The Mission Church of the Nazarene

   I ugly cried at work the other day. It would have been great if it was in my church office, behind a closed door, where I am the only one present. Where the few people that walk by would assume I was especially moved by the Spirit, and was deep in prayer over some member of my precious congregation.
      But I wasn't in my church office, I was at my other work as a substitute teacher. Sitting in a high school science class, behind a big desk piled up with various papers and projects, with the very possibility that a high school student could walk in at any moment, which I am sure only made me cry more.
      The reason for my tears, pastor guilt.
      Someone had made a passing post in an online forum about how they arrived at a church that was locked, and the disappointment they felt at a church being locked in the afternoon.
     My church was locked in the afternoon, just like nearly 5-6 out of 7 afternoons because, as I said, I was currently at my other job, sitting in a high school classroom.
      I began to think of the people disappointed as they arrive at our church doors, only to find them locked. I began to get angry that this person didn't understand my story, the sacrifices that we've made to start a church here, to renovate an old church building, and to make ends meet. But it wasn't that anger that made me cry, it was the overwhelming sense of guilt that I wasn't being a good enough pastor.
   Guilt is a horrible feeling, especially when it's connected to your self worth and call. It does crazy things to your mind and heart, and makes you do crazy things like ugly cry in a high school science class. It also diminishes all the good that is happening, all the amazing ways that God is working, and if left to take root, leads to hopelessness.
    Being a bi-vocational pastor adds another element to this feeling of pastor guilt. Am I spending too much time at my other work? Am I devoting the same passion to my pastoring as I am to my other job, or visa-versa? Am I spending enough time with my family? Is my house clean enough? Am I managing my time in the best ways possible? Sometimes the answer is no to those questions, because the reality is, being a pastor is really really hard. It's hard whether you work another job or not.
     It's really hard to work with people who say "you aren't at the church enough", while other people tell you "you're at the church too much, you need to be out in the world more." It's really hard when once a year you have to write down the numbers of people who go to your church in a report, and feel like people are looking down on you because of your number. It's hard when you think "nobody knows what that number 12 represents. The tears I've cried, the letters I've written, the sermons I've preached, the difference I'm making." because they don't know, and many won't take the time to know. It's hard when your house is messy, with piles of laundry on the floor, as you change your clothes from one job to head out to the next, and do a sniff test to make sure that if nothing else, at least you don't smell like you haven't done laundry in 3 weeks. It's hard when people don't like you, when you do too much, or not enough. It's just really hard.
       It's easy to feel guilt. It's easy to get overwhelmed by that guilt, and if we let that guilt take root, it's easy to have it turn into hopelessness.
      Being a human is hard as it is. It isn't just pastors that fall into this trap, it's all of us, feeling as though we don't exercise enough, or work hard enough, or look put together enough.
      Enough with the guilt trips already!
     I know this is the part where I'm supposed to say "you're great!" "you're doing an awesome job!" Along with some great uplifting bible verse, with some quotes of how awesome you are, but I'm not going to do that. Because the truth is, sometimes you aren't great, sometimes you don't do an awesome job; I know I certainly don't.

    The ball drops at times. We say yes to too many things, and then all those things end up becoming a source of anxiety instead of joy. We ugly cry at our job because we allowed some passing comment that was in no way meant to wound us, wound us, and make us feel guilty.
     There are times we are on point, and things are flowing, but there are just times they aren't. Where the sermon doesn't come together, where we said or did the wrong thing, and I won't sit here and pretend like sometimes those failures aren't big and messy.
     BUT, I will say that we serve a God that redeems. A God who looks at our mess, our too many yes's, our ugly cries at inappropriate times, and still chooses to use us, in spite of it all. That is why we don't need to carry around guilt. Guilt leads to hopelessness, but we are not a hopeless people, we are a redeemed people. A people who know that if laid at the feet of Jesus, what looks like our greatest failure (and maybe it is our greatest failure) can be redeemed and transformed into something amazing for the Kingdom of God.
    Be encouraged in the midst of your mess, in the midst of your guilt, not by trite comments of how great you are, but by the hope that you don't have to be great, you just have to be faithful to the one who has called you in the best ways you can today. Even if your best are 3 day old t-shirts, and tears in science labs, know that God can redeem even these moments, and just let go of the guilt.
   

