Stephanie Little Coyne: Moses, the Staff and the Burden of Faith.
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Stephanie Little Coyne: Moses, the Staff and the Burden of Faith
The following is an excerpt from a sermon preached by Rev. Stephanie Little Coyne at St. Charles Avenue Baptist Church, New Orleans, LA, on October 27, 2013. The sermon looks at Moses’ experience at the burning bush and beyond, exploring how his staff, throwing it down and picking it up, links to Jesus’ call “Take up your cross and follow me.”
[Moses has thrown down his staff, picked up the snake it became and now holds his staff again; Ex. 4:1-5 ]. Moses’ journey is just beginning and it is not an easy journey. The trip to Egypt, in Egypt, and out of Egypt is horrific. And then Moses gets stuck in the wilderness with a people whose satisfaction is always short-lived. We hear these people in the wilderness ask time an time again if God has forgotten them—they lose faith during the journey.
What of our mission, of our ministry? What of those days when our good works feel worthless or painfully perpetual? What of those days when we do good works but we find our faith weakened? Come on James! We’ve got works and we’ve got faith, but there are some days when we’re not sure that we believe.
Several nights ago, as I lay in the bed with my daughter Annie, we sang “Jesus Loves Me” together because she’d be singing it since I picked her up from preschool. At the end of the song I said, rather offhandedly to her, “Jesus does love you, Annie.” Her reply, “I know. Mr. Stephen tells me that.”
All at once, I sighed with relief and felt a pang in my gut. I was relieved that she was hearing about Jesus’ love for her at school and I was hurt at the possibility that she didn’t know this from me, her mother. Her mother, a minister.
The roll of questions started to flood: “Was my ministry becoming a job and was I no longer willing to bring work home? Was my faith wavering enough that I was failing to share the faith with my own daughter?”
Here’s the answers: Maybe and maybe and I don’t know. I don’t have any answers. I’m willing to accept that I get tired and I’m willing to accept that I do share the message of Jesus with my children, and that Annie, in that occasion, was just relaying a simple fact from her day at school.
But I share the more painful possibilities of that story with you because I believe that I am more human than unique—I don’t think that I’m alone. I think that I sing in unison with many the words, “Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love.”
Hear this heart-wrenching quote from Mother Teresa: “Jesus has a very special love for you. As for me, the silence and the emptiness is so great that I look and do not see, listen and do not hear.”
I find consolation in the fact that others struggle, even those saints like Mother Teresa. I find consolation in the fact that it felt good that night to sing “Jesus Loves Me” with my child. I find consolation in the fact that I often feel burdened by faith; burden can sometimes mean recognition of and reaction to the lack of one’s own understanding. And realizing that we don’t know it all is, in itself, a push to do more and a release from having to know it all.
On those nights when I have circular conversations and I just want to go back to sleep, I am consoled in the morning because something has been going on—I am wrestling, I am struggling, but at least there is action.
I don’t believe that my journey of faith or our journey in faith is supposed to be easy. If we have a solely rosy interpretation of scripture, then I don’t think we’ve been presented with the whole text. In life, I believe that we will hurt and be hurt. I believe that we will feel overburdened and that sometimes those burdens will be too much. I believe that on occasion we will do good works and they won’t be received well or we will do good works for the wrong reasons. I believe that there will be days and nights and weeks or longer that we will strain to hear the voice of God and we will not be successful. And we will grieve.
These words are no benediction, are they?
Go ahead and argue with God. Pray. Cry during the struggles. Pray again. Keep doing good works! Be open to the possibility of joy every morning. And when you find it, share it abundantly. Love abundantly. Pray to the one who receives your burdens and cast those burdens before the Lord. You will be sustained. This is not the end of the story.
Benediction
Take comfort in knowing that God knew we would need each other! Take comfort in that fact and take advantage of that fact! Be the church to each other and be a visible, loving church to the world, just outside these doors. Go, share peace today. Amen.
