Is Self-Emptying of Power Possible?

"The history of diaconal ministry, rooted in Jesus' own ministry is an exciting one.  It reflects dimensions of the self-emptying of power, the empowerment of others, responsiveness, flexibility, practicality, and a sharing of Jesus' vision of community."  This quote comes from a 1987 document called the "The History of Diaconal Ministry," from the The United Church of Canada's Committee on Diaconal Ministry. 

It's a quote from 30 years ago that still feels relevant, although, in reading it today, I felt the need to question one phrase: "self-emptying power."  I know power can be gained and power can be let go, but can we really empty ourselves of our power?  I think this is something with which we struggle in the church and in our culture.  Some are pushing back against the idea of having white privilege because they don't want to believe that someone can have an inherent sense of power and privilege that they were born with and can't abandon.  In my experience, many ministers have struggled with the idea of their implied power and authority.  In the culture of diaconal ministry, we see ourselves as working in the margins, with those less privileged and oppressed and that we don't have the same power and authority of ordained ministers in the church.  This might be so but is there not some inherent power in just being a minister?  Might rejecting and denying our inherent power make us less effective ministers?

I had a conversation recently with a friend about clergy collars and why she wears them.  It gave me a lot to think about and I am considering whether this will work for me in my ministry.  Part of it has to do with the implied power of others over me and being recognized as a female pastor in circles where this is sometimes not respected.  It's also about helping others recognize me as a minister and eliminating the awkwardness some feel when trying to identify my role, especially in some church settings where the people encountered are secular and unsure of the traditions and rituals of the church.  I've also heard that it can be used to represent the church, for example at protest marches or pride parades, or even at funerals where it might be appropriate to wear "a uniform", for example the funeral of other clergy, firefighters, police officers, political leaders, etc.

Sometimes I think we've abandoned the collar because it makes us stick out as Christian in a very secular society.  Some of us don't like to stand out and some of us don't want the stigma that comes with being named Christian in this culture.  It's a symbol of the power we hold as ministers in the church and it makes us uncomfortable, especially as this power has been abused and is still being abused.  Ironically, when this power is abused, we sometimes make policy that attempts to hide the scandal or that puts such prohibitive rules on relationships between ministers and other community members that we get problems of isolation or a sense of otherness that creates further divisions and sometimes causes further abuse of power. 

How might we claim this power and, instead of abusing it, use it to advocate for those on the margins, use it to stand with those being oppressed, use it to be prophetic in a world that needs to hear words of truth and messages of mercy and compassion?  I don't believe one can ever empty one's self of power.  We are all vulnerable in different ways but I also think we all hold a certain amount of power, whether because of our gender, as someone who is visibly of European descent (white), straight, physically able, articulate and intelligent, charismatic, economically wealthy, the role or position we hold, and a myriad of other ways we might hold power.  I think we need to name that power, name our vulnerabilities, and decide together how they might serve the common good.

Jesus had power.  Yes, he was a Jewish man, the son of a carpenter, who lived among people oppressed by an empire.  But he was also a rabbi, a teacher, who was followed by crowds of people.  He was respected and he held a certain authority that inspired people to follow him.  If he had been a person without any kind of power, he would not have been seen as a threat and crucified.  Jesus is an example of someone who used his power to share the word of God, to heal and to empower, to speak to others in authority, and to walk with those on the margins.  May we follow his example and use our power in similar ways. 

Teaching Minister

In the United Church, there are two streams of ministry.  A person can be ordained to word, sacrament, and pastoral care or commissioned to a diaconal ministry of social justice, Christian education, and pastoral care.  For a while now, I have struggled with what that means for me.  I feel like I straddle a line between both.  If you've read past posts, you know that I feel a deep calling to diaconal ministry and the many nuances of what that means, but what I struggle with is this named differentiation of function between the two streams.

In the beginning, I chose diaconal ministry because it does not name a focus on the word.  Preaching terrified me.  Standing in front of a lot of people and sharing the gospel and my truth was something beyond my scope of thought and skill.  Christian education, on the other hand, called to me.  For a time, I had studied to be a teacher and I had always wanted to work with children. 

