Sabbath time it definitely is. But it is such a strange type of sabbath time. I am speaking of the period of time we take for initial mourning and grieving when a loved one dies. I totally understand why it is necessary. I learned early on Tuesday morning, February 17th, that my father had died at about 6:00 a.m. Central Standard Time in Mountain Home, Arkansas. For the next three days I had to make arrangements to travel to Mountain Home; contact family members who would want to know the news; take care of details at work for me to be absent on a Sunday morning and for 5 days total; and cover some of my regular work duties for those three days. All of that I did, but with a lot of distraction. My mind constantly wandered. I found it very difficult to remain focused. And I was not always distracted by thoughts of my father. Sometimes, I was. Sometimes it was thoughts of my mother, who has been dead for 10 years. Sometimes, I could not tell you what it was, other than my mind would just wander and I did not have the energy, or desire, to stay focused on one task for a very long time.
So, I fully understand the need we have as human beings, as spiritual beings, as emotional creatures, for sabbath time, down time, grieving time. Not that we can wrap up all of the grieving we might need to do in a few days. But, it is important for us to spend this time doing very little. It is important to spend time gathering with family we might not have seen for years. It is important to spend time allowing our minds to wander, for memories to surface and be reflected upon and rehearsed and sat with. It is important to spend time sharing stories about our deceased loved one, about our childhoods, about our separate and joint experiences with the one we are missing.
Sabbath time is a time for renewal. It is also a time to honor God. And during this type of sabbath time, our grieving sabbath, we honor God by honoring the loved one who has died. By stopping our regular lives, our regular routines, we say to the world, and to ourselves, "This person was important in my life, to me. The loss of this person needs to be marked and remembered. The life of this person needs to be celebrated and honored with respect and love. This person is a child of God and their life needs to be celebrated and given back to God with gratitude and thanksgiving." All of this we say through our action of taking sabbath time to mourn, grieve, and celebrate.
All this I am taking time for right now in Mountain Home, Arkansas and St. Louis, Missouri. All this I am engaged in with my brothers and sisters, uncles and friends of my father, and with the support of my wife, Dianne, and the support of many myriad prayers being lifted up for me and my family by family and friends and colleagues and church members not present physically, but clearly felt spiritually. This is a very different type of Sabbath, but it is every bit as important as regular weekly sabbath time and periodic Sabbatical time. And it is a gift, one which I treasure.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Pastor as Poet Needs Time for Reflection
Since returning from my Sabbatical there has been an increasing restlessness and dis-ease in my soul. I returned to work with renewed energy. I was well rested; my mind and my spirit were rejuvenated. My stress level was greatly lowered and my ability to cope with stress without unhealthy reactions was improved.
However, as I move further along in my work as pastor, I find it difficult to keep my attention and my energy focused. Initially I attributed this to the difficulty of returning to work routine after four months away from that routine. But it has been three-plus months back at the routine (almost as long as the entire sabbatical had been) and those difficulties persist, instead of lessening.
Today I read an article on the Christian Century web-site which struck a chord deep within and perhaps begins to help me identify something of what may be going on. The article is excerpted from M. Craig Barnes's book The Pastor as Minor Poet, published by Eerdmans. Barnes teaches at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and he presents another way of viewing the role and work of the local church pastor: as a poet. He is not advocating for us to write verse, but rather describing our calling with the analogy. Here is a brief excerpt from the article.
In contrast to the biblical and theological poets, the pastoral poet has the unique calling of making sense of their words in light of the dust and grit of daily life in a parish. And unlike those whom society has traditionally revered as poets, whose vision of the deeper reality is nurtured through quiet sanctuary, if not isolation, the pastor-poet lives with a crowded and noisy soul. Central to what it means to be ordained is to open the doors of one's soul to the complexities, pathos, longings and even sins of those the pastor has vowed to serve.