Stephanie Little Coyne, originally from Athens, Georgia, lives in New Orleans, Louisiana with her husband, Jesse, daughter, Annie and son, Logan. She is a graduate of the University of Georgia, (B.A., English), and McAfee, School of Theology, (M.Div.). She worked as a hospice chaplain from 2005 to 2012. She serves as the Minister to Children, Youth, and Families at St. Charles Avenue Baptist Church. Her blog, “A Redhead’s Revelations,” looks at the parallels between chaplaincy, parenthood, literature, and theology.
The Dance of Ministry and Motherhood
Some days motherhood and ministry collide and some days they dance together, reminding me why I chose this journey. As a mother, I find it extremely difficult NOT to mother the children and youth who walk into my life. And I think that’s exactly the way God intended life to be.
One of my favorite times of the day at Touching Miami with Love, the urban ministry I serve as Assistant Director, is the late afternoon. It’s when our high school students who volunteer at TML come in from school to volunteer with our children’s program. Their energy and enthusiasm is always such a welcome treat with their fun, jovial ways. One by one or in small clusters, they pop their head into my office and call out, “Hey Ms. Pittman.” I enjoy seeing them, many of whom I’ve known since they were young kids in our program. We chat about school, their classes, and what’s going on in life. I find it’s pretty hard to turn off my mothering skills and it’s not uncommon for me to playfully tell a teen he needs a haircut or a young woman she needs to show less cleavage. Apparently, two of our boys were thinking of this and called out, “Hey Momma Pittman!” as they entered TML.
“What’s that about?” I asked chuckling.
“That’s your new name,” one of them said.
“Oh, okay. I like it.” I replied. Just then my husband Jason popped out of his office. Seeing him the other boy called out, “We should call Mr. Jason, ‘Pastor Jason.’”
“Yeah, Momma Pittman and Pastor Jason” said the first boy, laughing at the catchy new nicknames they created as they headed off to volunteer with the children. Jason and I caught each other’s eye and smiled. It was the best compliment they could have ever paid us.
Picking up my oldest son from high school an hour later, we were chatting when my cell phone rang. I answered on speaker phone. It was our program director calling, distraught, after a conversation with one of our youth whose family has been struggling with homelessness. The mom had been saying they were living in a motel room, but today the teenage daughter admitted they were really living in a warehouse–with sleeping bags on the floor and only cold water. This young girl, fearing her parent’s anger at revealing their secret, finally had to let someone know because she’s been in in-school suspension for several days for not having the mandatory school uniforms for in Miami-Dade County public schools. Hearing the news, I immediately thought of the resources and connections we had. Together, we started to develop a plan of action. When I finally got off the phone, I apologized to my son for having our conversation interrupted. “It’s okay Mom,” he said “That was really important.” We talked about trying to go to high school in those conditions and I’m grateful I didn’t shield him from such harsh realities.
Back home I retrieved my younger son from my next door neighbors’ house. As the homework routine settled in, I opened up my laptop to answer a few more e-mails before dinner prep. This particular night quickly picked up pace. After putting dinner in the oven, I high-fived my husband on my way out and his way in the door, calling, “Tag you’re it!” I was headed to our son’s PTA meeting. The situation was reversed an hour later as he left for Scouts with my older son and I picked up our younger son and headed to Target.
On our way I asked my nine year old son if he knew why we needed to go to Target. I explained, “Well, one of our boys in middle school has shoes that are falling apart and his mom said she can’t afford to buy them. A church has agreed to buy him shoes and we need to pick out a pair.” I shared that this growing boy wore a size 11 shoe and had asked them to be “colorful.” While we were there, I told him we were also going to grab some uniform clothes for the young lady from the phone call earlier. It was encouraging to see that he was up to the challenge and we had sweet conversation on our way to the store. Lucas usually hates shopping, even if it’s for him, so I was thrilled when he not only happily joined in the challenge of shopping, but insisted that we check the surrounding stores to find the most colorful pair of shoes.
In the checkout line, my phone began to ring. It was Sherry, an older adult I’ve been connected to since my very first month in ministry in 1995. Her first phone call nearly 20 years ago to the ministry offices where I worked led to six years of bonding over shopping trips, doctor visits, and pick-ups from the ER. Even after moving to Detroit and now to Miami, Sherry calls regularly to keep me abreast of her mounting health concerns and issues with her neighbors. Hating to be on the phone during checkout and ignoring Lucas, I assured Sherry that she wouldn’t get evicted from her apartment just because a neighbor spread lies about her when Sherry got her new motorized wheelchair before the neighbor did.
