I have a weird job.
I'm a pastor, and I guess to most people that doesn't seem too weird, but it truly is. There's always the joke that a pastor only works on Sundays-- ha ha-- but most people know that's not true. But if pressed to say what a pastor does, most people aren't quite sure how to answer it.
I don't know how to answer that question.
My oldest brother, being a bit cynical about growing up in a pastor's house, often said that people went to work, got mad at their bosses, and instead of going home and kicking the dog, they called the pastor and took it out on him (or her). Sadly, that is often true. After all, I'm a pastor, we're supposed to be "nice," so we won't yell back. It's kind of like kicking the dog-- except in this case, the dog gets spared.
There's no job description for what I do. People expect me to show up on Sunday to preach, but other than that, the rest is very vague. Actually, there are as many job descriptions for my job as there are people in the church. Then there is the Bishop and the Conference and their ideas of what it is we're supposed to be doing. The bottom line is, a pastor never gets to the end of a day and says, "whew, I got everything done." There's always more. We never go home, because we live in the parsonage, the church-owned house, so our job goes home with us. We live the job. Truly.
I'm not saying ours is the only profession where that is true. I imagine doctors often feel the same way, being on call a lot, being called in for emergencies on odd days and hours. But at least they get to go to their own home.
When I first went into the ministry, I had aspirations to change the world-- or at least make a difference in my immediate universe. I wanted to be prophetic, I wanted to be inspiring, I wanted to stir people's hearts for God. I wanted people to get excited and pumped about reaching out to others, doing mission, reaching out to those whom Jesus would reach out to. Even being a pastor's kid, I was not prepared for the amount of time wasted on complaints about the typos in or the color of the bulletin. I pick hymns that I believe support the sermon, the Word I am trying to deliver-- I was not prepared for coming down out of the pulpit only to hear that the hymns had too many verses or we sang too many of them. I've never gotten used to people complaining anonymously-- "a lot of people are upset" -- and yet the "lot of people" don't talk to me about it. Or someone sends me a nasty email instead of coming to talk to me about what upset them.
It's not unique to any one church; I've experienced all of this every place I went.
I feel most like I'm in ministry when someone is in the hospital, someone is dying, soomeone is grieving or just needs to talk, or when I pray with someone. Or when someone tells me that one of my sermons actually made a difference in their life and relationship with Christ. But when the reports to the Conference need to be filled out, they want to know how much money we made, did we pay our apportionments, how many new members or new programs did we get this year. They never ask how many hearts were healed, how many came back to church for the first time in forever, how many hearts were comforted by prayer blankets, or about the ones who started learning more about the Bible and what it has to do with their lives, or who found food for their souls when they thought they'd die of grief after losing a loved one. They never ask us, 'did you preach the Word?' 'Did you hold someone's hand while they waited through a loved ones' surgery?' 'Did you hold someone and let them cry when their spouse died?' or 'Where do you experience the presence of of the Resurrected Christ in your ministry?' If they'd only ask those questions, I'd have plenty to say.
I want to tell them about Dennis, the homeless man who stunk to high heaven, but who I got to fix a bowl of soup for on numerous occasions. Or about the time I took him to the grocery store because he just wanted a couple of cans of baked beans. I want to tell them how my heart broke when he died. On many days, he was Jesus to me.
I want to tell them about the children who cry out when I walk through the local school and say, "hey, Pastor Peggy!" I want to tell them about the baby that was born 9 months after I watched a very dear friend die, and how that baby always reminds me that Life is the final word, and that the Communion of Saints is real.
I want to tell them about the numerous times I've sat in surgery waiting rooms with people, or held someone's hand in the hospital, or held the grieving in bitter-cold cemetaries. I want to tell them the things you can't measure or report on a short line on an annual form, but the things that make me feel like ministry is worth doing, at least for today.
I have no doubt that Jesus gets bored with our committee meetings, our Power Point presentations on how to bring in more people, our arguments over whether the new screen covers up the cross or how we should cook the baked potatoes.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live in my own house, where I could change the carpet when it needed changing or paint the walls flourescent green if I wanted to.
