Tribal Church

So, Ismael Garcia, my ethics professor in seminary, told one of his classes about a medical doctor, who decided to work in a big city because he could get a better salary and a more prestigious job. Even though the doctor knew that he was needed in the small towns, where they had no medical professionals, he didn’t care.

Ismael was a masterful teacher, and he had us all worked up, booing the doctor, decrying the injustice. Then he turned around and said, “You hypocrites! All of you pastors do the same thing. You’re all going to bigger cities. You let these rural churches flounder. You won’t give them any time.”

Yeah, he laid on the guilt pretty thick. And it worked, at least in my case. When we were looking for calls, I was encouraged to take the associate pastor position at some large, prestigious church, but instead, I decided to go to a small congregation in rural Abbeville, Louisiana.

Now, I’m not going to tell you that it was easy. I’m not going to regurgitate the romantic mythology that people will love you more at a rural church, or that the appreciation they lavish upon you will far outweigh the lack of salary, because it’s not really true. It was difficult. I regularly experienced culture shock, and we would constantly escape to New Orleans to get a bit of city life in our souls.

But, now that many seminarians are looking for their first calls, I do want to urge you to look at a country church or two. At least, don’t completely write them off. If you have a spouse who can manage it, and if your student loans responsibilities aren’t too much (and if you’re Presbyterian, the BOP might be able to help you out with that), it is at least worth a look.

Why?

(1) You might like it. I met a wonderful, gifted pastor in Iowa a few months ago who lived in California most of her life, and she loves her country church. As I listened to her story, I wondered if it was a surprise for her to figure that out. Even if you don’t like it, you might find out some things about yourself that you didn’t know before.

(2) It will give you opportunities that you can’t get in larger cities. It’s the big fish/small pond thing. I was quickly placed in leadership positions within the city and within the denomination. It allowed me to gain a lot of great experience that I wouldn’t have gotten otherwise. Plus, other clergy were very good at mentoring me, whereas in larger cities, new clergy go unnoticed.

(3) You can develop your preaching skills. We all think that we’re naturally gifted and talented orators when we come out of seminary. But, in reality, any art form requires practice to do it really well. You just won’t get that practice if you’re at a really large church, preaching four times a year. What people often don’t realize is that it doesn’t matter if you learn by preaching to a thousand people or fifty people. What matters is how many times that you do it. Serving a small church will give you the opportunity to write and preach on a consistent basis.

(4) They need you. Seriously. We’re in a crisis time in our denominations. In the PCUSA, forty percent of pulpits are empty. They are in rural areas, where it’s difficult to attract good candidates. You could give a congregation an opportunity to celebrate communion on a regular basis, or to have some consistent care, which they haven’t had for a long time. It is a sacrifice, but it’s for a very good cause.

Now, to denominational leaders, in order for this to work, we can no longer assume that a person went to a really small church or a rural pastorate because he or she was a low-quality candidate. Because, you know that’s what too many people are thinking. Can we resist that temptation? If seminary students decide to go to a rural parish for a first call, can we make sure that we don’t discriminate against them for giving up some prime years of their lives for the good of the denomination? If we see two people looking for a job, one who’s been on staff at a large prestigious church, and one who’s been a solo pastor at a rural church, can we stop making assumptions about who might be more qualified?

photo by wanderab

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I went to go visit Margery in the hospital. Several years ago, going to see Margery was part of my weekly routine. I always went to her place her, even though… well…. I am a people person, and I really cannot name many people in any of the churches that I have served whom I did not like. I feel really bad admitting this about a a widow in her 80s, but I’ll do it. I will admit to you that I did not like Margery.

I tried, but every time I was around her, she was putting me down for something. I was spending too much money, and I didn’t take care of my daughter, and I was always wearing the wrong clothes.

To make matters even more difficult, the other members of our church listened to Margery and respected her deeply. They told me that she was so critical because I was a woman. She never wanted a woman pastor, and the fact that I was a young woman made it much worse. I had replaced a much older man, an interim who was well past retirement, and she resented the fact that I took away her dear friend.

But, you know, the thing about being a pastor, sometimes it doesn’t really matter if you like someone or not. Sometimes it doesn’t even matter if they like you. Sometimes you just need to be with them.

