I grew up in a family that yelled. Some of us yelled more or less than others, but there was yelling. Some of us were more or less explosive in our anger, but there was anger. My father was the most frequently angry member of the family, and probably the one whose anger affected the rest of us most, but for all of us, anger was allowed, and even expected. It wasn't always the most pleasant home environment, but to my knowledge, none of us ever thought that anger was a bad thing, or - more importantly - that any member of our family loved us any less just because they yelled or were angry at us.
All of this gave me a fairly casual attitude toward anger. I expect people to be angry at me. I expect to be angry at other people. I am well acquainted with my own anger, with the fact that it tends to flare suddenly and die just as quickly and completely. If I stay angry for longer than five minutes, it's usually because I've squelched it rather than letting it out in the moment.
Which brings us to today. Ministers are not so much encouraged to let out the anger, and I have realized that I kind of scare people when I'm flaring up. I don't really want to scare my church members. It seems that most of them did not grow up in families where yelling - or any expression of anger - was okay. The anger in their families often either came from one member of the family, while the others cowered in fear, or was repressed entirely. Anger, for me, is about an honest expression of pain. For them, it's about someone not liking or loving you. If I get angry at them, they think I dislike them, where I'm generally just thinking, "I was angry, now I've said it, and now I'm moving on."
So, what I'm doing today, in between meetings and phone calls and band practice later this evening, is pondering the middle ground in which I can be honest and express myself with integrity, and model good communication, and encourage people to address their problems directly rather than running around yapping behind people's backs and being destructive, without terrifying people and making them think that I'm just mean.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Monday, Monday
It's my day off, and I've reconsidered my desire to either leave ministry or become a rampant people-pleaser. I think I'll just stay me, and make nice to the best of my ability without capitulating to the crazy, and move on.
Today I am editing the novel. I've spent roughly a week away from it, and it's interesting coming back to it from the beginning. A few things I have noticed:
1) My characters often sound too much like me. Some of them have more distinct voices of their own, but most of them still construct sentences like slightly altered versions of me. I need to do some thinking about how the characters should express themselves, to distinguish them from each other and from me.
2) There is emotional depth in the painful ends of relationships, but not so much in the actual relationships. The pain isn't as believable as it could be because the relationships don't seem to have enough emotion invested in them to cause that much pain. So, I'm filling out some of the relational stuff.
3) Writing that quickly leads to odd inconsistencies in plot and character details. As in, "Wait, wasn't that guy's name Paul the last time he showed up? Why is he now Peter?" Why are there now three bridesmaids in a wedding that was supposed to have eight? Where did Anna's sister go? You get the idea.
4) I hate the ending. Okay, I don't HATE it, but I'm not happy with it. It happens too quickly and easily, mostly because I was trying to get to 50,000 words while I wrote it. I'm also not sure whether this character should end up in a relationship or still single. I kind of want her to still be single, because it just seems more realistic, but this is not my life, it's a novel. And as much as I'd like it to be convincing that she can be happy and fulfilled and single, it's kind of depressing for her to go through everything that she does and still end up alone. So, yeah, the ending is not at all final at this point.
I have given the draft out to a few people to read and make comments. Editing by committee isn't necessarily a good idea, but they are a pretty broad range of readers, and I think it will be helpful to see what they have to say. I'll try to get another excerpt up soon.
Today I am editing the novel. I've spent roughly a week away from it, and it's interesting coming back to it from the beginning. A few things I have noticed:
1) My characters often sound too much like me. Some of them have more distinct voices of their own, but most of them still construct sentences like slightly altered versions of me. I need to do some thinking about how the characters should express themselves, to distinguish them from each other and from me.
2) There is emotional depth in the painful ends of relationships, but not so much in the actual relationships. The pain isn't as believable as it could be because the relationships don't seem to have enough emotion invested in them to cause that much pain. So, I'm filling out some of the relational stuff.
