Remember Me?

I’m back, and I made it through my first week in the office. Thursday, in fact, was an especially busy day (we don’t call it crazy Thursday for nothing; it’s always our most packed day!). By the end, my miniature assistant and I were exhausted. But it was a good kind of tired, and I felt very accomplished. I actually made it through 90% of my triage to-do-immediately list. It feels good to be back to work, and I have a somewhat renewed sense of focus, although still a little short on the energy.

I felt good about maintaining radio silence during my maternity leave, but boy oh boy did I miss a lot of things I wanted to blog about! how comes when I’ve vowed not to write anything, the whack-job pastors and their lighters come out of the woodwork? Oh well. You all knew what I would have said anyway.

And, being such a good girl about taking my leave as leave meant I got to spend more time on this:

Worth it. Understatement.

Pastors only work on Sundays, right?

Today was one of those days. One of those wonderful, glorious days when it may have looked like I did very little to edit a church bulletin or craft a brilliant sermon, but the church and the people of God were foremost on my mind.

I began the day with a meeting in Barre (next town over) with a couple dozen people who are looking into some sustainable and long-term means of providing housing and shelter for people who need it, both in emergency cases, and more importantly, in transitional and long-term independent settings. I may have mentioned that this is a burning passion of mine, and has been for most of my life. This group, while still in the very beginning stages, is looking at the intersection of emergency shelter needs, long-term housing goals, employment opportunities, and sustainable independent living for the approximately 250 persons without housing in Washington County (according to the Vermont Point In Time study conducted to count the homeless [~190] and precariously housed [~50] people as of January, 2010). Once again, it is wonderful to be with so proactive and empowering a group of people. We have a long way to go yet, looking at some big questions, to try to determine where to focus time and resources, assuming financial resources can be made available in these days of shrinking budgets all around. Still, to have a room full of people, some who provide food, some who provide shelter, some who provide job opportunities, some who provide state services, some who have been beneficiaries of some or all of the above, all committed to tackling these multi-faceted issues, it does my heart worlds of good. It may one day (soon we pray) do the community worlds and worlds of good.

I returned to church, to one such sustainable and empowering ministry (our community meal) already in progress, to take a lunch together with the directors of two other meal programs as we made progress in discussing ways to make our shared structures more efficient, accountable, and legally sound through seeking some sort of joint incorporation, all to ensure that people who need food get it, and maybe the systems by which foods are distributed can become more just and sustainable. Or at least, for the time being, the programs in place and function smoothly, effectively, and in ways that keep the IRS and the Secretary of State happy with us.

I thought about my sermon for a little bit.

I ended the evening with a half-hour finance meeting followed by a two-hour church council meeting (but, as we’re not meeting in July, it is my last until after maternity leave ends in October!). Over the course of these meetings, I witnessed incredible excitement (and only moderate frustration) about the vast number of programs Trinity is doing, and almost frenzied discussion of keeping all of the pieces in place amid the many events on the horizon. And I saw one congregation make a commitment to be gracious, generous, and deeply loving to another, beyond what I’d even hoped or imagined they might do. It literally brought tears to my eyes, and I don’t think it was just hormones.

There are days when ministry is frustrating, draining, pushing-a-rock-up-a-perpetual-mountain exhausting, when I end the day more frustrated and distant from God and my own sense of calling than when I started (yesterday was one of those days!). There are days when I not only fail to do good, but when I question whether I have actually done harm in my broken attempts to be who I am called to be. There are days when I am sure that I should chuck it all and go tend bar somewhere, because I can still lend a listening ear, but the drinks flow more freely and the tips are better, and no one is going to pester me about the color of the hymnals or the fingerprints on the banisters.

But then there are days like today. They are rare, to be sure, but they are special, and one of them can make up for months of the others. I live for days like today, days when I feel like I made a difference, days when I am surprised by grace and joy and the way God works in and through people in ways I didn’t anticipate because maybe it’s not all about me and whether or not I make it happen. These are the days I blog about, to remind me of why I do what I do, to tell you why you might consider doing it (or something like it) too, and to give thanks to the One who does make it happen, through and despite my best efforts.

I’ll sleep well tonight, thanks to some passionate people in Barre, some committed foodies in Montpelier, a congregation excited about its ministry and open to sharing its blessings, and the Spirit that spoke to me through all of them for the past fourteen hours.