I soon learned that, just by virtue of being a candidate for ministry, people wanted to hear from me.  They wanted me to share my experiences and my learnings from behind the pulpit.  Also, through my studies at the Centre for Christian Studies, and its dynamic and transformative model of education, I began to find my voice.  I began to learn that I had something valuable to say and that others actually wanted to hear me say it. 

During my last year of studies, I decided that it would be best for me to be placed into a church where I was the solo minister, doing word, sacrament, and pastoral care.  I needed to learn how to stand on my own two feet and find my identity as a minister in the church.  The church settled me in Saskatchewan, where I stayed for five years, and preached almost every Sunday, and offered pastoral care to a small community. 

After five years, I decided that I wanted to try team ministry, where I was not in the pulpit every Sunday and doing pastoral visitation, but following my original call of doing Christian education, leading adult groups, Sunday School, and youth group.  I have now been doing this for almost six years.

What I've discovered is that I love what I'm doing but that I miss worship and preaching.  So although I'm not ordained to word and sacrament, I do feel called to do this work.  A term I heard recently is "teaching pastor," which seems to fit my calling.  I love my small group work with adults and young people, but also love to share my teachings in a larger space, within worship.  I love sitting one on one, talking about faith, our struggles with it, our doubts, and our fears.  I also enjoy creating programming or liturgy that engages people in growing their faith and sharing together as a community.  I also love learning together and teaching each other.  I learn most from the youngest among us and those who are different from me and the more I learn about myself and my faith, the more I can teach and share with others. 

I will continue to identify as a diaconal minister but I will function as a teaching minister, one who leads worship and preaches, leads small group studies with adults, creates programming for children and youth, and continues to seek knowledge and gain valuable experiences and grow in my own faith.  And who knows?  I've got many years before me.  That call may continue to change and grow.  For now, it's where I am. 

The Next Generation

In the bible, Moses led his people out of slavery in Egypt and across the dessert to a land promised by God.  It took so many years that by the time they were ready to enter this land, it was a new generation of people with a new chosen leader.  Moses is revered and well-known for his part in this story, but the leader who followed Moses had some big shoes to fill.  Joshua was the one to lead his people into the promised land.  How did the people view Joshua?  Did they fully accept his leadership or did they mourn over the loss of Moses and repeatedly compare Joshua to their past leader?  Was Joshua encouraged and embraced by his community or did they continually criticize him and look for ways to work around him?

As far as I know, Joshua was not a young person when he came in to leadership, but I often wonder how we, as a church, support our up and coming young leaders.  When the church was evaluating me before I was commissioned as a minister at the age of 33, people questioned my readiness based on my age.  As a church, we've grown more used to seeing the older generation in leadership as young people become more rare in the church.  Unfortunately, this also means, people have come to see young people as less capable of leadership.

Here are recent three stories about this next generation of leaders.

1. I talked with someone who was part of a church that had hired a minister who was in his early thirties and had no experience of being a minister in a big church.  She told me that being a minister at this church was a steep learning curve for this person and that he was struggling.  She also told me though that it was going to take time and that the church community was doing all they could to support him during this transition.  How refreshing to hear about a church community that, instead of criticizing their minister for the work he was not doing, was encouraging him and lifting him up as he learned and grew into this new experience.

2.  I sat at a table in a restaurant with people with whom I had been in school to be a minister.  One was the new principal of a theological school and the other had just accepted a position to be principal at another one.  These schools are looking for new ideas and new ways of being and are willing to bring in people from a younger generation who might bring new ideas and new ways of being.  Many of us sitting around that table know that, in the United Church, many have reached an age of retirement, and that we will need to step up into new positions of leadership and responsibility.  