It was one of those mornings. I went to see Margery in the hospital, right after the doctor had visited her. He came to tell her that the cancer that they were hoping to contain had just spread all over her body, and many of her vital organs. She didn’t have much longer. She was going to die.

I was the first one to see her after she heard the news. So, I read the Psalms with her. We prayed together. When I said amen, Margery could barely talk, so she said, “Carol, come here. Come closer so I can tell you something.”

I sat on the edge of her bed and put my ear next to her mouth. Her voice suddenly came back strong as she said, “Couldn’t you have found some pearls to wear with that outfit? That sweater looks terrible on you. You know I hate it when you wear black. The neckline is so plain. Just get a drop pearl necklace, really. They don’t cost that much money.”

The next time I went to visit her, she was in a different hospital, telling me about a run-in that she had with her nurse. They fought, and she was replaying the abusive conversation with all of her intensity. And as I listened, something began to swell up inside of me. I told Margery that I needed to leave, and when I exited the room, I began to run. My head was tingling with heat, and I couldn’t wait to get out of the hospital. When I broke out of the doors, I met the winter air with gratitude. Then I went into my car and breathed deeply.

I had always read that people had a fight or flight instinct, but I had never experienced it before that moment. 

I used to think that I was not a fearful person at all. In fact, I could not name one thing, situation, or person that I was afraid of. Yet, at that moment, I became afraid of an eighty-year-old woman who was dying of cancer.

Suddenly, I could identify so many things that I feared. I was anxious about the death of loved ones, especially the passing of my grandmother, who was sick at that time. I feared that I would have to make tough decisions about my father’s declining health, decisions that he would not agree with and fight against. And I realized that I had a whole variety of fears there all along. I just didn’t know what that particular sensation was, and I had no idea how to face them. I had assumed that having courage was the same thing as pretending like your fears don’t exist. 

Being a pastor can be intensely emotional at times. The vocation has a way of getting under your skin and calling up so many things you thought you would never have to face otherwise. I hope that in the new year, we might have the strength to keep facing the difficulties that might come our way. May we somehow find the courage.

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In the midst of the election season, I was asked if I would write a blog post supporting Barack Obama. I had to think about it for a few days. I believe in the separation of church and state, and I would never support one candidate from the pulpit.

But, it was a moment in the election when Sarah Palin had been picked and the Republicans were all energized, which was great. Except then I would turn on the television and listen to “Drill, Baby, Drill!”

After a couple of years living in “cancer alley” in Louisiana, I learned what drilling and processing could do to the environment and people’s health. I could just imagine the earth under the feet of those crowds crying out with a muffled, “Help me. Please.”

You know, there are not that many people qualified to do these jobs, and John McCain had, like, a hundred years of political favors to pay back. Even though I realize McCain stood up to his party, I also knew that he would inevitably be stuck hiring the same advisors who have driven our country into this big, scary ditch. Or, he could find some more beauty queens to hire. Either way, it wasn’t looking good.

I figured that I needed to do what I could, and if that meant writing a blog post, as a private citizen, then I would. So, I did.

Go ahead. You can pick that decision apart.

There is a lot to say about whether pastors should publicly support one candidate. Typically, I would not, because I would not want Christianity tied to one political party, or one candidate. We’ve had an awful lot of that in recent decades. Unlike many of my colleagues (whom I respect deeply), I am not middle-of-the-road. I’m not a moderate. I do not refuse labels. My views are not that complicated, although they are also not the same as whatever the Democrats are cookin’ up in their kitchen at this moment.

I am progressive. I want to see social justice happen in our country. I want people to be fed and sheltered. Men and women, who go to work for forty hours a week, should make a living wage. We have enough resources in our country to ensure that everyone has health care. Children should have equal opportunities, equal education. We should protect the environment. I could go on… but you get the picture, and I’ve spent enough time digressing.

The point of the post was actually not about pastors picking presidents. The point was more about presidents picking pastors. I know we’ve all read more about Rick Warren than we ever wanted to, so I won’t rehearse his views on same gender relationships again. But, the selection of who will lead the Inaugural Invocation and the fury that ensued made me realize what a strange moment in history this is.

Billy Graham, the man who was the “pastor to the presidents,” and, therefore, (some people thought) pastor to the country, is in his nineties. He’s probably not able to swim in the White House pool anymore. He needs to be replaced.

