Thursday, September 8, 2011
I'm Sorry
I have learned recently that, for the first time, the words of this blog have hurt someone's feelings. My words hurt someone. I certainly didn't mean to; I try to be very careful in what I write, but it still happened. I don't want to name names, but you know who you are. I am deeply sorry. I like and respect you. I know you love your job and are very good at it! I never meant to imply otherwise. I will strive in the future to choose my words even more carefully than I have been. I'm sorry and I hope you can forgive me.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Gluten-free Communion
Last week I felt like I pulled off a coup! One of my responsibilities at my new church is to assign communion servers. This task does not have much to do with being an associate pastor, but came about because I believe celebrating the Lord's Supper is one of the most important things we do as church and so I was more than willing to to take it on.
I talked with one of the usual servers, who is gluten-intolerant and she asked about having a separate gluten-free station. She appreciates that now there is a gluten-free wafer, where there didn't used to be (and she used to stay in her seat and not participate in the Eucharistic feast), but her allergy can be aggravated by simple cross-contamination from a hand handling glutinous bread to handling the gluten-free wafer.
I then talked with another United Methodist Church which has had a separate gluten-free communion station for years and discovered that they not only have gluten-intolerant folks who use it but also immuno-compromised folks (on chemo, etc.). The gluten-free wafers are not touched by anyone else: they are shaken from their box onto a cloth and then the person coming up picks up his/her own wafer. The point is to be all inclusive, welcoming, and hospitable. Even when you don't think there will be someone present at a service who will want the gluten-free, you provide it, anyway.
I presented all this information to my fellow staff members and they agreed, we should have a separate gluten-free station at all services. When I emailed the original lady I'd started this whole conversation with, her response back was: "Oh, wow! This is awesome! Thank you so much, Pastor Heather!" I felt like I'd pulled off a coup. This change means that much to her and to others who felt hindered from coming to the communion table.
This past Sunday we had a separate gluten-free station at each service. It felt a little anti-climatic after all the work building up to it. The set-up needs tweaking a little bit, but it was a start and folks appreciated it.
There are so many reasons folks don't participate in communion (I blogged about it before on June 15). I am glad there is now one less reason at Orange! It's the LORD's table and we are all invited guests! Therefore, let us not hinder one another from feasting, too.
Monday, August 22, 2011
The Service Where I Couldn't Stop Laughing
For the first time as a worship leader, I cracked up at the pulpit. I couldn't help myself!
At the 11:00 service, the church tradition is for elementary school kids to acolyte. Yesterday, there were two boys, around ages 8 or 9. The lady in charge of them got them ready and made sure the wicks were plenty long so the flames would stay lit as they processed up the aisle during the opening hymn. However, as the two boys processed, they each gradually made their wicks shorter and shorter. By the time they reached the front row of pews, one of their flames had gone out. By the time they reached the altar, both had been extinguished. The two boys looked at each other, at each other's lack of flame, and tried anyway to light the candles!!!
I love watching the symbolic light of Christ enter the sanctuary and the candles being lit. I also love kids. So each Sunday as I sing the opening hymn from the pulpit, I watch the acolytes and their flames. I started laughing at the point where both flames were extinguished. I put my hand over my mouth to try to restrain myself when they both tried to light the candles without any fire. That's when the rest of the congregation noticed, those who didn't have a clear line of sight to what was happening, because they saw me trying to stifle a laugh, and then everyone laughed!
I had trouble keeping a straight face for the rest of the hymn ("To God Be the Glory"). At the end, I said, "Praise the Lord that Christ is the light of the world who never goes out!" and everyone laughed again. Then we moved on.
Until the end of the end of the service. During the recessional hymn, the lady in charge of acolytes caught my eye and we both cracked up again.
However, after the service I made sure to tell both boys that they did a great job acolyting!
Thursday, August 18, 2011
When I Became a Pastor...
When I became a pastor, I started wearing my pearls on a regular basis and not just for extra special occasions like graduations and weddings.
When I became a pastor, I got a new name, pastora, Pastor Heather, kinda like when I became a teacher and overnight became Ms. Willet.
When I became a pastor, I had to start figuring out how to be transparent (which comes almost naturally to me) without talking about myself too much. People want you to listen and relate, but not share too much how you relate. They don't care how you relate. And I held back at the UMW (United Methodist Women) session of griping about husbands. They asked me to contribute, but I really didn't feel it was appropriate for me to do so.