     I was the first woman I ever heard preach.
     I was 16 years old, and I called it "sharing". The urge to do so, started like a fire in my belly, a small spark at first that was easy to ignore, only to continue to be flamed until I felt as though I would burst. The desire became so hard to ignore, that I e-mailed the church board and asked if I could share on a Sunday. Surprisingly, they let me.
      It's weird to look back on now. I'm sure my words were shaky, and my exegesis left something to be desired, but it was the beginning of a journey that continues today. I stepped behind a pulpit, not even knowing if that was a place I was allowed to be in, which says something to the strong call of the Holy Spirit and the tenacity of 16 year old girls.
       There have been many stories lately in my church tradition about male clergy advocating for women in ministry, and urging us forward. They tend to have big names, or the title of District Superintendent tagged to their name. I'm grateful for all of those people, and I do not downplay their great work, but it isn't for them that I was encouraged on in my ministry call.
      I didn't attend a big church in a big city, I attended a little Nazarene Church in a little town that most people have never heard of. My pastor is probably never going to be invited on stage at a General Assembly, or applauded in a best selling book, but if it weren't for that little local congregation and his confidence in God's call on my life (a call I pushed against, and he pushed back... every time) I wouldn't be here. It was this pastor who put me on the preaching schedule nearly once a month on Sunday nights, as a Senior in high school, and a freshman in college, a bold step for anyone.
   The only reason I even called what I was doing preaching, was because my pastor told me "stop calling it speaking and sharing, and call it preaching, because that's what it is." If it wasn't for that moment, I don't know if I ever could have envisioned myself as preacher.  You can't call yourself a pastor or preacher, if you are never told you can preach; you just become a teacher or motivational speaker.

     I began calling myself a preacher, while still being the only woman I had ever heard preach. I had no idea what it looked like or what it would be like, but I had these people in my corner telling me it was possible. Who, beyond all odds, kept putting me behind the pulpit and listening to what I had to say.
      I never heard a woman preach (outside of myself) until I was well into my time at college. Something I look back on a little bit with sadness, and loneliness. I walked so very much alone in those early years, but the rebel in me also walked a little defiantly that no one would take away what I felt God had placed within me. If it weren't for the defiant small congregation, and small church pastor telling me "you can do this", I don't know if I would have pushed ahead as much as I did.
     However, what I hear when I hear myself preach, and what I heard then, was that God uses ordinary people. Ordinary, weird, broken people to do great things for the Kingdom of God. I was a nobody, from a little town, from a little church, a girl, who loved books more than movies, and running barefoot through the woods, and God still used me. God still called me, where I was, in spite of everything that was seemingly stacked against me.
     It's no secret that sometimes it takes knowing people to get ahead (sadly, even in the church world). It takes a certain last name, or connections, I had none of those, all I had was this fire in my belly that would only subside if I preached, only to be fanned into even bigger flames.
       If God can call and use a girl preacher who had never heard a girl preacher before, a nobody from a nothing town, what can God do in the lives of those girls who never have to be told to call it preaching, because they just know that girls can preach, because they've seen it? I can only imagine great things.
      So thanks Pastor Tim, for pushing me into my call, at times pushing and screaming. It was one of my greatest honors 3 years ago, to have you pray over me at ordination knowing that if not for you, that day may never have come. I know you didn't do it for the thanks, for accolades, or with the knowledge that I would one day be a church planter... you did it out of faithfulness, which is the greatest thing I've learned from you.
      Thanks church for listening to a girl preacher who didn't know what she was doing, and giving me all sorts of compliments I certainly didn't deserve. My life is forever changed for your faithfulness, and only God knows the ways that that is rippling on into the Kingdom.
      To all the women and girls who are still calling what they do behind a pulpit "sharing" or "speaking", take this bit of advice, call it preaching, cause that's what it is.
       To all the girls with that spark in their belly who come behind me, I pray that you hear many women preachers, who speak truth, and weave truth into your life, but even if you don't, do not give up hope, do not give up on your call, hold firm in this truth that God calls girls and women to preach and to pastor, to do great things for the Kingdom of God. Don't squelch that spark, fan it into flames. The journey won't be easy, but it will be great.
       When I hear myself preach, the words aren't always eloquent, the exegesis not always good, the congregation isn't always getting it, but what I hear is a woman preaching truth, a woman preaching love, a woman being faithful to the amazing call of God, and it is with that faithfulness that I step behind the pulpit each Sunday and preach "The Word of our LORD. Thanks be to God!" An echo of the faithfulness that has gone before.

