I'm Young, Damn It

This week, I went on the Spring Clergy Retreat hosted annually by my denomination. I was interested in this particular program because it was about art and I'm hitting a wall in my prayer life where I needed and wanted some new energy in my drawn prayers.

I have never been to one of these retreats before. I have not gone for a very specific reason. I'm at least 30 years younger than all of my colleagues -- and though I don't feel this is a barrier when those that I call peers are often older than I am, it's the first remark that graces my colleagues lips. This time was no different. I was singled out for my age. I was told that I was younger than their children. I was told that I could be their grandchild. I am not graceful or gentle when these comments are made. For me, there's nothing gentle about wanting colleagues.

Of course, it so happened that this was the theme of the retreat for me. It wasn't at all about art. It wasn't about my prayer life. It was about my youth. Damn it.

The context of my ministry is in an area of our country where there aren't many young people. There is a seminary in the area. In fact, there are two that aren't far from me -- but most of the graduates from these institutions that serve the churches in my context are second career women and men. And so, I don't fit the mold. I constantly enter into the conversation that there is a trend in seminaries now that reveals the opposite that we see here. There are more young people in seminary. They are just not here. Of course, these eager elders want to know what will draw young people to our churches here in the snowy North.

The answer in my eyes is obvious. I want to look them narrowly in the eyes and proclaim, "Well... You want young clergy to act like you. Stop it. Really. Stop. We're not you. Don't call us for what we represent. Call us for who we are." In the four years that I've been ordained, serving the same church, I've struggle with these assumptions of who I am as a young person. I constantly force the reminder that I'm not the same age as their college-aged kids. I'm not  even a millenial. Really. I took the quiz. I'm so not a millenial. I'm Gen-X if anything but I really don't want to be placed in an age bracket. I want to be who God called me to be without having to fit neatly into a box. I don't want to be seen for my age.

In the church, we honor everything that is old. If it has been around for a long time, we think it's good. The old chalice connects us with the founders of the church. The old Bible connects us with the language that some of our members heard as kids. The old preacher obviously has more experience and knowledge. His gray hair proves it. He's been around the block a couple of times and can relate to the vastness of human experience. There is no point of entry for me. I'm young. I push for new language, chalices that connect us to a global community and highlight my hair to celebrate my youth. (I miss being a towhead.) I celebrate older women (and even men) and the validation that they need for their own calls in the wisdom of their age -- but that pushes me out. It gives me no place. Plus, in my worst self, I can't help but think that the church is going to die with these old crones. I don't really believe that. I want to think that there is another way where we can celebrate a new thing -- even a young thing. After all, isn't that in the Bible?

The Angry Email

I just got an angry email from a church member whose wedding I performed this summer. She's been an active member since she and her fiance joined last winter. Their lesbians. They both grew up in a very conservative Christian traditions that taught them about the saving blood and their damnation. Enter United Church of Christ. Turn left and meet new pastor who is young and somewhat hip. This young, angry church member has always wanted me to be her friend. She's never really caught on to the fact that I never offer something about myself. I've never felt comfortable with her to do so.

And then, a month ago or so ago, I was at a show that Musicman was playing. Angry church member's best friend was there. She's also a musician. She played at the wedding. She's like nails on a chalkboard to me. Somehow, it came out that I'm dating Musicman. I flipped. I wasn't ready for anyone to know -- especially not church people. I asked her not to say anything to angry church member. Well, it shouldn't be a surprise that she did. (This, by the way, doesn't help that I think she's nails on a chalkboard.)

Now, the lesbian is angry. She wants to know why she can't just avoid church politics and have a beer with me. That would be how Theology on Tap slapped me in the face. I don't want to tell her. I'm not ready to tell her. It's my story to tell -- and I really don't want her to know. She starts this email by saying that I don't need to write back because there isn't much to talk about anyway. I think there is -- but I'm angry. I think there's lots to talk about but really I want to tell her that she gets to make choices about what she shares with me, and I want the same right. Of course, I can't say that. She won't understand. She won't understand that she's not my friend. She won't understand that I never wanted her to be. I'm her pastor -- and that's all I want. I want to rant about this because it makes me so furious, but I also want wisdom. What do you do when the people you serve find out about your personal life and then are angry about it? How can you be pastoral to them when you're furious yourself? Help. Please.