3) Writing that quickly leads to odd inconsistencies in plot and character details. As in, "Wait, wasn't that guy's name Paul the last time he showed up? Why is he now Peter?" Why are there now three bridesmaids in a wedding that was supposed to have eight? Where did Anna's sister go? You get the idea.
4) I hate the ending. Okay, I don't HATE it, but I'm not happy with it. It happens too quickly and easily, mostly because I was trying to get to 50,000 words while I wrote it. I'm also not sure whether this character should end up in a relationship or still single. I kind of want her to still be single, because it just seems more realistic, but this is not my life, it's a novel. And as much as I'd like it to be convincing that she can be happy and fulfilled and single, it's kind of depressing for her to go through everything that she does and still end up alone. So, yeah, the ending is not at all final at this point.
I have given the draft out to a few people to read and make comments. Editing by committee isn't necessarily a good idea, but they are a pretty broad range of readers, and I think it will be helpful to see what they have to say. I'll try to get another excerpt up soon.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
In Which I Contemplate an Alternate Vocation
This doesn't happen to me very often, but occasionally there is a Sunday (or some other day, but usually a Sunday) that makes me question whether I should really stay in this crazy business called ministry. Today is proving to be such a day. Church is a weird thing/place/group of people. All of these people get really emotionally invested in it, and that's good - investment and engagement is what we want. We want people to feel ownership in the church. But then they seem to feel sole ownership, i.e., my opinion is the only one that matters, and it's appropriate for me to express that whenever and however I want. Thus we have people disrupting Communion to make a minor rearrangement that, yes, makes the process somewhat smoother, but only after making it much more awkward. And we have people who seem intent on sabotaging any attempt I might make to have a positive ministry (or life) here.
I like the working with youth, and the getting out into the community, and the helping the church engage the world and make a difference. I enjoy all of that stuff. The pettiness, back-stabbing, sniping, imposing your opinion on the entire church, etc., I'd prefer to pass. Unfortunately, it seems like a whole lot of my time and energy are spent dealing with the latter. It's frustrating to know that now I'm supposed to make nice with people who are rampantly slandering me so that I can placate them enough so that they'll be slightly less destructive for a month or two until I irritate them again.
Which I will, because a) I am imperfect and sometimes irritating, and b) they are intent on being irritated. It doesn't make for a good combination.
On a related note, I think there are a lot of ministers who spend a lot of time trying to make sure people like them. Perhaps I should be more like this; it certainly seems to make their time in church less rocky. Then again, it sets a bad precedent and them church members expect all ministers to have a deep need to please them and be liked by them, so they make demands they might not make otherwise. Here is where I am probably a bad minister: I don't have a natural need to be liked by everyone. I've never been liked by everyone, and I tend not to feel bad about that. The fact is, I don't like everyone either, so I don't take it personally. So, we don't click. So what? But the fact that I don't like someone, or someone doesn't like me and I know it, doesn't make me want to destroy their life. It just makes me more or less avoid them. So, it's kind of a mystery to me when people's reaction to not liking me is to try to sabotage my life. And it doesn't make me want to hang out with them. That's all.
I like the working with youth, and the getting out into the community, and the helping the church engage the world and make a difference. I enjoy all of that stuff. The pettiness, back-stabbing, sniping, imposing your opinion on the entire church, etc., I'd prefer to pass. Unfortunately, it seems like a whole lot of my time and energy are spent dealing with the latter. It's frustrating to know that now I'm supposed to make nice with people who are rampantly slandering me so that I can placate them enough so that they'll be slightly less destructive for a month or two until I irritate them again.
Which I will, because a) I am imperfect and sometimes irritating, and b) they are intent on being irritated. It doesn't make for a good combination.