Gifts and blessings

On my (still hotly contested) previous post about clergy who have lost their faith, I listed some of what I believe. I was simply trying to get it out, lest anyone think that I reject supposed orthodoxy and hold nothing in its place. But at least one reader found it lyrical, and broke it into poetic lines, and then sent it to me. The week of Easter. I can’t tell you how big a blessing that was, to receive such a lovely gift from across the country, and to read my own words reflected back as poetry or song. Many, many thanks.

This I believe (by Becca Clark, ‘remixed’ by Dave and Nan R., readers from Michigan)

I believe
God is
Transcendent and immanent,
Ground and Source of all Being;
We are in God as a sponge is in the sea.
I believe
the Bible is the story
of humanity’s relationship with God,
filled with truth and beauty
and adventure and sacrifice
and chaos and anger
and doubt and triumph,
and that this story is true,
regardless of whether it is factual.
I believe
that Jesus was,
more than any other wise prophet or old soul,
one and the same with that Divine,
that to see him was to see God,
to live the Way he taught is to live God’s Way.
I believe
that the consequence
of confronting power and corruption
and violence and domination,
the cost of articulating God’s vision
in the face of humanity’s greed
is deadly.
I believe
that the life and love of God,
and God in Christ,
and now God in us as we are in Christ,
is yet more powerful
than the deadly force of Empire
and fear and greed and corruption.

I believe
such life and love is eternal,
and so Christ was and is alive beyond death.
I believe that this Divine One,
this God, is present with us even now,
that we feel movement
through Spirit and in community,
that we are still called to be
and build
and participate in
a new way of being and living,
God’s realm, come to earth.
I believe
we are invited to make this new Way,
together with God,
and live as a people connected
to God,
to one another,
to all of life,
When that happens,
we will see face to face,
we will live as the Body of Christ,
fully restored.
We will see the fulfillment
of all that needs to be.

I’m not ready to *not* make nice…

Howdy, y’all, from down here in Nashville! I’m attending the United Methodist Association of Communicators’ Annual Meeting (about which I will say more later), where this blog, that’s right, this very one, has been awarded Best in Class for non-fiction in the local church category.

No pressure there.

BishopSpong2So, on to being relevant. Today, my inbox was overrun by emails and celebrations about Bishop John Shelby Spong’s Manifesto (linked at the Reconciling Ministries Network). In it, he lifts celebration that “the time has come” to move on from the battle about homosexuality. Bishop Spong writes that he believes the battle is won, and that he will waste no further time in debate on the matter:

I have made a decision. I will no longer debate the issue of homosexuality in the church with anyone. I will no longer engage the biblical ignorance that emanates from so many right-wing Christians about how the Bible condemns homosexuality, as if that point of view still has any credibility. I will no longer discuss with them or listen to them tell me how homosexuality is “an abomination to God,” about how homosexuality is a “chosen lifestyle,” or about how through prayer and “spiritual counseling” homosexual persons can be “cured.” Those arguments are no longer worthy of my time or energy.

I have mixed feelings about this.

On the one hand, I feel this way a lot. As I wrote earlier, I wrestled greatly with how to respond to extreme positions like those of the Westboro Baptist Church, and I decided in the end that ignoring violent language and hate speech was not something with which I could live. Still, I resonate with the idea that some arguments are not worth the waste of breath, or the anger and bitterness they generate in me. When I find that I am becoming more negative and bitter as a result of a conversation or debate, it’s time to walk away. Actually, it’s past the time to walk away. I frequently give myself sanity breaks from such debates on the umcommunities website for that precise reason. It’s not worth the breath. It’s not worth the poison that seeps into me in the course of the debate. It’s not worth it–never worth it– when I feel more distant from God as a result of a conversation.

In this matter, I do think the handwriting is largely on the wall, and that Bishop Spong is right when he says that we as church are only making ourselves more irrelevant by our continued focus on sexuality rather than on ministry:

The world has moved on, leaving these elements of the Christian Church that cannot adjust to new knowledge or a new consciousness lost in a sea of their own irrelevance. They no longer talk to anyone but themselves. I will no longer seek to slow down the witness to inclusiveness by pretending that there is some middle ground between prejudice and oppression. There isn’t. Justice postponed is justice denied.

He is right, and as a church we certainly do great harm to ourselves, not to mention to the witness of Christ, by fixating on sexuality and sexual orientation.

