Transitions and Tribulations

On October 23, 2017October 23, 2017 By J. Barrett LeeIn Uncategorized1 Comment

Dear Superfriends and Blogofans,

Thanks so much for keeping up with me on this blog. I haven’t been very good about updating it this year, for reasons I will get into shortly. Today, I am resolving to begin again in this new season of life.

So, here’s the story:

It has been a year of dramatic, repeated, and painful transitions for me. In the last quarter of 2016, I reached the conclusion that I needed to leave my pastoral position at North Presbyterian Church, Kalamazoo. I loved that congregation and they loved me back. Serving them was never easy, but those three years were the happiest of my life so far. The main reason for leaving was financial. The congregation was running out of money. Even though I kept accepting pay cuts, they were still allocating a higher and higher percentage of their budget to my salary. The situation was untenable and leaders, ordained and lay, were quickly burning out. After much thought, prayer, and consult, I decided that leaving was the right thing to do.

One bright spot in this transition is that I decided to take the opportunity to join The Episcopal Church. This is something that has been in my heart for the last fifteen years. I “married into” the Presbyterian Church (USA), where I have served for several years, and have happily pastored two fantastic congregations with them. I have been honored to serve at my presbyteries and the General Assembly. My decision to leave has nothing to do with conflict or disappointment with that denomination. I leave with only gratitude in my heart for the PC(USA) and the wonderful people who worship and serve there. The issue is that my core theological framework has always been Anglican, which is related to (but also distinct from) the Reformed tradition. There are certain theological convictions that I have come to hold dearly, for which there is simply no room in Reformed thought. More on those in a future article.

In March of this year, I started a new job in Community Development & Parish Administration at an Episcopal parish in nearby Battle Creek. This was a tremendous learning opportunity for me. For the first time, I was working as a staff member at a larger congregation, I was getting an immersive experience of daily life and ministry in The Episcopal Church, and I was seeing congregational life from an entirely new perspective. I learned more about finance and administration in seven months than I had in my entire life to that point. I got to do intensive research on church growth and discovered, to my great surprise, that there is actually some really fantastic research on the subject.

But all was not well. In the space of a few months, it became clear that the parish needed a trained and experienced bookkeeper more than it needed a community development person. My gifts and skills make me ideal for the latter, but I struggled to keep up with the former. The rector was concerned about parish finances, I was miserable, and my family was worried about me. I was not a good fit for the position and the position was not a good fit for me. Once again, leaving seemed like the right thing to do.

I struggle to convey just how disheartening it is to realize, twice in one year, that the church where you work is better off without you. Imagine the scene in Isaiah 6, when the Lord asks, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And Isaiah responds, “Here am I; send me!”

Now, imagine if God were to respond, “Thanks, but no thanks.” That’s pretty much what it feels like.

Since the end of September, I have been unemployed. I had a couple of irons in the fire, even an offer to teach college again, but those have fallen through.

Not all has been doom and gloom, though. I am investing all of my time and energy into my primary vocation as husband and father. I take care of the family and the house. I have had more time for my children than I have in years. The house looks better than it has in a long time. I am eating healthier and running six miles a week. I’m even learning how to cook, and discovering that I’m pretty good at it!

I am also looking forward to my confirmation in a week and a half. In that moment, when the bishop lays hands on my head, I will cease to be a Presbyterian pastor and will become an Episcopal layperson. This is the point of no return: my Presbyterian ordination will be nullified without any guarantee of ordination as an Episcopal priest. Imagine a circus act where an acrobat has to let go of one trapeze before the next one arrives. It’s a terrifying prospect, but it seems like the right thing to do. Here’s why I think so:

When I was ordained to the ministry of Word and Sacrament in the Presbyterian Church, I was asked the following question:

“Do you sincerely receive and adopt the essential tenets of the Reformed faith as expressed in the confessions of our church as authentic and reliable expositions of what Scripture calls us to believe and do, and will you be instructed and led by those confessions as you lead the people of God?”

