In June I will be moving for the first time and assuming an array of new duties as I transition from being an associate pastor to a lead pastor. So in lieu of this transition, I’ve decided to focus a project I have for a young clergy leadership group on the topic of moving well. I’m calling the next few blog posts In Transition and I will focus on a few things I’m working through as I transition between churches in a few weeks. My hope is to not only grow personally and vocationally as I move, but I hope this series will help generate discussion for others who might also be moving.
What Do I Do About My Facebook Friends When I Leave for a New Appointment?
We live in an Internet-driven age. There’s no denying it. And since we can’t wish ourselves back to simpler times when Methodist pastors could pack up all of their belongings in a station wagon to move, we have to deal with the complexities of itinerant ministry that now extend not only to challenges of family and spouses who work, but also to lives we live online through social media.
Before I begin, I want to point you to a couple of excellent posts by my friend, Rev. Jeremy Smith. Jeremy is a tech nerd in the very best sense of the phrase. He offers some great technical advice on how to go about making changes to your Facebook account as you move from one church to another. This most recent post is an update from previous posts where he addressed the issue. Read Jeremy’s work for details on healthy choices you can make to smoothly transition between churches via social media.
Instead of getting into the technical details, I want to offer you my personal philosophy and the reasoning behind it. You might not agree with me and that’s fine. But this is my philosophy and maybe it will help you better solidify your own as you move now to sometime in the future.
Keep Your Friends While Keeping a Healthy Distance
There are some pastors, DSs, or bishops who would argue that when you leave a church, you need to truly leave it. And that means un-friending people in the process. I’ve known many Methodist pastors who have used this philosophy to set up boundaries from day 1 in a new appointment. When you know you’ll leave one day, why bother becoming friends with people? After all, you’re their pastor and not their friend. It’s about the office of pastor, right? Well yes and no.
One of the primary roles of pastors is to establish relationships with people. Yes, we’re there to be your pastor. But there’s nothing wrong with also being a friend. Personally I find it incredibly unhealthy for pastors to keep a distance between themselves and parishioners in the name of respecting an office. As leaders we need to develop the self-awareness to know where the office ends and where we as people begin. Too many of us see ourselves as pastors only and we forget how to take off the mask and just be ourselves. As a result, we isolate ourselves (and maybe even our families) in a lonely life where we are void of many meaningful relationships. You can, in fact, be friends with church members. You will not break the church or the office of pastor if you become friends with people — so long as you develop the maturity to know certain boundaries and can become aware of how to be sensitive in the gray areas where life and ministry get messy.
A friend recently pointed me to the book Networked where the authors note that a major misconception people have about social media is that we see it as a tool when it’s really a place. It’s a place where people go to see others and to share their lives (even though it’s most often the best projection of their life). To say that a pastor should just unfriend people from their previous appointment is just nonsense. If I’m in a restaurant and I run into a former church member, am I going to turn and run away as though I don’t know that person? Of course not. I’ll stop, say hello, and maybe ask them about their family. I will not, however, ask them about my former church and how the new pastor is doing there. That’s none of my business because I’m gone when it comes to the ministry of that church. That doesn’t mean I don’t continue to care about how people are doing, how their families are growing and succeeding, or how they’re struggling at any given moment. It simply means that I need to exercise the self-control to not be their pastor once I’ve moved — and that is a gray area for many of us.
My Facebook Policy
So what exactly will change about my relationships with people on Facebook? Here are two ways I plan to change my social media relationship with Mulberry members as of June 11 when I become the pastor of Aldersagate UMC in Savannah:
In addition to this, I will offer my page for my blog as a great spot to keep up with my writing. I use this page to promote articles and columns I write and I encourage people to engage with it.
Ministry is messy business. It’s complicated because pastors do not just offer religious or goods, we share life with people. And that’s beautiful. But this also makes moving from one church to another a bit complicated. Upcoming posts will try to deal with other issues of leadership in transition.
So what do you find as good practices for social media when you move from one church to another? How do you avoid unhealthy practices while keeping the integrity of a pastoral ministry that fully invests in loving people?
18 months ago, I wrote this article with Jeremy Smith on why we believe The United Methodist Church should not split over the issue of human sexuality. In recent weeks I’ve been reminded that some things never change (or at least take a long time to change) because it seems article after article is being written on why, for some ungodly reason, it makes sense for those of us in The United Methodist Church to pack up our toys, go our separate ways, and play only in the camps where we feel comfortable and everyone agrees with us.