3.  Last summer, at a gathering of diaconal people from around the world, one denomination had invited young people to come.  It was an opportunity for those young people to experience a different kind of ministry and to hear the stories of people doing ministry around the world.  I thought it was a wonderful idea so I decided to invite two young people, who I know are dedicated to living out their faith in the world, to our next United Church diaconal gathering in Winnipeg.  They have the opportunity to hear stories of courageous risking, including a story about forgiveness, social enterprise, truth and reconciliation, visiting the Human Rights museum, and hearing the stories of ministers in the church, their joys, their struggles, and their hopes.  

All of these stories express to me the importance of empowering the next generation of leaders.  In the story of Joshua, I'm sure he had his leadership struggles, but the story tells us,  in the very first chapter of the book of Joshua, the people said, "We will do all you command us to do, and we will go wherever you send us.  Just as we followed Moses, so now we will follow you.  May Yahweh your God be with you, as God was with Moses!...Only be strong! Be courageous." (The Inclusive Bible)  

May we also be strong and courageous enough to risk letting go of our worries and fears, to support and encourage the next generation of young leaders who step forward to lead, and may we have the wisdom to find opportunities to invite young people into training opportunities, leadership events, and learning opportunities that will help them to grow into their calling, whether within the church or as the church in the world.

The Lenticular Cross

On Friday, I worshipped with a small community in a movie theatre.  Although, I"m on sabbatical, attending worship during Holy Week felt important to me and this community extended a warm welcome during this most holy of weeks for Christians. 

During worship on Friday, the pastor mentioned a term that I had never heard: lenticular printing.  Many may be familiar with this kind of print, where as you move, the picture seems to change.  The picture included here holds an example, displaying just one picture from three different viewpoints. 

The pastor talked about the cross as a lenticular image.  The more I think about the idea, the more I like it, especially in view of the weekend just passed, which included Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and Easter.

When I was at a silent retreat at February, the only image of the cross, the dominate image, was that of the crucifixion.  In the worship space and the chapel, you faced the cross with the crucified Jesus.  Behind us in the worship space and down both sides of one of the residence hallways, and in at least three different places and mediums outside on the retreat grounds, were the 14 stations of the cross, images that begin with Pilate condemning Jesus to die and end with Jesus being placed in the tomb.  Experiencing the story of the crucifixion can be emotional.  It's a story of betrayal, denial, and abandonment by friends, being judged and condemned to die by those in power, a slow and excruciating death, filled with feelings of guilt, horror, and grief.  It's a powerful and complex story and usually, people can find their own experience somewhere in the story.

Sometimes people get stuck on this part of the story.  They forget the stories of his ministry and sometimes even forget his victory over the grave.  But there are also those who skip from Good Friday to Easter, and sometimes even skip Good Friday, preferring the feel good story of the resurrection and the disciples' stories of meeting the risen Christ.  As with all opposites, there is an in-between.  From young to old, is a lot of growing.  From black to white, there are many shades of grey.  From top to bottom, there is a whole space in between.  From north to south, there is a whole lot of east and west.  And from Good Friday to Easter, there is Holy Saturday, a time when the disciples hid from the authorities, when Jesus' loved ones, including his mother, grieved his death, when people ceased their comings and goings to honour the Sabbath, a time when Jesus' body lay dead in a tomb. 

It's the time where most of us live our lives.  Most of us don't live in the highs and lows, the valleys and the mountain peaks.  We live in between.  Thank God.  I would not want to live my life in a constant state of tragedy or non-stop celebrations.  Most of us do our living here, in the space between, in transition, or, what I like to call, the journey.  From birth to death, whether we are on this earth for a few minutes, a few years, or decades, it's the space in between where we experience this journey of life.  The image of the lenticular cross reminds me that that there is hope during times of suffering, that there is joy in times of triumph and redemption, and that there is love through it all.  May it be so.  Amen.

Stoic and Warm

I heard a woman recently describe her time in a mainline church as "stoic and warm."  I thought this was an apt description.  I have grown up in church communities like this.  The people are warm and friendly, inviting and welcoming.  Most of the time it's a community of people who love one another and offer support when needed.

