The Call: 2012 Edition

As you know, well most of you I suppose, I accepted a new call to be the pastor of Judson Memorial Baptist Church; I started the last week of July.  I would like to share how the call process has evolved and changed in just a few short years.  Change has taken place quite rapidly - which is saying something for churches.  As a colleague has said, if the 1950s come back, we (churches) are ready for them!

Changes.
1.  There are no more letters!  Out of the 50 or so congregations that reached out to me only 3 or 4 used actual letters, on paper.  Of the ones that did send out actual letters, one actually sent a typed (from a type writer) letter.  Which touched my heart on so many levels but also scared me to no end; I did not apply to that one.  The disappearnce of the letters means that the process now is...

2.  Faster.  I cannot believe how fast a church will either say they either want to date or move on to another.  If the congregation really knows what they are looking for this is a good thing but few do.  Without an extended courtship, it is hard to make up your mind.  But then again, they can find out a whole lot more about you due to...

3.  The World Wide Web, the information superhighway, search committees can find out a whole lot about you: sermons, articles, pictures, facebook, twitter, mentions.  And you can find a whole lot about the congregation.  And thanks to...

4. Skype.  I couldn't get over how many search committees employed skype as an interview tool.  For the record I had never used skype, heard of it but never used it.  So I learned the hard way, the dos and donts of skype.  I am pretty sure one interview went south largely because the search committee looked at the top of my head for most of the interview rather than my face.  It took me a few skype calls to get comfortable with this form of communication.  I think I even looked at a tutorial on skype interviews, which I would suggest also.

5.  Utilize technology to your advantage.  I had my resume, essays, and sermons on google docs.  I put sermons on sound cloud and now you can upload longer videos to youtube.  Linkedin, I know people use this tool but I have no idea why people use it.  I tried it for a bit but it never took with me.

6.  The presence of classifieds online continue to be more prevalent.  I used The Chronicle of Higher Ed (using religious affairs/ministry search for campus ministry positions).  Higheredmin.org for other campus ministry jobs.  Christian Century classifieds of course, BaptistsToday classifieds, the search and call tab from the Alliance of Baptists, Seminary and Divinity School alumni job boards, regional baptist newspapers, regional church openings tabs on regional web pages (not all have this), the national job listing, and other sundry options.

7.  Look at the chess board.  All it takes is for one pastor to take another call to reset the entire chess board.  See what pastors have recently moved and then see what their previous churches are doing.

8.  I say all of this about technology but do not underestimate the value of networking human to human.  Invest in real relationships with human beings.  Call or write friends, colleagues, regional executives and talk about what you are looking for and what is available.

9.  Be bold and creative.  The job pool of applicants continues to shrink as does the availability of full-time ministry positions.  I did all kinds of nutty things: applied for the same job twice (they actually took a look at me for a second time and declared again that I was not what they were looking for), applied for jobs that were way over my head (what did I have to lose?), and when I finally found what I was looking for I was prepared to do flip-flops (luckily they were not necessary).

10.  Finally, when you find what you are looking for/when they find you be willing to take a pay cut, be willing to move to places you never entertained, be open to the movement of the Spirit.  Because a right fit & a right call with the right group of people will change everything.

The Great Get Together

Yesterday at approximately 10:07 ante meridian my family and I piled into our German made people's car and headed to the University of Minnesota's state and privately financed football stadium parking lot to, well park.  We parked, walked approximately 117 steps and boarded a privately owned bus that was contracted to shuttle the masses to the Minnesota State Fair.

On this bus was an assortment of all kinds of pasty white Americans of more than likely northern European heritage.  And being such they were a little too ready to believe a person with a likable, enough, round face who said he heard that at the Miracle of Birth Center this year they were letting kids cut the cord.  I said it thinking no one would believe such an absurdity (plus I didn't even know what the Miracle of Birth barn was to tell you the truth) but oh no he believed it and was genuinely disappointed that I was just joshing.

Once we unloaded from the contracted bus I asked the person who greeted us as we came off the bus if I could have the cell number of the bus driver so I could call when we were ready to be picked up, luckily this guy knew I was not serious - he laughed it off and then instructed me to move along.  As we followed en masse across the street I was struck by the one upmanship offering by the peddlers selling water.  One offered ice cold water while the other offered frozen water.  I didn't purchase from either since I could not discern which was colder or which one was actually water and not just a chunk of ice.