In reading these articles and listening to the recent commentary on this issue and where the Church should go from here, I’m still moved by one of our opening sentences from 18 months ago:
“And we both want a better UMC for our daughters than the one we inherited.”
As young clergy who will have 40 years of ordained ministry ahead of us (although the rising retirement age may be at 86 years old by the time we get there!), we do not find a valid reason for schism. We both hold that the church should resist this and redouble efforts to find unity in diversity.
Most writings on the subject of separation seem to model the church as a funnel, whereby all resources and formation go toward a common mission. Anything that distracts from that mission is dangerous, and thus the talk of schism is attractive and every conflict becomes an opportunity to dream of escape while the idea of covenant becomes an expendable virtue.
So where do we stand on this debate in the United Methodist Church? It seems progressives who want to split forget that the church they leave will continue to have gay children. And it seems traditionalists (not “orthodox” as some claim because orthodoxy is defined by creedal beliefs and NOT social stances) who want separation naively think separation will finally rid the church of the homosexual debate, as though gay persons will no longer inhabit our spaces of worship, formation and service.
Clearly, schism will not end the conversation before us.
If conflict ultimately destroys any hopes of a homogeneous church, what’s a more faithful model? I see the Eucharist as the sacramental and formative model for how we are to be the Church. In the Eucharist, as the worldwide church gathers around the table, unity in diversity is at the heart of what it means to be the Body of Christ. This is why we can say with confidence and hope that the church’s unity is grounded in a reality more determinative than our good feelings for one another. The Church as Eucharist is a guiding model for our inclusiveness and for a demanding call for transformation—it’s what unifies us all as sinners in the need of God’s redeeming grace. The Church as Eucharist means we are continually called out of and sent back into the world as redeemed people.
Stanley Hauerwas writes:
“The church, therefore, has rightly thought confession of sin, penance, and reconciliation necessary for the reception of the Eucharist. How could we dare come to the feast of reconciliation not in unity with our brothers and sisters? The name given to that unity is ‘love.’ The gifts of bread and wine must be brought by those at peace with God and one another. If we are unreconciled, we best not receive; we dare not dishonor the holiness of the gifts of God.”
By having the Eucharist as the central metaphor for the church, it serves as the corrective for both sides on this debate. It means we’re both radically inclusive and that we put the Body of Christ ahead of any individual, caucus or political camp. And it means that through our worship, our service, our lives, and yes, even through our conferencing together, unity is at the heart of it all. We may worship in diverse ways across our connection, and there may come a point where our polity is diverse as well (as it currently is in our worldwide church), and such diversity is not disconcerting in a Church with the Eucharist as its guide.
Quite simply, by seeing the church as the Eucharist, we become the means of grace to a broken world. In a world of polarizing politics, widening chasms between the “haves” and “have-nots,” demonization of the “other side,” what better means of grace could the Church offer than how to hold together unity in diversity, to welcome the varieties of the United Methodist experience around the Communion Table?
Through our liturgy, every time we gather around the Table we declare that we long to be made “one with Christ, one with each other, and one in ministry to all the world.” Are we serious about this longing for oneness, or do we simply give lip service to the idea of unity? If we’re serious, then members of both the progressive and traditionalist camps will have to come out of their respective camps and join together—maybe at the Communion Table—and decide whether our identity as the people called Methodist is more important than any issue that could divide us. It won’t be easy, but no one ever said being the church was supposed to be easy.
And this unity is grounded in holiness marked by our common love for God and one another — something sadly lacking in the way(s) we talk and write about those we disagree with.
I was encouraged by a Facebook post Rev. Adam Hamilton wrote last week talking about a meeting he had with someone he disagreed with but who shared a common interest in trying to love and listen to him:
“I flew to Memphis on Thursday to spend time with Maxie Dunnam, an elder statesmen in the UMC and its most influential conservative. I love, value and respect Maxie. He’s done a great deal in his lifetime of ministry to help people know Christ, to grow in their faith, and to prepare leaders for the church. We don’t agree on everything, though we agree on far more than we disagree on. We both love Christ, we are passionate about evangelism and church renewal, and we care deeply about the United Methodist Church.
Over Memphis barbecue, long walks, and glasses of iced tea we discussed what we share in common, our hopes for the church, our differences and if there is a way forward for the UMC that avoids dividing over the issue of homosexuality. I’m not sure that is possible, but I hope and believe it is. It won’t come from name calling and demonizing those with whom we disagree. If there is a way forward, I believe it will come out of conversations like these that begin with mutual respect and a focus not only on our differences, but on what we share in common. I also believe it will only happen with the Holy Spirit’s work in and through us.”
