Monthly Archives: February 2014

Reblogged: “Ten things your Pastor wishes you knew about her”

My friend and colleague, Mike Rayson, shared a blog post on this Facebook timeline the other day.  It was called “9 Things You Need to Know About Your Pastor”. It was an interesting article.  And when I say, “It is interesting,” I mean that in the same way as I do when someone shares with me an article by Joyce Meyer or Joel Osteen. “Oh, pastor, did you see that article by Joel Osteen I shared with you?”

“Yes, it was very interesting.”

You see, while the post did bring up a few noteworthy points, it was difficult to wade through its gender bias. When I last checked, there were 133 comments on the blog. If I were to add one, it would read: “I will add No. 10 – He’s a woman.”

Mike’s wife Amy Rayson wrote this blog “Ten Things Your Pastor Wishes You Knew About Her”.  Coincidentally, I am told, she had written this post a few days before he shared the “9 things” post, but it seemed to be a perfect response nonetheless.

Amy writes:

1. She is not a woman pastor.
She is a pastor. No one says, “This is Pastor Steve – he’s a man pastor.”
Having her gender attached to her job title as a (dis)qualifier diminishes both her, and the role of pastor.
2. Yes, she has read 1 Timothy 2:12.
Also 1 Corinthians 14:34.
Often. In fact it is likely she has spent many, many, many more hours than you pouring over and wrestling with those texts.
3. She doesn’t do it for the fun of it.
She has argued, wrestled, cried, lamented, and railed against her call.
She has been to Tarshish many times on her way to Nineveh. She does not exist to make a point, to make waves, or to make you mad. She is (and should be) obedient to her God, not to her critics.
4. She is soft.
She is soft not because of her gender, but as all people are soft – by nature of the biological and psychological reality of humanity. She works to REMAIN soft, despite the abrasions and burns of life. Because only psychopaths are content to be hardened and heartless.
5. She has been hurt.
Recently. Possibly by you.
It is a tough gig.
When she is hurt she is like an athlete competing on a broken foot. But she keeps doing her job anyway, because she is obedient to her call. Your positive feedback and encouragement on the job she is doing help her heal from those hurts more than you can imagine.
6. She loves her family.
Not all pastors have children, but all have some kind of group of humans she calls family.
If you hurt them, you hurt her and reduce her ability to be effective in ministry. Yes, she will devote some of her time and energy to the care of her family. This is good and scriptural. She loves it when you support her in this.
She does not put church first and family second. She puts God above all things. God takes care of the priorities from there.
7. She has a title.
She may prefer you to use it. She may prefer to be called by name.
But if you do use a title use the correct one.
She may be Jane, or Pastor Jane… but she is NEVER Miss Jane.
Yes, this includes when you introduce her to someone outside of your church or religious group. When you introduce your doctor to a friend you don’t demote him to ‘Mr.’ Even Protestants call the Roman Catholic leader  ‘Pope’.
If you can’t respect her, at least respect the office.
8. She is not a feminist.
Or she is. Really that’s up to her. By definition, a feminist is simply ‘a person who supports the belief that men and women should have equal rights and opportunities.’
But she is not automatically a feminist by virtue of her gender or profession.
It is likely, however, that  she has spent at least some time wishing people would be less genderist (look it up).
9. She wishes she had a ‘clergy wife’.
(She has this point in common with her male colleagues.)
Single or married, she has heard of these mythical creatures who play piano , lead Sunday School classes, keep the home and any children clean fed and happy. . . and she would LOVE to have one of them! Who wouldn’t?
Sounds awesome!
Instead (if she is married) she has a spouse who is her partner in the home, and who holds their own position of value in the world; possibly, even, a position of paid employment. Her spouse (if she has one) is not an unpaid, extra church staff member. Take your church issues up with her, not her spouse (or her kids).
10. I do not speak for her.
She shook her head at least once while reading this. She is diverse and unique and her story is her own.
And she would love an opportunity to share that story with you.
11. She makes mistakes.
See? Even in counting points in a blog post.
She makes mistakes, not by nature of being female, but because she is a flawed, broken human being who is redeemed only through the grace of God. She craves forgiveness just as badly any other person.
Thank you, Amy.  I know I will never truly understand the crap that my female clergy colleagues have to go through, but I am thankful for their courage, strength, faith, and prophetic leadership.  I know that the Church is a stronger body because of the gifts and graces of so many women pastors. And there I go again – making mistake #1.
Here’s a “Valentine’s Day” card I made this year:
anna howard shaw

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February 28, 2014 · 10:17 am

A table for one.

