Reading from the Global Scripture:
The Rev. William Ellery Channing, Minister of the Federal
Street Church of Boston, invited all Massachusetts ministers known to be
liberal to meet in the vestry of his church (whose entrance was on Berry
Street) on May 30, 1820. At the meeting Channing delivered a prepared address.
He urged upon his colleagues a "bond of union" among liberal
Christian ministers, within which they might meet to exchange practical ideas
for strengthening their ministries.
Meeting again on the evening of May 31, 1820, [and] thus
was initiated the Berry Street Conference which has convened every year save
one (during WWII) since 1820, and thus is the Berry Street Essay the oldest
lecture series on the North American continent. As from its beginning, its purpose
is to contribute to the practical strength of liberal ministries. The convening
of the Berry Street Conference, for the delivery and hearing of the Berry
Street Essay, has for many years now been the last event of the annual meeting
and conference of the Unitarian Universalist Ministers Association.
The Rev. Dr. Mark Morrison Reed gave this lecture at the
180th meeting of the Berry Street Essay. Mark is a scholar of
Unitarian Universalist history and author of many books on race,
multiculturalism and our faith. Mark and I both found our call to ministry in
the First Unitarian Society of Chicago and that congregation ordained us
both.
These are words that Mark shared with almost a thousand
Unitarian Universalist ministers:
I am at home among these people in this liberal religious
movement. It is a place where I was nurtured, and because I was nurtured I
grew; having grown, I could give, and having given I grew more. It is a place
where struggling, I could fail; where failing, I was still loved, where loved,
I could begin again. It is a place where in pain I could go; where, having
gone, I was cared for; where cared for, I could heal and go on. That is why I
am a minister, to help sustain religious communities - places like the one in
which I grew up, places made holy by what people experience within them - the
seasons of their lives and the healing of their souls.
The power of community is enormous and I have lived my
entire life in its embrace. It is why I entered the ministry. I believe the
liberal church is worth devoting a life to -- my life, in fact.
My years as a congregant did not prepare me, however, for a
cruel irony. Ministry, as most of you have discovered I am sure, is a source of
unrequited grief. I regret having not read the fine print. If I had, perhaps I
would have made another choice. But the print was very small, the phrasing
paradoxical, while I was young and eager. This is what it said:
You will love
your parishioners with all your heart but never befriend them.
You will pour out
your lifeblood for the community but never settle there.
You shall die to
the congregation so that the ministry might live.
Sermon:
The title of Mark Morrison-Reed’s Berry Street Essay is
“After Running Through the Thistles, the Hard Part Begins.”[1]
Since 2000 it has become required reading for every seminarian. For me, it had
such a great impact, that I printed a copy and sent it to my Mom…because I
wanted to give her some insight to what I was doing with my life.
Mark starts off his essay talking about the baptismal font
at the front of the church. He wrote:
The baptismal font was older than
the building. It had accompanied the First Unitarian Society of Chicago when
the congregation moved south to Hyde Park. The years had dulled the white
marble.[2]
Part of why this essay was so impactful for me, personally,
is that I had for more than 15 years saw at that very baptismal font almost
every Sunday morning. I had dusted it during cleaning days. When Morrison-Reed
talks about having been nurtured, grown, forgiven and loved…though separated by
a couple of decades…he is talking about the very same people who nurtured,
loved and forgave me. They are also the same people who ordained us both and
sent us out into the world to love, change and heal the world in their name.
Our theological theme this month is Letting Go. Like a
couple of the themes, it is not something I might have chosen, and at first
blush, I was a little troubled by it. Letting go isn’t always easy for me, and
maybe it isn’t for you, either. So far, in this month of five Sundays, we have
had sermons about letting go of perfection, not quite being ready to let go,
letting go of old wounds and today, letting go of our shared ministry.
I want to re-share three lines from Mark’s essay:
You will love
your parishioners with all your heart but never befriend them.
You will pour
out your lifeblood for the community but never settle there.
You shall die to
the congregation so that the ministry might live.
You will love your parishioners with all your heart but
never befriend them.
This is so true, and when you’re in seminary you think “Oh,
I can do this. This won’t be so bad.” And you’d be wrong.
I know of at least one person in the congregation who was
fairly hurt by this boundary. Any person, every person, has people with whom
they share a natural affinity. Somebody who’s jokes you laugh at, who enjoys
the same kind things, like music or books, that you do.
And as a minister, you usually start your new job in a new
town where you know nobody. And also, you have this long habit of already
making friends that feel like family at church.
But as the minister, you can’t do that. Morrison-Reed wrote:
The relationship of minister and
parishioner has the qualities of a friendship, but no matter how warm and deep,
authentic and reciprocal the relationship is it is not a sustainable
friendship. Why? Because it is built upon an unavoidable imbalance -- the
minister is always more responsible for the relationship. When necessary we
must be prepared to forsake the role of friend for that of minister, and ready
to choose the well being of the community over the needs of the friend. We are
not as free to share all aspects of our lives and ourselves. Nor can we make
friends with whom we please, for that would create two classes of parishioners
-- the chosen and the not. Finally, when our ministries come to an end so must
the relationships, lest we take up space the next ministry needs if it is to
take root. [3]
This very concern came out in answers to the survey the
Ministerial Search Committee did. To potential new ministers, the Search
Committee answered the question: Describe the worst mistake your new minister
could make: by saying:
In our survey, with 59 people answering that question, two mistakes categorized as “change” and ”clique” finished in a dead heat. The members do not want the new minister to make changes without making them feel they have been a part of the process, nor do they want him/her to align with a person or groups in the church.