But I push back on two points:

First, while the tide may have turned, that doesn’t mean a battle is over. In this instance, I’m not yet prepared to walk away and dismiss anyone’s words as outdated or irrelevant or as the death throes of a position. They are still hurtful words and positions that I think must be countered. If the battle is over, there is many a GLBT person in my pews who doesn’t know it yet, and until they can let words roll off their back like water, I’m not prepared to ignore them– the words or the ones wounded by them– either. While I applaud Bishop Spong’s optimism, I don’t want to (totally mixing metaphors here!) declare ‘mission accomplished’ and pull out, leaving troops still in the trenches to be wounded and maimed.

Second, I maintain that there are many people out there, even a majority of people out there, whose positions about homosexuality in the church differ from mine, who are faithful Christians to the best of their ability and to the best of their understanding. I resent it when my opponents in a debate disregard me as “unchristian” or “liberal whacko” or whatever, rather than have to live together in difference with me. I can’t in good conscience do the same, disregarding not only their positions, but their theological frameworks, their gifts to the ministry of the church, and their human struggle to understand and serve Christ as best they can. To do so is in a way to deny the Christ in them, however hard it may be at times to see it, just as I’m sure it is sometimes hard to see the Christ in me.

Debate is, I’ll admit, fun and challenging, and often helps clarify one’s own point, but it can also be a forum for relationship growth and reaching out across differences. Wrestling together with our differences, even and especially such stark and emotionally charged ones, can in fact be a huge opportunity to grow and change. And while I’m not naive (or, I hope, arrogant) enough to assume that I can change the hearts and minds of the world, I do kind of have persuasive rhetorical speech as part of my job description, and I do therefore harbor a hope that some positive change might come from conversations I have with others. Like Jacob, wrestling with an angel in the night, we grapple with each other in the dark, each a wanderer, each an angel, and I for one don’t want to let you go until we both receive blessing.

There are some things about which I cannot compromise, and some places where I am not open to changing my mind. I cannot abide violence. I will not compromise with hate speech. I can’t imagine conceding that anything made and beloved by God is abhorrent. I reserve the right and the need to walk away from poison and mutually assured destruction in argument. I also want to declare the joy of living in the already-not-yet promise of God’s kin-dom of radical love. It’s here, in part and in glimpses! The snippets of grace and glimpses of living together in the tension of our differences, when they shine through, are enough to keep me hopeful and focused on the joy.

And yet, I still wade into the battle, to the wrestling match, because the ones with whom I wrestle are often sisters and brothers, are sometimes angels, can teach and transform me even as I hope to teach and transform them. I’m not ready to give up on them just yet.

Sometimes God speaks by slapping you upside the head.

When I wrote earlier about hearing the call to ministry, a few people asked about the specific moment itself. I tend not to talk about it too much, not only because people look at you funny if you say you hear voices in your head, but because sometimes it’s discouraging to people who don’t have a call story with voices or flashes of light or burning bushes. I want to emphasize that many if not most of the pastors I know do not have stories like this– they realized that they were called the same way someone realizes they want to be a doctor or a teacher or a farmer. Having a call story with voices and light and burning bushes doesn’t mean we’re more called; in fact, it probably just means we’re more dense, God had to resort to getting our attention by slapping us upside the back of the head.

(The following is a near-transcription of a sermon I preached about my call)

It was a Tuesday night, Mardi Gras, my freshman year in college. I was studying to be a teacher, because that’s what I wanted to be. In particular, I wanted to be a high school English teacher. I wanted to teach Shakespeare, because you see, you have this really old text, and yet the words are still so beautiful and powerful; the ideas still shape us and tell us about who we are, and when you read it you come to a deeper appreciation of the author, a brilliant and profound thinker. I imagined I’d have a semi-captive audience of high school students and their eyes would light up as I’d read them this old text, and together we’d explore how it still touches us and shapes us today.

I was taking Introduction to Education, which I am convinced is designed to weed out people like myself who shouldn’t be teachers, or to make sure that those who want to be teachers want it enough to make it through the class, because it was the most boring, anti-learning course I’ve ever taken. And so this Mardi Gras night, even though the next day the professor was probably going to read the textbook to us aloud in class, I was reading the textbook. And I had read the same sentence a dozen times, and it wasn’t sinking in.