Hanging up as we walked out of Target, I found myself apologizing to my other son for the call interrupting our time. As he reached out for my hand he said, “I know, Mommy. You have a lot of people to help.” My heart swelled as I thought back to two other boys I love at TML calling me “Momma Pittman.” And I breathed out a prayer of thanks for the Lord allowing motherhood and ministry to dance together today.
A graduate of Baylor University, Angel Pittman serves as Assistant Director alongside her college-sweetheart husband, Jason, at Touching Miami with Love, an urban ministry in the historic African-American neighborhood Overtown (www.touchingmiamiwithlove.org). Angel’s education background shaped afterschool programs in Texas, Detroit and at TML as Children’s Director, creating the ToMorrow’s Leaders Program. Her passions are reading and writing about racial reconciliation, government policies and the poor, suburban and urban realities and raising children in the inner city. The Pittmans have two sons, Isaac and Lucas.
Halloween and Life: Standing Out from the Crowd
I grew up in a house with a mother who greatly disliked Halloween. In fact, I remember one year when there was no candy in the house so the one trick-or-treater who came to our door received a can of soup. Really.
A few years before that, as a first grader at South Newton Elementary School, I needed a costume for our annual Halloween Carnival and costume contest. My mother, never one for the store-bought costume, decided that I should dress up as Carol Burnett’s cleaning woman character, the one seen at the beginning of her television show. Some of you might remember what I’m describing but I’m guessing this reference will be lost on anyone under the age of 40.
I distinctly remember being on the stage with the other costumed kids, walking in a circle in front of the judges as they considered the display of Halloween finery. I walked around with a feather duster, dusting pretend furniture as I went. Somehow I knew my costume wasn’t typical, but I knew it was original. And although I didn’t win anything that night, I began to realize that my mother wanted something different for me. She wanted me to stand out even if I felt uncomfortable in the process.
Before you decide my mother is not going to win “Mother of the Year” based on these stories, know that she is a wonderful woman who has set an amazing example of unconditional love and consistent guidance before me and my family through the years. Looking back, I see what she hoped to accomplish by pushing me down different paths. She knew the opportunities that would come along simply by standing out from the crowd.
As a woman minister in a Baptist church, I suppose I do my share of standing out. I realize there are a few in my church family who didn’t support my ordination or the eventual change of my title to Associate Pastor. And I know there are some who will describe my occasional preaching as “speaking” or, as my ordained minister sister experienced, “giving a little talk.” But the interesting thing for me is that the flip side of these supposed slights can be just as frustrating. When my ministry is going well and everyone seems completely in tune with me and leadership I am providing, I am tempted to wonder why someone isn’t making a bigger deal of me-—the woman minister. I know, I know . . . ego trip, anyone? I can hear Jesus’ words ringing loud and clear as I think about this temptation to stand out: “If any of you wants to be my follower, you must turn from your selfish ways, take up your cross, and follow me. (Matthew 16:24 NLT) The ultimate goal is ministry, not finding more ways to be outstanding.
And I realize that when I have asked myself, “When do you feel most like a minister?” that the answer I come up with every time comes down to words just a few may hear or actions just a few may see—ministry that takes place along the way, not in the big events and gestures but in small ways and in the midst of the daily routine.
So how do I put “standing out from the crowd” in the right context? How do I keep it from reflecting self-centeredness and instead reflect a desire to honor God, especially as I have come to realize the ways God works when we aren’t standing in the limelight?
For me, part of the answer lies in recognizing the ultimate goal—to glorify God with my life. I am free to follow God’s leadership and to listen to the Spirit as the Spirit speaks in so many ways. I may be standing in front or I may be sitting on the back pew, but one thing I can be sure of: I am an original creation, created in the image of God. My mother had that divine idea; she knew the truth well before I even considered my capabilities.
Now I want to teach my own children that they hold endless possibilities. I want them to know that God has gifted them in wonderful ways that they are just beginning to discover. And I want them to remember that standing out from the crowd isn’t an end in itself—but it may just give them a better view of how they fit best into God’s family.