I just know that when I get my hair cut, my palms start to sweat when they ask me what I do for a living. I want to lie, because I don't want them to think I'm some uptight, clueless, no-fun person who thinks joy is a sin.
Sometimes I want to worry about bigger things than what whether someone is upset over the color of the bulletin.
Maybe I'll get a stuffed dog that I can kick at the end of the day.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Star of Wonder
“DITCHING THE MAP”
Matthew 2:1-12
Faith United
January 4, 2009
Seeing the face of God is really a big deal, obviously
I mean, when we think of visions or dreams
we tend to think that that kind of stuff is reserved
for really spiritual people
Religious fanatics
or the professionals
The Bible doesn’t help in raising our expectations in that
I mean, we’ve never seen a sky full of the heavenly host
We’ve never seen a burning bush that wasn’t actually charring
the limbs
We’ve never had a light come down out of the sky
and heard a loud booming voice telling us what to do
When some of women found out we were pregnant
we didn’t found out by having an angel show up in our bedroom
in the middle of the night to make the announcement
So to talk about epiphanies, revelations from God
that shining moment when something becomes very clear to us
it’s kind of hard to relate, really
And so I struggle to talk about the Feast of Epiphany
January 6th, every year, is the Feast of Epiphany
When the Church celebrates the coming of the three wise men
and the season following Epiphany
talks about the manifestation of Jesus as the Messiah
We tell the stories that reveal him to be who he truly is
When God shines that spotlight down on him
and says, “Listen up, folks, this is my Son!!”
Every year we put the wise men out on the lawn with the shepherds
and the baby
we put out the camels in the Nativity set
and there’s always some particularly adorable kids
dressed in bathrobes and sheets
with paper crowns on their heads
at our Christmas program
It just works better to have the wise men
and the shepherds all in the same show
because we don’t know enough about the wise men
to give them their own pageant at Epiphany
The truth is, the shepherds and the wise men
didn’t cross paths
The wise men set out from their individual countries
and scholars estimate that their journey to Jerusalem
took them about two years
They also assume this because when King Herod found out
about Jesus, the baby that some were claiming to be King of the Jews,
he ordered a mass killing of all male babies
ages two and under, in an attempt to kill Jesus
So the wise men came about two years
after the shepherds,
and came not to find a newborn baby
but a king in his terrible twos
We don’t know why they all made this journey
They were three different men from three different countries
all interested in astrology
and looked for direction and truth
in the stars
These days we’re a little suspect of people
who believe in living their lives according to what
the stars tell them,
but back then, these men were considered wise
Well, they were considered great scholars
Really smart
maybe up until they each made their journey
It’s interesting to think about the rest of the story
Something in the stars
made each of them set out from their home
and make a journey to a foreign land
not knowing where exactly they were going
or when they’d get there
or even what they would find when they arrived
And why were these pagan scholars interested in the king of the Jews?
Weren’t there other kings that might interest them
maybe a bit closer to home?
What about that particular star
got them to disrupt their lives
and set out on a journey
that would take them two years to make
ONE WAY
And why did they all set out at the same time?
Three different people in three different countries
all inspired at the same time
so that at some point in the journey
their paths would meet up with the others
Others who were just crazy enough
to be making the same journey
following the same star
looking for the same thing?
A foreign king
What kind of hope got them moving?
What kind of dreams did they have that stirred that kind of passion?
How did they explain it to their intellectual colleagues at home
who probably told them they were being foolish
perhaps suffering some sort of mid-life crisis
an inexplicable need for adventure?
We have no idea
But what a relief it must have been to find someone else
on the journey
‘hey, you too? You saw the star? My wife thinks I’ve lost it
completely, how bout yours?’
Perhaps at night they talked and laughed around the campfire
sharing their dreams
the inexplicable longings in their souls
that drove them day by day
They didn’t have a map
They only had a star
and could they always be sure that that was the same star?
What would happen if it all turned out to be a foolish pipe dream?
How would they go home
and face their colleagues who would laugh at them
for following their guts?
