untangling the knots

Next week will mark the sixteenth anniversary of my ordination as priest. That's not a long time, but it's a significant length of time to have walked that path. As I stand at the present fork in the road of my life I haven't really said much about why I choosing the prong of that fork that doesn't have anything to do with priestly ministry. The short answer is that it hasn't worked out. The long answer is considerably more complex and nuanced.

Here's a window into that complexity that might help understand where I am.

It's not uncommon to hear that members of any church think that pastors or preachers don't do anything between Sundays. I'm not going to waste my time dignifying that myopic cluelessness, but it does share similar qualities with a persistent experience of mine as a parish priest. When parishioners express their appreciation for me as a priest that appreciation has fallen into a singular category: preaching. Don't get me wrong, to be praised in the area of preaching is not a small thing. I suspect there are any number of clergy out there who are starved for praise in that department. But here's the rub. It's essentially the ONLY area of my ministry that has received appreciation.

Why is this an issue? For reasons that escape me it is the only one that members of congregations I have served seem to notice. Let's do the math. Fifteen minutes out of a sixty-hour week (the average norm for clergy) is .625%.  Does it make sense that it frustrates me that 99.375% of my effort goes under-acknowledged and unappreciated?

My coach helped me understand this dynamic in this way: in parish work my strengths and abilities were focused around communicating opportunity, illuminating possibilities, sharing transforming realities, honoring diversity, assuring the love and available presence of God in times of distress, listening, expressing gratitude for the efforts of volunteers, encouraging doubters, speaking truth, mediating grace, loving when I didn't like, valuing the smallest contribution, telling stories of hope, and more. The collective behavior of the people I served suggested that they paid attention to what was available to them and chose not to participate in the kingdom being proclaimed.

In visual terms I was about growth (picture vertical, reaching upward), the community was about business as usual (picture a flat, horizontal line). See that intersection? No wonder there was no affirmation, appreciation or recognition. No wonder I felt empty and starved. No wonder it's time to use what God has given me in a place where music can be made.

Does this mean that the world of parish ministry is empty and void of fulfillment? No. What it means is that my experience of serving in it has left me depleted.

For the record: there are individuals from  my congregations who have told me about transformation resulting from sermons, or bible studies, or one-on-one moments. I do have letters from parishioners who thanked me for my pastoral care, for being authentic and vulnerable, for helping them believe and hold on to hope when the world around them suggested otherwise. I have been chosen to lead retreats because it was evident that there was light in my soul, and because it was equally evident that I was eager to share that light. It has not all been a disappointment, and it does matter that 1% of my time could touch so many hearts and lives and make a difference in them (including members of the Bush family!).

Coming to understand that it is best, and right for me to take another path right now does not mean I have answers, only clarity where there was once a great deal of fog. It is my prayer that revelation will continue to unfold, that way will open, and that the moment of dancing in the light is not too far in the future.

between chapters

It was inevitable. The grief, I mean. When I learned that I would be losing my job I was upset, angry, sad, jolted...  you name it. I had to process what I knew and what I would come to know and make my peace with it. I saw this transition as an opportunity for my benefit and growth. All well and good. The last day came and I turned in my keys and took home the last of my belongings: vestments, prayer book, stoles. The door closed behind me.

The following day I worked at cleaning the house and preparing for my mother's arrival, packing my own things and making arrangements for my trip to New England to see my family. I got in the car the following day and away we went.

Now, with that envelope of peace and comfort and familiarity and love and support back in another time zone, I face my life where I live my life.

Saturday night I didn't need to review the lessons or the logistics for the morning to come. Sunday morning it didn't matter what time I got up or what I did once my coffee cup was empty. I wasn't on vacation, I was in a new world.

I directed my attention to the jumble of chaos that my office contained. Sort, pitch, relocate, repeat. You wouldn't know it to stick your head in to my office, but it weighs considerably less than when I began. The ironing board is down at least, and the piles that were on top of it have been dispatched to their necessary resting places. Time to begin again.

And then I took a break, sat in the recliner and noticed the sun filtering through the windows. Sunday sun. And I wept. The grief is trickling, but it stings. The reality is that in spite of saying yes, in spite of praying, discerning, laboring, listening and yielding all these years, I am meant to be somewhere else. Perhaps one day I will make sense of the path that I followed. Perhaps one day I will see the opportunities and choices and experiences as divinely guided to bring me to a place of deeper joy and greater service. For now I grieve.

I do not regret the sacrifices to study. I do not regret the bumpy road that led to consecration. I do not regret the opportunity to meet and serve the number of lives that intersected with mine. I do not regret the tears or the joy of sacraments shared, lives welcomed or bid farewell. I do not regret any of it.

But I am sad. The loss is great and deep, and apparently necessary. I will welcome whatever comes next with gladness. I know that to be the truth because the bud of gladness is forming within my being, and it longs for light.

But today I am sad.