We want our generation to be the last that has been broken by the homosexuality debate. And we know more conversations like this need to happen. You can’t rush unity, but you sure can take the baby steps necessary to attain it — especially when those baby steps mean checking your own self-interests at the door in the process.
Jeremy and I don’t know our daughters’ sexual orientations yet, and we want a church committed to relentlessly loving them regardless. They both have, however, been baptized which means they will be named “Christian” by less than perfect churches who are a part of a less than perfect connection of churches. So our greatest hope and most fervent prayer is that it’s a connection that will seek unity—not because it’s expedient but because it’s difficult and ultimately faithful.
We want more for our daughters. We want more for your sons and daughters. And we still hold out hope that God is not yet done with the United Methodist Church.
We believe that the United Methodist Church, united in common mission, but not uniform in its expression of that mission, will serve a polarized world better than two Wesleyan traditions who took their toys and bitterly retreated to their respective camps.
However this is also the time of year when Conference Boards of Ministry all over our connection are meeting to evaluate candidates in the ordination process. And all of this talk about spring and new life and hope doesn’t carry much weight if you’ve just received the hard news that you have been deferred in the ordination process.
For some, these first days of spring are tough because you’re now learning to live with the sting of rejection. You feel like one who has failed in your calling to ministry. Your emotions range on a scale from anywhere between frustrated and devastated. You’re trying to pick up the pieces of your shattered ego in order to find some way to faithfully serve and pastor during the rest of this Lenten season and into the glory of Easter . . . and that’s a lot harder than it sounds.
I know exactly how you feel. Last year I was deferred in the ordination process. I know how much the news stings. I remember how I felt when all at once my heart started pounding and my stomach started sinking. If you were told the news in person or on the phone, it was hard to even put words together in response. If you found out by way of a written notice, you probably stared at the page and read it over and over just to make sure it was real and not some sort of trick your eyes were playing on you. As one who was where you are just a year ago, I can tell you that I know just how much this hurts.
But I’m writing not just to affirm your feelings and remind you that you’re not the only one who’s ever felt the brunt of this devastating news. I’m also writing to let you know that new life is, in fact, possible even when you’re deferred in the ordination process.
As I prepared for my interview a few weeks ago (where I would come back and face the same committee that deferred me the year before) I realized that even though I did not want to sign up for another year in the wilderness of deferral, I would not trade the previous year for anything in the world. As I’ve thought on it, I realized that I learned several lessons during my year of deferral.
First, I learned the value of what it meant for pastors to be pastored by others. In the immediate aftermath of our board’s decision, the members of the church I’m serving rallied around me to express their care and even their frustration over the news. Their warm words served as a balm for my wounded soul. If I knew nothing else, I knew the next year of growth would be spent with people who loved me and believed in my calling to ministry no matter what.
Secondly, I now know that seasons in the wilderness can actually be the grounds for new life to spring forth. God just has a way of speaking life into the most barren of circumstances. So I use the term “wilderness” on purpose – being deferred places you in a position to question and grow in ways you may not have imagined before. While I worked on the specific areas for my ordination work, I also experienced the grace of growing personally as I turned especially to the spiritual writings of people like Thomas Merton and Henri Nouwen. I look back and see this past year not only as a year of growth professionally or vocationally, but also as a year of personal growth. And for that gift of grace, I’m very grateful.
Finally, I learned that while being deferred by the board of ministry can be devastating, life beyond deferral is possible. And by life I don’t mean pretending as though this never happened or that you’re perfectly okay with being deferred in your process. I mean it’s possible to find new life in light of this setback. There is hope in a Risen Lord who carried scars with him. Life and ministry have a way of helping us learn to live with scars, and sometimes we even find those scars are beneficial to our sense of compassion and love for others. So please know that life after deferral is not only possible, it is at the heart of what it means to be called into ministry by a crucified and risen Savior.
As you spend the coming days and weeks healing and growing remember a few things: First, let people love you and pastor you. Merton reminds us, “We do not find the meaning of life alone – we find it with others.” Let others help you heal and grow. Second, as you address the shortcomings of your ordination work, be open to the work of God in your personal life. The work of transformation in your life is even more important than your ordination work that you’ll turn in next year. Let yourself be open to personal growth through grace. And third, live into the mystery of this growth knowing that you will come out on the other side a new person. Listen for those who have gone through this before you. And know that you’ll be able to help those who will come after you.