When I became a pastor, I forgot half my knowledge of the Bible. I knew a lot before seminary, then more during seminary, and now when someone asks me where something is, half the time I preface my answer with "I think" or else say, "lemme go look it up." Of course, I also blame online concordances for this - I don't have to remember as much as I used to, because it is easier to look things up now, except when people put me on the spot.
When I became a pastor, Sunday mornings became all-important. I am, and have to be, ON on Sunday mornings. Ready, on the ball, awake and alert, high energy (at least mentally and spiritually, if not physically). I can't miss Sunday mornings. Unless I'm seriously sick, like last Sunday. And I still didn't feel justified in missing last Sunday until the doctor on Monday told me it was good I did. I can't stay out late Saturday night. I have a bedtime on Saturday night, and it is hard to keep.
When I became a pastor, I became expected to know where everything is in the church. This even happened just yesterday - a lifelong member and active volunteer asked me, who has been here just 7 weeks, where something was.
When I became a pastor, I also became a preacher. In fact, I'm referred to as preacher as often as I'm called pastor, at least in English. This hasn't happened yet at my new church, the senior pastor is referred to as the preacher; my first Sunday preaching here won't be til Sept 25. Regardless, I don't like reducing the role of pastor to preacher. It is so much more than preaching.
When I became a pastor, I started a "job" that is just as fulfilling and important as teaching. For the most part, I like working with people. I like building relationships (which is what teaching is, too - how do you think you get students to learn?!). I like making a difference in people's lives. However, that's not the end goal, that's not why I do it. I'm not a pastor to feel good about myself. I'm not a pastor to change lives; that's God's job. I'm a pastor because God called me to become a pastor and my job is to point to God.
When I became a pastor, I got a new name, pastora, Pastor Heather, kinda like when I became a teacher and overnight became Ms. Willet.
When I became a pastor, I had to start figuring out how to be transparent (which comes almost naturally to me) without talking about myself too much. People want you to listen and relate, but not share too much how you relate. They don't care how you relate. And I held back at the UMW (United Methodist Women) session of griping about husbands. They asked me to contribute, but I really didn't feel it was appropriate for me to do so.
When I became a pastor, I forgot half my knowledge of the Bible. I knew a lot before seminary, then more during seminary, and now when someone asks me where something is, half the time I preface my answer with "I think" or else say, "lemme go look it up." Of course, I also blame online concordances for this - I don't have to remember as much as I used to, because it is easier to look things up now, except when people put me on the spot.
When I became a pastor, Sunday mornings became all-important. I am, and have to be, ON on Sunday mornings. Ready, on the ball, awake and alert, high energy (at least mentally and spiritually, if not physically). I can't miss Sunday mornings. Unless I'm seriously sick, like last Sunday. And I still didn't feel justified in missing last Sunday until the doctor on Monday told me it was good I did. I can't stay out late Saturday night. I have a bedtime on Saturday night, and it is hard to keep.
When I became a pastor, I became expected to know where everything is in the church. This even happened just yesterday - a lifelong member and active volunteer asked me, who has been here just 7 weeks, where something was.
When I became a pastor, I also became a preacher. In fact, I'm referred to as preacher as often as I'm called pastor, at least in English. This hasn't happened yet at my new church, the senior pastor is referred to as the preacher; my first Sunday preaching here won't be til Sept 25. Regardless, I don't like reducing the role of pastor to preacher. It is so much more than preaching.
When I became a pastor, I started a "job" that is just as fulfilling and important as teaching. For the most part, I like working with people. I like building relationships (which is what teaching is, too - how do you think you get students to learn?!). I like making a difference in people's lives. However, that's not the end goal, that's not why I do it. I'm not a pastor to feel good about myself. I'm not a pastor to change lives; that's God's job. I'm a pastor because God called me to become a pastor and my job is to point to God.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Learning through Death
Last week was bookended by death. On Monday, I assisted in the funeral for the son of a church member. On Friday, I was present for my Grandma's burial.
The son of the church member died unexpectedly, at age 52. I had never met him. But I learned about him at his funeral. For one, the church was full. Lots of people came to say good-bye to him. The more interesting aspect I found was the presence of his co-workers. There were two rows full of family members on one side of the aisle; there were two and a half rows full of his co-workers on the other side. They came in together, sat together, and stood together. Eight of them served as pallbearers. There was a row of bright yellow trucks in the parking lot where they had parked together. This man had worked at this same job for 30 years. And his co-workers came to pay their respects. The only thing they didn't do together was pay attention during the service. It was fairly obvious to me which ones were accustomed to being in church and could have prayed the 23rd Psalm along with me and which ones were only in a church for this man's sake. But they all came.