But I do need to say to my mother that I still think sending me to school that day in 8th grade with the multi-colored leg warmers and clogs was a very bad idea. . .
Reverend Shannon Stewart Hall is the mother of three children: Jonathan—15, Chloe—12, and Caroline—5, who have worn their share of store-bought Halloween costumes through the years. Shannon and her wonderfully supportive husband, David, have been married for 21 years. Shannon, who graduated from Converse College and New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary, is Associate Pastor of Music and Family Ministries at First Baptist Church in Graham, North Carolina. David teaches high school science in the Alamance County School System.
Navigating Our Children’s Fears
Moseying down one of our favorite roads, I was lost in the wonder of the moment. The children were chatting in the backseat. The day was breathtaking and life was good. Preparing to make a right turn onto a road we didn’t typically travel, I casually mentioned, “Let’s take this road. I wonder where it might take us?” Our daughter responded, “On an adventure.” Then she started giggling. Our son was quiet. Unusually quiet. I looked in the mirror. He was looking out the window at the trees. All at once he started screaming, “Tunnel of trees. Tunnel of trees.” He continued screaming until we exited the road and I was able to hold him. Red-eyed, tears streaming down his face, my two and a half year old son snuggled deep into my arms muttering, “Tunnel of trees. Tunnel of trees.” Days later as we were watching our daughter’s favorite movie, Beauty and the Beast, it hit me. Tunnel of trees . . . the scary moment Belle is lost and the trees come alive with mischief and haunting sounds. Tunnel of trees.
Over the years, we managed well with the typical childhood fears: first day of school, first day of middle school, first ball game, first recital, first concert, first date, first move, snakes, nighttime, new friends, fear of never having friends. The ones that caught us off guard were the ones that seemed to have no trigger, no distinguishable genesis until many days later.
How do you untangle the fears of a two year old . . . or a ten year old . . . or a sixteen year old . . . or a twenty three year old–especially when the trigger is unclear? How do you raise a fearless child? How do you make sense of your child’s fear?
You don’t. As much as we want to wipe out the monsters, slay the dragons and champion our children, the truth is they have to win the war themselves. They have to draw on their own resources to manage their fears, navigate the chaos themselves and ultimately comfort themselves.
So what does a Mommy do? What can you do when everything in you wants to jump in, clean things up and draw an imaginary bubble of isolation around your child? Here are four tips gleaned over my 23 years of parenting:
1) Pray for your child– everyday . . . sometimes more than once a day. As you change diapers, as you enjoy a cone of ice cream, as you wash clothes, as you sit down at your desk, as they come home from school, as their faces come to mind, pray for your child. I can’t tell you how many times our children have texted or called about a challenge they navigated successfully only to discover they had been in my prayers at that very moment.
2) Empower your child. Give her the resources necessary to conquer her fears. Remind your child of his strengths. Tell stories of how she championed past fears and overcame challenges. Talk about how she has within her all that is needed to slay those giants. Our own children have chosen life verses. They also know Philippians 4:13 because every morning from the time the oldest entered kindergarten we would exegete [in child-appropriate ways] the verse on the way to school. They know what “I can do ALL THINGS through Christ who strengthens me” means all these years later.
3) Provide options [life coach your child]. Don’t allow your child to defeat her demons or conquer fears with only one strategy. Brainstorm options. Ask questions that lead your child to discover answers for themselves. Think through best possibilities. This way your child has a mosaic of colors to defeat his fears.
4) Always listen. Always hear your child’s fears as if the world depended on it, but do not react as if the world depends on it. Keep your body language in check. Calmly dissect the moment with your child. If your son or daughter is talking to you they want help to regain control. They do not need another out of control person in their world.
I spoke with our daughter the other day. She is currently trying to decide on her next life season. Our son is trying to think through his chosen major. Both are amazing young adults, capable and competent problem solvers. Both still invite us to slay their dragons and as much as we still want to “fix” things for them, we do not. We pray, empower, provide options and listen, knowing they have everything they need to navigate their current “tunnel of trees” . . . and have years of experience doing just that.
