Celebrating the privilege of being a minister

‘So it must be a busy time of year for you’              
                     (actually not as much as you think, and not as busy as so many non-church people)
Cartoons of clergy counting services
Newspaper articles about expectations on clergy at Christmas 
Comments from a minister about relaxing by still being in dressing gown after 9am
Facebook debates about how ministers might use their time and would we change our pattern if Jesus came tomorrow.

Yep - its Christmas....   

Season of clergy performance anxiety and competitive caroling - but only if we let it

I am a minister, I am a person,

I live with a dog but no people, I live with times of significant depression but not beaten

It is a great privilege to be a minister – the nature of the role and the opportunities to be with people and in the community is a big part of that, but I also recognise the great privileges it gives me in living my life.

Between risks of fatigue illness and the ebbs and flows of depression I would struggle to channel my work and focus into the preset hours demanded in most jobs out there, I don’t think I would be able to sustain it week in and week out and hold down such a role.  Ministry offers me the freedom through large parts of the week to flow with my body and soul, to not be up and dressed by 8.30 am when the sedating effects of medication still linger, or to send out emails after 10pm because that is when my brain is functioning best that day.

I have the privilege to not need to measure my contributions in hours or busyness, though this can be a challenge with the temptation to reach beyond normal hours. I have the privilege to have learned from my health limits about how to live with what I can, and who I am, and I have largely conquered the urge to feel guilty. 

Last Christmas I was on a roll, with energy and possibilities, learning the patterns in a new place, this year the rollercoaster is on the down dip, dragging myself to the carols and visits feels like ploughing through thick heavy clay.  I am there for what is needed, even smiling – then home to hide under the duvet, my charging method. Doing this means it will pass, the path lead upwards again, and my energy and activity increase.

I am deeply grateful for the privilege of a life as a minister that allows me to offer the fullness of who I am but in a pattern that allows me to fully be who I am.   Others find the same for different reasons, around family needs, different personalities, so many things.

So no I am not going to compete about how many Christmas services I will have taken, or worry about whether I write my sermons from under the duvet or not.  I will boast though in taking care of myself so that I can continue to serve, and I will fight off all guilt inducing comments whether they are intended to be or not.

After all  God was not in such a hurry that he didn't have time to come as a child and wait the years to grow.....

________________________
On this topic I have posted a reflection on being vs doing  from a number of years ago 

When I needed a neighbour were you there?

So goes the school hymn, and goes through a range of situations  asking 'were you there?'  'And the creed and the colour and the name don't matter were you there?' comes the chorus.

This comes to mind with an email today from someone about a church member they have visited today, reporting that this person, unable to get out of the house, is disappointed that I haven't been round.

It is not an unreasonable request, after some time in convalescence care beyond our patch she has been home for a couple of weeks now. And it would be just half an hour, to show she is remembered.  'Were you there?'

These are the moments when I feel such a failure as a minister, and as I type my eyes are leaking.  But she and the others I constantly let down don't see that, they don't know about the moments when I am about to phone but realise it is too late, or any other good intentions.

Yes it is true that pastoral visiting is not just for me, and I know of those who are calling on people. And I know that my list of reasons why I didn't get there all this week despite planning to - including depressive fatigued duvet days - are valid and not just the lame excuses I think they sound to others.

But ...  I am not naturally a pastoral visiting person, and I know this is my weakest point. It is the thing I would have top of my 'drop list' when time and energy are squeezed. And because of that it is also where my conscience is most vulnerable to criticism, because it lands on my own self criticisms so it is a double whammy right where I have least objectivity and perspective.

I will visit, and she will get over her disappointment that it has taken so long, and the sun will rise and set and the days go on.  And when I am not tired from having been out all day for last 3 days I will not get weepy over a 'just so you know' email.

For now, it is a stiff drink and bed. Tomorrow is another day.

Happy Stressmas...

What are we up to at Christmas? Or should I say Stressmas?

I suppose I will put some decorations up before 25^th, if I get around to it. Some people love their Christmas trimmings, others put them up with a sigh of duty, just another seasonal chore. We feel obliged to put on the seasonal smile and be cheery – even when we don’t feel like it, or have nothing to smile about. Getting a card has become not a joy but a reason for panic – have I sent them one? Parents are required to create costumes and props for their darling offspring for school events – whether the children are bothered or not. (And I confess to adding to this with another Christmas competition from the church, not next year – I am learning!)

How much stress do we live through for the sake of tradition, or expectations of others? That applies all year round but is massively multiplied at Christmas.  Even this year’s adverts all seem to be about the stresses of preparing for the ‘perfect Christmas’ – recognising the symptoms but still playing up to an ideal that is even less achievable than size 0 airbrushed models.

I remember being told a story of a couple, married for many years, and every Christmas dinner they had sprouts. He didn’t like sprouts but ate them to please his wife after she had gone to all the effort cooking dinner. She didn’t like sprouts and only cooked them because she thought her husband liked them – afterall he devoured them every year...  If only they would talk about it – then neither of them would have to eat what they didn’t like.

What if we took the chance to say ‘Sorry, I’d rather not eat sprouts’, wear the Christmas jumper, or whatever it is, what if we risked being called Scrooge and labelled a Humbug? Maybe we will find others are only too glad to downsize the best present and perfect turkey competitions too, and be relieved that someone had the courage to challenge ‘the way things should be’.

Maybe then we can have a celebration we can actually enjoy – and that would, I think, be truer to the meaning of Christmas where a manger was good enough and visitors came as they were whether shepherd or king.

So if you want the perfect Christmas this year, perhaps it’s worth taking a moment to decide what that actually looks like for you personally, as a family etc..

Iona 1 (Monday)

Iona 1 (Monday)

Saturday was a long day, a very long day mostly in a small coach from Herefordshire up to the wee island of Iona.  Actually the journey went well, reading my college books passed the time well enough and I would look up whenever we stopped at services surprised by how far up we had got.

Up past Loch Lomond, and across the countryside beyond the reading was set aside in favour of the views (and reading on windy roads is not as easy as on the motorway!) The ferry to Mull and a drive across it in pouring rain uncertain if the Iona ferry would be running (we had been warned it might not)followed by a rocky crossing and then we were here. Iona. The Thin Place. The place of pilgrimage and prayer.

So here I am, I worshipped at the Abbey on Sunday morning, wandered around a couple of shops in the midst of day visitors pouring on and off the ferry and after lunch sat out on the secluded shore behind the house with a novel before retreating in from the cold wind. Today I have been back to the Abbey for the historical tour.

I am enjoying the space, the retreat from normal life, and the beautiful rugged scenery – but I don’t get the wonder or awe that people claim for this place.  Maybe it is the pressure of the expectations people put on this place, too much talk of sacredness attached to one particular part of God’s creation.

Come for the island beauty, come for the history – but we must look for the thin places where we are, and find the stillness in ourselves.  Maybe the point of a pilgrimage is to travel far and wide to discover that God was there at home, and to return with that knowledge.