Cycling Clergy, second installment

Necessary Updates (CO2 savings will be forthcoming at the end of the month).

1.  I have ridden my bike in sub zero weather several times now.  First Surprise: how warm you get peddling a bike.  Second Surprise: the fraternity with other winter commuters, when we pass we offer a "may the force be with you" wave.  Third Surprise: wind has the amazing ability to find the slightest sliver of an opening.  

2.  The Bus is my friend.  My new rule of thumb: if school is cancelled due to extreme cold then I will take the bus.  I have taken the bus on three occasions.  I have a pretty good read now on necessary bus routes, transfers, and the like.  I have missed the bus on two occasions, throwing my timing off for the rest of the day.  I have had to run to catch the bus, throwing my breathing off for a good piece.  And I have gotten to know a bus driver.  

3.  Myths dispelled.  Many times I have heard callous folk refer to the poor as lazy.  Here is my response: You try standing in sub zero temps (possibly with inadequate clothing) and tell me that it is easy.  And you try standing, completely vulnerable, at bus stops waiting for a bus and tell me how easy that is!  My respect for the determination and toughness for the working poor who take the bus to work has greatly increased!  

4.  Community.  It occurred to me the other day that I could not attempt this experiment without the support and grace of the community I have in the Judson Memorial Baptist Church.  They not only encourage me, but also offer help upon help.  

5.  Style.  If one were to peruse my wardrobe and closely inspect my suits, all from Always-on-Sale-About-to-Be-the-Subject-of-a-Hostile-Takeover-by-a-Competitor, you would notice that they are getting near threadbare status (a little hyperbole there, but not as much as usual).  Which brings a certain decision to be made in the near future: invest in more suits or invest in clergy shirts?  I think I am going back to clergy shirts.  Not black but blue?  Why blue?  Baptist = Water = Blue, according to my reasoning.  I'm also curious what, if any, conversations emerge on the bus or on the street when I go back to wearing a clergy shirt, fair trade clergy shirts that is.  (I originally wore them because of the large Catholic presence in RI, when I wore a clergy shirt to the hospital I felt like Moses: doors opened, people smiled, and no one questioned my presence).  The shirt also reenforces my desire for a "public ministry" as a pastor.  

6.  Finally, Bling.  My bike needs a slogan.  I am in the process of rebuilding an old bike for my commuter bike but it will not be ready until spring.  In the meantime I keeping my Breezer (an older model they dont make any longer).  I am likening my bike to Pete Seeger's banjo.  Any ideas?

The Peddlin' Parson, or the Cycling Clergy, or the Velocipeding Vicar, or the Fast Footed Friar, or... Installment 1

This morning I mounted my winterized commuting bike and pedaled to work.  It was -9 outside, but no wind.  I figured if I could peddle to day, I could pedal any day.

How was it?  Well it was cold...at first, but once I got going I warmed up.  There were a few expected hiccups: my goggles iced up, my bones were rattled due to all the icy snow on the bike path, my digits took turn getting cold, and it was a slow ride, with studded tires, extra clothing, and books in my saddle bags.  Nevertheless, I did it.

So how will a pastor make his/her way with no automobile?  We'll see, but I'm sure I'm not the first.  For centuries pastors got by with just a horse.  And most cities were designed before the advent of mass automobile transportation.  But still...

Intentionality 

Thoughtful planning of pastoral visits.  I am planning on designating Wednesday as my day to do pastoral visits in areas outside of my comfortable bike/public transportation range.  I will simply have to plan my days better. 

What if there is an emergency?  I recall asking my father for a 4WD truck, he replied, "you know you really only need a 4wd a few times a year.  Is it really worth the extra cost and insurance just for at most 10 days a year?"  Although he made perfect sense I still wanted a 4wd (didn't get it). In my 14 years as a pastor I can only recall 2 or 3 times when I had to drop everything and run to be present with a someone or a family.  If there is an emergency, I can take the bus, hop on my bike, ride back home and get the van, I can ask someone to borrow their car, I can use one of the many car-sharing options:Car2Go, HourCar, ZipCar, CarShare or some other service. 