Reverend Katrina Stipe Brooks is the proud mom of Tara, a second year student at McAfee School of Theology and Joseph, an accounting/finance major and an offensive lineman at Maryville College. Katrina’s husband, Tony, is employed with the Virginia Baptist Mission Board as a field strategist and Sunday School specialist. A graduate of Samford University and Baptist Theological Seminary at Richmond, Katrina serves as campus pastor for Lynchburg Christian Fellowship at Lynchburg College.
Being a sanctuary for my children
Being a Sanctuary for my children (or why I won’t be sharing as many cute stories on Facebook)
I often get the comment, “I just love reading your Facebook posts!” I consider myself a bit of a social media guru, using Facebook, Twitter, and my blog to share about ministry events and as my own creative outlet. Writing for me is a spiritual discipline as it helps me, an introvert, to process and reflect on my experiences and thoughts. My blog has been like a therapist, helping me to process my parenting angst. When I felt most alone, I was encouraged by my online community that responded, “Me too!” Facebook serves as my online journal. As a busy mom, I don’t have time to scrapbook, so it becomes a collection of pictures, a log of our family activities, and a repository of cute kid stories and sayings that I can look back on and remember. The latter is usually the source of people’s delight in my Facebook posts. My children are 5 and 7, and due to their strong-willed and precocious nature, they provide great story material.
Although I have read blog posts about the dangers of oversharing and have friends that won’t even use the real names of their children online, I haven’t been concerned. Something about the removed nature of this form of sharing gives me a false sense of security. But unfortunately, I have learned a difficult lesson. My son has a crush on a girl in his class, and they talked on the phone after school for the first time last week. Smiling at the sweet awkwardness of second grade conversation, I posted a status about not being ready for my 7-year-old to date. The next day, Brady came home and asked if I had told his teacher about his girlfriend. “No,” I answered, “Why do you ask?” He responded with a perplexed look, “Because she knew that we talked on the phone and asked me about it.” Instantly I remembered that his teacher’s husband is a former co-worker of mine and a Facebook friend. I was filled with anger that he would share it with his wife and that she would embarrass Brady by asking about it. And then I was ashamed because I was truly the source of the problem. Facebook is not private, and I shouldn’t have expected information that I shared with a wide diversity of connections to stay that way.
It definitely made me think. For one thing, my boy is growing up. Although he is an extrovert that has never met a stranger, I sense a growing need for privacy in him. While I thought his attraction was “cute”, he sees it as something more serious. As a mother, I am deeply invested in my children’s experiences, but I am learning that I don’t own their stories, even though I often feel and act as if I do by sharing them online and in sermons. They are navigating their own way through life and I should be a safe place, a sanctuary, in which to find support and learn what is appropriate. I should offer them encouragement to build their own sense of self-esteem and value what they see as important (even if I don’t agree that seven-year-olds should be dating). My kids are more than anecdotes, and when I share their private stories, I teach them that they can’t be honest and vulnerable with me.
As a minister, I recently had the opportunity to preach in front of my son for the first time. Usually my ministry takes place in a university setting and my kids don’t often have a chance to see what I do. On this Sunday, I was doing pulpit supply for our pastor. I had forgotten that this was the first Sunday that my son, now a second grader, would be remaining in the sanctuary for the service instead of going to children’s church. It was a bit of a shock to look down from the pulpit and see him smiling back at me. It was one of the pivotal moments I’ll remember in ministry, like the privilege of baptizing him in this same church. I quickly did a mental scan of my sermon to make sure I hadn’t used any stories about him, and was a little awed by the responsibility of my children seeing me engage in ministry as they connected in worship. I want them to value faith and to feel a part of the church. I desire for them to know their worth in God’s eyes and in mine. I want to share that my love for them and my love for ministry comes from a deep sense of God’s calling and love, which I want them to experience in a real and personal way. I feel sometimes that my words to them don’t always get through, but on this Sunday I had a special pulpit in which to share my love. I wondered how much of it made sense to him, but was reassured by the picture he handed me after the service was over. I think he understands a lot more than I realized.