Table for OneI’m an introverted person.  One of the distinctive marks of an introvert is that they don’t mind going to a restaurant and asking for a table for one.  Don’t get me wrong, I love eating and being with people.  I love a good dinner party, or going out to eat with friends.  I also enjoy a meal by myself.  I enjoy the calmness of a table for one.  There are no social expectations, no awkward silences.  There might be a book, or a crossword puzzle, or a legal pad and a pen.

I enjoy a table for one.  It can be a space for reflection, meditation, or even prayer.  Sometimes though, it is not…

God “prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies,” reads Psalm 23.  What if it is a table for one?

What if the enemy is within?

I’ve sat with myself on dark and lonely nights.

What if the enemy is my own apathy?

I’ve walked by pain, turned a blind eye to the suffering of my neighbor.

What if the enemy is my own comfort?

I’ve chosen to settle for the inertia of inaction over disrupting the status quo.

What if the enemy is my own pride?

I’ve avoided the one that hurt me. I’ve held onto bitterness, even when the taste in my mouth was too much to bear.

What if the enemy is my own fear?

I’ve walked away from persecution, and participated in unjust systems for fear of the wrath would be turned onto me.

So Jesus, what then?

You tell me to love my enemies.  Am I to love my enemy when the enemy is looking back at me in the mirror?

I know the answer.  I’ve sat at that table before.  Still, God meets me there.

I sit at the table in the presence of my enemy, and can only confess to my God and myself the times I have fallen short.  I sit with myself and have no choice but to forgive, so I may be forgiven.  I sit at my table for one and am confronted with the  profound absurdity of the gospel.  There is good news in sitting at the table for one.  

There is confession.  There is forgiveness.  There is grace.  There is bread for me to eat, and a cup overflowing.  There is oil being poured out on my head with such exuberance and abundance it seems shocking.  There at the table for one I learn that goodness and mercy are following me.  No, they are doing more than following me.  They are pursuing me.  Actively, purposefully, God is pursuing me.

Goodness and mercy are pursuing me, even when I flee.  Goodness and mercy are pursuing me, even when my apathy and my comfort and my pride and my fear seem to get the best of me.  God is pursuing me, and sometimes it is only at a table for one that I pause long enough to sense it.

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#AdventRun Run to Bethlehem Final

Advent Run FinalHere are the final results of the First Annual Fat Pastor/Pulpit Fiction Virtual Run to Bethlehem.  The results were originally announced on the Pulpit Fiction podcast.  Here are the final entries, from Thanksgiving Day until Epiphany.  Our orginal goal was to compile 107 miles, which is the distance between Nazareth and Bethlehem.  We reached that goal in about two weeks, so we extended a challenge goal.  We decided to go, as the Holy Family did in the Gospel of Matthew, all the way to Egypt.  We decided that 333 miles would be our second goal.  Since we extended the distance, we also extended the time frame to include Epiphany. As a group, we completed 255 miles.  This was enough to go from Nazareth to Bethlehem and back, but not enough to escape Herod.

23 different people made a total of 67 entries in our Advent Run.  There were entries from 14 different states plus London, England.

I was barely able to participate.  I ran in a 5-mile Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving Day.  The next day I had a 103 fever, and wasn’t well until January.

I’ve gotten back into running now, but I’m hoping next year I’ll be able to participate more fully in our Advent Run.

Listen to the Pulpit Fiction Podcast

 

 

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I’m not babysitting, I’m her Dad.

20140203-095440.jpgMy wife has a part-time job, and my hours are very flexible.  This means I spend a lot of time with my two daughters during daytime hours.  We go to restaurants, grocery stores, nursing homes, and the office.

Both of my daughters are adorable and engaging.  They smile and wave at people.  They tell people things like, “Your shirt is pretty.”  This means that I have many conversations with strangers that I otherwise would not have.

Usually this is quite fun.  I like meeting new people, and I love how my girls brighten people’s day.  There is one conversation though, that gets on my nerves.  On a fairly regular basis, someone will ask me something like, “Are you babysitting today?”

