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there must be hope.

30 Mar

I’m finding myself in dark places this week; journeying alongside others in their valleys, with families in their grief, and in the approaching darkness of the Friday before Easter. Henri Nouwen says it poignantly –

[[ If the God who revealed life to us, and whose only desire is to bring us to life, loved us so much that he wanted to experience with us the total absurdity of death then – yes, then there must be hope; then there must be something more than death; then there must be a promise that is not fulfilled in our short existence in this world; then leaving behind the ones you love, the flowers, the trees, the mountains and the oceans, the beauty of art and music, and all the exuberant gifts of life cannot be just the destruction and cruel end of all things; then indeed we have to wait for the third day. ]]

country drives.

7 Mar

Whenever I used to get in my car to go somewhere, I always had my ipod.  It didn’t matter how far I was going, I plugged my ipod into the radio and always had the music on.  Lately, my radio is off.  I don’t take my ipod with me when I drive places.  Instead of searching for radio stations or throwing in a cd, I tend to drive in silence.  

In the silence, on the roads between snow-covered fields, my mind goes in a few different directions.   To-do lists.  Upcoming events.  Lately, it’s been going a lot to my dad.  I’m not sure what it is – if it is the farms and the fields, something else, or remembering that it was first my dad who ever put the idea of ministry in my head.  

Sometimes, when I drive, I think of how proud my dad would be of me.  In high school, I remember going somewhere with him in his truck.  I don’t remember where we were going or what we were doing.  He suggested that I think about ministry as a possible career track.  I’m not sure if he saw in me gifts for ministry or if he simply thought it’d be pretty great to have a daughter who was a pastor.  He told me more than once, in his giddy voice, how proud he would be to tell people that his daughter was a minister. There are many people and reasons that got me to this place but my dad, telling me that, is one of the great reasons why I am here now, whether I recognized it at that point in my teenage life or not.

Here I am, halfway through my internship and one and half years short of becoming an ordained pastor.  It sucks – it simply sucks – that my dad is no longer on this journey with me.  I know that he would have been one of my biggest supporters and fans alongside me in the struggles of seminary and joys of ministry.  I would love to be able to share church stories or hear his feedback on sermons.  I would love to hear him tell me that he is proud of me again.  

Still.  I know he is.

Surprising myself.

3 Mar
I sat at my desk today, preparing to preach at tonight’s lenten service, and found myself pondering at where I am in life.  Pondering not in a bad way, not in a how-did-I-get-myself-in-this-icky-place, but rather in the wow-I-have-come-a-long-way.  I have grown in so many different ways in the last years.  The Lindsay of two years ago, or even six months ago, would be surprised by my current self.  Let me explain –
First, I think of the Lindsay who entered seminary.  The Lindsay of two and a half years ago had no idea what she was doing.  That Lindsay was not certain at all that she belonged in seminary classes.  She questioned her call to ordained ministry and thought about seeking a degree in something other than the ordained ministry track more than once.  Contrast that to today, when I fully and whole-heartedly believe that being a pastor is the vocation to which I have been led and called.   
Let’s visit the Lindsay of middler year.  (In seminary speak, the middler year is the second year of classes.)  The Lindsay who was scared out of her wits for preaching class.  This Lindsay had a few minor breakdowns at the beginning of her middler year, never having the confidence to realize that she would be prepared for internship.  The Lindsay of today currently preaches every week.  I enjoy – yes, enjoy – sermon preparation and preaching.  I still get nervous but this time on internship has boosted the confidence in my preaching immensely.  My internship committee has told me that preaching is one of my great strengths that they observe.  I never would have guessed that would ever be the case!
Then there is the Lindsay prior to cpe.  CPE is a mandatory 400 hour experience for ordination – Clinical Pastoral Education.  I did my time last summer at a care center/low-income senior apartment building in Minneapolis.  Before cpe, I was terrified at the thought of walking into a person’s room at a nursing home and striking up a conversation.  Terrified.  I was scared to think that I would be called into situation of death and dying.  What was I to say?  To do?  CPE didn’t give me all the answers (as it can’t be expected to do) but it helped me gain confidence and familiarity with situations.  Now I have no issue walking into a hospital room or spending time over coffee and bars with the residents at the care center in Dawson.  In fact, spending time at the care center in Dawson has become one of my most favorite things to do.
Today, as I pondered, I realized how much I have grown and how much that surprises me.  It’s a true testament to what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger because, man, there were points when I thought both preaching class and cpe were going to be the death of me when really, those are two of the things that have made me grow the most.  To look back at myself a year or two ago and to see how my confidence, skills, and experiences have shaped me into the intern pastor I am now is a humbling thing.      

dust.

17 Feb
Ash Wednesday.
This was the first time I had participated as a minister in an Ash Wednesday service.  I was nervous.  I was preaching and doubted my sermon.  I was using technology.  I wasn’t sure of the service and what parts were mine and where to go.  I was worried that I would forget the words for the imposition of ashes.  I was expecting something to go wrong.
We use Holden Evening Prayer for the Wednesdays in Lent.  My favorite.  With the singing of the Magnificant, I took a deep breath.  The sermon had been preached.  Technology had worked.  Ashes had been impositioned? imposited? imposed?  The majority of the service was over.
I looked out at the congregation and realized it was the first time I had seen Ash Wednesday from this angle.  I had always been one out there, sitting in the pew.  I was always one who came forward and the ashes were put on my forehead.  
This night, I was looking out at a church filled with crossed people.  Literally a community of worshippers with black crosses made of ash on their foreheads.  I suddenly was aware that I was one who spoke the words [remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return].  I was one who crossed the ashes on their foreheads.  It was an intimate action for me and I recognized that as I went from person to person. 
My role has changed.  Tonight I had a clear idea of what the calling to ministry continues to mean to me.
There was something cool.  inspiring.  humbling.  to see the congregation worshiping, singing, and remembering that we are dust together.  To see it from a different place – a different physical place in the sanctuary and a different place vocationally – was a gift for me tonight.  
Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.    
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