What happens if the van breaks down?  Well, that actually happened this week. The good old van is on the cusp of its usefulness.  This week the van's engine cooling system we kaput.  I feared this was the end of the ole mule but it was not.  A bottle of Bar's Leaks temporarily solved the problem.  This will enable us to investigate new van options.  And how did we get around?  A kind family loaned us their car for a day.  

Lastly, I cannot get over how giddy I feel.  Then again, this is just day one.  But I have a supportive congregation, community of year around commuting cyclists, and this article from Salon. 

Any other cycling clergy out there?

The True Costs of Having an Automobile

Again with a low Sunday (a work day for me) of -24 it looks like I picked the wrong week to sell my car and use my bicycle as the main mode of transportation.  But luckily, I live close to the bus line and the church is too; I can ride in comfort!  

Nevertheless, I am anticipating an increase in the daily availability of cold hard cash.  How so?  True, my wallet will not look like a George Kantanza wallet filled with money (rather than sugar packets, napkins, & etc.) but I do expect a savings each month.  I will no longer have to pay for auto insurance, gas, and maintenance costs.   I will have to pay for some bus tickets, bike maintenance, & tools.  But what was the true cost of having a car?

This week I calculated how much having an automobile cost me.  I bought the car I sold used for roughly $6,500.  Shortly afterwards and throughout the last few years I put roughly $5,500 in repairs for the car: new brakes, tires, battery, oil pan (nola roads), alternator, axle kits (nola roads again), and such.  Plus the maintenance, gas, and insurance costs made for an additional $5,000.  Which means the monthly average cost for having the car I sold on Saturday was $358.  The cost for my bike, commuting gear, and tools >$1,000.  Bus cards?  Possible rental car costs for special trips?

C02 savings - weekly totals forthcoming.

Looks Like I Picked the Wrong Week to Quit...

On Saturday I sold my car.  To be honest I hated that car.  I was glad to get rid of it.  I was even giddy after I sold it.  I sold it because I hated it and because I am giving up my car for this year.  I will now be known as the peddling parson or something like that.  The Twin Cities has a nice public transportation system, extensive bike trails, and we have our other vehicle which the missus and I can share on the days I need to do visits and other crucial ministerial deeds.  Over the next few days I'll share my motivations.

But when the forecast consecutively reads -8, -10, & -22, and on a Sunday for that,  all I can hear is the replay of the character played by Lloyd Bridges in the movie Airplane.

A Service of Lessons and Carols - Post-Christmas Version

 Over the years I have experimented with a post Christmas version of Lessons and Carols.  At first it was basically a sly way (in my humble opinion) to have an off day without taking a vacation day.  Then again I have never been a big fan of the Lesson and Carols service taking the place of a Sunday morning or Christmas Eve worship service.  Don't get me wrong I love the service, I listen to it each year, and I have several copies of it on my computer.  What keeps the service in Cambridge fresh is the inclusion of new carols each year, sometimes up to three new commissions each year!.  But what congregation has the wallets to commission three new carols every year and a 32 member full-time highly trained choir and a full-time choirmaster and full-time organist to rehearse and perform them?  Not many.  Thus came the post-Christmas lessons and carols, a service of reflection on Advent and Christmas Eve along with in house musicians, new compositions, familiar carols, and Jesus specific lessons.  This year I was blown away by the level of creativity, love and energy from the service.  I offer it as a model for others to consider.  Enjoy.