On a related note, I think there are a lot of ministers who spend a lot of time trying to make sure people like them. Perhaps I should be more like this; it certainly seems to make their time in church less rocky. Then again, it sets a bad precedent and them church members expect all ministers to have a deep need to please them and be liked by them, so they make demands they might not make otherwise. Here is where I am probably a bad minister: I don't have a natural need to be liked by everyone. I've never been liked by everyone, and I tend not to feel bad about that. The fact is, I don't like everyone either, so I don't take it personally. So, we don't click. So what? But the fact that I don't like someone, or someone doesn't like me and I know it, doesn't make me want to destroy their life. It just makes me more or less avoid them. So, it's kind of a mystery to me when people's reaction to not liking me is to try to sabotage my life. And it doesn't make me want to hang out with them. That's all.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Dilemma of the Day
What does one wear when one has to go from serving a community meal at a mission with the youth group to officiating a wedding, with just enough time to drive between the two?
These are serious matters, people.
What will probably happen is that I will wear casual clothes for the meal, throw the robe on over them to do the wedding, and then change into a dress for the reception when I have a bit more flexible time. I just have to find casual clothes that won't involve things like jeans legs emerging from the bottom of the robe and such. I love my schedule, and the costume changes that go with it.
These are serious matters, people.
What will probably happen is that I will wear casual clothes for the meal, throw the robe on over them to do the wedding, and then change into a dress for the reception when I have a bit more flexible time. I just have to find casual clothes that won't involve things like jeans legs emerging from the bottom of the robe and such. I love my schedule, and the costume changes that go with it.
Friday, December 3, 2010
NaNo Excerpt 1
I thought it might be kind of fun to post a few excerpts from the NaNo here, since I have some people who have been asking to read it and it's not really ready for being read in full yet. So, here's the beginning. Constructive criticism is welcome, as it is a draft and a work in progress.
At ten o’clock in the morning on the day when my heart would later be stomped into a million irreparable pieces, I sat in my office facing one of those couples seated on my couch. You know the ones I mean: the fairy tale couples, the ones who sit practically on top of each other, who can’t stop touching each other, who are just so insistent on being blatantly In Love that they make any rational person want to vomit. That kind of couple.
Of course, at ten o’clock in the morning, I did not yet know that my heart was about to be stomped into a million irreparable pieces. I thought that I was quite happily in love myself. As people who think themselves in love often do, I found this so-very-happy couple to be absolutely delightful. A vision of what I would undoubtedly look like in a very short time, when my boyfriend Daniel popped the question and we became the ones discussing vows and unity candles while sitting practically on top of each other in the minister’s office.
But at ten o’clock in the morning, I was not one half of a happy couple. I was the minister. This is my job. I preach, teach Bible studies, lead Sunday school classes, the whole deal. I also meet with happy couples and ask them about their family histories, how they met, whether they want to promise each other “for better or for worse, in sickness and in health,” or “to join with you and share all that is to come.” I probe and pry into their most common fight topics and the things about marriage that scare them. I encourage them to share the things they enjoy doing together. And eventually we all stand in front of a church and I help them make the vows they’ve chosen.
Sometimes people are surprised that I do so many weddings. They question my ability to do this kind of work when I have never been married. Someday I’ll tell them to go ask a Catholic priest; they’ve been doing it for centuries.
That morning, I sat in my desk chair and watched as Jennifer and Michael awkwardly tried to flip through the book of vows and readings using one hand each, because their other hands were clasped tightly. No matter that it would have made things easier, it obviously never occurred to them to let go. I wondered whether they held onto each other so tightly because of how wonderful it felt to be joined, or because they were afraid of what would happen if they didn’t. I felt my own fingers flex and tighten with the desire to be held. I smiled in shared joy with the couple on the couch.
In that moment, we were conspirators in the plot to get fourteen attendants and three small children up and down the aisle without compromising the dignity of the occasion. My mind wandered idly toward how many bridesmaids I might have when the time came. I had never really thought of my own wedding, had never thought the time would come, which I suppose is peculiar given how many weddings I perform for other people. Suddenly I was thinking about it, and the thought made me smile.
I had no idea that this would be the day when my heart would be stomped into a million irreparable pieces.