I wonder if Barack Obama realized that he was picking Billy Graham’s successor. I wonder if he should.

Maybe it’s time to go to a new model. I mean, maybe we don’t need a one-size-fits-all-presidents pastor. Maybe half of the presidents didn’t even like Billy Graham, and they just felt obligated to invite him to pray for this or that because it was the custom.

Some people say that Obama has a pastor problem, but shouldn’t presidents be able to go to whomever they want for prayer and spiritual guidance? Why should we assume that it will be the same person for the next fifty years? Can you imagine the pastor for that job? I mean, it’s hard enough to keep a small congregation happy with you, how could you keep a large country happy with you? And what about the strange positions that the pastor might be put in? Anyone remember Philip Wogaman (the man who wrote my ethics textbook) defending Bill Clinton’s sexual proclivities on CNN? Can you say, “Awkward”? Would it even be possible for a president to have a pastor nowadays without the blogosphere getting all in an uproar? 

What do you think?

The photo is of the Billy Graham Library by Carolina Tim. From what I’ve read, I think the barn has an  animatronic milk cow, named “Bessie,” that will lead you in the prayer of salvation. Anyone been there? Is it true?

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I should post more later… but for now, I need to finish my sermon.

I do want to wish you all a wonderful Christmas. Peace be with you.

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I asked some pastor friends, “Looking back on your career, what would you do different?”

And one answered, “I would have never been a pastor. If I knew what kind of toll the pastorate was going to have on my sons, I would have never gotten into the job.”

“Really? Then, what would you have become?”

“Anything. A secretary in a law firm. Anything other than this, really.”

It was shocking to hear. I had a sinking feeling that made me want to run home and hug my daughter. Because my husband is also a pastor, we have to be vigilant about not letting it completely consume our lives. It’s easy to go from doing something that we love doing, to letting that something grow like a cancer, until there is nothing left of our lives.

There are certain things that we can’t avoid. We have to work evenings and on weekends. And on most holidays, we have to ratchet the hours up even more. We all have cell phones and email, so that we’re on-call a lot. (But, lest I sound too pathetic–we have perks too. I take my daughter to work a lot, and everyone is happy to see her. And we have vacations. Four weeks of holiday that I have learned to relish with great intensity.)

The message of how a parent’s work can destroy a life was certainly one that stuck with me when I read Crazy for God. It’s an interesting memoir, filled with the antics of a missionary kid, who had a fantastic childhood, in many ways. 

But, there are the strange, painful realities too. Francis Schaeffer, who was known as the intellectual evangelical, who was educating the world about art and literature, was letting his young son, Frank, flounder without basic schooling.

Edith Schaeffer, who was an extraordinary hostess, setting out fine china every night, and treating every person as if he or she was royalty, welcoming anyone in their home, was also crowding out her introverted son.

As Francis and Edith allowed themselves to become martyrs for their work, they could not be there for the person who depended on them the most, who needed for them to be very much alive.

The memoir wasn’t sad. It was an interesting, inside perspective of a far-from-perfect famous Christian family. A third-culture kid (as many missionary children are called) who never felt at home in Switzerland or the U.S.

As with most dysfunctional families, there is always a scapegoat, someone who calls attention to the unhealthy system and is subsequently discredited. We’ve seen them. It’s the rebellious teenager, who seems to be sole source of the otherwise flawless family’s problems. Until you spend about five minutes with the family together and realize that he’s probably the healthiest one.

Frank Schaeffer plays that role perfectly.

Although the memoir wasn’t sad, subsequently, reading some of the reviews has been heartbreaking. It seems that Frank Schaeffer has destroyed the life work of his parents. How? By telling his perspective. By choosing a different path. By allowing himself to have his own voice.

Frank Schaeffer is in his fifties, sorting out his complicated family history, as we all must. And yet, I think the most dismal part of this story is what was not written. It’s that there is still no space for him, for his feelings, and for his voice. His parents’ ministry led to a neglect that shattered his life in very basic ways. And, as a writer, in order for Frank to put his own self back together, he will have to continue to tell his sordid story, with all the truth he can muster, even if it destroys our glossy image of what his family ought to have been.  

The tragedy of this tale is in the fact that even though his dad is dead and his mother is in her nineties, it seems he still can’t have his own room.