Rev. Jenny Frazier Call is an ordained Baptist minister serving as university chaplain at Hollins University in Roanoke, Virginia. A graduate of the College of William and Mary and the Baptist Theological Seminary at Richmond, she learns the most from her precocious children, Brady and Maryn. She couldn’t juggle it all without the loving support of her husband, John.
What’s wrong with this picture?
I went to my local Hallmark store last week to buy a birthday card for my nephew when I came across a section of cards for “Clergy Appreciation Day.” This immediately warmed my heart as I think clergy are often under-appreciated and any effort to show them appreciation is, well, appreciated by this clergy person. My appreciation soon turned to anger as I looked over the cards. There were cards “For Anyone,” for “Minister,” and then these two sections, for “Minister and Wife,” and “Pastor and Wife.” No, there were not sections for “Minister and Husband” or “Pastor and Husband.”
Sadly, this type of slight is a fairly common occurrence in my own denomination, where even the women’s mission organization hosts a “Ministers’ Wives Retreat” each year, giving no thought whatsoever to ministers’ husbands. I am a little sensitive to this as I have a wonderful minister’s husband who is very deserving of a retreat or at least a shout out now and then.
This may seem like a small thing; they are just words. But I believe that we won’t see the changes we want for women in ministry until we can change the language we use to talk about ministers, pastors, and clergy.
Case in point: I was recently in a church meeting where the speaker kept referring to this church’s future (unknown at the time) pastor as “he.” As a former pastor, I cringed each time he did it, but hadn’t quite mustered up the courage to correct him when another woman in the group beat me to it! He quickly made the adjustment, referring to their future pastor as “he or she.” The church ended up with a male minister, but at least there existed the hope in that church for a female minister.
Words are the seeds of our hope. I find hope in the words of the prophet Joel, quoted in Acts, “I will pour out my spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy . . .” (Acts 2:17; Joel 2:28). I wonder if Joel had to be corrected? Whatever the case, his choice of words validate my calling as a woman and give hope to all sons and daughters of God.
I’m not sure why Hallmark left ministers’ husbands out of their card selection for Clergy Appreciation Month. They should not have any theological horses in that race; they are a secular card company. Perhaps they just need to be corrected. I invite you to join me in showing appreciation to all clergy by visiting your local Hallmark store this week and politely pointing out that their wording excludes a whole group of clergy. Maybe a helpful way to point it out would be to ask, “Do you have a card for ‘Pastor and Husband’ or ‘Minister and Husband’?” Who knows? Maybe next year there will be cards for pastors or ministers and their husbands.
Virginia Ross Taylor was the first woman pastor of Lystra Baptist Church in Chapel Hill, NC and currently serves as a freelance minister. She is also the Community and University Relations Coordinator for the William and Ida Friday Center for Continuing Education at UNC Chapel Hill. Virginia earned a master of divinity from Fuller Theological Seminary in Pasadena, CA. She and her husband, Ralph are the parents of one grown daughter, Grace, who is pursuing a master’s in clinical mental health counseling at Appalachian State University.
Surprised! (Again)
Last Saturday I was the overnight host as our church provided a week’s shelter for homeless families as part of the Wilmington Interfaith Hospitality Network (WIHN). That sounds all faithful-servant-ish, doesn’t it? The reality is that I was more like the child who tells his father he WILL NOT go work in the vineyard, like a big ungrateful brat (and then changes his mind and goes anyway, Matt. 21:28-32).
It’s not pretty, but that’s how I felt when I first found out I was needed. Like most ministry-moms, my plate is full: deadlines, packing lunches, homework, exegesis, grocery shopping and writing, to name a few. At church, I teach the kindergarten Sunday School class, sing in the choir and teach Zumba on Wednesday nights, for Phoebe’s sake! Sound familiar?
I love these ways of serving. Teaching, music and even leading Zumba are wonderful ways for me to use my gifts in our congregation where my husband pastors. But as most of us in ministry know, rarely is that enough. Somewhere, somehow, something gives and someone needs a volunteer last minute.
Two weeks ago, word went out that a Saturday night host slot had to be filled. The regular volunteer had been recruited to chaperone a youth trip scheduled for the same weekend, an adventure that would be our eldest son’s inaugural middle school-wide retreat. Yes, this volunteer is that good.