This is the scene that comes to mind when people ask me, “Didn’t you see it coming?” Believe me, if I had, I would have been out of there like a flash. I am the Houdini of relationship escape artistry, and I cannot stand to be the last to know anything. I cannot stand to be the one who has something happen to me rather than being the one who causes it. I didn’t see it. I saw one of those fairy tale couples, sitting on a couch, hands clutched so firmly that they can’t bear to be separated, even when it would make things easier.
Ridiculously, stupidly, I thought that would be me. But this is not a fairy tale.
At ten o’clock in the morning on the day when my heart would later be stomped into a million irreparable pieces, I sat in my office facing one of those couples seated on my couch. You know the ones I mean: the fairy tale couples, the ones who sit practically on top of each other, who can’t stop touching each other, who are just so insistent on being blatantly In Love that they make any rational person want to vomit. That kind of couple.
Of course, at ten o’clock in the morning, I did not yet know that my heart was about to be stomped into a million irreparable pieces. I thought that I was quite happily in love myself. As people who think themselves in love often do, I found this so-very-happy couple to be absolutely delightful. A vision of what I would undoubtedly look like in a very short time, when my boyfriend Daniel popped the question and we became the ones discussing vows and unity candles while sitting practically on top of each other in the minister’s office.
But at ten o’clock in the morning, I was not one half of a happy couple. I was the minister. This is my job. I preach, teach Bible studies, lead Sunday school classes, the whole deal. I also meet with happy couples and ask them about their family histories, how they met, whether they want to promise each other “for better or for worse, in sickness and in health,” or “to join with you and share all that is to come.” I probe and pry into their most common fight topics and the things about marriage that scare them. I encourage them to share the things they enjoy doing together. And eventually we all stand in front of a church and I help them make the vows they’ve chosen.
Sometimes people are surprised that I do so many weddings. They question my ability to do this kind of work when I have never been married. Someday I’ll tell them to go ask a Catholic priest; they’ve been doing it for centuries.
That morning, I sat in my desk chair and watched as Jennifer and Michael awkwardly tried to flip through the book of vows and readings using one hand each, because their other hands were clasped tightly. No matter that it would have made things easier, it obviously never occurred to them to let go. I wondered whether they held onto each other so tightly because of how wonderful it felt to be joined, or because they were afraid of what would happen if they didn’t. I felt my own fingers flex and tighten with the desire to be held. I smiled in shared joy with the couple on the couch.
In that moment, we were conspirators in the plot to get fourteen attendants and three small children up and down the aisle without compromising the dignity of the occasion. My mind wandered idly toward how many bridesmaids I might have when the time came. I had never really thought of my own wedding, had never thought the time would come, which I suppose is peculiar given how many weddings I perform for other people. Suddenly I was thinking about it, and the thought made me smile.
I had no idea that this would be the day when my heart would be stomped into a million irreparable pieces.
This is the scene that comes to mind when people ask me, “Didn’t you see it coming?” Believe me, if I had, I would have been out of there like a flash. I am the Houdini of relationship escape artistry, and I cannot stand to be the last to know anything. I cannot stand to be the one who has something happen to me rather than being the one who causes it. I didn’t see it. I saw one of those fairy tale couples, sitting on a couch, hands clutched so firmly that they can’t bear to be separated, even when it would make things easier.
Ridiculously, stupidly, I thought that would be me. But this is not a fairy tale.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Email Etiquette
One of the things I seem to spend a lot of time doing is weeding through email. Some of it is pure junk, which I can usually identify from the sender or subject line and delete without reading. Some of it is necessary communication. And then there's the junk that looks like it might be necessary, which requires me to read it to find out that it is a complete waste of time.
For example, I serve on a few boards. The boards have email lists for communication purposes. One person sends out a necessary email. Another person replies. I open this reply, expecting some sort of relevant interaction. Instead, I find one of the following things:
- "Thanks." One word acknowledgement of original email: not necessary. Especially not necessary to send to the entire board.
- "Thanks. How was your vacation to Outer Slobovia?" If you want to have a personal conversation, please do not reply to all.