First Sunday of Christmas

December 29, 2013 9:30 AM

PRELUDE “A Medley of Carols”
Polly Schrom, Jim ten Bensel, Eileen McLaughlin, Jim Wentink

LIGHTING OF THE CANDLES Scholz/Slominski family

MUSIC “The First Noel” Jimmi Langemo
and family members

*HYMN #597 “Shall We Gather at the River” Hanson Place (vs. 1, 2, 3)

FIRST LESSON Matthew 3:1-12 Anton Hesse
The Forerunner
page 2 red pew Bible, New Testament

MUSIC “The Chosen One” Doug Weatherhead

SECOND LESSON Luke 1:46-55 Travis Norvell
The Song of Mary, read responsively.
page 57 red pew Bible, New Testament
One even verses; Many odd verses.

MUSIC “Once Again My Heart Rejoices” Scott & Jane Ulring

THIRD LESSON Luke 2:21 Anton Hesse
The Naming of Jesus
page 59 red pew Bible, New Testament

ANTHEM “Sweet little Jesus Boy” Jim ten Bensel

*HYMN #148 “What Child Is This” Greensleeves

FOURTH LESSON Matthew 2:16-18 Anton Hesse
The Killing of the Innocents
page 2 red pew Bible, New Testament

MUSIC “Killing of the Innocents” Doug Weatherhead

MORNING PRAYER

CALL TO OFFERING

OFFERTORY “In the Bleak Mid-Winter” Gustav Holst

*DOXOLOGY Brian Wren/Lasst Uns Erfreuen
Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
Praise God, all creatures high and low.
Alleluia, alleluia!
Praise God, in Jesus fully known: Creator, Word, and Spirit one
Alleluia, alleluia! Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

FIFTH LESSON Luke 2:41-52 Travis Norvell
Jesus at the Temple
page 59 red pew Bible, New Testament

MUSIC "Christmas Spirit" Van Johnson

*HYMN #154 “Go Tell It On the Mountain” Jimmi Langemo

SIXTH LESSON Matthew 27:32-44 Anton Hesse
Crucified Like a Bandit
page 32 red pew Bible, New Testament

*BENEDICTION

POSTLUDE “My Favorite Things” Rodgers & Hammerstein Brett Hirsch

Next year, I would like to start a new carol contest with the winning carol making its debut on Christmas Eve, performed by the amazing Judson Choir. 

2013: A Year in Numbers

1  the number of times we moved this year.
0  the number of times we plan on moving during the next 25 years.

3  the number of times I went iceskating last year
3  the number of times I thought for sure I was going to break every bone in my body while ice skating
0  the number of bones broken while ice skating

20  the number of years since I last played baseball, fast pitch.
1  the number of times I was up to bat before I got my first hit
.321  batting average
1  the number of triples I had this year
3  the number of innings it took me to catch my breath from the triple.
3  the number of bats broken.
1  the number of attempted stolen bases.
0  the number of bases stolen.
38  approximate number of little league games coached
38  approximate number of times I wished Minneapolis sold beer after little league games

40  approximate number of sermons preached at Judson Memorial Baptist Church
40  the approximate number of times someone playfully mentioned something about my grammar, use of a word, or questioned the phrase I had used because they had never heard it before.
16  the number of the consecutive months the afterglow of my job has been sustained.

56  the number of times I thought for sure I saw Michael Tisserand in Minneapolis.
1083  the number of conversations that someone has said You Know at least 11 times in a conversation.
16  the number of consecutive months Garrison Keillor has refused to accept my friend request on facebook.
2  the number of emails Garrison Keillor and I have exchanged since arriving in Minneapolis.
93 the approximate number of jokes that make more sense on Prairie Home Companion now that I live in Minneapolis.
0  the number of times I've been tempted to attend a Vikings game.
25  the number of times I stopped by the Bakers Wife for donuts.
8  the number of pounds gained while living in Minneapolis.
1  the number of times I went down the Giant Slide at the State Fair.
1  the number of times I had lutefisk.
1  the number of times I was scared to have lutefisk.
13  the number of times I was convinced my body would have severe reactions to eating lutefisk.
27  the number of times I suggested to haute chefs that they should offer lutefisk tacos.
3  the number of quarts of maple syrup made from the maple tree in the backyard.
4  the number of gallons of apple cider made by with my bicycle powered apple crusher.
4  the number of months I went without shaving.
4  the number of months that went by with my wife begrudgingly kissing me.