They were scholars, intellectuals, very learned men
that must have realized that there is something more
something more than science
maybe someone behind it all, orchestrating it
creating it
all the mysteries that they kept trying to unravel
Perhaps they hoped that this pilgrimage would reveal more
than just a king
or perhaps that this king would give them something they
didn’t have in all of their scholarly endeavors
Whatever it was, it only grew bigger when it was shared
with the other two
At least if they were crazy,
they wouldn’t be crazy alone anymore
As they got closer to the city of Jerusalem,
perhaps the lights of the city
drowned out the light of the star
it was a very impressive city
and at this point, they could assume
hey, where else would you look for a king
but in the great city?
Sometimes we talk about being in the right at the right time
for great things to happen
or, sometimes when terrible things happen,
we say we were simply in the wrong place
at the wrong time
I sometimes wonder, is there a right and wrong time?
We kind of have a family inside joke
whenever we go to a restaurant
we’ll be sitting there and if a whole crowd of people
come in
making a long line
Larry always says, “Well, we got here at the right time.”
So now, usually Sarah and I say it before him
But I wonder, if we got there at the right time,
does that mean that all those people in line
got there at the wrong time?
Just a thought.
It would seem that the three scholars
got to Jerusalem at a bad time
in fact, they never should have been there
they were nine miles out of their way
They’d wandered off course,
and in their naivete, they caused a horrible tragedy
But how could they know?
They were from a long ways away
They didn’t have internet or CNN
to tell them of the many, dangerous and deadly exploits
of this King Herod
They didn’t get the expose on his paranoid behavior
his willingness to slaughter his own family
to preserve his status as king
They were just looking for directions
And where do you go to find a king
but a palace in the city?
“Where is the child who is born king of the Jews?”
they asked, bowing before this dangerous man
“We have seen his star at its rising
and have come to pay him homage…”
And King Herod was frightened
and as often happens, his fear turned into rage
and so all Jerusalem, too, was afraid
of what he might do now
He called his own scholars
and demanded they tell him what this is all about
And he learned that the prophets had foreseen
the ruler of the people Israel
would come from Bethlehem
a small town where nothing exciting ever happened
So Herod discussed this with the scholars from faraway
and learned when the star appeared
and through his calculations realized
that they were right on time
“Go,” he said, “find the child, come and tell me where he is,
so that I can come and pay him homage as well…”
as he smiled a Grinch-like smile
And so they traveled on,
totally unaware of the catastrophe
they had just set in motion
by making a pit stop in Jerusalem
They saw their star again
shining brilliantly in the heavens,
beckoning them forward
and it led them to a small humble house
When they entered the house,
they found their king, the child
acting like a two year old
and yet something in them felt complete
Because they were scholars
and because they wanted to know all about
who this king was and why he was important
they would have known the poem written by the prophet Isaiah
what is now the 60th chapter of Isaiah in our Bibles
They would have known those words,
repeated them to each other,
as a promise, as a torch that led them on through
the uncertainty
through the seemingly endless journey
far, far away from home
“Arise, shine, for your light has come
and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you…”
They knew enough to know that they were in the midst of dark times
that the Jews needed hope
in the form of a leader, one to shepherd them forward
They knew they set out in dangerous times,
they knew that their journey would draw attention to them
foreigners traveling through all these strange lands
their robes and dress giving them away
as suspect foreigners
possibly dangerous spies
But the poem of Isaiah kept them going forward
the promise of a light in the darkness
of the radiance of God shining forth
and it was Isaiah that told them what gifts they were to bring
for this new shepherd-king
It was written:
“They shall bring gold and frankensense,
and shall proclaim the praise of the Lord…”
It seemed foolish, really
They traveled all that way, a two year journey
and all they did was drop off the gifts and leave
They presented them, kneeling before this toddler
who had slobbery fingers stuck in his mouth
eyeing the strangers with curiosity
They didn’t even stay for coffee
How wonderful it would have been
to share their story with Mary and Joseph
they could have used a story about now
How wonderful it would have been
for them to hear Mary’s story of the shepherds
and the angels and the dark skies lit up at midnight
with glory and music…
They wouldn’t have thought she was crazy
and Mary and Joseph would understand
that these men were driven by something deeper
than their scientific curiosity
Perhaps the wise men thought, what am I going to tell my wife?