- Forwarded messages or links to articles.
- Inappropriate comments or confidential statements that were intended to be in a personal email, except that the person sending them didn't pay attention to who was getting the email. (I recently received an email suggesting an intervention for another board member...who of course is also on the board email list. Good times.)
So, now I'm a jerk who tells other board members that I don't read their emails, and will stop reading all list emails unless they get their email behavior in order, which I suppose is poor etiquette of another sort. But seriously, I have email overload. Personally, I try to send email only when it's necessary. How do I decide whether it's necessary? I consider whether I would pick up the phone or send a letter to communicate this information. If it wouldn't be worth that, it's not email-worthy either.
Yes, I just spent that much time ranting about emails that take up my time.
For example, I serve on a few boards. The boards have email lists for communication purposes. One person sends out a necessary email. Another person replies. I open this reply, expecting some sort of relevant interaction. Instead, I find one of the following things:
- "Thanks." One word acknowledgement of original email: not necessary. Especially not necessary to send to the entire board.
- "Thanks. How was your vacation to Outer Slobovia?" If you want to have a personal conversation, please do not reply to all.
- Forwarded messages or links to articles.
- Inappropriate comments or confidential statements that were intended to be in a personal email, except that the person sending them didn't pay attention to who was getting the email. (I recently received an email suggesting an intervention for another board member...who of course is also on the board email list. Good times.)
So, now I'm a jerk who tells other board members that I don't read their emails, and will stop reading all list emails unless they get their email behavior in order, which I suppose is poor etiquette of another sort. But seriously, I have email overload. Personally, I try to send email only when it's necessary. How do I decide whether it's necessary? I consider whether I would pick up the phone or send a letter to communicate this information. If it wouldn't be worth that, it's not email-worthy either.
Yes, I just spent that much time ranting about emails that take up my time.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
A Minister Dilemma
Yesterday I attended a meeting of one of the boards on which I serve. It's a really great organization that does fabulous work in my community, ranging from food services to HIV/AIDS support to park safety and gardening for kids. Anyway, at this board meeting, we got into a conversation about people who continue to work (and be paid) despite the fact that they are either unable or unwilling to actually do their jobs. It's a horrible conversation to have, especially when there are specific people involved rather than just a theory, because anything you say sounds like it's some kind of judgment on the aged and infirm. The only judgment I have about it is that it's poor stewardship for an organization to continue to pay someone who doesn't, for whatever reason, do their job.
Okay, that's not really the only judgment I have about it. I also believe rather strongly that people need to deal with their own limitations. If your age or infirmity is keeping you from doing your job (and therefore hamstringing an organization), you should not force your colleagues or supervisors into a lose-lose situation where they either have to be mean to you or cripple the organization, either of which will probably make them feel like crappy people. Retire, already.
Of course, there are economic factors involved in this, along with the emotional difficulty of accepting one's limitations, and I know it's not as easy as I can make it sound when I get all up on my soapbox. But still. If I reach 60 or 70 or 80 and am unwell and clinging to the pulpit despite my inability to do the rest of my job, holding a church to paying me because they feel bad letting me go, please, someone, take the car keys away from grandma.
This line of thought brought us around to the large number of aging ministers who are either refusing to retire, or who are technically retired but still basically working full-time. I'm grateful that some of them are willing to serve small, struggling congregations that can't afford a full-time minister. If they're still physically and mentally able to serve, thanks be to God. But I feel wary about the number of ministers I've seen who aren't really up for the job, and the churches that try to support them while struggling on without ministerial leadership. I also know the number of qualified people coming out of seminary who are in need of positions, but can't find them, in part because churches in this area can pay a retired minister next to nothing (or actually nothing), and why spend the money or deal with a young, inexperienced minister (or God forbid, a woman) when you can get one who fits your image of what a minister ought to be like for practically free?
