What My Ministry is Worth

Last year at about this time, I received the following email:

At our [regional] meeting on Monday, there will be official notice to the [regional body] that you are this year's recipient of the annual [rich benefactor name here] award. This award recognizes pastoral ministry without great compensation. In past years when the stock market was in better health the award also included a reasonably sized token check.  Things are not so good this year, and [treasurer] tells me that the check will be really really small this time.  So this is a heads-up, with regret that your presbytery can't do more.

This may have seemed an odd warning and I would have thought more about its strange tone, but unfortunately, as a devout and life-long recognition junky and over-achiever, the nuances of this message were lost to me on first read, because what I saw was this: 

At our [regional] meeting on Monday, there will be official notice to the [regional body] that you are this year's recipient of the annual [rich benefactor name here] AWARD. This AWARD recognizes pastoral ministry without great compensation. In past years when the stock market was in better health the AWARD also included a reasonably sized token check.  Things are not so good this year, and [treasurer] tells me that the check will be really really small this time.  So this is a heads-up, with regret that your presbytery can't do more.

My accomplishment-oriented mind was pre-programmed to ignore the more salient details of the message such as the completely absent congratulatory sentiment and also the mention of the "really really small check." Oblivious to these insights, I continued in an elevated mood the rest of the day feeling justified in having finally received some glory for my diligent work. However, when I "nonchalantly" mentioned this to my colleague (with casual elegance and appropriate, if feigned, humility, of course. Something like:  "Are you going to the meeting on Monday? I guess I have to go....I'm getting some award." Brush hair to the side.), my bubble was instantly burst. "Oh yeah!!" he replied. "The lowest paid minister in the region award! I got that a few years ago."

Let's stop for a minute and reflect on a few things. First, Jesus, it was clear, was not into wealth AT ALL. If you don't believe me, just read the bible. Jesus regularly condemned the rich* and fervently preached their nearly categorical exclusion from heaven**. (Despite what prosperity gospel preachers might have you believe, this is a fact.) In a way, then, receiving any compensation at all for leading people to follow Jesus is somewhat of an irony. However, the church has not always done and does not always do what Jesus did, a reality which clearly explains such strangely non-Christ-like events such as the Crusades and having a church in the Mall of America. One must embrace the tradition of professionalized ministry as a reality.

The question becomes, then, how does one receive such an "award"? As a badge of honor for true, self-sacrificial service? Or as the real-world ego-deflating blow it actually is? (This is where I begin to understand more completely our Catholic brethren's insistence that religious servants take a vow of poverty. At least they're clear from the beginning what one is getting oneself into.) But seriously, how does one address the irony of a value system which says "Blessed are the poor" whose leaders must operate within a broader culture that believes compensation is the truest expression of successful and valued work?

I immediately began researching non-religion related degree programs online in a symbolic flip-of-the-bird to The Divine for this slight. But before I had time to fill out the online brochure request form for the paralegal program down the road, the ultimate death-blow of this experience was dealt. A check arrived in the mail.

A check for $11.39

Really?! REALLY!??! What kind of award is this?!??

Apparently, the Christian kind. 



*See Luke 6:24 for starters: "But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.‘Woe to you who are full now for you will be hungry. Woe to you who are laughing now for you will mourn and weep." Strange how this part of the beatitudes is usually left off the needlepoint display in the church parlor. 
**How about Luke 18: 24-25? "Jesus looked at him and said, ‘How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God! Indeed, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.'" ZING!!! 
*** In case I become rich and famous one day and the content of this blog endures long into the inflation climbing future. Here are a few things one can buy at this moment for $11.39: 

Craptastic Scooby Doo Nintendo Game!

Car Outlet Heated Travel Mug!

Cleaning Spray for Your Gun!

Hibiscus Sunglasses! Guaranteed to break on first use!

Dog Vortex

I do not feel at all ashamed to admit that I have absolutely no idea how prayer works....the physics of it, I mean. But I can say with some degree of confidence that if it has anything to do with radio frequency, I am experiencing some serious static feedback.