That the hope of my journey,
the star of my life, the fulfillment of all my hopes
turned out to be a boy in his terrible twos?
They must have laughed
anticipating their arrival home
But they got up off their knees
and headed out, together
bonded by the a shared dream, a crazy vision
and a powerful, other-worldly experience
that they’d never be able to explain
That first night that they slept
they all had a dream where an angel warned them
to go home a different way
do not go back to Herod,
do not tell him anything
but go home a different way
forget the directions that you know,
and change your plans….
We don’t know whatever happened to them
we don’t know what they told their wives
when they finally got home, about 4 years
after setting out
And yet we know their story
we know their dream, their longing
that in their gifts, that seem very foreign to us
in their gifts, they revealed that toddler to be
the King of the Jews
the Hope of the World
Sometimes being in the right place at the right time
means that others are in the wrong place
and bad things happen
but that doesn’t lessen the good, the miraculous, the mystery
the enduring light that never goes out
We share a vision, we share a hope
that sometimes seems ridiculous to the rational world
It seems crazy that we still believe this stuff
still hope in a Messiah that we never met
That we have a day set apart
to commemorate his baby shower gifts
brought by foreigners who were chasing a star
We live in crazy times
We try to think that if we lived in other times
it would be better somehow
and yet, we are in the right place
at the right time
and like the wise men, the star-chasers,
all we can do is take one step at a time
trusting that God is directing our journey
that we can trust our craziest dreams
as long as we have the ability to dream…
and just because sometimes our hearts get broken
along the way
doesn’t mean that the journey is a waste
sometimes when our hearts are broken
it allows our hearts to take in more light and love
We’re all just a bunch of dreamers
looking for a star
looking for something to believe in, to trust in
You never how God will get to us,
how God will open our hearts or get us moving
for the wise men, God came to them through their love
of astrology
God spoke their language
and set a star in the heavens for them to follow
We don’t always have a map
and sometimes, it turns out that it’s best not to follow
the maps that we’ve used before
because they’ll only take us down roads
where we’ve already been
But in order to get someplace different
maybe we need to ditch the map
and trust God with our journey… every day
Matthew 2:1-12
Faith United
January 4, 2009
Seeing the face of God is really a big deal, obviously
I mean, when we think of visions or dreams
we tend to think that that kind of stuff is reserved
for really spiritual people
Religious fanatics
or the professionals
The Bible doesn’t help in raising our expectations in that
I mean, we’ve never seen a sky full of the heavenly host
We’ve never seen a burning bush that wasn’t actually charring
the limbs
We’ve never had a light come down out of the sky
and heard a loud booming voice telling us what to do
When some of women found out we were pregnant
we didn’t found out by having an angel show up in our bedroom
in the middle of the night to make the announcement
So to talk about epiphanies, revelations from God
that shining moment when something becomes very clear to us
it’s kind of hard to relate, really
And so I struggle to talk about the Feast of Epiphany
January 6th, every year, is the Feast of Epiphany
When the Church celebrates the coming of the three wise men
and the season following Epiphany
talks about the manifestation of Jesus as the Messiah
We tell the stories that reveal him to be who he truly is
When God shines that spotlight down on him
and says, “Listen up, folks, this is my Son!!”
Every year we put the wise men out on the lawn with the shepherds
and the baby
we put out the camels in the Nativity set
and there’s always some particularly adorable kids
dressed in bathrobes and sheets
with paper crowns on their heads
at our Christmas program
It just works better to have the wise men
and the shepherds all in the same show
because we don’t know enough about the wise men
to give them their own pageant at Epiphany
The truth is, the shepherds and the wise men
didn’t cross paths
The wise men set out from their individual countries
and scholars estimate that their journey to Jerusalem
took them about two years
They also assume this because when King Herod found out
about Jesus, the baby that some were claiming to be King of the Jews,
he ordered a mass killing of all male babies
ages two and under, in an attempt to kill Jesus
So the wise men came about two years
after the shepherds,
and came not to find a newborn baby
but a king in his terrible twos
We don’t know why they all made this journey
They were three different men from three different countries
all interested in astrology
and looked for direction and truth
in the stars
These days we’re a little suspect of people
who believe in living their lives according to what
the stars tell them,
but back then, these men were considered wise
Well, they were considered great scholars
Really smart
maybe up until they each made their journey
It’s interesting to think about the rest of the story
Something in the stars
made each of them set out from their home
and make a journey to a foreign land
not knowing where exactly they were going
or when they’d get there
or even what they would find when they arrived
And why were these pagan scholars interested in the king of the Jews?