At the same time, the pastor is even more attentive to the unapparent presence of God among the people of the congregation. One of the reasons that people need pastors is precisely that God is always present but usually not apparent. It takes a poet to find that presence beneath the layers of strategy for coping with the feeling of its absence. Thus, the parish minister's soul becomes a crucible in which sacred visions are ground together with the common and at times profane experiences of human life. Out of this sacred mix, pastors find their deep poetry, not only for the pulpit but also for making eternal sense out of the ordinary routines of the congregation.
Pastors' days are filled with committee meetings that never end and accomplish little; confirmation classes with kids who can't be cool unless they look bored; races across town to make a hospital call, only to discover that the patient was just discharged (You're not getting credit for this one); counseling sessions with people who don't like their jobs but can't afford to quit them because they need them to afford lifestyles they don't really like either; funerals where they fight back their tears long enough to lead worship; weddings where they fight back aggressive photographers; conflicts with people who just won't leave the church; and the relentless return of Sundays that demand another profound sermon. And through it all, the attentive pastor is constantly spinning the poetry, helping the congregation to see the sacred subtext of their lives.
As poets, pastors are always looking for a portal that invites passage into a deeper, more mysterious—and thus true—understanding of what is seen. …
What if, instead of working so hard at omnicompetence, pastors were free to work hard simply at being better poets? And is it possible that the call to parish ministry can come not at the expense of our souls, but at their delight—the joy known only by those who can behold mystery and truth at work just beneath the surface of all the belief and all the reality of parish life?
One of the things learned on my sabbatical was the importance for me, as pastor, to have time to reflect on life, on the world, on the church. Without realizing it, I tapped into the importance of the pastor as poet, who “is always looking for a portal that invites passage into a deeper, more mysterious – and thus true – understanding of what is seen.” But to nurture that role, we need time. And the modern pastoral schedule does not allow for that sort of reflective, meditative, time. I am usually lucky to find a few minutes a day for quiet prayer! (Actually, I have been very good about maintaining the discipline of my daily four mile walk to the bay which provides me about 80 minutes of solitude and quiet time for prayer and meditation as I walk. It may also be part of the time necessary for me to use for poetic reflection.)
It is not easy to reclaim one’s schedule in order to direct it more for “poetic reflection” than for “technocratic managerial” tasks. Everything in our culture entices us and draws us toward “omnicompetence” and a technician mentality that approaches life as a problem for which we just need to identify the right solution, the right formula to correct and improve it, the right script.
The attitude and view of the poet, however, is an embracing of life to fully drink it in, fully absorb it, and then begin to understand the deeper meanings above, below, and within. Life is not a problem to be corrected, but a wonderful ride, or marvelous adventure, to be experienced fully through complete and total immersion. The poet does not shy away from pain, or try to mask or cover-up the sorrow and suffering, but embraces these experiences, too, as fully part of what it means to be alive.
Perhaps my restlessness arises from a need deep in my soul for this sort of exploration and embracing of life. While on sabbatical I uncovered once again my love for writing, especially free-flowing, reflective writing, and I discovered how nurturing this practice is for my soul. Since I have been back to work it has been difficult to find the time to spend at my computer, or with my journal, pen in hand, and just write freely about … anything… and everything. Whether my schedule and responsibilities allow for me to fully do so or not, clearly I need to consciously commit to nurturing my poet!
However, as I move further along in my work as pastor, I find it difficult to keep my attention and my energy focused. Initially I attributed this to the difficulty of returning to work routine after four months away from that routine. But it has been three-plus months back at the routine (almost as long as the entire sabbatical had been) and those difficulties persist, instead of lessening.
Today I read an article on the Christian Century web-site which struck a chord deep within and perhaps begins to help me identify something of what may be going on. The article is excerpted from M. Craig Barnes's book The Pastor as Minor Poet, published by Eerdmans. Barnes teaches at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and he presents another way of viewing the role and work of the local church pastor: as a poet. He is not advocating for us to write verse, but rather describing our calling with the analogy. Here is a brief excerpt from the article.
