25 Years

 This is an excerpt from my weekly letter to my congregation. I share some of my thoughts about the anniversary I celebrate today -- the 25th anniversary of my ordination as a Minister of Word and Sacrament in the Presbyterian Church (USA). Hopefully, it conveys, even in a small way, what being a pastor for this many years has meant to me. 

As I write this, I am thinking about two things at the same time. The first is that tomorrow, August 20, marks the 25^th anniversary of my ordination to the Ministry of Word and Sacrament. The second is that I just had some dental work done, and the right side of my face is numb.

 I know these two thoughts seem to have nothing to do with each other. The first evokes memories of a day that was filled to the brim with emotion: I was excited, nervous, joyful, scared, overwhelmed, and earnest. I remember thinking that I could not believe I had made it to that day. What a wild ride from my first tentative thoughts about maybe, possibly being called by God to ministry to my gut punch response when I walked onto my seminary’s campus for the first time – applying for a job – and realizing I had to be in that place, to my classes, to making lifelong friends, to my ordination exams to my ordination. I stayed with my parents in their hotel room that night, and I could not sleep. I kept playing out the day in my mind. I was ordained. I was beginning a new life as God’s servant. I could hardly imagine or foresee where this journey would lead.

 But as for my dental work, I really just want to drink my coffee without fear of dribbling it down my face. I want to feel like my mouth is back to its normal size and shape. I hope that I’ll be able to try a little yogurt in a few minutes. Soft food sounds good right now.

 So what’s the connection between the two, you ask? The numbness I feel from the dental work is necessary. But after 25 years of serving churches, moving from one congregation to the next, hearing the hopes and fears of parishioners, it would be easy and tempting to numb my heart. Not because I am choosing to be callus, but because I have born witness to so much joy and so much pain, a little numbness might keep my heart and my mind from being overloaded.

 In 25 years of ministry, I have baptized babies who have cried and fussed and slept while I sprinkled water on their foreheads and welcomed them into the body of Christ. I have also baptized a baby who only lived for minutes, and I am still not sure if the water I used was from the bowl provided by the nurse or my tears. I have stood with couples as they began their lives together, and I have grieved with couples whose marriages were ending. I have welcomed new members with joy, and repeated ancient words of hope and promise as members were sent with love back to God’s arms. I have been privileged to celebrate with a sick parishioner who has been made well, and equally as privileged to be in the sacred space when a final breath was breathed. I have lost count of the session meetings and Bible studies and special programs. I have put on my old waitressing shoes and served at dinners and lunches. I have served in five different presbyteries, and double, maybe triple, that for committees. I have planted seeds with youth groups that I hope and pray took root. I have set down my own roots in places and with people; and I have dug up those same roots and moved on.

 In 25 years of ministry, I have prayed to God, rejoiced in God, and argued with God. There were many times I wanted nothing more than to walk away. Let someone else be the minister; I am working at Starbucks. But something, someone, always brought me back.

 You see, it would be easy to wish for numbness when it comes to ministry. One secret of being a pastor that you can only discover by living it is that it has the power to break your heart wide open – again and again. But that is also the beauty of ministry. It is the beauty of living. If we love, we also risk a broken heart. But life and ministry are nothing without love. So as eagerly as I await the numbness around my mouth to dissipate, I also push back at the numbness that would protect me in my call.

 I pray that you will push back against numbing yourselves as well. It is easy and understandable to wish for numbness because the world hurts. It hurts to see how divided we are, how broken we are, how we hurt one another. It would be easy to numb ourselves against all of that hurt. But when we talked about what the Church is in our visioning committee, some folks commented that for them Church is the place to feel safe, to recharge, to get a spiritual lift. I agree with all of that, but I want to add this. I believe Church and worship is also where we fight back against our desire to numb ourselves from the world’s pain. In worship our empathy, as well as our spirits, is renewed and restored.