Leaving Well

We have been here long enough now to “lose” members of our church: either due
to different ideology, moving out of the area, relational tension, situational details, or a sense of God leading them elsewhere. It has caused me to think through the tenuous process one goes through in leaving a church fellowship, and the different approaches that people take. Any parting is difficult, but some methods seem to be less painful and more productive than others. Here are some of my observations based on our experience in the small church pastorate.

1. Face to face beforehand
Our first departure involved a long time member who spoke frankly with my husband when we were leaving our former denomination. I respected her directness in acknowledging that she was not fully in agreement with the direction that he and the church were heading in, and that rather than making herself an obstacle, she would be worshipping elsewhere. We were sad to see her go, but agreed that the issue at hand involved irreconcilable differences, and were frankly relieved that she wouldn’t be heading up an opposition party against what we felt we were being led to do. The way she left allowed us to feel mutual respect and congeniality towards one another, despite the parting of ways.

2. The Disappearing Trick
Another individual quietly stopped coming, even though they had attended the church since childhood. After several weeks, when sickness or travel couldn’t account for the absences, I called to check in. It’s always a challenge to me to know how much to “check-up” on people. On the one hand, no one wants to be or to be sought out by the “church police,” but then others are equally offended if they are not inquired after.
When we finally got in touch, she said they’d been attending another church for some time. When I asked if she’d like to get together with us to discuss anything, she said no, she wasn’t interested, and that this was just a direction she’d be looking into for a while. It was hard for me to accept her unwillingness to meet, and I kept feeling like we had failed her in some way. As she’d not given me permission to pursue it further, I had to let it go, and put a stop to my vain imaginations. After some time, we received a letter from the other pastor saying she had switched her membership over. Since my husband knew this pastor personally, a conversation beforehand would have been a courteous way to handle it – “hey, did you know a member of your church has been with us for some time, and is planning to join- how do you feel about that?”_ That’s another tough conversation, but I hope we will still have it when faced with a similar situation. While happy she’d planted herself in another church, we missed her and were befuddled as to what the underlying issues were.

3. Wall of Silence
The most painful experience of losing a family of the church was receiving a cryptic email that they wanted to be removed from church membership. All of our attempts to contact them via email or phone or in person were met by silence and unresponsiveness. We knew, by their behavior, they felt they had been wronged, but we were never given the opportunity to address it with them. If their silence was out of a desire not to be hurtful, I found the unwillingness to dialogue as harmful as anything. I finally yielded to my husband’s counsel to stop obsessing over what had gone wrong, to pray for them and to let go of my sense of responsibility for everything.

4. Seeking Together
Another family experienced a shift in their sense of calling to our church. They felt they were being called elsewhere, though they weren’t sure where, and desired our blessing for the seeking process. This was a painful blow as we were integrally involved in their lives and relied on them in several key ministries. Additionally, our experience didn’t resonate with their conclusion. Yet their early conversation with us allowed us to enter into the process with them and to envision what leaving well would look like for them and the congregation. We urged them to begin slowly transferring leadership roles to others, while remaining in the advisory and encouraging role, and to share with key leaders and friends as it unfolded. Eventually, my husband would share it with the whole church. We are still waiting to see how that works out.

It is difficult for me not to take the reality of people leaving our church personally. Each time, it involves a grieving process for me. I think over all the sacred moments we have shared, such as weddings, baptisms, graduations or funerals. I miss the presence of the people. I feel the gaps in the ministries where they no longer serve. I grieve what I feel we are unable to provide, and I feel the loss of fellowship. And if their was brokenness or resentment, I feel the wounds of that. At the same time, I understand that it is difficult for them too, and that change is often necessary (and that most things have nothing at all to do with me, I just think they do). I want to learn both to leave and let go in a grace-filled, authentic way which preserves the nature of the relationship and allows what God has already done to be built upon – whenever possible. I also need to rest in God’s grace when it’s not.

I’ve never left a church other than due to moving or natural life transitions. But if I had to, I’d like to remember that churches are like families. Each is uniquely dysfunctional, yet no less family - no less able to be used of God. I’d want to resist the temptation to romanticize other options, or to hop and shop from church to church when my ideals weren’t met.. I’d want to work through problems as I encountered them, rather than deflecting to a new setting whenever they appeared. I’d want to be fully present and engaged in service. And then, if parting from my church fellowship became necessary, I’d like to first remember to keep it direct (facebook, or "I heard so and so is going to a different church" is not direct), face difficult issues with trusted leaders, invite leadership participation, share gratitude and goodbyes, and not allow past woundedness to keep me from embracing a new church.