So I figured the least I could do is say “Put me down as your last resort person to fill that host spot.” Real generous, huh?! But weekends are hard for us, as my husband works on his sermon and I plan for the Sunday School lesson and we tag-team the kids and all their Saturday games and activities, as well as their own preparation for Sunday morning. Surely, I thought, someone else will step up. But at least I would get points for being willing, right? 😉
Only no one else responded. Not one adult could do it–of all the middle school and high school parents and various youth volunteers. Seemed like everyone had the same problem I did: Saturday nights are too busy, Sunday mornings too chaotic. Suddenly, I was it—along with one of our (amazing) senior high youth girls.
Really, God?! No one else in the entire church could do this? I kicked imaginary dirt, mentally put my hands on my hips and spiritually stuck out my lip. That done, I began working out the details, negotiating on the home front and packing. Oddly enough, as I packed, the “I WILL NOT!” mentality lost its hold. By the time I walked through the door to start my shift, I sensed I was exactly where I needed to be.
I’d always been interested in this ministry, where local churches host temporarily homeless families for a week. Our family had helped provide a meal years ago; one time my husband took the boys to eat and play with the families. Each time I read the request for WIHN volunteers in the bulletin, I feet a tug. But how could I be away overnight with everything going on in our lives?
SURPRISE! God’s tug turned into a gentle kick in the pants. I was going to serve with WIHN whether I planned it or not. And as usual, God’s plan was far better than mine would have been. I met our three families—one with five kids—and immediately felt at home. One of the kids made a nametag for me, surprising me with his thoughtfulness. After that, I was swept into a game of charades and taught a new game called “Therapist” where a the “therapist” has diagnose each “patient” pretending to have an issue. Trust me, it was fun.
These children welcomed me. They were a delight. I heard the parents’ story of searching for employment and dealing with homelessness for the first time. I could only imagine the fear, stress and chaos of dealing with five children in a constantly changing environment. But they were doing it–and well. The children were loving, energetic and respectful, the parents managing far better than I suspected I would.
Instead of an evening of draining giving, giving, giving, I was receiving. This vineyard in our fellowship hall was ripe with God’s love. And I was far more in need of it than I had known. SURPRISE! Again, God had the best in mind. As I fell asleep in my cot that night, I could only hope and pray that I was offered a bit of the blessing I received.
Permanence
by Nikki Finkelstein-Blair
In the interest of transparency–because we’re all seeking a place where we can be vulnerable, honest, fully Known–I want to begin by admitting that I watch “The Waltons.”
A lot.
Sometimes while knitting.
I’m very aware that this may be an unlikely occupation for a progressive, modern woman. Let’s just say that I’m not the target demographic for the advertisers whose commercials air during the episodes. But since the day a few months ago when I accidentally caught part of an episode, I have found myself peeking in on the life of that 1930s (by way of the 1970s) family. More than forty years after the show began, I’ve learned all the kids’ names: JohnBoyJasonMaryEllenBenErinJimBobandElizabeth. Forty years too late, I let tears roll when Grandma and Grandpa Walton died. Forty years–and more than eighty years since the pre-WWII setting of the stories–and I’m continually amazed by how contemporary the issues are. The relationship between races. The roles of women. The ethics of work. The stability of home. The practice of hospitality. The tensions and tendernesses among siblings; in fact, all the tensions and tendernesses of children learning to grow up and to love and to grieve and to let go.
And, especially, the life of the mother. Especially that.
There’s much about Olivia Walton’s life I can’t begin to identify with, owing to her rural setting and to her Depression-era context. But as a mother, there’s so much that resonates with me, it sometimes catches me off-guard.
Like, for example, the episode when Olivia was restless. Restless in the way I feel when the routines have become too… routine. She was crabby, the way I get crabby when every day feels like a broken record of school lunches, lost shoes, reading logs, arguments over tooth brushing and piano practice, doing dishes, eating dinner and thereby dirtying more dishes, and don’t forget to wash behind your ears, and “just one more story?” And forty/eighty years later, I am right there with her, restless and crabby and unable to explain it to anyone and just needing something–anything–to be new.