I have recently been diligently praying for my church to grow. Having had no other relevant training in church transformation at either my seminary or the church which I had previously been hired to transform, I thought prayer represented a reasonable first step. "Send us visitors, dear Lord, who can be nurtured, cared for and taught the faith within these walls." "Help us to welcome those who find their way into our midst." "Inspire us to reach out to others." Blah, blah, blah.

I'm pretty sure God did hear my prayer. But I think it got muddled up somewhere in the transmission. Because the only ones showing up are dogs.

Seriously, I think my church is some sort of lost dog vortex. It's as if we exist inside a Star Trek-esque magnetic anomaly that attracts any and all lost dogs, who romp over here in their newly found freedom with a canine abandon usually reserved for things covered in bacon grease.

In the last three weeks, eight lost dogs have found their way here. Small and large, mangy and well-tended, there they are, running through the grass, in several cases, playing with other lost dogs who have found their way to our yard. In fact, just today, I watched from my office as three TINY dogs ran across our property about 5 minutes apart. (I think they were making a run for the Mormon church across the street....way better fellowship food over there, I hear.)

Sometimes I go out and try to get them (and then kick myself as I know the church experts would tell me that to transform a church one must spend one's time doing important things other than chasing stray dogs) and sometimes when I can't go get them (say I'm on the phone with someone or in a meeting), I say a little prayer for their survival as I watch them trot off toward the busy road on which our church sits.

If I were a church transoformation visionary, I would find a way to turn this reality into an outreach ministry. But really, all I can think is, seriously? More dogs? How about some young, attractive, financially stable families with young, well-behaved children? Can you hear my God? Maybe we should switch channels.....

Singing the Good News: Cows in the Corn

Thanks to the Center for Progressive Renewal for this gem!

An Actual Conversation

ring, ring, ring.

Me: ."Hello, _______ Presbyterian Church. This is LIOLI. How can I help you?"
Random woman: "Hi there. I'm thinking about coming to visit your church, but before I do I have some theological questions I'd like to speak to the pastor about."
Me: "Okay."
Random woman: "Well, I'd like to speak with the pastor. Can I speak with the pastor?"
Me: "You are speaking to her right now. How can I help you?
.....pause.....
Random woman: "Well, one of my questions was whether or not you believe in ordaining women."
Me: "Well, yes, in the Presby.....

click.

Life, Triple Spaced

Now

Before

People keep asking me what life is like since the move and how the transition is going. It's difficult to figure out how to respond, except to say that I feel as though my life has become triple-spaced.

In Massachusetts, everything felt tightly packed. I was packing two jobs into one seven day week, all of our things were packed into a tiny apartment, our car tightly packed into its space. It was like a single spaced page where everything fit together, barely. But "Out West," it feels as though all of the sudden, everything is triple spaced. I only have one job--an easier one in some ways--to fill my weeks. We have gone from three rooms to eight: meaning our things and ourselves are spread out a bit more thinly in our home.* And even the drivers here like to "leave plenty of space."** It seems I have more time, more room, more, well, space.

And just as adjusting to new spacing while reading takes time***, I think adjusting to much more space in living takes time as well. Not bad, just different.

One thing that is going really well though is being close to come people that I haven't lived near for a really long time.....including my family! On Saturday, Mr. L and I had our first shot at babysitting our 3 year old nephew**** I'm happy to say that all went quite smoothly (I don't know if I was imagining a trip to the ER or something for our first go-round, but was surprised all went so well!). We did 4 puzzles, discussed various varieties of dinosaurs, reviewed the alphabet up to M and watched half of Charlotte's Web***** and then went to sleep with only a few tears about mommy and daddy not being there. A pretty amazingly cool experience for a triple-spaced life!
 