Once I actually said, “No.  I’m her Dad.”  The woman looked at me a little puzzled, as if I didn’t understand her question.

What I wanted to say was:

No. I’m not a babysitter.  A babysitter is someone who occasionally watches a child, often for money.  A babysitter has temporary hours, and goes home.  I am her Daddy.  I cut her umbilical cord and handed her to her mother.  I never breast fed her, but I spent many long nights holding and feeding her.  There were a few months when there was no one on earth that could put her to sleep faster than me.  I changed diapers, wiped butts, and cleaned up puke.  I was at the helm of The Great Poopy Disaster of 2011.  The last time she had a stomach virus, the only place she wanted to sit was my lap.  I had to change shirts twice.  I once got a little bit of her poop in my mouth.

“I made up a song about how strong and smart she is, and sing it to her at night after carrying her to bed. Every morning before she gets out of bed to start school, I hold her.  I hold her and I pray for her and I kiss her sleepy head.  I know that in my arms she is safe, and I contemplate just staying there safe and warm forever.  Every morning we eventually get up, I cook her breakfast, pack her lunch, and kiss her goodbye when her ride gets here.  I send her into the world and pray to God that I sent her with enough love to get her through the day.

“I can make a pretty tight pony tail, paint a pretty neat fingernail, and I’ve taught her how to catch and throw a softball.  She’s my doctor, my hairstylist, and my makeup artist.  Sometimes she picks out my tie.

“We built a Lego Jabba’s Palace, and we’re working on the Rancor Pit.  I’m currently leading the best-of-101 game Stanley Cup air hockey series 23-17.  I took her to her first hockey game, her first Major League baseball game, her first ballet, and we have already set a date for December 18, 2015.

“The last snow day we had together, we turned on the TV a total of zero times.  I help her with homework, and taught her M&M math.  She told me when a boy hurt her feelings at school, and when her best friend was mean to her.  She has wiped many tears on my shirt.  My kisses work to heal boo-boos.

I’ve messed up plenty.  I’ve been the cause of more of those tears than I wish to admit. I get too angry over little things.  I get frustrated because she just won’t listen.  I wonder why she doesn’t seem to understand the phrase, “you need to hurry up.”  Sometimes I’m too busy, or too tired, or too selfish.   I’m not a perfect Dad, but by the grace of God I’m trying to be.  She teaches me everyday about the power of grace and forgiveness.  Being their Dad is the greatest, and most important thing I’ll ever do.

“So no, I’m not babysitting.  I’m her Dad.”

But usually I just say, “Yeah, Mom is working.  Aren’t I lucky?”

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Saturday Snack: Schaumburgers

This is not a health food.  This is not the part of any balanced diet.  This is quick, simple, and cheap.  It could be good for a party around a certain American sporting event.  The author of this tasty little open-faced sandwich is my Mom’s best friend, Barb (you can read about her here).  Lacking a name for her concoction, our families looked to the name of our beloved hometown, Schaumburg, Illinois.  The Schaumburger was born, but if you happen to know someone from Schaumburg who isn’t a part of our family, don’t bother asking them what a “Schaumburger” is.  They’ll have no idea.

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 Three pounds of ground meat.  Ground turkey would probably work, but we almost always used ground beef.  Tonight I mixed two pounds of ground beef and one pound of a friend’s ground deer.

One pound of Velveeta cheese.  This has to be the hardest stuff in the grocery store to find.  There are usually three places the store keeps cheese.  It’s in none of them.  That should be a clue.  I always take forever looking for this stuff, I should probably learn to find something else.

One can mushrooms.  I usually hate it when recipes use “can” as a unit.  The amount here is purely your taste.  Tonight I used a 13.25 oz. can

One 6 oz. can  of tomato paste.

English Muffins

Instructions: Brown the meat.  Season with salt, pepper, and garlic salt. Drain.  Turn down heat.  Cube the cheese, melt into the meat.  Add the tomato paste and mushrooms.   Once it’s all melted together, spread it on an english muffin and cook in a broiler.  Let the meat darken and the muffin will get crispy.

Just so you know, there will probably be leftovers.  It makes about 12-15 open-faced sandwiches.  When its cold, it kind of looks like dog food, but it heats up really easily.

Results: One daughter loved it.  The other, not so much.

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