Olivia Walton, restless and crabby and just needing something to be new, got a perm.
A really, really bad perm.
Such a bad perm that when she came home, she tried to hide it. Unsuccessfully. And when the various Walton children saw it, each of them, in turn, burst into laughter.
And then, when Olivia Walton wept, so did I.
I know that feeling so well: the impossibility of explaining to those around us how any small change would at least be something different–even if it went wrong. The cognitive dissonance of focusing attention on ourselves, when the callings of our everydays are oriented to others–all the John Boys and the Mary Ellens of our lives, all the school lunches and dirty dishes and bedtime stories. And all the potlucks and parish council meetings, the hospital visitations, the pastoral prayers–the routines and traditions of life together in our faith families, too.
“Then He who sat on the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new.’” (Rev. 21:5) When I am unsettled and fidgety in my days, I yearn for that renewal. I know I need to toss away the outgrown, ill-fitting, uninspired habits I put on thoughtlessly every day. I need to rethink my choices, responses, routes and routines. I need to try on new looks, new colors; I need to taste new words in my mouth and let new thoughts roll around in my head; I need to break the chronic patterns of my days and of my mindset.
God, show me the new ways you would have me go; grant me bravery to take risks, especially those that may end badly; let me show my children–and my church–that it is blessed even to try.
Because not much is permanent, anyway. Hair grows out (thanks be to God!). Routines shift and morph as children grow older, as we accommodate loves and losses, follow callings and shape habits. The litanies of our days, once rote, may become the zones of comfort that we desperately crave, and from there we can safely reach out, seeking not just change for change’s sake, but the newness of life to which we are called. Together we can try, and fail, and try again. Then we can put our restlessness into words so that we can share in the tears that come when we feel most alone, and in the laughter that comes when we see ourselves as we truly are: badly permed, reborn, and beloved.
Nicole Finkelstein-Blair became a U.S. Navy spouse in 2000, graduated from Central Baptist Theological Seminary and was ordained in 2001, and became “Mom!” in 2004. She finds ministry wherever the military and motherhood lead: in four states and two countries (so far), as a parishioner and a pulpit-supplier, as a sometime blogger and devotional writer, and at countless dinner tables and bedtimes. She’s enjoying now… and looking forward to what’s next. Her essay “A Time for Every Purpose” can be found in A Divine Duet: Ministry and Motherhood (www.helwys.com).
Ministry and Motherhood Blog Begins!
Welcome to our blog! After our book, A Divine Duet: Ministry and Motherhood, was released in June, we found ourselves standing on holy ground–and new territory. The essays shared in the book stirred up more conversations about living out two simultaneous calls and trying to honor both. Two workshops on the book, held at the General Assembly of the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship in June 2013, showed us that our stories called out other stories. There was far, far more to be said, prayed and pondered. The book was a beginning, the first step on the journey of honoring the divine duet to which God has called us.
The original purpose of the book was to provide safe space for women in ministry to tell their stories as mothers-who-minister and ministers-who-mother. More women are entering ministry, especially in moderate Baptist life, than ever before; that’s simply an historical fact. But what this means for these women and the body of Christ is being worked out daily in our churches, institutions, homes and prayers. This reality, its working out and reflections on what God is doing deserve both time and space. This blog is part of offering that.
The book’s twenty contributors cover just about every ministry setting and motherhood circumstance. We represent inner city and rural ministries, preachers and professors, chaplains in healthcare and on campuses, youth pastors, and education pastors, just to name a few. And we are step mothers, birth mothers, adoptive mothers, and those who mother other people’s children. But we are just the tip of the iceberg.
This blog will allow us to share some of our perspectives, wonderings, insights and questions on anything from preaching ideas to preschool advice. And it allows us to enlarge the conversation, welcoming in more voices and helping us honor one another’s stories. These blog posts aim to help us take seriously what God is doing in our lives as mothers and ministers. As we tell our stories, we put them out into the larger life of the church and the world, shedding light on this wondrous journey. Join us.
So let the blogging begin! And the honoring, the wondering and the claiming of this divine duet of ministry and motherhood to which we are called.
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