In contrast to the biblical and theological poets, the pastoral poet has the unique calling of making sense of their words in light of the dust and grit of daily life in a parish. And unlike those whom society has traditionally revered as poets, whose vision of the deeper reality is nurtured through quiet sanctuary, if not isolation, the pastor-poet lives with a crowded and noisy soul. Central to what it means to be ordained is to open the doors of one's soul to the complexities, pathos, longings and even sins of those the pastor has vowed to serve.
At the same time, the pastor is even more attentive to the unapparent presence of God among the people of the congregation. One of the reasons that people need pastors is precisely that God is always present but usually not apparent. It takes a poet to find that presence beneath the layers of strategy for coping with the feeling of its absence. Thus, the parish minister's soul becomes a crucible in which sacred visions are ground together with the common and at times profane experiences of human life. Out of this sacred mix, pastors find their deep poetry, not only for the pulpit but also for making eternal sense out of the ordinary routines of the congregation.
Pastors' days are filled with committee meetings that never end and accomplish little; confirmation classes with kids who can't be cool unless they look bored; races across town to make a hospital call, only to discover that the patient was just discharged (You're not getting credit for this one); counseling sessions with people who don't like their jobs but can't afford to quit them because they need them to afford lifestyles they don't really like either; funerals where they fight back their tears long enough to lead worship; weddings where they fight back aggressive photographers; conflicts with people who just won't leave the church; and the relentless return of Sundays that demand another profound sermon. And through it all, the attentive pastor is constantly spinning the poetry, helping the congregation to see the sacred subtext of their lives.
As poets, pastors are always looking for a portal that invites passage into a deeper, more mysterious—and thus true—understanding of what is seen. …
What if, instead of working so hard at omnicompetence, pastors were free to work hard simply at being better poets? And is it possible that the call to parish ministry can come not at the expense of our souls, but at their delight—the joy known only by those who can behold mystery and truth at work just beneath the surface of all the belief and all the reality of parish life?
One of the things learned on my sabbatical was the importance for me, as pastor, to have time to reflect on life, on the world, on the church. Without realizing it, I tapped into the importance of the pastor as poet, who “is always looking for a portal that invites passage into a deeper, more mysterious – and thus true – understanding of what is seen.” But to nurture that role, we need time. And the modern pastoral schedule does not allow for that sort of reflective, meditative, time. I am usually lucky to find a few minutes a day for quiet prayer! (Actually, I have been very good about maintaining the discipline of my daily four mile walk to the bay which provides me about 80 minutes of solitude and quiet time for prayer and meditation as I walk. It may also be part of the time necessary for me to use for poetic reflection.)
It is not easy to reclaim one’s schedule in order to direct it more for “poetic reflection” than for “technocratic managerial” tasks. Everything in our culture entices us and draws us toward “omnicompetence” and a technician mentality that approaches life as a problem for which we just need to identify the right solution, the right formula to correct and improve it, the right script.
The attitude and view of the poet, however, is an embracing of life to fully drink it in, fully absorb it, and then begin to understand the deeper meanings above, below, and within. Life is not a problem to be corrected, but a wonderful ride, or marvelous adventure, to be experienced fully through complete and total immersion. The poet does not shy away from pain, or try to mask or cover-up the sorrow and suffering, but embraces these experiences, too, as fully part of what it means to be alive.
Perhaps my restlessness arises from a need deep in my soul for this sort of exploration and embracing of life. While on sabbatical I uncovered once again my love for writing, especially free-flowing, reflective writing, and I discovered how nurturing this practice is for my soul. Since I have been back to work it has been difficult to find the time to spend at my computer, or with my journal, pen in hand, and just write freely about … anything… and everything. Whether my schedule and responsibilities allow for me to fully do so or not, clearly I need to consciously commit to nurturing my poet!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)