*Mr. L keeps getting very frustrated that I try to talk to him while he is at the other end of the house: an non-existent problem in our last place (there was no other end) but a serious one here (he can't hear anything I'm saying).
**For a hilarious and terrifyingly accurate reflection on Oregon drivers, see here. If you think this is an exagerration, you've never been to Oregon.
*** A colleague of mine once accidentally double instead of triple spaced his sermon (he was used to triple...old man!), and totally bombed it because he couldn't get the timing of the page turning right. Yikes!
**** I know, I know...we're terrible aunts and uncles for not babysitting him before this, but we lived 3,000 miles away!
***** Does anyone else worry Charlotte's Web is a little bit traumatic for youngsters? I mean the whole problem is that Wilbur is about to get slaughtered for Bacon!???! Just sayin'..... It's like how my Dad always said Pinocchio should be R-rated because they send bad children to an island, turn them into donkeys and make them perform slave labor. Also not great meta-messages for our young folk, I think. But what do I know? Nephew didn't seem at all troubled by these realities.

God: The Closer

It would be difficult to describe in this short caption how NOT informed about sports I am, even as a former Bostonian. But this is Jonathan Papelbon who, miraculously,  I have actually heard of. Thanks forbes.com!

One of the great things about being a minister and believing in an omnipotent, omniscient, interventionist God at the same time is that you don't have to worry to much about preaching to people's specific circumstances. Because they're not listening to you, they're listening to God, right? Pretty sweet. How many other professions are there in which you can do a reasonably good job and then sit back and wait for God to bring it home? Can attorneys do that? No. Doctors? Hopefully not. Firefighters? I don't think so.

For instance, last Sunday I gave a sermon about finding God's desire for our lives and someone came up to me afterward and said, "You know, you're so right. My children do know what's best for me." I actually went back to see if I had said something along those lines....I hadn't. Nice one, God!

Another time, I gave a sermon about the sacraments (communion, baptism, etc.) and someone shook my hand in line and said, "Thanks for giving a sermon about doubt. I really needed it know it was okay to doubt." I actually do thing doubt is a good and important thing, but I didn't say anything about it in my sermon at all. Sweet.

Most people would say this is people hearing what they need to hear. I'd prefer to think of it as God as the Great Closer*, whose got my back.

And while we're on the topic of preaching, let me close with a little translation primer I've come up with for decoding things people say to you as they leave church:
"Nice sermon." (Read: Your sermon was nothing special but was not deeply offensive to me in any way.)
"Nice service." (Read: Your sermon sucked. But I think you seem nice and I liked the hymns.)
"That sermon was interesting." (Read: I disagree with everything you said.)
"I'd like to talk to you at some point bout that sermon." (Read: I disagree with you and everything you stand for.)
"That's such a nice stole.*" (Read: I'm probably never coming back to this church!)



*While searching for images for this post, I put "closer" into google images and in the first page got pics of Natalie Portman, Josh Groban, Ne-Yo, Ralph Nadal, President Barak Obama, and Pope Benedict. I think we should get all these folks in a room and ask how God helps them with their jobs!
*This is a joke actually. People really do like my stoles. Although I recently conducted a written survey about worship on a Sunday morning and when I got the surveys back, I noticed one of them in the "What did you most like about the service?" section said, "That is a beautiful stole that Liz had on." Amazing! Also, Mom, thanks for the stole!

Ode to the Best Berry

Thanks to thelunacafe.com, a fellow Oregonian, for the image.

Okay, but have you ever had an Oregon berry? They might actually be the best thing in the entire world. Far sweeter and full of flavor than their gargantuan Californian counterparts, Oregon berries taste like summer and joy. They come in flats (12 pints, that is), still dirty from the field. They are never categorically conical, like those beauties in the plastic clam shell at the store, but are instead, a panoply of strange forms: some small and round, some huge and triangle shaped, some like heart-shaped conjoined twins* where two berries have grown together, all ranging in color from dark purple to light orange. And they are amazing. And the season just started. And I ready to confess here and now that I am planning to eat enough of them in the next three weeks to horrify any advocate of balanced nutrition. Why else did I move here for Christ's sake?*


*This is not a swear. I literally did more here for Jesus, or more accurately, a job in his church.