The Sacred Time-Out

I stood on my tip-toes as tall as I could. My arms reached high into the air curving over the top of my younger brother. Holding the basketball in both hands he kept one foot firmly in place, pivoting to get a clear angle for a shot at the hoop. He had gone straight to his favorite place on the court to shoot but this time I beat him to the spot. When he realized it he had already stopped his dribble and was stuck.  I would either block his shot or it would be so far off the mark that I would be in the best position for a rebound.

“Time-out,” he said making a “T” with both hands, holding the ball against his chest with his forearms.

I deflated and took a step back. A time-out meant he could go to the top of the imaginary half-circle in the driveway and begin his turn on offense all over. I could complain about how unfair it was (and sometimes did) but I had used the same tactic myself. In the world of one-on-one, driveway basketball there was no limit on time-outs. You could call one whenever you needed it; the slightest injury, an off-balance shot that left you reeling and unable to get set on defense, a bee buzzing around the driveway, or just to gain a slight advantage.

A Dot Sheet God

The sun shines down on 200 high school students as they stand scattered across the football field. The track around the field is littered with band instruments, water bottles and sunscreen containers.

The voice of the band director booms out of the public address system in the stadium. “Find your place in set nine. Set nine. Then take a seat as soon as you are certain you’ve found your place.”

200 heads look down at laminated sheets of paper. Lips move silently as each individual reads a specific coordinate and tries to picture where they are supposed to go. Heads pop up to verify yard lines and hash marks before eyes return to the coordinate sheets. Feet begin pacing off carefully counted steps. Section leaders quickly find their place and then turn to help the new members and those who continue to have trouble translating a coordinate into a physical place on the football field.

LEFT 3.25 steps inside 35                  12.75 steps in front of home hash

A Question of Service

I stood the doorway of the sanctuary as people filed past, greeting me and shaking hands after the service. Alfred, a tall, man with wire rim glasses looked down at me and filled my hand with his own. In his retirement he served as the custodian of the church. I knew him to be a man who spoke frankly and to the point.

“It’s about time someone figured it out,” was all he said with a smile before moving on to the let the next person greet me.

He was referring to my sermon when I reflected on the relationship between a pastor and the congregation. After six years of ordained ministry I had become frustrated with how difficult it was to motivate a congregation to participate in faith-based educational or service oriented programs. When the Senior Pastor took a new call I was left to work with the congregation and began to notice some interesting behaviors.

Have We Got A Deal For You

                                             It's that old-time religion

                                             It's the kingdom they would rule

                                             It's the fool on television

                                             Getting paid to play the fool

                                                                             Rush

                                                                             The Big Money

According to a Fuller Insitute / Barna Research / Pastoral Care Inc. study (cited here) the profession of "Pastor" is near the bottom of a survey of the most-respected professions, just above "car salesman".

First, let me say that I am not offended. I’ve long thought that being a pastor requires a certain amount of salesmanship. Since our culture is filled with competing advertisements persuading us that a product or lifestyle can “change your life” or “change the world,” it’s only natural that people see one of the chief jobs of the clergy is to convince and motivate people to participate in a certain belief system that promises to do the same.  Many of the techniques used in selling cars (or any goods or services) are assumed to translate well into the arena of faith.

Long-Haired Hippy Freak

On a late spring, Wednesday evening, when the kids can taste the end of the school year and the beginning of summer, I reach into an open topped box and pull out a creased slip of paper. Everyone in the room holds their breath to see what the next question is going to be. It’s “Ask the Pastor Night” and the 100 plus middle school students and adult confirmation guides can ask me anything. I read the question quietly to myself. I've seen this question before and it’s one of my favorites.

I started this tradition seven years ago when it occurred to me that Jesus did a lot of teaching simply by letting his disciples ask questions. People learn best when they are interested and invested in the topic. Over the years I've discovered that there is some serious spiritual thinking going on in the minds of 12-14 year olds. And, as you might suspect, there are some stupid things as well. There is usually a 50-50 split between serious questions and questions intended to stump me or make the class laugh since I allow them to ask me anything.

I smile as I read the question out loud. “Why do you wear your hair in a pony-tail and grow your beard so long?” This is a question that every adult member of my congregation wants to ask me. Most people have become accustomed to it by now but every once in a while someone makes a stray comment. Personally, I find it interesting to discover who is bothered by my personal style choices. In a community that is supposed to be based on love I am always surprised by the insistent presence of social convention and stereotyped expectations.

“Sanity,” I say. “It’s to keep me from losing my mind.”

Ready or Not

In observance of the 20th anniversary of my ordination I am dedicating a series of posts to reflect on ordained ministry and the changes I have seen in this call. This is the second post in that series.

As in parenting, one can never be ready for every possible event that will arise in ordained ministry. According to a Fuller Institute / Barna Research / Pastoral Care Inc. report, 90% of pastors feel that they are inadequately prepared for the demands of ministry. That sense of being ill prepared may simply be a part of a job that is constantly changing and evolving, just as parenting roles change as children grow up. I still find it ironic that from among all the people that could, it is the Seminary that actually sent card commemorating my ordination.

For most of my twenty years I have felt inadequately prepared for the task of ordained ministry.

Twenty Years

The envelope was hand addressed to The Rev. Kevin Jones in a black ball point pen. The cursive mailing address filled most of the front. The back flap was imprinted with the return address from the Seminary Relations department. Usually that meant a letter asking for a donation of some sort but this was a card-sized envelope; maybe an invitation to a fund raising event of some sort.

The flap wasn’t sealed all the way around so I skipped the letter opener and slid my finger inside tearing a jagged line along the top. I pulled out a folded card. On the front was a picture of the entrance to the one building on the seminary campus with the traditional roman columns seen on campuses across the country. In the upper left hand corner the seminary logo on a mustard yellow background and on the bottom the word “CONGRATULATIONS.”