Retreat

I was recently given the gift of a four-day renewal weekend with other women in ministry from around the country. The theme for the weekend was "I Quit", based on the book by that title by Geri Scazzero. The list of I Quits goes like this: Quit being afraid of what others think. Quit lying. Quit dying to the wrong things. Quit denying anger, sadness, and fear. Quit blaming. Quit overfunctioning. Quit faulty thinking. Quit living someone else's life. Does it sound negative to you? I actually am finding these principles very empowering. Now to put them into practice!

Chewing Gum

I read this quote by Rick Warren in the uplifting magazine, "Just Between Us."

"Handling criticism is like chewing gum - chew on it to see if there is anything worthwhile and if not, spit it out." - Rick Warren

I've had to do both some chewing and some spitting out lately, and appreciate this analogy.

An Assortment of Things

I encountered an odd assortment of things while decluttering the stage at the church this week: donated plastic crawfish trays, a painted ocean seascape we used as the backdrop for our Vacation Bible school, a plastic parrot and captain's wheel, a bag of heavy iron chains, hoards of dusty plastic easter eggs, old towels, 35 large cardboard tubes, poly-fil stuffing, and a child's desk. Wedged behind the file cabinet, was the most beffudling find: a fold-out posterboard of a science project from someone's past titled, "Does a Rabbit's Sex Determine Its Appetite?" While I can generally think up a myriad of uses for things, I carried this one to the curb.
When I opened an antique hutch, I found faded poster boards of pictures created for the Sunday school classes from 25 years ago, and enjoyed hunting for familiar faces. I wondered where those now grown children are, and what their lives are like. Going even farther back, I found pictures of Vacation Bible school at our church in the 1950's. Looking at the neat rows of children, with starched dresses and collared shirts, and smiling teachers in pearls, I thought of how different some things are now. I understood better the blissful reminiscing of some of our older members of the "glory days" of the church. They seem to still be wishing for a begone era when things were simpler, tidier and more presentable.
It's amazing the collection of things which accumulate at a church over the years. I wonder which artifacts or photos we will leave behind which will befuddle future generations, and what the make-up of the church will be then. So many lives and so much stuff intersects at a church over the years.

Preacher's Wife Tremors

The title, Preacher's Wife, initially sent tremors through me as I had visions of a troup of white-gloved ladies bustling into the parsonage to inspect for dust. Or of swarms of blue-haired gossipers. Or of a fishbowl family surrounded by figures with bulbous and critical eyes. Or of a list of expected duties, committees, and aptitudes a mile long. It seems that all the stories I heard about being a pastor's wife in seminary held some sort of betrayal or travesty. Maybe because those were the most fun to tell. I braced myself for the inevitable.
We moved into this parsonage ten years ago this February, fresh out of seminary. I remember seeing daffodils poking up along the front hedge, and feeling hopeful. There was homemade potato salad and gumbo in our fridge to welcome us. Someone had supplied us with a new mower and yard tools, waiting to be discovered in the garage. We giggled over the misprint in the bulletin inviting everyone to welcome us by attending "Bill and Julia's Panty Shower." It felt almost too good to be true, and I looked for the dark underside. What I found instead were largely accepting and appreciative folks, allowing us to blunder, discover, grow and lead.

Still, the critical voices and judgements I most feared have definitely been present: largely in my own mind. I've found that I can be my own worst enemy at times. It's when I assume someone's expression is due to something I (or my husband) said or left unsaid, when it could be indigestion. Or when I berate myself for how I should be dressing my kids, should have it all together, or should have mind-read to know what that person needed before they asked. If there is a conflict, I'm quick to assume I did it, or that Bill did. During budget season, and the annual "Sermon on the Amount", I squirm, fearing that people will think we are yet another money hungry Christian establishment. I torment myself imagining people's scrutiny of our salary package and try to be elsewhere for the congregational vote.

Over time, I am learning that these fears are unfounded, and that when conflict arises, it's to be moved through, not side-stepped or avoided all-together. I believe I am learning to kick the imagined blue-haired, white-gloved ladies out of my head, and to extend the same grace to myself and to my husband that I seek to offer to others.