My family and I eagerly crossed the threshold from mere fair wisher to fair goer when we gave the trusting lady our discounted tickets, purchased on the last day, while supplies were still lasting, at a regional chain grocery store.  We proceeded directly into the Miracle of Birth barn and it was exactly what it sounds like: a barn full of pregnant animals all just waiting for the impending travail.  It was exciting, neat, and precious.  But I also felt like a voyuer peeping in a sight that was not meant to be seen in such a public fashion.  I pictured a Far Side cartoon with the trademarked Gary Larson cows standing around a bed while a woman gives birth.  The kids were most fascinated with the hatching chicken eggs, which were numbered and displayed in a translucent incubator.  The number on the eggs made me want to place a bet on what time the hatchling would emerge but I did not pursue this avenue.

Upon exiting the birth barn we were usurped by the state fair aura: fried things, smoke from the grill, root beer galore, and our surprising favorite, the all you can drink milk shop.  Who would have thought that a glass of cold milk would quench thirst on such a sweltering day, but it did.  Of course this quenching happened while we had a cone, stacked to the top, with chocolate chip cookies.  Why the cookie shop and the all you can drink milk place are not side-by-side I'll never know.

The fair goes on and on and on.  It is an amazing spectacle.  It took us a good while to settle into fair mode - it aint Jazz Fest and it aint Mardi Gras.  The fair has to judged and appreciated on its own merits, once in this mode it is really quite something to behold.  There is an amazing display of Farm Equipment, animals, real farmers, quality selections of beers, produce, food, entertainment (although Alan Jackson as a headliner leaves me scratching my head) and rides.  While I'm on the topic of rides I cannot for the life of me square the combinations of fried foods and dairy with the numerous upside-down, sling-shotty rides.  I did not witness signs of bodily revolt, but I'm sure they are there.

Avenues for exploration.
1.  If I were in charge of the shindig I would want to put a halt to the obvious encroachment by the state of Wisconsin.
2.  I would also encourage food vendors to be a little more risky.  How about bowls of buffalo chili, or pulled elk bbq or a lutefisk taco (well maybe not a lutefisk taco).  But somehow channel the ingredients of Minnesota into new exploratory, you-can-only-get-this-kind-of-crazy-stuff-at-the-fair type of food.  
3.  Butter sculptures I was hoping for life sized cows, milk bottles, Paul Bunyan, & etc.  I was a little disappointed at just the queen winners.  I would also want the artists to throw the butter down a chute that the public could take and put on their sandwiches, corn, or whatever they happen to be holding.
4.  How about a public judging of the best of shows?  who thinks this is the best looking rooster, judging by an applauseometer or everyone gets to sample the apple pies then votes on them.
5.  Hard Cider!  Look at the amount of apples harvested in this state.
6.  Finally, I would squirt milk at people in an indiscriminate and totally random manner.

and yes, I'm serious about this Wisconsin thing.

postscript: the missus and I plan on going back next week while the kids are in school, take that Milwaukee!

Nothing Normal About It

A few months ago, while I was in the thick of the pastoral search process, I received a phone call from an unnamed Regional Executive Minister, whose initials are Alan Newton, to see if I would be willing to talk to a search committee, not for an interview, but for an informational conversation.  At the moment I was taking anything that came along.  Talk, sure why not - what did I have to lose.  So I willingly sat down at the dining room table, powered up the macbook, logged onto Skype and waited for the call to arrive.  

The call arrived, the reception was horrendous, head and bodies were pixelated, words were delayed, and we could barely understand one another.  Nevertheless, I had the greatest conversation I may have ever had with a search committee.  When the phone call ended, the woman who choose to marry me, asked if I was done carrying on?  It was a carrying on kind of conversation.  There was all kinds of guffawing, light bulbs coming on over our heads, and whole lotta good craziness.  

I retold the contents of the conversation to the missus and finished by saying, I think I'm in love.  She sloughed off my comments and went about her business captivating the world with her eco-chic designs.  But I couldn't let go of the elation from the conversation.  The only problem - the search committee wasn't in the let's get the ball rolling and get going mode (at least that was my impression).  Emails were exchanged, thoughts were shared, and then I rolled the dice with a letter - what I refer to as my "Hail Mary" letter, what the missus refers to as the "Check Yes If You Like Me As Much As I Like You Middle School" letter; the exact description is somewhere in between.  