38  the approximate number of weddings I have done, before arriving in MPLS
6  the number of weddings that I performed that I enjoyed, before arriving in MPLS.
4  the number of same sex weddings I presided over this year.
4  the number of the happiest and joy filled same sex wedding I presided over this year!




13  the number of months it took before Minneapolis coffee tasted better than New Orleans coffee.

daily  the number of times Minneapolis feels like home.

Christmas Tales 2013 Edition

Last year I tried, for the first time, my hand at a sermon in verse.  I had a blast, so I did it again this year.

Judson Sermon 20131222 "Why Lutefisk from Jacqueline Thureson on Vimeo.

Why Lutefisk and Not Squirrel

sermon-in-verse Advent IIII

December 22, 2013

Judson Memorial Baptist Church

Minneapolis, MN

The Rev’d G. Travis Norvell

Before we begin there are a few things you must know

1.     Angels are very heavy sleepers

2.     Angles are terrible at rhyming words

3.   Not every line will rhyme true.  I know y’all know the song The Wichita Lineman by Jimmy Webb, the most popular line,

And I need you more than want you

And I want you for all time

And the Wichita Lineman is still on the line.   Did you hear that?  Time and line do not rhyme, it is what songwriters call a faux or lazy rhyme.  Well this morning I have declared faux or lazy rhymes to be fine and dandy.

     4.  I will go in out and between rhymes and regular sentences a few times.

     5.  Finally, this story is pretty all true. 

Kids you probably do not know

But not so long ago

There was a squirrel in our house

A squirrel, not a mouse.

It lived in the walls

And scurried down the halls.

It was a pest

and we wanted to send it out west.

So we called a man

And he came with a plan

To rid our house of the vexation

With a cumbersome conglomeration

Of traps, and cages, and snares

Guaranteeing the squirrel would never haunt our stairs

And he caught the squirrels, there were eight

But one escaped.

A red one that talked

Well more like squawked. 

Now one day this summer I laid on my hammock and napped. After some time transpired I awoke to the awful audio of annoyance, a red squirrel squawking.  I looked around and sure enough there on the lowest branch of the sugar maple was a red squirrel squawking at me and wouldn’t stop.  I tried to shoo it away but she would not move.  So I went back to sleep.  As I slumbered the squawking became softer and softer almost to a whisper.  And in the whispering there was a rhythm and in the rhythm there was a word.  And this is what she said:

Lutefisk, lutefisk, that awful dish

Have you ever wondered why they eat that fish

On Christmastime

And not any other time?

I have, I have pray tell my friend

I will, I will, it is a story I do commend.

Long ago before the cities of the earth were in form

Squirrels for dinner at Christmastime was the norm

We were stewed, fried, sautéed and boiled

And squirrel gravy was worth more than oil.

Until the day Mary the woman and Joseph the man

Journeyed from Nazareth to Bethlehem

They were on the run full of fear

For soon out of the woman a babe would appear.

They were searched for a place to stay

But every innkeeper said go, go, go away.

Until one man offered his grange

Mary said we’ll take it as long as my child wont catch the mange

So they prepared a bed

Right where the animals were fed

And soon the woman a’swoon

The babe wanted out, it was a full moon

In a bit the babe was in her arms

Sadly, no one sounded the alarms

The angels, the angels said they would sing

But there was nary a ring

About that time

Came the squirrel named Clementine

I told you there would be lots of false rhymes

Every night she ate the oats

The were not eaten by the goats

But this night in her path was a block

a mother in babe in afterbirth shock

so she went another way

up and over the fray

Now children there is another thing you must know

Angels were sleeping in the rafters whose snores sounded like a tornado

Up in the rafters of the stable

Were the archangels Michael and Gabriel

They slept through the birth of Jesus

While mary screamed angels cant you hear us?