Living Water

As a proudly ordained member of the United Church of Christ, I've heard the jokes about my denomination. I've heard that we are "Unitarians Considering Christ," which I find offensive both on behalf of the UCC and the UUA. I've heard other cheeky comments along the way at which I usually sneer in disgust. And yet, I'm aware that my understanding of Jesus is different than my fellow Christians. I'm very, very aware of this.

At times, I find this very difficult. There's a organization in our city that serves the disempowered and oppressed of our city with meals, job training, after school programs and other such good things. Of course, I want to know the whole story about what it means when the Volunteer Coordinator uses the word Christian. I admit it. I judged. I assumed that we have a huge difference of opinion on who Jesus is. Unfortunately, I was right. I read the Statement of Faith (which in itself should have been a red flag) and became instantly repulsed. This inspired the classic red-blue Christian question: how do we be in service of Jesus Christ together if we don't believe the same things about what it means to serve our Lord and Savior? Sure. I've done this. I did it in Appalachia and Nicaragua. I've done it in soup kitchens and even in the church that I serve now. However, it doesn't feel good. Something doesn't feel right because I can't talk about my faith without it being wrong.

This came soaring back to me when I went to the Advent Conspiracy page to buy some water for Christmas. I went to site that this organization celebrates and mistakenly read their Statement of Faith. And now, I have no interest in buying water through their best efforts. I know it will do good things. I know their hearts are in the right place, but I can't escape the fact the risk that someone might use Jesus with malice. I've seen it happen before. I've heard that the poor will actually always be with us. It always makes me furious. It's not what I understand about the living water that Jesus offers each of us. And so now, I feel awful. Sigh.

To top it all off, I can't find a dreidel on any of my favorite fair trade sites (or any other) for my Jewish goddaughter. This makes me suspicious of the Christian presence in the fair trade movement. And see, I feel awful for that too. Ugh!

Advent ARG!

Last week, I was talking on the phone with a friend from seminary and we both remarked that we didn't feel like we were stressed enough. It's Advent after all. We're pastors. We should be stressed, right? I don't think that this was a healthy thought. But we laughed about it in that fabulous way that you laugh with friends from seminary.

This week, I'm stressed. No. That's not it exactly. I'm annoyed. I'm really annoyed at things that are out of my control. How have I handled this matter? I've whined to anyone that would listen. I whined to folks in New York. I whined to colleagues in the Snowy North. I whined while I protested for peace. I whined to our Church Administrator. I whined and I whined. Again, perhaps this is not the healthiest thing to do. Eh. Oh well.

I finally realized what I needed to do to overcome this matter as I left church to meet Fantabulous girl and her partner at the Lesbian Coffee Shop. I was able to wipe the tears away from my face (Oh yeah, this is one that I'm crying about) to meet these two awesome women to talk about their journey. We talked for two hours. I'm officiating at their wedding in August. And I think they are going to join the church. Honestly, this is what I love about my call. I get to sit and have the best conversations with amazing people.

This is my Advent frustration. Sunday brings the last Sunday of Advent -- where I will be preaching the "Christmas" sermon. We don't have a Christmas Eve sermon so this is it. Even though, well, never mind. I'm crafting a conversational sermon between me, Mary, Joseph and Gabrielle (the Angel of the Lord). I have no interest in writing this sermon. It's conversational. Do I really need to write it out ahead of time? I would so much rather sit in a coffee shop and share in the ordinary joy of life. I would rather hide under a blanket and read as more snow falls and will continue to fall until midday Friday. This is my ARG.

The Curse of Email

I just wanted to say it was certainly a pleasure meeting you at the annual meeting this weekend. It is very encouraging to see young pastors such as yourself who are poised, articulate, and professional in both demeanor and dress taking leadership positions in the UCC. I hope we have the opportunity to cross paths again and I wish you the best always in your ministry.

This was the email that arrived in my inbox just now. Apparently, I met this person at our Annual Meeting this weekend. I don't remember who it was. But, I'm annoyed by this email. Why shouldn't I be "poised, articulate and professional" just because I am young clergy? And why is it necessary to comment on my clothing? I was actually pushing the envelope a little with what one of my colleagues called "catwoman boots." But, why is that needed? Why?

It's All About Me

In the most recent edition of The Chrisitian Century, Century Marks mentions this video. And though I find the concept a bit funnier than the actual video, it still made me giggle.



Do you know clergy like this? I do.