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As most of us know, Barack Obama asked Rick Warren to open at the Inauguration, and there has been a bit of frustration sparking around the Internet around the choice.

Why is it? After all, Obama also invited Rev. Joseph Lowery, a great Civil Rights leader, to close in prayer, showing a balance in judgment and religious convictions.

Warren is an affable guy, who has sold a gazillion books. He has a rigid stance against abortion and same-sex unions, but he has been willing to invite Obama to Saddleback (Warren’s mega-church), and sit at the table with Obama, even with many evangelicals wanted Obama to leave.

Warren refuses to publicly endorse any candidate [12/19 edit. I was wrong. He endorsed W in 2004], which is a switch from so many religious leaders who once handed out “voting guides” to their congregants. Although Warren strongly holds to the social positions of the Religion Right, he has also pushed them to be compassionate on other issues, like AIDS.

On one hand, this move shows that Obama is willing to reach out. He’s been smart with how he extends his hand to evangelicals, realizing that they are a strong force, but also not willing to bow to their staunch convictions. He has not flinched at talking about his Christianity, and been able to capture the votes of a new generation of evangelicals. And, Warren helped him do it, so it makes sense that Obama extends the invitation.

So why is this move so distasteful to so many religious leaders?

The Post says that the furor is because of the Internet. They explain that the views of most preachers used to stay within the walls of the church, but now with YouTube, sermon posts, and iPod downloads, all of our thoughts and opinions are open for public consumption beyond the flock.

Strangely, The Post writes:

Although Warren’s views are not far from those of other clergy members who could have been asked to deliver the invocation, Obama found himself emphasizing his own record as “a fierce advocate of equality for gay and lesbian Americans.”

Which made me scratch my head. “Other clergy members who could have been asked to deliver the invocation”? They must be talking about Billy Graham and Co. Are they implying that there’s a short list of pastors, comprised of leaders who are good enough, and they are all fighting against same-gender rights? If they want another list… I can think of a lot of wonderful pastors upon whom they can call.

Frankly, I don’t think there’s a sudden awareness of what evangelical preachers are saying behind the guarded walls of their sanctuaries. They have been very clear about what they believe for the last couple of decades. They don’t need YouTube. They have  their own publishing houses, radio broadcasts, and television stations. Their message has been heard regularly by millions.

I don’t agree with Rick Warren on many issues. I left the Southern Baptist church that he is a part of, but I know he’s a Christian, doing good work on most days. That said, I think the negative reaction is more from evangelical fatigue than from YouTube suddenly awakening us from our ignorance.

In the last decades, we’ve watched as our nation has become divided and our family dinner tables have become unpleasant, because the debates over abortion and homosexuality. Facebook “friends” write, “How can you call yourself a Christian and vote for Obama?” on our wall. We have listened to evangelicals whole-heartedly support President Bush, even when he has driven our nation into some horrendous ditches. The evangelicals have been calling for a culture war that has made us very, very tired. And so we shake our heads at the thought of continued evangelical influence.

As another Post article cites:

“It’s nice to see a conservative evangelical pastor play such a prominent role in such an important event,” said Tom Minnery, a senior vice president at Focus on the Family, which has fiercely criticized Obama over his support for abortion rights and other issues. “I think what it does is it underscores the importance of evangelicalism in the country.” 

So the gesture will be spinned, not as Obama reaching out to a once-powerful, but now-slightly-wounded, religious movement, in order to build bridges of understanding. Rather, it will be seen as a sign of the importance of the Religious Right. Which just makes me tired.

The photo’s by digitalpotato

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In our Head of Staff/Associate Pastor discussion, another interesting point came up, and that is… the amount of time that it takes to get a new pastor.

I’m not sure how it is with most denominations, but in the PCUSA, it seems to take forever to call a new pastor. We have watched it happen in our neck of the woods over and over again lately. A church—a really good, healthy church—goes without a pastor for two to three years.

What’s going on? I often hear different reasons for the delay.

Often, the church has had some trauma, and they have to go through a long period of self-examination and reflection before they can call another pastor.

Or it’s just hard for the nominating committee to find the time to do what they need to do, considering that they’re volunteers.

Sometimes, the committee is overwhelmed by the number of applicants. They look at the huge stack of resumes and they don’t even know where to begin.