Clementine while scurrying up and over the winged sleepers

Tickled them so that they opened their peepers

Hearing the mother and seeing the child

They flew to the sky and sang like wild

Glory to God in the highest

And peace on earth

Remember no hard how they try, every time

Angles just cannot…make sentences end with the last syllable of words sounding a like. 

All creation sang that night

And in heavens a new star shone bright

Simply because of a hungry squir-rel

Tickled and woke God’s person-nel

The  next morning the angles found Clementine

Way up high in a sticky tall tree of pine

Squirrel, they said, you’ve done a great deed

So we bring you gifts of  nuts and seed.

God too was filled with gratitude

And wanted to lift up Clementine’s magnitude

Squirrel because of your great feat

At Christmastime no one will eat your meat

But your probably wondering what does this have to do with lutefisk aren’t ya?  Well for that we have to go another place, to the council of the Most High

On the night the angles sang

All of creation rang

Except for one, aint that odd,

It was the stubborn cod!

The cod was the only animal that refused to sing

So God cursed that awful thing

Cod, from now on you shall be the featured fish

On each and every Christmas dish

But that is not enough

You shall also be soaked in that awful stuff

Lye, Lye, Lye

Because you would not comply

And that kiddos is why every Christmastime we eat lutefisk and not squirrel. 

Mentoring from Afar: The Continuing Influence of the late Rev. Peter J. Gomes

Christian Century asked for submissions on the subject of mentoring.  I submitted this piece as a tribute and thanksgiving to the late Rev. Peter J. Gomes:

I reckon that by the time I was 24 I had heard approximately 1,018 sermons, but none of them prepared me for the one I heard at the 1999 commencement service at Colgate Rochester Crozer Divinity School. 

The preacher was the Rev. Peter J. Gomes, then minister of The Memorial Church of Harvard University. After the service, as he greeted each person by the door just like my Baptist pastor did back in West Virginia, I thought to myself, "For an Episcopalian, that dude can preach." It took me a couple years before I discovered that he too was an American Baptist.  The experience of that sermon altered my view of pastoral ministry; I dare say it propelled my vocational choice. 

I graduated sure of my talents and wisdom. I never thought to seek the advice of other preachers, much less Peter Gomes, until two years after graduation. By then I had used all the divinity bells and whistles. Let me say that Dr. Gomes never knew that he was mentoring me, but he did, from afar. 

The mentoring process began with his books; one day I found a copy of "Sermons: Biblical Wisdom for Daily Living" at the Brown University bookstore, and devoured it that night. The process continued with more books of sermons, and the weekly online worship services made available by Memorial Church. 

I followed the weekly sermon schedule the way others follow the daily box score of their favorite baseball team. His sermons were witty, engaging, intelligent, challenging, and marvelous. His preaching pushed me to take the craft of sermon-writing more seriously. He also taught me to take the theatrical and historical aspects of preaching to a deeper level: Why look like an insurance salesperson when you can look like a preacher?

I could imitate his approach but I had a difficult time figuring out the how and why of his Sunday liturgical wear: a cassock, with preaching tabs, and a preaching gown. How could a Baptist wear such an outfit? My question was quickly answered when I looked at portraits of the pastors of the First Baptist Church in America in Providence, R.I.; they all wore the same liturgical outfit! 

But it was not until I discovered the 1996 New Yorker profile of Gomes written by Robert S. Boynton that I found one of the greatest descriptions of a Baptist pastor with liturgical leanings. Gomes referred to himself as "a Baptist with an Anglican Oversoul." That description was my “aha!” moment that parted the waters, enabling me to embrace my own high-church proclivities. Soon after, I called Dr. Gomes’ personal assistant and inquired where he purchased his ecclesiastical uniform. She directed me to an English clerical company named Whipple. I located J. Whipple & Co. and ordered my own cassock, preaching gown, and a set of preaching tabs. A few weeks later a package was delivered, via Royal Mail, on a Sunday afternoon, to the parsonage. 