Weren’t there other kings that might interest them
maybe a bit closer to home?
What about that particular star
got them to disrupt their lives
and set out on a journey
that would take them two years to make
ONE WAY
And why did they all set out at the same time?
Three different people in three different countries
all inspired at the same time
so that at some point in the journey
their paths would meet up with the others
Others who were just crazy enough
to be making the same journey
following the same star
looking for the same thing?
A foreign king
What kind of hope got them moving?
What kind of dreams did they have that stirred that kind of passion?
How did they explain it to their intellectual colleagues at home
who probably told them they were being foolish
perhaps suffering some sort of mid-life crisis
an inexplicable need for adventure?
We have no idea
But what a relief it must have been to find someone else
on the journey
‘hey, you too? You saw the star? My wife thinks I’ve lost it
completely, how bout yours?’
Perhaps at night they talked and laughed around the campfire
sharing their dreams
the inexplicable longings in their souls
that drove them day by day
They didn’t have a map
They only had a star
and could they always be sure that that was the same star?
What would happen if it all turned out to be a foolish pipe dream?
How would they go home
and face their colleagues who would laugh at them
for following their guts?
They were scholars, intellectuals, very learned men
that must have realized that there is something more
something more than science
maybe someone behind it all, orchestrating it
creating it
all the mysteries that they kept trying to unravel
Perhaps they hoped that this pilgrimage would reveal more
than just a king
or perhaps that this king would give them something they
didn’t have in all of their scholarly endeavors
Whatever it was, it only grew bigger when it was shared
with the other two
At least if they were crazy,
they wouldn’t be crazy alone anymore
As they got closer to the city of Jerusalem,
perhaps the lights of the city
drowned out the light of the star
it was a very impressive city
and at this point, they could assume
hey, where else would you look for a king
but in the great city?
Sometimes we talk about being in the right at the right time
for great things to happen
or, sometimes when terrible things happen,
we say we were simply in the wrong place
at the wrong time
I sometimes wonder, is there a right and wrong time?
We kind of have a family inside joke
whenever we go to a restaurant
we’ll be sitting there and if a whole crowd of people
come in
making a long line
Larry always says, “Well, we got here at the right time.”
So now, usually Sarah and I say it before him
But I wonder, if we got there at the right time,
does that mean that all those people in line
got there at the wrong time?
Just a thought.
It would seem that the three scholars
got to Jerusalem at a bad time
in fact, they never should have been there
they were nine miles out of their way
They’d wandered off course,
and in their naivete, they caused a horrible tragedy
But how could they know?
They were from a long ways away
They didn’t have internet or CNN
to tell them of the many, dangerous and deadly exploits
of this King Herod
They didn’t get the expose on his paranoid behavior
his willingness to slaughter his own family
to preserve his status as king
They were just looking for directions
And where do you go to find a king
but a palace in the city?
“Where is the child who is born king of the Jews?”