The, however you describe it, letter worked.  An official interview was scheduled, questions were exchanged, and it actually took place.  I was nervous as all get out - what if they weren't the same people as they were during the first skype conversation.  They were the same, no, actually better because they were non-pixelated, we could hear each other, still two dimensional but better.  

The committee was honest with me, asked great questions, did not try to hide their faults, they were honest about the church.  In the past I have always been extremely analytical in the call process but this time I was overwhelmed by how intuitive my decisions and leanings were.  I kept thinking any moment the curtain will go up and they are really not the people they seem to be.  But the curtain never rose, I should think it was never down to begin with.  

The process continued and here I am in the coolest pastor's office in North America (it has a fire place, and the first week here the missus found a Morris Chair at a yard sale that now occupies a prominent corner).  I am still walking on the clouds, someday my feet will find solid ground but till then I'm enjoying this abnormal experience.  

With God as My Helper

The town I lived and worked in Rhode Island also happened to be the same town where Amica Insurance housed their corporate headquarters.  At church planning meetings one of the church members, who worked at Amica, always quoted the CEO of Amica, "what happens if X gets hit by a bus?  Who is in charge then?"  Luckily no one was ever hit by a bus but the question always made us think about contingency plans.

As many of you know, or should know, one of my new loves and growing areas in life has been coaching baseball.  If you were to run into me and strike up a conversation this summer somehow I would steer the conversation around to 7/8 baseball.  It was so bad (read good) that even the missus was caught up in it, I sucked her right in, it was fantastic.  The season went pretty well, we had a few hiccups but overall the boys played great. We finished the year 9-6, and won our first two playoff games.  We were poised to win our third playoff game and enter into the coveted "double elimination round" when I received an email from a disappointed father on July 4th, his son, my star first baseman, broke his arm.  I reshuffled the infield and moved the fourth outfielder as the "sixth" infielder only a few steps from the dirt in the grass.  The defense worked but kids were out of position and were not ready for the change.  I should have tried a few more boys out at different positions at practices but I wasn't thinking one of them would break an arm.  Next year...

Contingency plans, exit strategies these are code terms in my profession for a healthy professional attitude.  But what if you have thrown all your chips into one bag?  What if you don't want to do anything other than what you are doing?  What if you can't do anything else?  What if your willing to practice your call without any regards if your call gets hit by a bus or breaks its arm?

Ten years ago this Saturday (July 14) I was ordained into the Christian ministry at The Lake Avenue Memorial Baptist Church in Rochester, NY.  It was a glorious day.  My father, mother, and sister made the journey north to lay their hands and bless this celebration as well as friends Rich (read the scripture), Chad (read from Thomas Merton) & Dan (read from Fosdick's autobiography).  Jim Braker adapted a prayer from Walter Rauschebusch and prayed over me, I can still feel his hand pressed onto my forehead; Bob Newell gave me the sage advice during my charge to pick one area in the realm of social justice to focus on and make a difference; Peter Carman preached a helluva sermon, even though the words have left me now (I still have the text) I still feel them in my bones; Lori (and Senny) presented me with a beautiful red woven stole she made for the occasion; and Harry Williams held my feet to the fire when he read my ordination promises back to me, it was one thing to write them, another to agree to them!

There was more beauty to this day - Tom Rice and the women of Baptist Temple arranged a last minute reception (which was perfect) and Don Beech was a jewel of a man agreeing to play the piano.  And of course the event would not have been complete without me making a naive mistake.

While in divinity school almost every Friday Rich & Renee and Lori and I went to McGregors Pub for dinner and beers and had the same waiter, Jim.  So after the ordination service, it was a no brainer, we would go to McGregors.  The party sat down, reminisced, moved around the room, laughed, back slapped, and had a good time.  As the gathering wound down the first person to leave asked where they could put their part in to pay for the bill.  Since this person was my guest I said dont worry it's on me.  But I said it a little too loud, everyone took it to mean I was covering the bill...and I had no idea this is how everyone interpreted this moment.  As folk were leaving Lori pulled me aside and asked if I knew what I had said.  I didn't.  It was too late by then.  This poor Baptist preacher covered the bill with the funds folk had given him for his ordination, which meant I had to buy the cheapest robe Cokesbury had, but I didn't care.  The road to ordination was difficult, the moment needed a feast, even if the feast consisted of roast beef sandwiches, buffalo wings, and Rolling Rock beer (before they were bought out and moved from Latrobe to NJ).