The first Sunday I wore the outfit, the congregation giggled and scratched their heads. But after a few weeks they agreed that the outfit improved my preaching by at least 15%. 

Over the years I discovered the treasure-trove of lectures on preaching that Dr. Gomes delivered: online, printed, on CD, and on cassette tapes. I listened to and read the lectures as if he were sitting in my office offering me personal advice on preaching and the pastoral life. The advice is practical: the time constraints of a Protestant service (one Lord, one faith, one hour); listener attentiveness (keep them on the edges of the pews), and the dos and don’ts of the pulpit (don’t preach your doubts, do take the congregation on the roads you travel in preparation, even down a dead end).

Here and there, colleagues shared their favorite Peter stories. One recalled walking past Memorial Church at 2 a.m. and hearing the organ. She opened a door and found Peter at the organ, belting out old Baptist hymns. 

I treasure the only time I talked to him face-to-face. After he finished a lecture on preaching at Andover Newton Theological School, a rather righteous seminary student took him to task for his participation in the inaugural ceremonies of Presidents Reagan and Bush. I knew how he would answer, but it was precious to see it in person. Peter rolled his eyes and asked, “Do you think you are the first person to ever pose this question to me?” Then he gave his classic response. “I can only answer this way: imagine how terrible it would have been if I had not been there!”

When Peter died in 2011, I felt the passing of my mentor deep in my bones. I give thanks for his influence and impact on my life every time a congregant says it is apparent that I love what I am doing. More than anything, he gave me the image of pastoral life as one of meaning, challenge, purpose, and joy. With him as a mentor for pastoral ministry, I am having the time of my life.

A Raiment of Camel’s Hair: Looking like John the Baptizer, kind of...

Back in my days at divinity school a classmate, who turned out to be one of the best friends a person could have, told me a story about going to a protest march and seeing an old Catholic priest and his stole.  The stole was covered with protest, social justice, peace, and movement buttons.  That image always stuck in my mind and over the years I have collected buttons from anti-war protests, environmental rallies, closing the School of America gatherings, and such, hoping one day I would put them on a stole.

One day this summer while driving down to Iowa I had a series of sermons by Gardner Taylor playing on the tape deck (yes my car has a tape player).  In the midst of ubiquitous cornfields I began to think that the progressive movement needs to adopt John the Baptizer as our "patron saint."  And about that same time Gardner Taylor started preaching on John the Baptizer.  Slowly he described John, and even though I had read the descriptions of John countless times I had never thought specifically about what John wore, a raiment of camel's hair (as the King James reads).  Instantly, my mind started wondering where one could get some camel hair cloth, then it hit me: from a camel hair blazer, of course!  Yeah a camel hair blazer, cover it with buttons and wear it year around with a clerical collar (talk about branding).  I then, however, began to think about actually wearing, year-round, a camel hair blazer in Minneapolis- that one could get mighty hot (even here in the upper midwest) and stinky!

I thought on this some more and after a few dozen more corn fields synergy happened: a stole made from a camel hair blazer covered with buttons (buttons that in some way express the Kingdom of God).  So I asked the artist (whom I am married to) when she is out sourcing for materials at a thrift store and comes upon a camel hair blazer would she please pick it up.  And sure enough, a couple months later, she did. She brought it home and showed me how to rip the blazer apart; not as easy as it sounds, an evening with a seam ripper took its toll on my hands.

She did a remarkable job with the stole, as always.  After she completed the stole I started looking for all my buttons.  But one problem: I could only find a remnant of them!  I suppose over the course of the many moves, time, and such I lost them along the way.  Rather than mourn over my loss I decided from now on to start a new collection and add them to the stole each Advent.  I told the kids during time with children to think of the buttons as my Continuing Education certificates as a progressive pastor.