On the other hand, my Grandma lived a long, full life. Her death was not a surprise. It was back in February and we held her memorial service shortly thereafter. However, the ground in NY was too frozen last winter to bury her then, which is why she wasn't buried until last week. I thought I knew my Grandma pretty well, but I learned even more about her in her death. She had planned her memorial service before she passed: chose which Scriptures she wanted read and which hymns she wanted us to sing as well as choosing to celebrate the Eucharist. Grandma was a life-long Episcopalian; the service was at the church she'd attended and been active in for the previous 30 years or so. The recessional hymn, "Faith of our Fathers," written by Frederick Faber in 1849, has stayed with me these past six months. That Grandma would chose this hymn to be sung by her family and friends at her memorial service speaks volumes to me.
We will be true to thee till death.
We will be true to thee till death.
The son of the church member died unexpectedly, at age 52. I had never met him. But I learned about him at his funeral. For one, the church was full. Lots of people came to say good-bye to him. The more interesting aspect I found was the presence of his co-workers. There were two rows full of family members on one side of the aisle; there were two and a half rows full of his co-workers on the other side. They came in together, sat together, and stood together. Eight of them served as pallbearers. There was a row of bright yellow trucks in the parking lot where they had parked together. This man had worked at this same job for 30 years. And his co-workers came to pay their respects. The only thing they didn't do together was pay attention during the service. It was fairly obvious to me which ones were accustomed to being in church and could have prayed the 23rd Psalm along with me and which ones were only in a church for this man's sake. But they all came.
On the other hand, my Grandma lived a long, full life. Her death was not a surprise. It was back in February and we held her memorial service shortly thereafter. However, the ground in NY was too frozen last winter to bury her then, which is why she wasn't buried until last week. I thought I knew my Grandma pretty well, but I learned even more about her in her death. She had planned her memorial service before she passed: chose which Scriptures she wanted read and which hymns she wanted us to sing as well as choosing to celebrate the Eucharist. Grandma was a life-long Episcopalian; the service was at the church she'd attended and been active in for the previous 30 years or so. The recessional hymn, "Faith of our Fathers," written by Frederick Faber in 1849, has stayed with me these past six months. That Grandma would chose this hymn to be sung by her family and friends at her memorial service speaks volumes to me.
Faith of our fathers, living still,
In spite of dungeon, fire and sword;
O how our hearts beat high with joy
Whenever we hear that glorious Word!
Faith of our fathers, holy faith!
We will be true to thee till death.
Faith of our fathers, we will strive
To win all nations unto Thee;
And through the truth that comes from God,
We all shall then be truly free.
We will be true to thee till death.
Faith of our fathers, we will love
Both friend and foe in all our strife;
And preach Thee, too, as love knows how
By kindly words and virtuous life.
We will be true to thee till death.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Afraid of saying (or writing) something stupid
In my new position, I am in charge of giving the opening welcome and announcements. God help me, I'm afraid of saying something stupid when I do that.
Then again, it's already happened. Last Sunday, the senior pastor and I had worked out which announcement I would give and which one he would announce. Well, once I got up to the lectern at the first service (8 a.m.), I gave his announcement and then turned to him for the other one. Whoops. He let me do both announcements for the remaining two services.
In my previous appointment, I was less afraid because it was in my second language; mistakes were inevitable. I was going to say (and did say) something estúpido on a pretty regular basis. My congregation either laughed at it, because they had never heard something phrased that way before (they loved it when I used the word chismes, or gossip), or if it was really bad, they gently corrected me and taught me the correct way to say something. When speaking in your second language, you're going to say something stupid. This slows lots of folks down from speaking in the language that they're learning, which is unfortunate, because speaking it is part of how you learn it and making mistakes is part of how you learn in general.
Even when speaking in your native tongue, you'll also inevitably say something stupid. When I told my husband about this blog entry's topic, he said, "Being afraid of sounding stupid doesn't slow me down any. I do it all the time!" (And he said I could quote him.) When I write this blog, I want for what I write to not sound stupid. That's part of why I don't post any more than I do - what I do post, I've thought about for a few days to make sure it's post-worthy and not stupid. I know sometimes it'll be stupid anyway. That certainly happened a few times in my monthly newsletters I sent out when I served in Nicaragua.
