is Gentleness. When I shared it with my congregation, there was a pause and then beautiful laughter. Shrug. I'm not the most gentle person. I'm aware. I'm ok with it. And I find having to live with this word a welcome challenge. "Be gentle with yourself if you wish to be gentle with others." Hmmm. I'm going to add this quote to the musings around this word and my life. But the quote was shared along with this picture, a self portrait by Lauren Mobertz. I searched for more information because honestly, I couldn't imagine what kind of self-portrait this was. It turns out that she has painted self-portraits of her as someone else: Courtney Love, Kurt Cobain, Frida Kahlo...This self-portrait is of her as Andy Warhol. I found myself smiling at the idea of seeing myself as someone else. I'm not a painter but I wondered who might I see myself as? Rainer Maria Rilke? Yes, I can see myself with a black suit looking slightly downward in a thoughtful manner, perhaps with a top hat. Or do I see myself as Queen Elizabeth, staunchly Protestant, regal, lonely but dressed well - in a a dull orange or rust colored gown, jewels on my head? But what does this have to do with gentleness? Ah... Do I see myself as the other? And does that assist in my ability to be gentle? Only if I can be gentle to me first. The prophet Habakkuk tells us to keep the faith, "there is a vision for the people." And then God instructs Habakkuk to write the vision - large - large enough to see it if you were running by it. But what is the vision that Habakkuk writes? To be honest, I'm not concerned with the details right now. I was struck by the instructions to Habakkuk. Once again, I wonder about the role of prophet in the contemporary church. The role of prophet in the Hebrew scriptures was not to tell the future; the role of prophet was to speak truth of the present. In particular, the role of prophet was to speak truth to power. I get that in the contemporary context. I am proud to be friends and colleagues with clergy who function regularly in the role of prophet - speaking truth to power about poverty, racism, marriage equality and violence. But Habakkuk, he was writing the vision for everyone to see. He was speaking truth to the general population. He was speaking to his people, the congregation of the LORD, the people of God. The prophet was encouraging the people that God is not silent. God is still faithful and present. Even though they don't hear it or see it... though it tarries, wait for it. This blog is where I often ask questions without answers; this blog is about starting conversations. I think the church, the people of God needs pastors with particular skills of the prophet. And I think the prophet of today is entrepreneurial, creative, innovative and willing to write it on the wall so that if you're running by, you can read it. What do you think? I met with a group of Princeton students last night to talk about how missional theology translates into the parish. With Dr. Guder, author of Missional Church: A Vision for the Sending of the Church in North America (Gospel & Our Culture) present, I shared my critique of missional theology - it lacks an active pneumatology. I believe active missional theology requires an active pneumatology. Discerning what the Spirit is doing within individuals and amidst the people creates the backdrop upon which the leader leads. Missional Theology argues that people in church are called out to the world from the church. Well, yes. Of course. To me, that is simply the definition of church. And I'll admit that my congregation carries a mission statement that argues that each of them are ministers. I am the pastor; they are the ministers. And as their pastor, I cultivate missional theology by discerning he spirit's work within this group of people. That has less to do with Jesus' way and/or mission and more to do with believing that people carry God within us. We could learn from our Eastern Orthodox brothers and sisters who believe Jesus became human so that we could become divine. We westerners don't like that language. We'd rather constantly point to Jesus – look at this man, this palestinian Jew who lived 2000 years ago, whose message remains today to love God and others. Believe in this man. Believe in this man? Or believe that this man imbedded the Holy Spirit into each of us? If we believe the latter, if we believe that God is working and active within us, that there is a force, an energy that moves inside of us... well then we become missional people. The pastor's job is to cultivate the spirit within. And more importantly to dare to call that spirit, God. That's pastoring. Calling what is. Naming. Hi. I'm a pastor and I name things. Sometimes it sounds prophetic – sometimes it sounds ordinary. But I'm called to name things that are and even those things that aren't. Isn't that what Paul was talking about in Romans 4? “God calls things which are not as though they are.” Pastors are some of the people (not the only ones for sure) who look for things that are becoming and calls them out. We name them. Midwifery is a health care profession in which providers offer care to childbearing women during pregnancy, labour and birth, and during the postpartum period. They also help care for the newborn and assist the mother with breastfeeding. This post is meant to be in conversation with the many people who write about the changing church. Two in particular I will mention: Carol Howard Merritt's recent post "Ensuing Eagerness" and Jan Edmiston's post, "What Will Happen to all the Little Churches?" I'm in a lot of conversations about where the church is headed - what will the future look like - what is happening to the role of clergy - what does it mean to be a spiritual guide in our culture today? Church communities, small and large, are making difficult decisions about their life and vitality. Churches are facing financial realities, We feel the stress of aging, sometimes empty buildings. We have gone into a grieving period with all its stages - denial, anger, depression, bargaining and even acceptance. But what if we're not experience loss or death - what if the pain we feel is birth pangs? What if the spiritual guides of our world (aka pastors) took the mantel of midwife? What if the role of the pastor is to offer care to pregnant communities? What if we are being called to assist in labor and birth of new ministry, new outreach, new life? And what if we also were to remain a constant support during the postpartum period? What if the role pastor today required the ability to care for new life while also assisting the birthing congregation? Pastor as midwife. What do you think? What is our public witness? That was the question that began the conversation. Actually that's not true... the question that began the conversation was, "how are we going to capture the $14,000 rent we just lost from the Hindu dance school that was renting our building but now has outgrown our space?" But truly, the conversation turned quickly. Actually that's not true either... I turned the conversation. The conversation doesn't just turn. People turn conversations. And the conversations in church often don't turn anywhere but in circles. Or at least that's what I hear in the hallways of my denomination. It doesn't have to be that way. Leaders can turn conversations. Leaders can build coalitions. Leaders can listen between the lines and tease out the direction that the Spirit is leading. Here's a presentation that we created to explain why we wanted to create an additional public witness for our church. |
Books I'm currently reading:Archives
April 2022
Categories |