Other times, they are completely underwhelmed by the quality of candidates (a complaint that I have very little patience with when I consider my colleagues…).

The upshot is that committees are often taking two to three years to fill a position in which most pastors only stay for two to three years. I understand the logic of having a long interim, but I’m not sure that I agree with it. Why is an extended interim important for healing? Why can’t healing take place with an installed pastor? What is it doing to our congregations to have as much time with an interim as they have with an installed pastor?

A gifted interim is a real treasure, and not always easy to come by. I have followed a couple of interims who were just filling up their retirement hours, using the church for a little something to do. A chance to dust off their sermon file. And their To-Do List did not include any robust transition work at the church. It was more of a hobby job for them.

One man in our congregation, after hearing the travails of a search committee, has talked about starting a head-hunting business for our denomination. Not a bad idea, considering how long it takes for a match to occur, and how often mismatches occur…. 

So, what could we be doing better? Is an extended interim a healthy solution? How could we make this turn-around time quicker?

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So, the Head of Staff and I were talking about ideal staffing arrangements in a congregation….

Let me begin this discussion by saying that officially/denominationally I am an Associate Pastor, but the church just calls us both “pastors.” When I’m introduced by people in the congregation, I hear “This is our pastor” most often. I sometimes hear, “This is our co-pastor” or even “co-director.”

All that to say, it’s not like the HOS is wielding a great big power stick around, telling everyone that he’s the boss. We have a very collegial relationship, where my ideas and opinions are encouraged.

That said, when the HOS and I were talking about ideal staffing arrangements, the HOS repeated that he does not like the idea of Co-Pastors. At all. He listed a variety of solid reasons. Most of them were practical—i.e., when churches have tried the model in the past, it has often fallen apart. Then, they have gone back to HOS/AP models.

(It is a disconcerting trend… are many churches thinking in the CP model much any more? Is it failing? Or did it just fail in such high profile cases that it seems like a failing model?)

For me, if I had my choice, I would rather be a CP than an HOS. I’m not afraid of power, I am a natural leader, and I like being in charge of things. It’s just that I like a team leadership approach better.

And there may be more to it than that. I’ve got to say, I have seen many women become APs for life, even when they wanted to move into a different role in the church. In my years, I have seen women discriminated against over and over again in the HOS selection process.

They have tremendous abilities and gifts, but they have not been able to move into HOS positions, even when their less qualified male colleagues have. After ten years, the statistics in most denominations become quite startling. Men often move up, women often do not. Then if the women stay in AP positions, they often make half of their HOS, even with comparable education and experience. After banging their heads on the stained glass ceiling, soon, women drop out of parish work, and become chaplains or something else.

Many women are not serving in the positions that I am, a collegial situation where my experience and gifts are valued. Instead, on a multi-staff congregation, many female clergy are seen as the pastors to the women and children, and therefore, they (the pastor, the women, and the children) are worth less. Maybe I just want a bit of justice for them.

We can’t force churches to accept female Heads of Staff. We can’t force congregations to have keener imaginations, and see that sometimes the best man for a job is a woman. But, maybe we can begin to re-imagine our church staffs. Instead of paying one person twice the amount for doing all of the “big jobs” (preaching on Sundays) while we pay the other person less for “little jobs” (doing pastoral care, Christian education, and caring for children and moms), we could begin paying on the basis of experience and education.

Instead of having an HOS who stays at the position for decades, getting (well deserved) pay increases every year, while the AP gets chewed up and spit out every couple of years, ensuring that the position will stay at the minimum salary, we could create congregational environments where all of the pastors are valued and appreciated. Not just the tall-steeple pastors (whose demographic make-up seems to be very homogenous). Perhaps that would create a bit more equity in our congregations and our denominations. I certainly think they would create healthier church systems.

What do you think? Would you rather be an HOS or a CP? What are the problems with the CP and HOS/AP models? What are the advantages? Is there a generational shift occurring (people under 45 tend to appreciate less hierarchical models)? A cultural shift? Is this a shift that the church should embrace? Would a flattened-out model help gender inequity? Or would it just be a bogus liberal attempt to create a false equality?