they asked, bowing before this dangerous man
“We have seen his star at its rising
and have come to pay him homage…”
And King Herod was frightened
and as often happens, his fear turned into rage
and so all Jerusalem, too, was afraid
of what he might do now
He called his own scholars
and demanded they tell him what this is all about
And he learned that the prophets had foreseen
the ruler of the people Israel
would come from Bethlehem
a small town where nothing exciting ever happened
So Herod discussed this with the scholars from faraway
and learned when the star appeared
and through his calculations realized
that they were right on time
“Go,” he said, “find the child, come and tell me where he is,
so that I can come and pay him homage as well…”
as he smiled a Grinch-like smile
And so they traveled on,
totally unaware of the catastrophe
they had just set in motion
by making a pit stop in Jerusalem
They saw their star again
shining brilliantly in the heavens,
beckoning them forward
and it led them to a small humble house
When they entered the house,
they found their king, the child
acting like a two year old
and yet something in them felt complete
Because they were scholars
and because they wanted to know all about
who this king was and why he was important
they would have known the poem written by the prophet Isaiah
what is now the 60th chapter of Isaiah in our Bibles
They would have known those words,
repeated them to each other,
as a promise, as a torch that led them on through
the uncertainty
through the seemingly endless journey
far, far away from home
“Arise, shine, for your light has come
and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you…”
They knew enough to know that they were in the midst of dark times
that the Jews needed hope
in the form of a leader, one to shepherd them forward
They knew they set out in dangerous times,
they knew that their journey would draw attention to them
foreigners traveling through all these strange lands
their robes and dress giving them away
as suspect foreigners
possibly dangerous spies
But the poem of Isaiah kept them going forward
the promise of a light in the darkness
of the radiance of God shining forth
and it was Isaiah that told them what gifts they were to bring
for this new shepherd-king
It was written:
“They shall bring gold and frankensense,
and shall proclaim the praise of the Lord…”
It seemed foolish, really
They traveled all that way, a two year journey
and all they did was drop off the gifts and leave
They presented them, kneeling before this toddler
who had slobbery fingers stuck in his mouth
eyeing the strangers with curiosity
They didn’t even stay for coffee
How wonderful it would have been
to share their story with Mary and Joseph
they could have used a story about now
How wonderful it would have been
for them to hear Mary’s story of the shepherds
and the angels and the dark skies lit up at midnight
with glory and music…
They wouldn’t have thought she was crazy
and Mary and Joseph would understand
that these men were driven by something deeper
than their scientific curiosity
Perhaps the wise men thought, what am I going to tell my wife?
That the hope of my journey,
the star of my life, the fulfillment of all my hopes
turned out to be a boy in his terrible twos?
They must have laughed
anticipating their arrival home
But they got up off their knees
and headed out, together
bonded by the a shared dream, a crazy vision
and a powerful, other-worldly experience
that they’d never be able to explain
That first night that they slept
they all had a dream where an angel warned them
to go home a different way
do not go back to Herod,
do not tell him anything
but go home a different way
forget the directions that you know,
and change your plans….
We don’t know whatever happened to them
we don’t know what they told their wives
when they finally got home, about 4 years
after setting out
And yet we know their story
we know their dream, their longing
that in their gifts, that seem very foreign to us
in their gifts, they revealed that toddler to be
the King of the Jews
the Hope of the World
Sometimes being in the right place at the right time
means that others are in the wrong place
and bad things happen
but that doesn’t lessen the good, the miraculous, the mystery
the enduring light that never goes out
We share a vision, we share a hope
that sometimes seems ridiculous to the rational world
It seems crazy that we still believe this stuff
still hope in a Messiah that we never met
That we have a day set apart
to commemorate his baby shower gifts
brought by foreigners who were chasing a star
We live in crazy times
We try to think that if we lived in other times
it would be better somehow
and yet, we are in the right place
at the right time
and like the wise men, the star-chasers,
all we can do is take one step at a time
trusting that God is directing our journey
that we can trust our craziest dreams
as long as we have the ability to dream…
and just because sometimes our hearts get broken
along the way
doesn’t mean that the journey is a waste
sometimes when our hearts are broken
it allows our hearts to take in more light and love
We’re all just a bunch of dreamers
looking for a star
looking for something to believe in, to trust in
You never how God will get to us,
how God will open our hearts or get us moving
for the wise men, God came to them through their love
of astrology
God spoke their language
and set a star in the heavens for them to follow
We don’t always have a map
and sometimes, it turns out that it’s best not to follow
the maps that we’ve used before
because they’ll only take us down roads
where we’ve already been
But in order to get someplace different
maybe we need to ditch the map
and trust God with our journey… every day
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Living With Snakes
I have snakes in my house. They're not pets, they're not in cages, I don't feed them, but they are there anyway. It's one of the Church Stories at my church; there are snakes in the parsonage.