Now back to the post.  In the ninth year of my life as an ordained American Baptist pastor my call broke its arm, got hit by a bus when I resigned from the church here in NOLA.  The official line is the correct line, we were not a good fit for each other; in my mind it was better (and healthier) for me to resign sooner rather than later.  But what then?  I had no other call to go to?  I had no prospects, no contingency plans, no exit strategy!

I didn't view it as a crisis, I was in disbelief, numb, and speechless (not a good thing for a preacher).  I took some time off, from everything, found a therapist and went to work.  In the meantime I tried my hand at odd jobs: as a landscaper, a substitute teacher, a substitute violin instructor, violin instructor assistant, I became a subpar house husband doing laundry, making lunches, cooking dinner, keeping the house clean, running errands, spending countless hours wandering the aisles of Whole Foods, price comparing groceries; I kept depression at bay with exercise, friends, a priceless peer group, and works of fiction.  After a few months of this I began in earnest to look for a new call.

I began the process by putting everything on the table.  And trust me I explored everything: going back to school for my PhD, teaching at a private school, college chaplaincy, working at a non-profit, starting a new church, a job in the student services at local universities, a waiter at Camellia Grill, an ecclesiastical busker (honestly).  I applied for every job I saw in Christian Century, the Chronicle of Higher Ed, and divinity school bulletin boards.  After one job turned me down, I applied again - what did I have to lose.  But none of these jobs ever stirred my soul, they were jobs to pay the bills.  Slowly and surely and clearly one thing began to emerge: I am an American Baptist pastor, nothing more, nothing less.  It is all I can do, it is all I want to do, it is all I am called to do.  I am a baptizer, a preacher, a presider of communion, a blesser, a prayer, a bedside friend, a teacher, a presider of weddings, a counselor, a dreamer, a  hoper, a spiritual guide, a problem solver, a lover, a faith thickener, a pot stirrer, someone people share their deepest fears and joys with, someone people call when they are elated and down, someone people project all of their frustrations and hope onto, someone people cry and laugh with, someone who helps along the process of redemption.  I love what I do.

And I cannot wait to arrive in Minneapolis and start again!

I felt this call when I was 16, I have no exit strategy; I don't want an exit strategy.  With God as my helper I look forward to the next ten years.

Postscript: dear Judson Memorial Baptist Church community I cannot express my hope, dreams, desire, and joy within my bones as me and my family prepare to become a part of you.  There is not a place for us other than Judson.  Know for sure that we will bring each other joy, laughter, redemption, and good recipes.  And know that we will drive each other crazy, will frustrate each other, will cause each other unintended pain and sorrow but with God as our helper I think we can help each other grow into the Beloved Community.  I look forward to this next stage in our collective pilgrimage nearer to the heart of God.  

This post is in honor of the memory of Daniel Champion and Bob Newell, you are always with me.  

International Indeed

A new post will be forthcoming on the rediscovery of my apple press, getting hit by a bus (the saying not the actual act of, and life among boxes).  This afternoon as I prepared to go to the library I saw a link to my blog that floored me: a UK web address. http://theobilly.blogspot.co.uk/

See the post concerning the Western Australia Baptist newspaper.

No Way It Is Friday Already

But it is Friday already.  In between packing, celebrating our anniversary, baseball practice and games (the team I coach has won its first two playoff games), swim meets, buying boxes, selling furniture on craigslist, saying goodbye to friends, and who knows what else...somehow today is Friday.

I'm short on words but luckily the missus expressed exactly what I wanted to say.  Check out her reflection.

That Was the Best Lutefisk I Ever Had...

Judson folk, many thanks for your comments, emails, and messages concerning the post from last week. How about we shift from what you love to what you don't particularly like?  Feel free to comment as a post, or email - gtnorvell(at)gmail.com, you can also find me on the twitter (but I'm not much of a tweeter) and I'm on the facebook, usually posting extremely corny and dry sentences. If you send me a request I will happily reply.