Photo by L Plater

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I heard this interview with Frank Schaeffer yesterday and it was really interesting. He wrote a book entitiled Crazy for God: How I Grew Up as One of the Elect, Helped Found the Religious Right, and Lived to Take All (or Almost All) of It Back. He explained how he convinced his father, Francis Schaeffer, to start preaching about abortion after Frank had gotten his fifteen-year-old girlfriend pregnant.

I remember the stories clearly when I was growing up. I visited L’Abri, the Schaeffer’s community in Switzerland, as a teenager, and I had a boyfriend who lived there. It was sort of an artistic, cultural, and intellectual center for many evangelicals (alright, my mainline friends… you can stop snickering. Yes, there are cultured, intellectual evangelicals). “Franky” (as I remember it), was the MK, the missionary’s kid who had gone wild, then with rapid repentance, he became a fiery politico, much more avid than his father.

His reflections revealed a much deeper struggle. Always a reminder that things are often not as they seem.

There are many poignant parts of the interview, especially as Schaeffer’s clear regret reverberates through the answers. He’s saddened by the culture war that he helped ignite, and his words come through with a tone of deep sorrow.

But the most amazing bit for me was when he talked about his conversion from being an evangelical to Greek Orthodox. He clearly articulated the struggles of being raised in such a strong tradition as evangelicalism, and then realizing that there is no way to unlearn many things. He chose the GO church, because wanted to go to a church that didn’t hinge on one person’s charismatic personality, he wanted to be a part of a tradition and a liturgy that was there for centuries, and would be there long after he was gone.

It was shocking to hear because they were almost the exact words I told my sister, ten years ago, when I graduated from seminary. I tried to explain to her why I became a Presbyterian pastor. I didn’t want to be the pastor of a church that was going to live or die, according to whether I was standing in the pulpit or not. I wanted to be a chapter in the long history of a church, not the sole plot line.

I’m buying the book today. I’ll keep you posted….

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JusticeSeeker from Presbyterian Bloggers interviewed me for their book club. Here’s a copy of the interview. You’re also welcome to go to the PCUSA blogger site and comment.

I assume that your Mother keeps a copy of Tribal Church on her coffee table, but does your Executive Presbyter?

I’m not sure if my Exec has read it, I saw him carrying a copy of it once. There was a bookmark in it… but he’s never said anything to me….

The Presbytery hosted a Tribal Church event and I was asked to speak to our council a few weeks ago. I’ve been invited to lead discussions at a number of Presbyteries (next month, I’ll be in the Presbytery of Charlotte). The book has done well, not only with Presbyterians, but also in Methodist, Episcopal, Brethren, Quaker, and even Jewish circles. So, yes, the institutional church has been very receptive to it. I was also surprised to find out how much it is read internationally. I often get correspondence from people in Canada and Australia about it.

Overall, I think people are concerned for the church. We look out on our congregations and we see a group of people who probably won’t be around in twenty years. We love our faith communities, and it’s very scary when we think about our long-term futures.

There is another concern that is arising. People are not only asking, “How can our church grow? How can our denomination survive?” As important as these questions are, people are also beginning to have real concern for young adults.

When we begin to look outside of our own survival, we start asking, “How can we communicate the love of God to a new generation? How can we reach out to them? What do they need? What do they want?”

Those are the kinds of questions that generate a love and desire for understanding. When we begin asking those questions, then we’re no longer just an ingrown denomination, looking after ourselves, but we create an environment where fruitful ministry will take place.

It’s that gentle shift from “What can they do for us?” to “How can we be the hands and feet of Christ to them?”

Have you seen any tangible applications of the ideas in your book that you find particularly interesting?

The most immediate application that has been really amazing to watch has been within individual families. I often get parents who write me or talk to me at conferences and say, “Thank you so much for helping me understand my son.” Or, “I could never figure out why my daughter was not settling down, until I read this.” This was certainly unintentional, but I’ve been very pleased that some generational breaches are being mended in our own families.

I live in a very different part of the country from the coasts. We have a very low cost of living, housing prices are below reasonable (yes, you can buy a small, older but decent house with fenced yard for five digits), people here without family or other cultural roots tend to be older adults not younger, also serious financial problems tend to cluster in the 50+ crowd. So, I had a hard time seeing large parts of your book as being about younger adults — as opposed to older ones. Now that the book has been out a little while, have you seen discussions of these ideas being applied to more than just young adults?

Wow! A house for five digits! That’s great. We all need to move to Oklahoma City.