A Snapshot

I couldn't resist stopping to take a snapshot of this neighborhood church when I passed by on the way to swimming lessons. Whether we have the guts to post the sign or not, Help Wanted certainly applies to churches all across America. As Jim Berg puts it, the American church is a lot like a football game in which thousands in desperate need of exercise sit around watching dozens in desperate need of rest.

Thus Saith the Lord

Speaking on behalf of God is a serious thing, prone to abuses. Yet to shut out the possibility of it all together, is to miss out on a tremendous blessing. As Beth Moore says, "Our repulsion over the abuses should not be our out for practicing present participle faith"
I have experienced the blessing of others speaking a blessing and a "word" over my life, which proved to be Scriptural and life-giving. I have also been part of a community during the disillusionment and pain of an apparently unfulfilled prophecy.
The only way to attempt to be a mouthpiece for God, is to acknowledge the fact that one's own voice is also at play. One's own compulsion to control or relieve one's own inner anxiety could just as easily be at play in delivering a word for someone from on High. As long as we are aware of, and dealing with our issues, we should remain engaged in seeking to hear directly from God and being willing to humbly and lovingly speak to others on His behalf.

A Question

Here's a question I've been mulling. If my core desire was for God to be glorified, and His work to be done here on earth, then would it matter to me whether or not it was me or someone else doing it?
If I hear someone praising God upfront, with a fabulous voice, shouldn't my heart rejoice that God's Name is being praised so beautifully, rather than feeling diminished in my own musical gifting, and wishing I sounded as great. If people are coming to know Christ, and studying his Word consistently through another local church, shouldn't I praise God that our mutual goal is being accomplished, rather than lamenting the fact that our personal ministry hasn't been experiencing the same growth?
I want to serve God, most definitely. But the I, in that statement is still predominant. I'm coming to realize that I want to serve God, more ardently, than I want God to be served.
Reset my focus and priorities, dear God. Help me rejoice over your work here on earth, whether or not I feel I had anything to do with it. Because, in reality, even when I do, it's all You anyway.

Play Update

We had our Christmas pageant this morning, and we all more than survived the experience. A few of the poinsettas decking the front were plucked sparse by busy little fingers. The readers took turns from the choir loft. My son woke with an upset tummy this morning, and had such potent gas, I feared that should it come upon him in the choir loft, those in close proximity might be dehabilitated. But the 1st, 2nd and 3rd graders read their Scripture verses, and the Biblically clad characters stiffly mimed the actions on the stage.
"But he had no union with her until she had given birth to a son," read by my 8 year old boy, caused me to hold my breath for the ensuing questions. (no miming of this part) I've been bracing myself for the "what is have union with her?" mean. We are in the clear so far.
We were short on boys so we decided to have a burly Gabriel the archeangel this year. Alaskan daddy of 3, Isreal, was a hit, dressed in a rusted purple choir gown and sporting wings made of a coat hanger and white nylons. The baby Jesus doll turned up missing 5 minutes before starting, so Mary improvised, I learned later, and wrapped her webkins poodle in the swaddling clothes and laid it in the manger. A stray lamb gleefuly made laps around the group of angels and shepherds during the reading of Scene 5.
So despite my early angst, disorganisation and feelings of inadequacy, I've discovered, you really can't ruin a Christmas pageant. We had lots of new faces in the sanctuary, children got to read and reread portions from the Bible for their lines, and the beautiful caroles are now on their tongues ( or at least 2 verses of Away in the manger, the chorus to O Come all ye Faithful, and Go tell it on the Mountain). Some of the moms of teens looked dewey eyed watching the play. "I miss this," Eileen told me with earnestness. I felt incredulous at the moment, but I expect one day I will too.

The Annual Christmas Plague --errr Play

I ran the most chaotic Christmas play practice imaginable today. Joseph and Gabriel had a stare-down contest during Scene Three. We had shepherds bumping into and crawling under the pre-set Communion table. No one, including me, was sure of who went where, and did or said what. How hard can a Christmas play be, really? But each year it morphs into a many tentacled beast which only proves worth it when it's all over. I'm a much better support person or delegee (a word?) than a director. Thank God we are serving among a loving and forgiving bunch of people. I'll let you know how it all turns out.