They're quite harmless, actually, being garter snakes. Usually they're small ones that wander into the living room or into our basement TV room. We don't often notice them until one of our cats finds them intriguing and begins playing with them, batting them around. At that point, the snakes are immobile-- I think they freeze with terror, assuming they are about to be eaten. It would be helpful if my cats were so inclined to kill the snake, but instead they find them to be fascinating new play-toys. So much for the hunting instinct....
It's a great conversation piece-- how many people have snakes in their house? I usually tell it as one of those funny "I survived this" kind of anecdotes, but I find when I tell it, my parishioners don't laugh. Well, the men do, somewhat nervously, usually because their wives are indignantly telling them they ought to do something about it. The women are not amused at all. It's not that I like snakes, but I guess I've learned to live with them.
The thing is, I'm 43 years old, and aside from college and seminary, I have lived my entire life in a parsonage. In a house owned by a church. I've never lived in my own house, and I confess I dream of doing that someday. In a parsonage, you never know what you're going to get. It's been my experience over the years that people somehow believe that a pastor entered into their profession with a sense of martyrdom and took a pledge of poverty. Back East, where the parsonages came furnished, it was often true that the furniture in the parsonage was used stuff from church member's houses that they no longer wanted in their own houses. I often wondered why if it wasn't good enough for their house, why they thought it was good enough for the parsonage? Again, a sense that a pastor is called to a life of poverty and therefore doesn't care about such mundane things as matching furniture or furniture from a decade later than the '40s.
The worst parsonage I ever lived in was in Pennsylvania. (We lasted a year). The pastor was removed for "bad behavior", and so when he and his wife moved out, they were pretty ticked off. They took it out on the parsonage. The house was supposed to be furnished, but all the furniture was gone when we arrived. There were bits and pieces up in the attic of furniture that was literally falling apart and broken. The Church didn't offer to replace any. Before he left, the pastor had apparently locked his cat and dog up in one of the downstairs bedrooms for several days, where they obediently saturated the carpet with urine. When we moved in, we could not figure out at all where that horrid smell was coming from. We rented a shampooer and shampooed all the carpets-- still the smell persisted.
We did not feel welcome.
There was a broken window upstairs in the bedroom, and a fist-sized hole in the bedroom closet door. And that enduring pee-smell.
That was my worst parsonage experience. But over the years I do remember having to beg to have the plumbing fixed or yes, a urine-soaked carpet torn up and replaced. It was always met with the attitude that I was asking too much.
In one parsonage, we did have bats in the basement. I'd never heard of that before, but I've learned a lot over the years. One night, there was a bat in my church and as it was flying around the meeting room, I was frozen to the wall, my eyes kind of glossed over. A parishioner came to the rescue and killed it with a tennis racket. Maybe he then threw cold water on me.
One thing about living in a house owned by a church, you learn to adapt, I guess. You ask yourself, is it worth the trouble? Is it worth getting excited about? Many things were, and those were battles we fought-- I guess I got braver and more insistent when I had a baby in the house. But some things I had to learn to have a sense of humor about. Otherwise, I'd be on Valium.
So on Christmas Eve morning this past year, I rolled over in bed and looked down. I don't always look down before I get out of bed. Maybe it was God. But I looked down, and very calmly I chuckled and said, "uh, honey, there's a snake by the bed." My husband doesn't take to snakes as calmly as I do. He was out of bed like a shot and returned with a broom from downstairs with which he pummeled that little oblivious snake until he was certain it would never slither again. He scooped it up in a piece of cardboard and hurled it out the back door. Meanwhile, left in its wake for me to clean up was a mass of broom thistles that had seperated from the broom in my husband's passionate encounter with that little snake.
Yeah, it'd be nice not to have to live with snakes. But at least they don't hurt me, and they provide a bit of amusement for my three cats. I've learned it's as my father used to say, "par for the course." They should have a course in seminary for young and new pastors on Parsonage Living. I'd be a guest lecturer. My first bit of advice would be: Have a Sense of Humor; you'll never survive without it.