It was getting late, and I was getting desperate. I thought if I could just picture my vision, my dream, that would be the impetus I’d need to finish my homework and go to bed, it would motivate me enough that I could finish reading and get some sleep. So I closed my eyes and I pictured myself in my classroom, with my Complete Works of Shakespeare textbook and my captive audience of high school students and them getting excited about the old text and… it did absolutely nothing for me.

I had this moment of sheer terror. This was what I was supposed to do with my life and now it didn’t inspire me. What am I going to do, who am I going to be?

And then–I won’t call it a voice, because I didn’t hear it. It was a thought. And the thought kind of scrolled across the back of my mind the way text scrolls across a marquee sign in a bus station. And the thought said, and I quote directly, no dummy—not the last time God’s called me a dummy, but the way—no, dummy, you heard wrong. I didn’t say teacher, I said preacher. Picture yourself as a preacher.

Now it was late and I was desperate and I wanted to get my homework done so I thought I’d try anything, and so I did it; I pictured myself as a preacher. In some ways it was familiar. I pictured an old text, and yet the words are so powerful, so beautiful, the ideas in it so important that they shape our lives now in our very hearts and souls and who we are meant to be. And when we read it, we learn about the incredible Author of such a work. I pictured my semi-captive audience whose eyes sometimes do light up as we together discover again and again how these words speak to us and how they shape us today and that the Author who wrote and inspired them, that Author’s love for us and for creation have no limit.

That was what I pictured. It was the most exciting, most inspiring thing I had ever imagined for myself. It had so much purpose, it felt so right and I thought what a great idea I just had! And then I thought where *did* that idea come from? I spent the rest of that Mardi Gras night alternating between arguing– Wait a sec, I know you’re omniscient and all but it’s a small dorm room and an easy mistake to make. I think you meant my roommate; she goes to church a lot and does that clapping and hand-waving thing a lot, and I haven’t been to church in a while now. I tried to read the bible when I was in high school and got stuck in Deuteronomy and haven’t opened it since. And then on the other hand just laughing hysterically, which wasn’t particularly odd behavior for Mardi Gras night.

The next day was Ash Wednesday, and I gave up Catholicism for lent, which is a good punch line, but was actually true and a hard decision I had to make, because that was how I knew how to be spiritual in my life, and the thing that I’d imagined was not going to be possible within the Roman Catholic Church. So I had to go find a place that would let me do what I had imagined.

In the weeks and months and years that followed and are still following, I learned something: that evening was not when I was called by God. That was when God got my attention, because I can be kind of a dummy sometimes, and I needed a moment of vision to get it into my head. But in fact this had been my gift and calling and passion my entire life. Every time I took one of those tests in high school that tell you what you’re supposed to be when you grow up, they would always flip back and forth, but the first two answers were always lawyer and pastor, and I thought I was too moral for the first and not moral enough for the second, so let’s go for choice three, which was teacher. Never realizing that all three were about taking an older text—the bible, the constitution, Shakespearean literature, interpreting it, studying it, explaining it to people persuasively and with excitement, and helping them see its relevance and beauty, helping them see it in a new light— all of that was pointing to a skill set that I have and was being called to use for God’s work. Never realizing or putting together that I had always loved church, my whole life, even after my family stopped attending following my parents’ divorce.

052-callingThat summer after I’d begun to take that seriously, I was home and I came across this picture. This is not my daughter, although I can understand the confusion. This is me, and I’m about Arianna’s age, and I’m playing my favorite game. I’m wearing my nightgown with my bathrobe over it. I’ve taken a piece of bread from the kitchen and squashed it flat (because we were Catholic and Catholics use those wafers for communion). Sometimes I would take the cup from the bathroom, not pictured here, and I would fill it with grape juice (because I was a good Methodist even then), and I would serve communion to my stuffed animals. I would pretend that I was a priest, and that was my favorite game when I was four.

This is my Jeremiah 1 picture; before you were born I called you, and I keep it on my desk in my office to remind me that while it might have taken me a while to get it through my head, this is what I’m called to do, and what I was called to do my entire life. That’s what I know, what’s familiar to me, that’s the gift and the passion and the joy that I have and am called to use in God’s service.

And it reminds me that we all have that, we all have gifts and passions and talents, and we are called to use them for God’s service. Your vocation, says Frederick Buechner, is where your deep passion meets the world’s deep hunger. I’ve found my vocation. Have you found yours?

Hearing the call

receiving my stole at Ordination this June
receiving my stole at Ordination this June

The hardest part of discerning a call to ministry for me was believing it was possible.