But they are also communities where expressing feelings out loud or visibly is discouraged.  I remember as a child being shushed and being told to be still.  I have seen discomfort in the faces of people when babies are crying or if someone unexpectedly gets up and says something aloud.  Waving hands in the air during the music is not the norm in these churches.  Spontaneous words of prayer are met with disapproval.  Sermons with some fire or some emotion are seen with suspicion.

During my time of sabbatical, I have been attending different churches, and many of them have not been mainline churches.  I have to admit that, although I feel discomfort at times, I feel the emotion that permeates the people in the room.  I feel an energy that I don't feel in my usual habitats.  There was one time when I felt very close to tears at the end of the service.

I've been told for a long time that the mainline churches, like the United Church of which I'm a part, are thinking churches, more for people who want to engage their minds.  The pentecostal or evangelical churches that I've been visiting are more feeling churches, more for people who want to engage with their bodies and their hearts.  But why the separation?  I know in the mainline churches, it's come to a point where there is deep suspicion and distrust of evangelical churches.  We point fingers at their lack of social justice and inclusivity.  We roll our eyes at the hand raising during worship and cringe at the lyrics in the music.  For all I know, the evangelical churches are doing the same, pointing fingers at our lack of biblical literacy, suspicious of our lack of emotion, and disdainful of the way we hang on to tradition.

I wonder though what it would look like if we began to look, not with suspicion, but with curiosity.  Why do we do what we do?  Why do they do what they do?  How might we learn from each other?  I don't think we need to become like each other, because there is always room for diversity and people feel comfortable in different places, but I do think there is a lot we could learn.  Might we bring in some of that warmth and vitality to our mainline churches, without sacrificing the engagement with our minds?  Might we learn to experience worship with our whole bodies rather than just listening and reflecting?  Would more people find a home in mainline churches and find the spirit they've been seeking if we began to act in less traditional ways that meet a culture with different needs and expectations?  I think it's worth a try.

Clinging and Suffering

If someone were to ask me what I cling to in life, I might answer that I cling to those things I hold dear in my life, like my family, my friends, my vocation, and my faith.  All of these are very important to me, so I would say that I cling to these things, not wanting to lose them, wanting to keep them in my life.

I recently heard a comment though which has caused me to rethink this.  I learned that in Buddhism, clinging is linked to suffering.  When we cling to something, we suffer.  When we hold on tightly, when we are reluctant to let go, when we are grasping tightly to what we hold dear, this can create suffering.

The first example that comes to my mind is my children.  I love them very much, but when I cling to them, when I want what I think is best for them, or when I fear for them so much that I take over their lives and make them dependent on me, I create problems, mostly for my children.  But if I am grounded in my love for them and put my trust in their abilities, then I will know that the best way of loving them is by giving them the freedom they need to experience life on their own.

If I cling to my faith, am I letting it grow?  Am I being open to new possibilities?  Am I truly listening to the experiences of others and letting them change me?

Many communities cling to tradition and the way things have always been done.  In a world that is changing rapidly, many find security and safety in places that haven't changed or in rituals that remain the same.  If communities remain unchanged in the midst of a changing world, are they truly able to meet the needs of newcomers or of those outside the community crying out for help?  I'm not saying that communities need to react to every passing fad or use the changing world as a model for their own change.  Communities do need to be aware though of what is happening around them.  They need to discern and be open to new ideas that might bring fruit to their own community, that might help them meet the needs of those around them, and that might offer them a new vision and a new way of life.  Jesus said repeatedly in the gospel of Matthew, "You have heard it said...but I tell you..."  The old way or the way it's been done in the past isn't wrong or bad; it may just need to be reevaluated and given new life. 

I've been reciting Psalm 63, which in verse 8 reads, "I cling to you; your right hand upholds me."  When I say the words, "I cling to you," I imagine myself at Jesus' feet, clinging to his feet, a person in distress, crying out for help.  But when I imagine the second half of that verse, "your right hand upholds me," I see myself in the palm of God's hand, uplifted to the sky, facing out, and ready for what the world has for me.  Clinging has it's place, especially when we are in distress, but I would rather be upheld, open to what may come, knowing I'm being supported, feeling that holy presence as an ally on my journey.