So what do you hate?  Several years ago an intentional clergy group I was a member of met in Louisiana for a weekend retreat.  The leader was a retired pastoral psychotherapist, a fantastic person.  As we sat around the table one morning after breakfast he asked us all to play a game, "what do you hate?"  We were all hesitant to play, who wants to say out loud what you hate, what if the person next to you loves what you hate? We were all resistant to continue and began spouting off extremely safe things: mayonnaise, yes I do not care for mayonnaise but I have developed a taste for fancy garlic aioli on hamburgers; dew topped grass on August mornings - I hated having football practice on weekday mornings and having to lay on wet grass to do calisthenics.  After a few rounds we started having a blast at this game.  I'll stop here though and let you pick up.  Or try it yourself with a few friends one night, I'll bet you'll be surprised what emerges and how good it feels to voice it.

If you are reluctant to list the things you hate. Then how about the things you regret (nothing serious here, we are only beginning to know each other).  Examples: I regret introducing my children to Triumph the Insult Comic Dog on the day before we left for a two day drive down the east coast.  I regret the day when my father and I were fishing and his small bait box fell into the stream that I did not dive in to get it, I had the better angle.

Funny how even playful stories of hate and regret can be brought to the fore our of minds as if they just happened.

As a pastor I love to visit people, especially home visits.  Folk generally feel obligated to feed me during these visit, but do not.  A cup of coffee or cold glass of water is fine.  One time a person offered me a particular dish, and trying to be as nice as possible I remarked that it was a tasty dish (but it wasn't).  As you can deduce every time from then on this person made me this dish, saying it was my favorite.  I never had the heart to tell the person no, so every time I would force it down.  Which brings me to the title of this post.  I'm sure someone will serve me a helping of lutefisk while I am in Minneapolis.  Believe it or not I have had a serving of it...once.  Once while in RI (RI has a historic Swedish population) a parishioner offered me a piece of lutefisk.  After I forced it down, the host asked with expectant eyes, "what did I think?"  I replied, "it was the best lutefisk I ever had."

As a pastor I hate to say things that upset people, especially when it is something dear to their heart like lutefisk, a dish with mayonnaise in it, pickles, or meatloaf.  No one ever wants to think that people that they love do not love the same things they love.  So whenever I prepare a dish of chicken livers feel free to say with a smile on your face, "those were the best chicken livers I ever had."

International Evangelist?

As you may or may not know during the first week of Jazz Fest I conducted a prayer experiment outside the gates of the Fair Grounds.  The prayer experiment was pretty simple: would people pay me enough money to buy a ticket to Jazz Fest by writing prayers for them.  Yes, they did.

You can read about the experiment here.  And you can read the article that a colleague wrote.  You can also read my responses to the questions and thoughts I offered the author of the Associated Baptist Press piece.  The author by the way is Rev. Dr. Amy Butler, Senior Pastor of Calvary Baptist Church in Washington D.C.

The other day I received a google alert stating that my name came up in an article.  Being nosy, I took a gander at the article. Turns out the monthly Baptist newspaper of western Australia picked up the Jazz Fest prayers experiment story.  Here is a screen shot of the article, photo credit goes to Jack Kerrigan.

I'm curious if I can put on my business card: International Evangelist?

What Is Uff da?

To those who are a part of the Judson Memorial Baptist Community allow me to say thanks for the wonderful hospitality, warmth, and joy you showered on me during my stay with you last weekend.  I couldn't get over your genuineness, your readiness to laugh, your gracious hugs, and yes your peculiar authentic quirkiness.

Going forward I ask that we continue the intentional journey as we get to know each other.  Allow me to start the conversation.  Things I love: rhubarb, rhubarb pie, rhubarb crisp, rhubarb bread, rhubarb punch, raw with a dash of sugar.  Speaking of pie.  I love pie, especially pie for breakfast (maybe not onion pie).  If I were not a pastor I would bake pies all day then ride around on my bike and pass them out, no fooling.  What else, hmm, oh yeah, British detective novels (I figure as long as they are British folk wont giggle at my obsession with detective novels).  And baseball, definitely baseball, regardless of the level or the talent.  I also love placing myself in the stadium to get foul balls or home runs, I'm pretty good at it.  Don't believe me?  Then take me to Target field and you'll see.  But it may take me a few games before I understand the stadium dynamics, pitcher and hitter tendencies, air flow, and earth curvature in relations to the stadium.  And fishing, I have never had a bad time fishing.


So what do you love?  That ought to get the conversation going.  Don't tell me all at once, let us pace ourselves.

Heading Up River

Well now, big news, drum roll, horns, and now suspense filled silence: I have a call!  Pastor of Judson Memorial Baptist Church in Minneapolis, MN.  And I'm so happy I got sit on my hands to keep from waving at everybody!