If asked today, I would have to answer that question in the negative. My study of the early Church fathers and mothers has brought me to a fundamentally different understanding of the Church than the one expressed in the writings of John Calvin, the Westminster Catechism, or even the lovely Confession of 1967. There is much in these works that is good, but the differences between their ecclesiology and mine are substantial enough that continued service as a Presbyterian pastor would be a compromise of integrity. I will write more on this later.

At least six months after my confirmation, according to canon law, I can begin the process of discernment for the priesthood. The process can be expedited (at the bishop’s discretion) for those who were previously ordained in another tradition, but formation will still take several years, and there are no guarantees.

Some have suggested that I not take the risk to my career, but I think it would be the height of hypocrisy and cowardice if I were to claim to believe certain things about the apostolic nature of the Church and the authority of bishops, but refuse to reexamine my personal sense of call in the light of what I have come to believe. If am truly called to the priesthood, God will make the way clear. If not, some other ministry will emerge.

In the meantime, these new circumstances afford me an opportunity to live more deeply into the Benedictine principles that have given my life structure for the past several years. St. Benedict teaches that God is to be found in the most ordinary places and activities. Each day, I pray as many of the liturgical hours as possible and try to center my direction of the household on humility, gentleness, consistency, flexibility, hospitality, and sensitivity to others’ needs in my endeavor “to be loved rather than feared.” (RB 64:15)

I don’t know what the future will bring, but I can honestly say that I don’t hate what I am doing right now. I am finally coming home to The Episcopal Church. Tending the hearth is the single biggest contribution I can make to our family life, even more than a steady paycheck. Who knows whether my example might even present a helpful antidote to the toxic masculinity that is running rampant through our society right now?

My most pressing concern for the moment is whether this arrangement will be fiscally sustainable for us. I am prepared to take on part-time work, probably in retail, if we get desperate for cash.

In the long term, I hope I get the opportunity to make use of my ministry gifts in some meaningful way, whether I am ordained or not. Until then: Ora et Labora.

PAX.

By Waoceanu (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

God Is Not A Vending Machine

On October 15, 2017 By J. Barrett LeeIn Sermon, Uncategorized2 Comments

Preaching this week at First Presbyterian Church in Niles, Michigan.

The biblical text is Philippians 4:1-9. Click here to read it.

Every now and then, I come across an article online that describes a “scientific experiment” on the effects of prayer. Typically, these are conducted in a medical setting, where one group of patients has a group fervently praying for their recovery, while another group (called the “control group” in scientific circles) does not.

The “results” of these experiments tend to vary widely, depending on who is conducting or sponsoring the survey, but the central idea remains the same: if the recipients of prayer have a significantly higher rate or speed of recovery than those who were not prayed for, then religious people get excited that they have finally disproved the denouncements of atheists. If, on the other hand, there is no significant difference in recovery between the groups, secular humanists get excited that they have finally disproved the superstitious practices of people of faith.

One might think that I, as a member of the Christian clergy, would be rooting hard for the first result, but the truth is that I find both of these reactions equally unsatisfying. In fact, I find the entire idea behind this kind of experiment to be utterly absurd. I say this because I think experiments like this miss the whole point of what prayer actually is and what it is for.

This kind of test treats prayer as if it is a form of magic: effecting a favorable outcome of natural events through supernatural means. Even worse, it treats God like a cosmic vending machine: I put my money in the slot, press a button, and get the treat I want. I never even think about the vending machine unless I want something from it. Even then, I don’t think about the machine itself very much unless it breaks down, and fails to give me what I asked for. It’s fairly obvious that my relationship to a vending machine is inherently self-centered. And it’s not hard to see that a relationship to God in prayer, based on the same principle, is an inherently self-centered spirituality.