Oh and one more thing…know that you’re not alone. God is with you and is still calling you as part of your baptismal identity. And the Church is longing for your presence and willingness to serve even (and especially) when setbacks happen. For that mysterious hope all we can say is, “Thanks be to God.”
It is the season of Lent in the Christian church. This means Christians all over Middle Georgia and around the world have begun a season of self-examination and penitence — sometimes noted as we deprive ourselves of certain pleasures in order to center our lives on God more.
Some give up the pleasures of sweets or caffeine and others go as far as giving up the pleasure of gossiping or laziness in their prayer life. Somehow, these small habits are intended to make us more Christian by the end of the Lenten season on Easter Sunday.
I don’t know about you, but it might take a little more than giving up chocolate to make me a more faithful Christian.
What if instead of concentrating on small habits of depravation, we worried more about the ways we live our lives every day — the words we speak, the actions (or inactions) that consume our days, and the attitudes we carry with us?
For example, one might be led to believe that being a Christian means taking a hard stand on certain issues. One might even believe that being angry and drawing lines in the sand are the difference makers in their faith. If we could only get our stances and beliefs right, then we might be Christian.
But what if our anger, our stances and our rightness don’t make us more Christian? What if, in fact, they do the very opposite?
Jean Vanier, the founder of the L’Arche Communities, writes, “Love doesn’t mean doing extraordinary or heroic things. It means knowing how to do ordinary things with tenderness.”
What if learning the art of tenderness has more hope of making us more Christian than any of our stances and anger ever did? What if the way we go about being Christian were just as important (if not more) than what we said we believed in?
The Apostle Paul writes that we can have all the gifts of prophecy and understand all the mysteries and truths of the universe, we can have faith that moved mountains and we can even be right and win all of the arguments on social issues of the day, but if we don’t know how to love, then we are nothing at all.
And love is hard because it’s patient and kind; it’s not arrogant and it doesn’t seek to always be right. Love is characterized by the tenderness and humility we show when we live our daily lives as witnesses to the hope of our faith.
How do we talk about the events of our day or other people with a greater sense of love? How do we interact with others — especially those with whom we do not agree — with a greater sense of love? How do we see others and ourselves through the eyes of a loving God who relentlessly calls us to be new and better versions of ourselves?
I hope these are the questions we struggle with as we go without our desserts and coffee during the coming weeks. These are tough questions that demand deep answers. These are the true questions of Lent.
Well we’re a little over two weeks into the season of Lent. How many of you have snuck a cup of coffee or a piece of pie yet? Maybe you’ve already fallen away from your commitment to read more devotional material or more of your bible — it’s tough to keep up a new practice. Maybe you’ve found yourself gossiping to having a glass of wine even though on Ash Wednesday you were fully convinced 40 days of depravity were no sweat.
A friend recently pointed me to John Wesley’s rules for his holy club. After reading these rules, I’m convinced my Lenten disciplines are pretty much child’s play. Wesley didn’t institute these rules for a 40-day season. He thought we ought to live up to them every day of the year. More than your politics or your social stances, these rules as guideposts for the Christian life.
When I read them, I realize that much of what he expected and spelled out is the essence of what it means to live every minute of every day as a follower of Jesus. It’s hard by design. So I hope maybe you’ll be as convicted by these rules as I am. And I’m pretty sure there’s still time to add a couple of these to your Lenten discipline…
1. Am I consciously or unconsciously creating the impression that I am better than I really am? In other words, am I a hypocrite?
2. Am I honest in all my acts and words, or do I exaggerate?
3. Do I confidentially pass on to others what has been said to me in confidence?
4. Can I be trusted?
5. Am I a slave to dress, friends, work or habits?
6. Am I self-conscious, self-pitying, or self-justifying?
7. Did the Bible live in me today?
8. Do I give the Bible time to speak to me every day?
9. Am I enjoying prayer?
10. When did I last speak to someone else of my faith?
11. Do I pray about the money I spend?
12. Do I get to bed on time and get up on time?
13. Do I disobey God in anything?
14. Do I insist upon doing something about which my conscience is uneasy?
15. Am I defeated in any part of my life?
16. Am I jealous, impure, critical, irritable, touchy or distrustful?
17. How do I spend my spare time?
18. Am I proud?
19. Do I thank God that I am not as other people, especially as the Pharisees who despised the publican?
20. Is there anyone whom I fear, dislike, disown, criticize, hold a resentment toward or disregard? If so, what am I doing about it?
