Pastor, I know you are busy...

About every fourth or fifth email I receive and about half of every phone conversation I have, I hear something like, “I know you are busy, but…” I cannot speak for every pastor but I believe that this modified story from the spirituality of the desert story might speak for many clergy - including myself:

There was a student who went to a teacher and asked for a word. The teacher shared a word with the student who went back home. The next day the student forgot what the teacher had said, so the student returned to the teacher.

“I am sorry teacher, but I have forgotten what you said yesterday. Can you share a word with me?”

The teacher spent a little more time with the student this second time, and then the student went back home.

A week later, the student returned and said, “Teacher, I am so sorry to bother you and I have asked now two times, but I have forgotten and would you share a word?”

The teacher sat all day with the student before the student returned home.

After two weeks, the student returned to the teacher. The student felt ashamed and was embarrassed to ask the teacher, yet one more time, “I know you are busy, and I know that I have taken a lot of your time already, but I have forgotten what you said. Could you remind me again?”

At this point the teacher took the table lamp that was to his right and asked the student to pass him a candle that was on the entry table. The teacher lit the candle, handed it to the student, and asked the student for a second candle from the entry table. The teacher lit the second candle, handed it to the student who was asked to retrieve a third and then a fourth candle.

The teacher lifted the lamp up and looed at the student who was now holding four lit candles. The teacher said, “Is the lamp diminished because it gave some of its light to the four candles?”

The student understood and said, “No.”

Never again did the student hesitate to visit the teacher and both of their homes became full of light.

Quarantined, Set Apart, Sacred

Maybe you have been thinking about the idea of "being set apart" these days.

In religious terms, being "set apart" is another way of thinking about what is "sacred" or what is "holy." The sacred or the holy is that which is set apart. For some reason, I forget that being set apart does not mean it is better, but it is reserved for a certain purpose. Thus, we do not have tailgates in the Sanctuary, not because the Sanctuary is better than other places and cannot be “tainted by a party”, but because that place is set apart for certain purposes. 

What might it look like to consider this time where we are all set apart from one another as a sacred time? Many sacred moments in the Bible are scary. Maybe you can recall stories of humans encountering the sacred and holy and the words come to the human, "do not be afraid." This current set apart time is uniquely scary, for many of us and we are trying to not be afraid.

So to recap, we are set apart. We are a little fearful. We have voices reminding us to no be afraid. We are forced to listen more closely and gracefully than ever before. We are being called to do things in a new way. 

This may not be the ideal or dreamy picture we imagine, but is it possible that this time (like all time) is still sacred? 

May our time be sacred - even at 6 feet apart or digitally. 

The Church and The Moon

Photo by Jordan Steranka on Unsplash

While reading a book for class,  I was reminded that the Christian calendar is based on the moon, and not the sun.

Who cares?

The moon is not a light source, but the object that reflects the light. It goes in phases, and is sometimes bright and other times seemingly absent. It is easily masked by clouds and yet does not hurt your eyes to look directly at it. It shines in the darkness even if only a sliver.

The Church is not the Light, but only attempts to reflect it. At her best, it shines in the darkness and at her worst it is absent from view. The Church is not what gives life but can help sustain life in the dark times. The Church pulls people together with intimacy and peace not unlike the moonlight summer nights of our lives.

This may contribute to our discomfort with Church. It is inconsistent and does not do all that we would want it to do. It does not fit neatly into our evenly measured lives and is more mysterious than we are comfortable with. It requires work to see and is easily over shadowed, but the Church and the Moon are tied together in a way that both are dependent on the Light.

Best Preachers Practice, Not Rehearse, Sermons

Not only do the best preachers deliver sermons and develop a point of view they also practice their sermons. This is something that every homiletic class (the fancy title for preaching class) in seminary teaches. Practicing sermons are vital to the delivery and to the development of the point of view. However, practicing sermons is not the same as rehearsing sermons.

One does not have to rehearse sermons, but they must be practiced. 

Practicing sermons, or "practice what you preach", is the idea that we need to do what we preach not just speak it. So if you are a preacher that preaches about the need for reconciliation, then your sermons will be made great if you practice reconciliation. If you are a God accepts all people sort of preacher, then you should practice that sermon. 

The beautiful part is that when you practice your sermons, then you will not have as much of a need to rehearse them. The sermon will come from your being and doing. The people can see your sermon each time you stand in the pulpit.

You can rehearse all you want, but the best preachers practice their sermons.

There is a great little story by Henri Nouwen (Time Enough to Minister, 1982) that speaks to the need to practice your sermons, even when you don't have time to rehearse them. It goes like this:

"Often we're not as pressed for time as much as we feel we're pressed for time. I remember several years ago becoming so pressed by demands of teaching at Yale that I took a prayer sabbatical to the Trappist monastery at Geneseo, New York. No teaching, lecturing, or counseling--just solitude and prayer.  

"The second day there, a group of students from Geneseo College walked in and asked, 'Henri, can you give us a retreat?'
""Of course at the monastery that was not my decision, but I said to the abbott, 'I came here from the university to get away from this type of thing. These students have asked for five meditations, an enormous amount of work and preparation. I don't want to do it.'

"The abbot said, 'You're going to do it.'
"'What do you mean? Why would I spend my sabbatical time preparing all those things?'

"'Prepare?' he replied. 'You've been a Christian for forty years and a priest for twenty, and a few high school students wan to have a retreat. Why do you have to prepare? What those boys and girls want is to be a part of your life in God for a few days. If you pray half an hour in the morning, sing in our choir for an hour, and do your spiritual reading, you will have so much to say you could give ten retreats.'

"The question, you see, is not to prepare but to live in a state of ongoing preparedness so that, when someone who is drowning in the world comes into your world, you are ready to reach out and help. It may be at four o'clock, six o'clock, or nine o'clock. One time you call it preaching, the next time teaching, then counseling, or later administration. But let them be a part of your life in God--that's ministering."