      "Look at its little tail!" A student shouted. "It's moving!" Said another. They crowded closer to the glass aquarium of the box turtle.
       In that moment I realized how different my life as high school student was to these high school students here in Hammond.
      Box turtles were a common sight at my wooded Michigan home. My sisters and I would often find them in our yard. I remember one time in particular when a box turtle made the unfortunate mistake of wandering too closely to our black lab's home. Our lab had a great time barking, and trying to play with this small creature, who cowered in its shell.
     The tail of a box turtle is no extraordinary thing to me. I don't look at them with wonder or curiosity, because to me, they are common.
     However, to these high school students box turtles are something to marvel over, and to examine. Where my child hood was filled with barefeet, box turtles, and forest walks, their child hood has been filled with sidewalks, sirens, and hip hop.
      We are different.
      I watched them as they examined this classroom pet, that I'm sure they had marveled at before. They were smiling, and laughing. Daring each other to touch his rocky shell. At one point a student took his headphones off his ears, and lowered them down to the turtle saying "Hey turtle, these are Beats by Dre." He played the turtle a popular rap song, as the turtle just looked back with its blank, uninterested stare.
     At first I was startled by their curiosity, then I began to smile too. I began to smile at their wonder, as I saw the turtle through their eyes Then, I began to smile at how very similar we are.
    Upon my entry into the classroom that morning, seeing the classroom pets, I immediately went over and began talking to them. I love animals, and at one point I cared for various reptiles at a children's museum I worked at in graduate school. It felt a little bit like coming home.
    Lowering headphones into an aquarium to share a song with a turtle, doesn't seem that strange to me, in fact, I would probably do something not so dissimilar.
    If you lined us up next to each other, these urban students and me, it would be so easy to point out our differences. The ways we experience the world differently. The differences in our upbringing and culture... it would be much harder to see our similarities. Our joy over a small box turtle highlighted that for me. Our common humanity finding wonder in a small creature in a classroom.
     I love our differences. I never would have marveled at the tail of a box turtle, but these students gave me that gift today, to take time to notice small details in things I take for granted. I love that while I talk to animals, they play rap music for them. There's a beauty in our differences.
    Yet, there is something so similar in us. We are human, above all, despite all of our differences.
    It's probably only a pastor who can see the theology in this moment with a box turtle,the beauty of the kingdom of God, but nonetheless I saw it. This profound moment of smiles and laughter that contagiously spread through the classroom and to me. The wonder they shared in that moment. The ways that I learned from them a little bit about life. We don't have to be the same to share beautiful moments. We don't have to look at the world the same way, or notice the same things.
     In noticing, and in celebrating different things, we are made better. I am made better, because for the first time, I really noticed the small wiggling tail of a box turtle.

     

     He rushed up to the church platform in a state of urgency as service was beginning. "I forgot to share this Pastor Robbie." So I moved to the side and allowed him to share with our small congregation his prayer request, a prayer request that so compelled him to walk from the back of the sanctuary to the platform. 