St. Paul talks about the subject of prayer quite a bit in today’s reading from his letter to the Philippians. But first, a little bit of back story…

The passage begins with a reference to an interpersonal conflict that is going on in the Church in Philippi. The major players are Euodia and Syntyche, two prominent members of the Church. They have reached an impasse in an argument. We, the readers, know nothing of what this argument was about. It might have been a difference of opinion on some important theological or moral issue, or it might have been as petty as a spat over the next potluck. Pastoral experience has taught me repeatedly that church conflicts often run the gamut between these two extremes, though typically, the loudest fights tend to happen over the most trivial of issues.

We don’t know what the issue was in this particular case, but things had gotten bad enough that Paul had to get involved. What I find most interesting about his response is that he does not address the issue itself at all, but scoots past it to care for the souls of the people involved in the conflict.

Paul says to them, “I urge Euodia and I urge Syntyche to be of the same mind in the Lord.”

This is an interesting turn of phrase. On the surface, it looks like a general call for two people to find a way to agree with one another, but there is a deeper reference here as well. The words “same mind” should remind the readers of this letter of the same phrase, which appeared two chapters earlier:

If then there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross. Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

What St. Paul is trying to do here is coax these Church members to think outside the box of their self-centered conflict and re-orient their lives around the Gospel. This is the central point of all Christian spirituality: to move us from a self-centered way of living to a God-centered way of living; to see ourselves and our lives through the lens of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Paul says it again in the passage we heard from today, urging the members of the Church to “help these women, for they have struggled beside me in the work of the gospel”. He sees these sisters, Euodia and Syntyche, not as opposing parties in a debate, but as co-laborers for the Gospel of Christ. The question, for Paul, is not “Who is wrong?” or “Who is right?” in this situation, but “Who are we in Christ?” Paul is encouraging his readers to look at their situation, not from a self-centered point of view, but from a God-centered point of view.

So, how do we do this? How do we shift from our usual, self-centered way of living to the God-centered way of living? How do we begin to look at ourselves, our lives, and each other through the all-encompassing lens of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ?

St. Paul tells us how, and this is where prayer comes in:

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Here we can see Paul’s understanding of the purpose of prayer. Prayer, for St. Paul, is not about getting the things we want from the cosmic vending machine. Prayer takes the joys and concerns of our life and reorients our lives around the story of God’s creation, redemption, and sanctification of the world in the life, death, and resurrection of Christ Jesus.

When we pray, our circumstances might very well change for the better, but that is not the ultimate purpose of prayer. Prayer changes us. Prayer leads us to look at our lives from a different point of view. Prayer leads us from a self-centered way of living to a God-centered way of living.

We practice this kind of prayer every Sunday in the liturgy. We are fed on a steady diet of Scripture and Sacrament, we name before God the various joys and concerns of our lives, we confess our failings and shortcomings, and we offer ourselves to the service of God in the world. But this is not just an activity for worship on Sunday. We need to be doing this every day in our own lives.

If you don’t have a regular spiritual practice outside of Sunday worship, I encourage you to start one. Take time every day to talk to God in prayer and listen to God in Scripture and silence.

There are many ways to do this. Devotional books and pamphlets abound, and they can be found online or in any bookstore. Personally, I use a more formal pattern of prayer called the Daily Office, which comes to us from the Benedictine monastic tradition. A form of the Daily Office can be found in The Book of Common Worship: Daily Prayer, which is published by the Presbyterian Church (USA). For those who are technologically inclined, there is an inexpensive app available for iPhones that follows this pattern. Just do a search for “PCUSA Daily Prayer” in the App Store. How you do it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you do it in some way that makes sense to you.

And I can tell you from firsthand experience that it works. Prayer works. It certainly has worked for me. It may or may not change my circumstances in the way that I want, but I know for a fact that prayer changes me, and I believe that prayer has the power to change you too.

My prayer for each and every one of you this morning is that you will find in this practice a new perspective on life, and that you will begin to view yourselves, your lives, and your world through the lens of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Amen.