I was raised by parents who told me I could be anything I wanted when I grew up, so it wasn’t that I didn’t think the sky was the limit. And yes, I was Roman Catholic, and so I’d never actually *seen* a pastor who was a woman, but I knew such people existed. No, the hard part was that I really didn’t think I was a good candidate, spiritually speaking. At the the time I heard my call, I’d never read the whole Bible, I wasn’t much of a churchgoer, I was pretty new to that whole taking-religion-seriously thing, and I had a lot of doubts about a lot of the things I thought Christians Are Supposed to Believe.

So really, why in the world would God allow, much less want, me to serve as a pastor?

The first thing that really helped was actually reading the bible, particularly the prophets. In their call stories, I heard a lot of my own doubts mirrored (like Jeremiah, I am young; like Isaiah, I feel that I am a person of unclean lips), and in their accounts I also read God’s repeated response: “hey, dummies, it’s not about YOU; I’ll be with you.” Ah.

Along my journey, I met many wonderful pastors who also gifted me by showing their humanity and imperfections, too, and I realized that we are all serving God as best we can, warts and all. Powerful women, particularly my mother in law, my first mentoring pastor, Karen, my supervisor for my internship, Carol, my candidacy mentor, Michelle, and my back-to-back Bishop Susans (Morrison and Hassinger) modeled a variety of ways of being a strong woman in ministry, and I learned a great deal from them. Oh, and there are some guys I look up to, too.

I wish someone had told me how hard ministry is sometimes, not in terms of the endless tasks and the way everything seems to be a top priority, but how draining it can be emotionally, and how there can be dark nights when you’re sure that you are in the totally wrong place in your life and ministry and faith journey. The first time this happened to me, I was in seminary, and I thought I’d made a huge mistake; I wasn’t holding up well emotionally, and I thought that *obviously* meant I wasn’t fit to continue, because pastors have to have it together all the time. It took a while to work through that. I read Renita Weem’s book Listening for God, and now I read it about once every three years. It never fails to speak to me and remind me of the dawn at the end of the darkness.

Out of seminary, my doubts weren’t totally erased; my first six months in parish ministry, I found myself hating my job, constantly trying to fill out paperwork, manage crises, and figure out interpersonal struggles, and hardly ever having time for the creative, spirit-nourishing stuff I love. What someone *did* tell me, a neighboring pastor (now D.S.) named Henry, was that I had to stop trying to tackle the crises of other people, stop filling my time with the minutiae of the job that I hated and do the ministry I was called to do. Henry set me free to answer my call again, to do the ministry I loved and let the rest take care of itself. He is in many ways the reason I remained a pastor at all.

The greatest surprise came three years into my ministry after a particularly difficult week which I struggled through. Looking back over the past seven days, I had the strangest realization: I did a good job. I was good at this. Not just part of it, not just the stuff I liked, but the whole package. With congregants who stepped up and with a rawness in all of us that forced us to be dependent on God, we had managed to come through a crisis together and I had exhibited some pastoral leadership that, when I really looked at it, revealed that maybe I wasn’t such a lost cause after all. Maybe God didn’t mess up in calling me. Maybe God was going to–already had and always would– make good on that promise to be with me in the calling.

I won’t say I never doubted again. I have good days and bad days, good weeks and bad weeks. But I remember that there are dark nights that lead to dawns, and crises that give us opportunities to come together in loving community, and a God who is present every step of the way.

It’s a roller-coaster of a journey, and one I wouldn’t trade for the world. Blessings to you as you explore it!

I talk more about my call to ministry in a sermon you can hear here.

If you are a young adult (high school senior-age 24) interested in exploring a call to ministry of any kind, please consider attending Exploration 2009 this November, a chance to learn more about how God’s call might play out in your life! We’ll be praying for you.

I have, like, the best job ever.

I really do enjoy my job.

It amazes me sometimes. Sure, it’s difficult, and draining and chellenging some days. Sure, there are times when it seems like many of my days are filled with finding (and losing) paperwork, looking for prayers to go with a particular theme, and attending marathon meetings. But around that stuff, between the forms and the bulletin-making, there are the times when I dream and vision and imagine and strategize and listen and get excited and strategize some more. There are the times when I hear someone talk about an idea for a ministry or an outreach or a worship component, and their eyes positively light up. Then there are the times when I help that person work toward that idea, and I see on their face the joy and satisfaction of getting to do what they love. And I know it’s mirrored on mine.