And I suppose a stupid greeting is going to happen from time to time in church as well. They can't all be winners, right? It may just be a problem of practice - the more I give the greeting and the welcome, the more comfortable I'll be doing it and I'll find a "standard" way of doing it that suits me and doesn't sound stupid.
Then again, it's already happened. Last Sunday, the senior pastor and I had worked out which announcement I would give and which one he would announce. Well, once I got up to the lectern at the first service (8 a.m.), I gave his announcement and then turned to him for the other one. Whoops. He let me do both announcements for the remaining two services.
In my previous appointment, I was less afraid because it was in my second language; mistakes were inevitable. I was going to say (and did say) something estúpido on a pretty regular basis. My congregation either laughed at it, because they had never heard something phrased that way before (they loved it when I used the word chismes, or gossip), or if it was really bad, they gently corrected me and taught me the correct way to say something. When speaking in your second language, you're going to say something stupid. This slows lots of folks down from speaking in the language that they're learning, which is unfortunate, because speaking it is part of how you learn it and making mistakes is part of how you learn in general.
Even when speaking in your native tongue, you'll also inevitably say something stupid. When I told my husband about this blog entry's topic, he said, "Being afraid of sounding stupid doesn't slow me down any. I do it all the time!" (And he said I could quote him.) When I write this blog, I want for what I write to not sound stupid. That's part of why I don't post any more than I do - what I do post, I've thought about for a few days to make sure it's post-worthy and not stupid. I know sometimes it'll be stupid anyway. That certainly happened a few times in my monthly newsletters I sent out when I served in Nicaragua.
And I suppose a stupid greeting is going to happen from time to time in church as well. They can't all be winners, right? It may just be a problem of practice - the more I give the greeting and the welcome, the more comfortable I'll be doing it and I'll find a "standard" way of doing it that suits me and doesn't sound stupid.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Pastora Incognito
When I arrived at Unidos por Cristo, it was very obvious that I was the new pastor. They'd heard their new pastor was not Hispanic and I was the only unfamiliar un-Hispanic face in the building.
After two weeks at Orange, I am still meeting folks who don't realize that I am the new associate pastor. They've been out of town on the weekends and so haven't seen me in services; during the week, they assume I'm part of the preschool or one of the other events happening daily at the church. In a congregation of 500 that's predominantly white, it's easy to assume that an unfamiliar white face is just someone else you don't know.
Last week I volunteered with the church at the Interfaith Council Homeless Shelter. Only I didn't tell anyone I was coming. I arrived in the kitchen and said, "Hi, how can I help?" I was put to work before one of the other volunteers whispered to her husband, "psst, that's the new associate!" I wasn't trying to be secretive, I'm just more comfortable saying, "Hi, what's your name?" than "Hi, I'm the new associate pastor." Later on, I was talking with another church volunteer (who was smart enough to ask back, "what's your name?"!) and another church volunteer joined us just as we were talking about my predecessor. The two talked about how they missed the previous associate and the second one said, "but I hear our new associate has her own gifts and talents." I didn't interrupt her, just introduced myself to her when she was done. Good thing she had only heard positive things about me!
After two weeks at Orange, I am still meeting folks who don't realize that I am the new associate pastor. They've been out of town on the weekends and so haven't seen me in services; during the week, they assume I'm part of the preschool or one of the other events happening daily at the church. In a congregation of 500 that's predominantly white, it's easy to assume that an unfamiliar white face is just someone else you don't know.
Last week I volunteered with the church at the Interfaith Council Homeless Shelter. Only I didn't tell anyone I was coming. I arrived in the kitchen and said, "Hi, how can I help?" I was put to work before one of the other volunteers whispered to her husband, "psst, that's the new associate!" I wasn't trying to be secretive, I'm just more comfortable saying, "Hi, what's your name?" than "Hi, I'm the new associate pastor." Later on, I was talking with another church volunteer (who was smart enough to ask back, "what's your name?"!) and another church volunteer joined us just as we were talking about my predecessor. The two talked about how they missed the previous associate and the second one said, "but I hear our new associate has her own gifts and talents." I didn't interrupt her, just introduced myself to her when she was done. Good thing she had only heard positive things about me!
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