In this one answer,
one of many, many answers an old wound can be seen. It is true that there is
always somebody, some person who feels that the minister likes others better,
that someone else is getting preferential treatment. This can only be addressed
by the person who feels slighted.
What I find
interesting in this answer is that only 59 people responded to the survey
written by the Search Committee. 59 out of some 145 people. That’s not a very
high voter turn-out.
Secondly,
systemically, the people who answered this survey are very worried that the new
minister will have favorites and will work to change the congregation.
Every minister knows
that it is a potential disaster to befriend your congregants, and yet we are
only human. This is one of the toughest parts of ministry, and probably one of
the most invisible.
There are concerts
that I have not attended, parties I have not gone to, and people I have not
invited to our home for dinner. There are people I am very sure we would love
to spend more time with, that I have not, because of this boundary. Whenever we
are together, I am the minister. I do not get to take the collar, or stole,
off, so to speak. It doesn’t matter if that setting is here at the church, at
Target, at Graceada Park, in the hospital or in your home.
It isn’t that I
don’t like you. I think by now you must know how deeply I care. It’s that the
minister is always responsible for the relationship and its boundaries. And yet
even with my still careful attention to these balances in relationship, still I
have been accused of having favorites. As Rev. Grace was accused of before me,
and before her, I have heard that Rev. Lesley and Rev. Jody also dealt with
this concern.
I’m sure that all of
my predecessors also had to deal with resistance to change.
When, over a forty
year period, the same patterns, the same tensions between congregation and
minister arise, even with vastly different personalities in your pulpit, if the
same concerns keep coming up over and over again, it is not issue of the ever
changing ministers. It is clearly something deep within this congregation.
And that will be
something I hope you keep in mind with your next minister, and your shared
ministry with them. Ask yourself “Why am I so resistant to change?” “Why are
we, as a system, so quick to assume that there are cliques in the church?” And
then ask yourself how you, yourself, can be part of the solution to these
long-term concerns. What is it in your own behavior, mindset and engagement
that manifests these issues.
You will pour out your lifeblood for the community but never
settle there.
This is very evident when you are an Interim Minister. You
come with, as the Canadians say “An Expiry Date.”
But this is true of all ministry, and an interim minister
pours no less life-blood into the community than does a settled minister.
Even if my next ministry is a settled ministry, that place
will not be a place I will settle. I must always be prepared, Denis and I must
always be prepared for the time when our ministries have come to their natural
conclusion.
We must always keep this in our hearts.
When Rev. Grace came back to celebrate the 60th
Anniversary of the congregation, she asked me to have coffee with her the next
day.
For a while we talked about many things, like how retirement
was going for her, her astonishment at the Sanctuary Renewal and that the mayor
and poet laureate were there.
And since she is a senior colleague, I used some of our time
to get some advice. I said to her “I don’t know how you left them (meaning
you.) They are such an amazing group of people. I have a pre-set date of
departure, but how did you have the strength to do it?”
She replied “I knew it was time. We had shared a lot, and
the congregation had been through some nice change and growth, and I knew they
were about to embark on a whole new level of growth, and I felt that I was not
the person to take them through that. And I know Joe, that you’re pastor enough
to know, that when you have a settled ministry, you will know when it is time
and you will have the love and strength it takes to leave when it is time.”
Even though homes are bought in town, and you get to love
things like the Gallo Center, always in some back corner of your mind is the
knowledge that this is not the place you will settle.
And that knowledge always keeps you a little bit separate.
You shall die to the congregation so that the ministry might
live.
This is a third, painful aspect of ministry. That despite
all of my work, all of the belly laughs and tears from deeply honest places,
when it is my time to leave, I must leave.
We ministers are in a covenant with each other. We have
rules about how long we must stay away from a congregation we have served. We,
for the care and well-being of our congregations, accepted a hierarchy of ministerial
authority. We, who are also Unitarian Universalists, who don’t like authority,
or too much structure, we have voluntarily accepted both for the sake of the
congregations we serve.
When I was here two weeks, and Martin Z. died, I called
Rev. Grace and asked her if she would like to preside over Martin’s memorial
service. After all, I had only met Martin once, and Grace had been his minister
for a little over a decade.
Truth be told, I was really hoping that she would perform
the memorial service, because I didn’t really know ANYBODY yet, and I was
concerned I would make a mess of things.
But Grace, knowing better, told me that she would not accept
my invitation, saying “They are your congregation now, and funerals are part of
what bond a congregation to their minister.”
Not the answer I wanted, but the wiser answer.
In so doing, Grace demonstrated for me what I will need to
do when I leave.
I will need to leave. I will not be able to, in good
conscience, correspond with the people in this congregation. The ones who I
have come to look forward to seeing each and every week. The people whose
presence makes my heart smile, or grin wryly, depending on the person.
It is not yet time for us to be that separate, but it is
time that we start thinking about it. It is time that the separation begins. In
little, baby steps.
You many notice over the course of the next two months that
I respond to email differently. Instead of using the word “we” I will use the
word “you.” Instead of answering questions to the best of my ability, I will
try to show you were to find those answers yourself. In conversations, I may
contribute noticeably less.
In doing this I am not being cagey. Rather, I am practicing.
We have become so used to each other, so comfortable with
each other, that this change may difficult for us. But I will keep Mark
Morrison-Reeds words on my desk.
You will love
your parishioners with all your heart but never befriend them.
You will pour
out your lifeblood for the community but never settle there.
You shall die to
the congregation so that the ministry might live.
I hope that as we prepare for our journey together to end, me taking one path, you taking another, I hope that as we come to that place in the road where we will say goodbye, I hope that these three sentences will help you, as I hope they will help me.
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