I wrote a little earlier that I felt like I was ready to kick things into high gear and start in on some projects. This is what excites me most about ministry– the opportnity to listen to and with people for what God might be calling us to, and then together create something new that helps bring the blessing, joy, and love of God to another little corner of the world.

The current big project is the Trinity Community Thrift Store, a dream that came from Paul, a member of Trinity in Montpelier. Paul imagined that we might stop putting on 4-5 thrift sales a year as fundaisers for the church, and start offering a year-round thrift store as a more premanent source of inexpensive, quality clothing and household items in the downtowm Montpelier area. This is the best kind of project; it’s Paul’s dream, so he feels fulfilled and inspired about it, it helps the church in some ways financially and in terms of public relations, it helps people around the world because 10% of the income of the store will be given to a mission project outside of Trinity, and it helps the immediate community because there is a great need for an inexpensive shop in the town, so that folks can buy the things they need without using up all the money they have on hand for the week. I’m honored to be a part of making this happen, and to see and hear the buzz of excitement as this new thing unfolds.

And that’s just one new thing I see us doing together right now. There are a lot more ideas and there’s a lot more energy!

What about you? What exciting things are you doing in your church or would you like to do? What exciting things do you do with your work or your volunteer time? What makes (or would make) you say you have the best job ever?

Day Off

Mondays are my sabbath days, but that doesn’t necessarily mean a day of rest. Sometimes, what really rejuvenates me is getting to do projects I love or to dream about ministry (and maybe even do a little of it, which I don’t consider cheating) without being ‘on the clock.’

So for example, today, on my day off, I:

  • took out the garbage. Okay, it doesn’t sound exciting, but it’s very purging.
  • did some weeding in the vegetable garden and put down some landscape fabric to keep the weeds down in the future. Again, it may not sound like rest, but I was out in nature, getting some (rare) sun, and had a great feeling of achievement.
  • had an impromptu video conference to discuss ideas about a program to help agencies and their resources better interface with people without housing or on the brink of being without housing. A passion of mine, and a discussion made possible by the wonders of internet technology.
  • talked with another group at church about rearranging some space use for a new project, yet to be unveiled. That might sound like work, but it was so uplifting!
  • called the congregant whose dream is the aforementioned new project, and asked him to come in tomorrow and begin the process of making it a reality. I didn’t see his face (no video conference, sadly), but even the sound of his voice was enough to know that moments like that are why I went into ministry.
  • managed to utterly confuse myself with my bills and checkbook, but sort it all out in the end, which again, is such a feeling of accomplishment (and relief!)
  • thought a little more about the ideas I’ve been having for sermons the next two weeks (I’m never that far ahead!) and for a series in September.
  • ran a mile and a quarter.

Now that’s a day that gets me feeling refreshed, revved up, and ready for the week ahead!

Warning: Pastor on the Loose!

Maybe a church or two on the loose, too!

I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s because they ordained me and now I’ve got an extra shot of the Spirit in me or something. Maybe it’s because I took a little time off over the past couple of weeks and got more rejuvenated than I realize. Maybe it’s the weather– well, I doubt that, since there’s not much inspiring about 2.5 straight weeks of rain. Maybe it’s because I’ve been here ten months, but it feels like a one year anniversary, since July is the normal moving time, and I think my one year of getting to know people is up.

I am a ministry fool this week.

I’m excited. I’m focused. I’m driven. I’m pulling no punches, going for broke, not taking no for an answer. I’m ready to push up my sleeves, rub my palms together and make a little ministerial magic. I’m ready to set things (metaphorically) on fire. I’m ready to shake it up, kick it up, make some changes, and get busy living the ministry we are called to live. Let’s do this thing!

To be clear, it’s nothing extreme; it’s just a little bit of everything– starting projects I’ve been wanting to start, having conversations with members of my congregations and with strangers on the street that really needed to happen, brainstorming sermon series and uses of space and community events. Nothing that’s never been done before, but all together, it’s exciting and invigorating, and I’m ready to take it out for a spin.

So beware, Gracies and Trinitarians! Beware, friends and family and support team members! I’m pumped and ready to go full steam ahead. I recommend getting on the train or getting off the track!

(mostly cross-posted as a discussion topic on the Trinity UMC Facebook page as well– what gets you excited about church? what do you want our projects to be?)