Around here, congregations are shrinking by the day, literally dying off. But they can manage to keep having services until the existing congregation really does die if they have an aging pastor who will keep preaching for minimal compensation indefinitely. Maybe that's a good thing? I don't know, but it seems to me that it also makes it possible for churches to just continue on without ever really considering how they might be relevant in a changing world, or how to reach out to their communities, or any number of other things that I think it's valuable for congregations to deal with.
Hm. When I started writing this post, I thought I was going to rather quickly get to another topic entirely, which is how we might support (financially and emotionally) ministers serving these small, struggling churches in a new way. I seem to have gone off on a ranting tangent. Oops. Anyway, here's the deal. The idea of these small, struggling churches being able to hire young, inexperienced ministers, even if the older ministers were to retire, is often a moot point, because they have no money. Even people of the cloth can't live on love. When a small church can afford a full-time minister, it's often an isolating and taxing experience that can wreak havoc on someone who is inexperienced at ministry (trust me, I've been there). So, I've been pondering other models of small-church ministry, such as having what is essentially a multi-staff ministry with multiple campuses (three ministers serving five or six small congregations, for example), which would relieve both some of the financial issues and the isolation issues. Of course, it would also require churches to change their expectations of ministers, and we all know how easily that happens.
I've also been pondering a sort of socialist approach to paying ministers in a denomination, but that really is going to have to wait for another post.
Okay, that's not really the only judgment I have about it. I also believe rather strongly that people need to deal with their own limitations. If your age or infirmity is keeping you from doing your job (and therefore hamstringing an organization), you should not force your colleagues or supervisors into a lose-lose situation where they either have to be mean to you or cripple the organization, either of which will probably make them feel like crappy people. Retire, already.
Of course, there are economic factors involved in this, along with the emotional difficulty of accepting one's limitations, and I know it's not as easy as I can make it sound when I get all up on my soapbox. But still. If I reach 60 or 70 or 80 and am unwell and clinging to the pulpit despite my inability to do the rest of my job, holding a church to paying me because they feel bad letting me go, please, someone, take the car keys away from grandma.
This line of thought brought us around to the large number of aging ministers who are either refusing to retire, or who are technically retired but still basically working full-time. I'm grateful that some of them are willing to serve small, struggling congregations that can't afford a full-time minister. If they're still physically and mentally able to serve, thanks be to God. But I feel wary about the number of ministers I've seen who aren't really up for the job, and the churches that try to support them while struggling on without ministerial leadership. I also know the number of qualified people coming out of seminary who are in need of positions, but can't find them, in part because churches in this area can pay a retired minister next to nothing (or actually nothing), and why spend the money or deal with a young, inexperienced minister (or God forbid, a woman) when you can get one who fits your image of what a minister ought to be like for practically free?
Around here, congregations are shrinking by the day, literally dying off. But they can manage to keep having services until the existing congregation really does die if they have an aging pastor who will keep preaching for minimal compensation indefinitely. Maybe that's a good thing? I don't know, but it seems to me that it also makes it possible for churches to just continue on without ever really considering how they might be relevant in a changing world, or how to reach out to their communities, or any number of other things that I think it's valuable for congregations to deal with.
Hm. When I started writing this post, I thought I was going to rather quickly get to another topic entirely, which is how we might support (financially and emotionally) ministers serving these small, struggling churches in a new way. I seem to have gone off on a ranting tangent. Oops. Anyway, here's the deal. The idea of these small, struggling churches being able to hire young, inexperienced ministers, even if the older ministers were to retire, is often a moot point, because they have no money. Even people of the cloth can't live on love. When a small church can afford a full-time minister, it's often an isolating and taxing experience that can wreak havoc on someone who is inexperienced at ministry (trust me, I've been there). So, I've been pondering other models of small-church ministry, such as having what is essentially a multi-staff ministry with multiple campuses (three ministers serving five or six small congregations, for example), which would relieve both some of the financial issues and the isolation issues. Of course, it would also require churches to change their expectations of ministers, and we all know how easily that happens.
I've also been pondering a sort of socialist approach to paying ministers in a denomination, but that really is going to have to wait for another post.
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