They're quite harmless, actually, being garter snakes. Usually they're small ones that wander into the living room or into our basement TV room. We don't often notice them until one of our cats finds them intriguing and begins playing with them, batting them around. At that point, the snakes are immobile-- I think they freeze with terror, assuming they are about to be eaten. It would be helpful if my cats were so inclined to kill the snake, but instead they find them to be fascinating new play-toys. So much for the hunting instinct....
It's a great conversation piece-- how many people have snakes in their house? I usually tell it as one of those funny "I survived this" kind of anecdotes, but I find when I tell it, my parishioners don't laugh. Well, the men do, somewhat nervously, usually because their wives are indignantly telling them they ought to do something about it. The women are not amused at all. It's not that I like snakes, but I guess I've learned to live with them.
The thing is, I'm 43 years old, and aside from college and seminary, I have lived my entire life in a parsonage. In a house owned by a church. I've never lived in my own house, and I confess I dream of doing that someday. In a parsonage, you never know what you're going to get. It's been my experience over the years that people somehow believe that a pastor entered into their profession with a sense of martyrdom and took a pledge of poverty. Back East, where the parsonages came furnished, it was often true that the furniture in the parsonage was used stuff from church member's houses that they no longer wanted in their own houses. I often wondered why if it wasn't good enough for their house, why they thought it was good enough for the parsonage? Again, a sense that a pastor is called to a life of poverty and therefore doesn't care about such mundane things as matching furniture or furniture from a decade later than the '40s.
The worst parsonage I ever lived in was in Pennsylvania. (We lasted a year). The pastor was removed for "bad behavior", and so when he and his wife moved out, they were pretty ticked off. They took it out on the parsonage. The house was supposed to be furnished, but all the furniture was gone when we arrived. There were bits and pieces up in the attic of furniture that was literally falling apart and broken. The Church didn't offer to replace any. Before he left, the pastor had apparently locked his cat and dog up in one of the downstairs bedrooms for several days, where they obediently saturated the carpet with urine. When we moved in, we could not figure out at all where that horrid smell was coming from. We rented a shampooer and shampooed all the carpets-- still the smell persisted.
We did not feel welcome.
There was a broken window upstairs in the bedroom, and a fist-sized hole in the bedroom closet door. And that enduring pee-smell.
That was my worst parsonage experience. But over the years I do remember having to beg to have the plumbing fixed or yes, a urine-soaked carpet torn up and replaced. It was always met with the attitude that I was asking too much.
In one parsonage, we did have bats in the basement. I'd never heard of that before, but I've learned a lot over the years. One night, there was a bat in my church and as it was flying around the meeting room, I was frozen to the wall, my eyes kind of glossed over. A parishioner came to the rescue and killed it with a tennis racket. Maybe he then threw cold water on me.
One thing about living in a house owned by a church, you learn to adapt, I guess. You ask yourself, is it worth the trouble? Is it worth getting excited about? Many things were, and those were battles we fought-- I guess I got braver and more insistent when I had a baby in the house. But some things I had to learn to have a sense of humor about. Otherwise, I'd be on Valium.
So on Christmas Eve morning this past year, I rolled over in bed and looked down. I don't always look down before I get out of bed. Maybe it was God. But I looked down, and very calmly I chuckled and said, "uh, honey, there's a snake by the bed." My husband doesn't take to snakes as calmly as I do. He was out of bed like a shot and returned with a broom from downstairs with which he pummeled that little oblivious snake until he was certain it would never slither again. He scooped it up in a piece of cardboard and hurled it out the back door. Meanwhile, left in its wake for me to clean up was a mass of broom thistles that had seperated from the broom in my husband's passionate encounter with that little snake.
Yeah, it'd be nice not to have to live with snakes. But at least they don't hurt me, and they provide a bit of amusement for my three cats. I've learned it's as my father used to say, "par for the course." They should have a course in seminary for young and new pastors on Parsonage Living. I'd be a guest lecturer. My first bit of advice would be: Have a Sense of Humor; you'll never survive without it.
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