Stability

In what seems like a galaxy far, far away I once contemplated becoming a monk, a Trappist to be specific.  I never took vows or even donned cowl but a RCC priest did arrange for me to have a monastic summer experience at a monastery in South Carolina in the summer before I graduated.  I had booked a ticket on Amtrak, but you see there was this woman, the same woman I would later marry, and celibacy and  just didn't seem to go together.  So I backed out, went to seminary, married that woman, graduated, got busy making kids and pastoring churches.

Reader you should know that I was neither raised nor ever have been a Roman Catholic.

So why did this urge to live the life of monastic prayer emerge?  Well, it began with Wednesday night bible study.  If you've never been to a Wednesday night bible study in Appalachia let me provide you with a snapshot.  Picture a good sampling of old people, a preacher providing a wandering 25 minute bible study, then a public airing of aches and pains, surgeries and procedures, and other things that make folk anxious (as a teenager I took all of this in and what at first seemed like useless information has actually proven quite useful in my visitation with the elderly.  It is amazing how I can guess so quickly what ails someone.  "I bet that your sciatic is bothering you."  "Why it is, how did you know?"  "Just a guess.")  Then line-by-line praying for the requests.

One evening after the prayer meeting I asked the pastor if there was any other kind of praying other than intercessory prayer?  He didn't quite know how to answer, but to his credit he lent me every book in his library on prayer.  One book was Prayer by Richard Foster, which I read with gusto.  But I didnt quite get it.  Then a little of life: graduating high school and off to college.  In college I became part of a discipleship class and picked up another Richard Foster book, The Celebration of Discipline, which I borrowed from my campus minister and subsequently dropped in the toilet.  I fasted (and wouldnt you know it the week I fasted the cafeteria served steaks and ice cream).  I prayed, I journaled, I did everything the book said I should do.  But i was still hungry.  At the end of the discipleship class the campus minister suggested that I mosey over to the Newman Center and contact the Franciscan priest who was also a spiritual director.  So I did.  Week after week he was my spiritual director.  He then suggested that I take the Religious Autobiography class that semester.  So I did.  And there I met, for the first time, Thomas Merton.  And for the next two years I read, and read, and read, and read Thomas Merton books.  I became so obsessed with his writing and life that I decided the only way to live a life of prayer was to become a monk like him, a Cistercian monk.  But there was this woman...

Funny thing though.  After a while I kind of stopped praying.  Sure I prayed with folk, at services, over meals, prayed them into glory and out of heartache but I, personally, stopped praying.  Dont know why.  The closest I remember to prayer was when a spiritual director prayed for me, blessed me really, and I cried for hours afterwards with thanksgiving.

So fast forward to last week.  I packed an overnight bag and headed to the St. Johns Abbey Guesthouse for my first ever retreat.  There I prayed, and journaled, and worshipped, and prayed.  Just like rolling down a hill, or baking bread, or splashing, or laughing out loud I didn't forget how to pray it came back easier than I thought.

Now Reader I'm sure you're wondering why did this take place last week and not before?  I have not a clue.  But I do have a theory about why what happened last week took place.  Stability.  Something  I always wanted, yet something I knew eluded me as a free church pastor.  I thought maybe I could be one of the pastors that pastored one church for 40 years.  But my first church had 18 in worship, on a good day.  My second church, what I refer to as Camelot, was great - seven wonderful years but I knew it was not forever.  It was where I learned to be a pastor, as did my predecessors.  Then the move down south.  I knew the first day my family and I landed that I made a mistake but I thought I'd make the best of it. Then I resigned and went looking.  Then I found my current place of employment.  And I found a place I can be for a good piece.  And after 14 months the stress of the previous three years started to flow downriver where it came from and life started making sense once again.

Benedictine monks take five vows: poverty (kind of check, I am an American Baptist pastor after all), chastity (no check), obedience (little fuzzy here), fidelity to the life (check, I love the pastoral life) and you guessed it: stability (which check as much as I can).  Minneapolis, with your clean political system, nice people, odd cuisine, bike lanes, and amazing parks you're stuck with me and my family.  Even if your major league baseball team does not have a clergy pass program...yet!