21. Do I grumble or complain constantly?
22. Is Christ real to me?
Here’s to living a holy Lent together…
“My Lord, I have no hope but in your cross. You, by your humility, and sufferings and death, have delivered me from all vain hope. You have killed the vanity of the present life in yourself, and have given me all that is eternal in rising from the dead…
Why should I want to be rich, when you were poor? Why should I desire to be famous and powerful in the eyes of men, when the sons of those who exalted the faults profits and stoned the true rejected you and nail due to the cross?…
My hope is and what the high has never seen. Therefore, let me not trust in visible rewards…
Let my trust the in your mercy, not in myself. Let my hope the in your love, not in health, for strength, or ability or human resources.
— Thomas Merton, “Thoughts in Solitude,” p. 38-39
Wednesday marks another observance of Ash Wednesday and begins the season of the church year known as Lent – 40 days of denying ourselves fun things like chocolate and gossiping. It’s a bit of a drag, but it’s a predictable drag.
We’ll begin, ready for the test of endurance. We’ll hear the story of Jesus, alone in the wilderness, being tempted by Satan, and we’ll say to ourselves, “If Jesus can resist temptation for 40 days on an empty stomach, surely I can forego a cup of coffee here and there.” But by the time Easter arrives we’re counting down the days until we can again indulge in whatever enjoyable item or practice we’ve gone without for what then seems more like a year than a mere 40 days.
Lent comes and goes from our lives with little, if any, evidence that it ever came at all.
Lent is fun to dabble in. We feel superior to our non-Christian friends who think denying dessert in the name of faith for 40 days isn’t worth the hassle. But the truth is, we secretly agree with them, and that’s why on Easter Sunday we find ourselves, year after year, eating extra dessert and another piece of chocolate, drinking an extra cup of coffee, and calling our nosiest friends to hear the juicy gossip we’ve missed.
What’s so special about Lent anyway? Why should we even bother ourselves with a season of self-denial, especially if very little has changed by Easter Sunday?
The historical root of observing Lent is complicated. We know the practice of observing Lent began in the early church. The meaning, practice, and length of the season, however, shifted through the generations.
Irenaeus of Lyons wrote of a season of self-denial that lasted a few days in the second century. The Council of Nicea (325 CE) discussed a season of fasting observed by the church that lasted 40 days. It’s unclear whether this practice was just for converts preparing for baptism on Easter Sunday or if it was for the church as a whole. Needless to say it soon became a part of the entire church’s annual movement through the seasons of the church year. By the sixth century, Gregory the Great established Ash Wednesday as the beginning of the Lenten season in order to secure the 40-day time span for the season (i.e. Ash Wednesday is exactly 40 days before Easter if you don’t count the Sundays).
As United Methodists, we’ve seen a revival of this observance during the past 50 or 60 years. Ash Wednesday is observed by more and more congregations and is a very meaningful reminder of our mortality and need for God’s transforming love.
But the fact that the season of Lent has an interesting history doesn’t necessarily make it special. So what is the meaning(s) behind the observance of the season?
For starters, just as Lent was a season that prepared early converts for baptism, we are offered the chance to spend a season remembering our baptism and growing more and more aware of the ways in which we need to grow more and more into the likeness of Christ. Lent is not merely a season where we watch and admire the journey Jesus makes to the cross. It’s not a season where we simply remember what Jesus did for us on the cross. Lent is a season that demands we move from the place of onlooker or admirer to the place where we share in Jesus’ journey for ourselves. Lent is the annual remembrance of what it means to share in Jesus’ death so that we might share in his resurrection.
So when you opt to give something up for Lent, why don’t you add something in its place that helps you grow in your faith? Below are a few ideas of ways you can observe this Lenten season in meaningful and (hopefully) transformative ways:
Thomas Merton reminds us that growing in holiness is essentially growing more and more human. God became flesh and lived the human experience. And as we grow in our humanness, we become more and more aware of those around us who are hurting, who are in need, and who need to know the love of God that knows no boundaries. So we become more holy as we become more human because we learn how to be embraced by and share God’s love with others.
Lent is the perfect training season for such a journey toward holiness. So I hope you will spend the next 40 days aware of your own mortality and God’s redemptive grace in your life. I hope you’ll find moments and set aside time to be aware of God’s presence in your life. And I hope you’ll truly commit yourself to live a holy Lent.