May you find the freedom that comes with letting go of that to which you cling.  May you be enriched by new possibilities and new ideas.  May you feel God's right hand upholding you, loving you and supporting you on your journey.  May it be so.

Remit 6 Defeated

For those of you active in the United Church, you'll know a bit about Remit 6.  Almost three years ago, a motion was passed that would make the three streams of ministry in the United Church - ordained, diaconal, and designated lay - into one.  All would be ordained.  This motion, before it could go into effect, had to be approved by a majority of presbyteries and congregations.  We found out this week that the motion was defeated. (Presbyteries voted 26 yes and 50 no.  Congregations voted 713 yes and 950 no.)

Whenever I engage in conversation on this remit, I am amazed how many different opinions exist on this one remit.  For that reason alone, I am glad it wasn't passed.  Some voted against the remit, because they didn't feel it honoured the diversity of ministries.  They felt it was a way of honouring ordained ministry, which is seen as the norm, while dishonouring the identity and value of diaconal and designated lay ministries.  Still others felt that diaconal and designated lay ministers don't get the respect they deserve and so a remit like this would help with that.  It would give diaconal and designated lay ministers equal recognition in congregations and make it easier for them to offer the sacraments in a variety of settings and more access to ecumenical jobs where only ordained ministry is recognized.

There were some who voted no though because they believe ordained ministers to be set apart and more highly educated.  Ordained ministers are required to have a master's of divinity (MDiv).  The United Church values a highly educated clergy and some don't believe that the education of diaconal and designated lay ministers fall into this category.  Although the remit did call for some action on more master's level education for designated lay ministers, it didn't seem to be enough.  I heard from many that some of these conversations were hurtful and seemed to devalue the education of some and presume that they were less worthy in their ministry role because they didn't have an MDiv.

Many agree that this remit was created to make is easier for the church to define and recognize paid-accountable ministers.  There is a lot of confusion, among lay people and those in ministry, when it comes to defining these three streams of ministry.  Only 7% of ministry in the UCC is diaconal and I believe the number of designated lay ministers is similar.  People are most familiar with ordained ministry, both inside and outside of the church.  I admit it can be exhausting always trying to explain the differences, usually over and over again to the same people and in the same context.

As a diaconal minister, I admit to having mixed feelings about the defeat of this remit.  In some ways, it would have made life easier.  I wouldn't have to fight for permission to do sacraments.  I wouldn't see job postings seeking only ordained ministers.  People wouldn't constantly question my credentials and my ability to do fill the role as minister. 

But I also have a fear of losing this distinction.  Being a diaconal minister is important to me.  I initially chose the route of diaconal ministry because I felt drawn to being a Christian educator and also didn't feel I was a person of the Word; I didn't feel I was a preacher.  That has changed.  I have discovered that I love to lead worship and that preaching is a strong component of that.  In my training to become a diaconal minister though, I learned that diaconal ministry is an identity, not just a function.  For me, diaconal ministry values community, social justice, advocacy and being an ally, valuing and honouring everyone's story, and honouring and valuing my own story.  It's about meeting in a circle and checking in with one another.  It's about recognizing and saying hard truths, but valuing other people's truths.  Although it can be difficult to have people misunderstand and devalue my status as a diaconal minister and although I may have to explain myself over and over again, I value my identity as a diaconal minister too much to see it be subsumed as a part of the larger umbrella and norm of ordained ministry. 

The diaconal community gathers in a number of ways.  Nationally, we try to meet every two years.  We are meeting in Winnipeg next month, in April, and I am highly anticipating it.  Each time we gather, I am enriched, inspired, and I am fed.  There is nothing like it. 

I know at this gathering that there will be some disappointed at the defeat of Remit 6 and some who will be rejoicing.  We are one community of people who are diaconal, but we are all very diverse, which is how I see all ministry in the church.  We are a community of ministers, with similar values and functions, but we are also very rich in diversity, each with a different story.  We are not all the same and our expressions of ministry are distinct and varied.  I hope that someday this is seen as a gift and not something to be fixed.