There are certainly characteristics in our generation that have been in every generation. Americans have always moved around a lot. The elderly in our congregations lived through dire economic times, and they had no credit cards to hide the suffering. The extreme debt that has plagued our generation is now becoming more apparent across the country, and so communities of understanding and support will be crucial during this difficult time.

As we see areas of common ground between generations, the careful work that church leaders will need to do is to make sure that we don’t shrug them off and say, “So what? We went through the same thing when we were young. That’s just life!”

Instead, we can begin asking, “I remember going through that too. What did I need when I was in that situation? What helped me through it? Was there anything that the church, my friends, or my community did that really made me feel connected and supported in a desperate situation?”

In South Louisiana, I often heard people talk about growing up in the Great Depression, and they would say, “We didn’t really miss the money that much. We knew that it was bad, but we had our family, our friends, and our church. That’s what really mattered.” But a new generation is going through some difficult times, and many of them do not have families, friends, or churches to support them.

You are preaching this Sunday on Fear. For those of us who have never written a book but have always thought we would like to, where in the writing process have you been surprised by fear?

For about ten years, I wrote. I filled journal after journal. I began four books (a how-to book about being a woman in ministry, a book about my grandmother’s death, a thinly-veiled autobiographical “fiction” book, and a children’s book) and, of course, I wrote sermons.

The difference now is that most of what I write gets published. And, for some reason, that small difference conjured up a lot of fear.

I know people who are sure that every word that comes out of their mouths is true and right. They have all kinds of confidence. I am not one of those people. I’m not only unsure of myself, but I also hate conflict. Internal conflict, external conflict, it doesn’t matter. I just don’t like it.

So, I was fearful the entire time I wrote Tribal Church. I come from a family of very conservative evangelicals, and I thought for sure that they would completely disown me when they read it (they didn’t, but I’m pretty sure it’s not on the coffee table either!).

But it wasn’t just my family. My brain cooked up a new fear every morning. I didn’t have the proper credentials (because everyone who writes a book has to have a Ph.D.). I wasn’t cool enough to speak for my generation (all emerging authors are edgy, and I don’t even have a tattoo). I’ve never been the pastor of a big church (after all, you can’t write about ministry until you’ve had a mega-church). On and on it went….

Then, I thought about the critics. I began to think about every seminary professor who told me that I was a poor writer and I remembered every rejection letter I got from a magazine. I thought about the fact that in this day and age, everyone’s a critic. Even if a person cannot complete a sentence, he can post a nasty review and give you one star on Amazon and it will affect how many people will buy your book.

All of these things loomed large in my mind as I wrote (and they still do), but I keep working through them.

My husband often tells me, “You live in your head too much.” And he’s absolutely right. The thing that helps me to get out of my head and muster up some courage to write is that I have a sense that God’s calling me. When I can’t stand my internal, fearful conflict, or I become afraid of the criticism that I encounter in seminars and workshops, I go on a walk and pray through the fears. Then, I know that there is something outside of my head that’s pulling me in my vocation, and I become renewed in my passion—imagining how we can lead effective and vital churches in a new generation.

Are you planning another book?

Yes. I’m writing another one for Alban and I’m getting close to finishing the first draft. The working title is Reframing Hope, and it’s about many of the cultural shifts that we are going through and how the church can engage and respond.

Is there a question that you are surprised you don’t get asked more often?

Yes. In Presbyterian circles, I often hear the question, “How can we get our confirmands back? How can we keep our children in the church when they grow up?” But the question that we don’t always ask is, “How can we reach out to a new generation (regardless of their ecclesial or social background)?”

I was in a Presbytery meeting recently, and a candidate described how her great-great-grandfather laid the cornerstone for their church. There was an audible gasp of approval that erupted from the presbyters.

Of course, it’s a beautiful story, a narrative of a church that connected from generation to generation. But in this time of denominational upheaval, I wonder, can we begin to expand the narrative to include others?

When so many young adults have not been raised in a particular tradition, we may not be able to wait for people to have the right pedigree before they can feel appreciated in our churches. If we want to welcome young adults, we need to have that same sort of excitement and admiration if a person stands up and says, “I grew up in a Pentecostal Church. No one in my family went to college. My parents were divorced. And I was a truck driver before I went to seminary.”

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