      We're still adjusting to our new normal, which doesn't really have a normal. Sunday's vary, and we never know what to expect. We could be rushing to get more food and print more bulletins, or we could look around wondering where everyone went.
      However, there is a consistency to our Sunday mornings. On any given Sunday, if you stop by our church, you will see our front door with scooters and bikes lined up outside.

    sorry for the delay in posting... our church has exploded! Which is amazing and wonderful, but also means a ton more work. We are still learning balance, and continually having to reevaluate how we do things... we also might need to purchase new chairs. I've been working on this piece for a while. I hope you enjoy it! -Pastor Robbie

    Every Sunday morning we serve breakfast at church. I don't mean donuts and coffee, though sometimes we have those too, we have full breakfast. Waffles, sausage, breakfast casserole, french toast, pancakes, bacon, eggs, quiche, biscuits and gravy. Every week it varies, but each week we have breakfast.
     It started a bit from necessity. When we started meeting with our launch team on a regular basis, it was easier for everyone to come for meetings when there was food.
     When we transitioned to meeting for corporate worship, we decided to keep breakfast. The reason for having breakfast each week is less about practical necessity, and more about the gospel.
     I know that seems weird, what does the gospel have to do with waffles?
       Food is a universal language. We all have to eat. Most of us enjoy eating. It's an integral part of culture and identity. We eat to celebrate. We eat when we mourn. We bring others food to say "welcome" "thanks" "Congratulations" or "I'm sorry".
     Food is powerful.
     One of the powerful aspects of food is that it unites people. Something happens around a table. The playing field is leveled somehow, and we are all there as equals. We're experiencing something together. We're building relationships together, around food. I sometimes say "when our mouths are full, we are a little bit more open to listening."
      I think there is a reason Jesus met at tables so often, because something happens around food. Barriers and guards are brought down, and people open up.
     Hospitality, in all its forms, is a powerful act (something at the heart of the middle eastern culture Jesus was a part of). It is a radical act, of welcoming, of loving, of doing something life giving and necessary together, and enjoying it.
      We know we will never be the church (well at least for now) with the greatest music, the best facilities (there's a lot of work to do), or probably even the best preacher (though I can try), but what we excel at is hospitality. The art of making people feel welcome. Of not feeling like guests, but feeling like family. Like they are a part of something, and their voice and presence is beyond welcome here. One way we extend that hospitality is through breakfast.
      Food is powerful. Food is so powerful in fact, it's a part of the liturgy of the church. The wine (or in our case the juice) and the bread. The tasting of something tangible to give us a bit of the grace of God.This reminder that we hold within us the body of Christ, and then go out to extend that grace to the world as we live out what it means to be the body of Christ.
     I'm reminded of that grace every time we gather to eat breakfast. Eating food together is not a sacrament, but there is something wholly sacramental about it. It breaks down walls. When our mouths are busy, we listen a little bit more, we laugh a little bit more fully, and life feels a bit richer.
     So, we eat together every week. Old and young. Rich and poor. Black and white.
      And when we eat together, something happens. Stories are shared. Lives are united. Our differences seem to fade away in light of a common purpose, and then as we transition into the worship service with our stomachs filled, we enter understanding those around us a little bit more.
      A couple Sundays ago, I watched as the young teens in our church (which is currently the dominant demographic) gather at the breakfast table, eating, laughing, and then they pulled out a card game. They lingered there, laughing, including the others, and there was something so beautiful about that. The kingdom of God being born through the common bond of waffles and a card game. They may not have anything else in common, but for a few moments they were united, walls broke down, and bonds were formed.
     Now we are wrestling with the growing pains of what our breakfasts will look like in the future. We've had to put out cold cereal last minute to make up for food shortages, but no one wants to let go of this time. This good news in syrup and gravy. The good news that we are a big family, and all are welcome to participate. That we are all welcome to eat in celebration, and we are welcome to eat in our grief... but we are all welcome here. We are welcome at this common table.
     And that truly is the gospel, isn't it? The good news? That we are all welcome, that we all benefit, that we all can find a healing balm for our wounded hearts, or a celebratory pastry? That there is no Jew or Greek, male or female, but that when we come to Christ we are all the Children of God and those other things don't matter so much.
     So, each Sunday I look forward to young faces light up, and adults laugh and catch up around tables, because what I see is a beautiful representation of the kingdom of God in the midst of eating waffles.