Ocean View

So tomorrow is a holiday. The kids are out of school. The Veteran's Day parade was Saturday, and there's nothing on the calender for the day. Well, except for Ethan's play practice in the morning. And I don't know if my wife's evening class is cancelled for the holiday or not. But either way, there will still be an afternoon that is open. The question is, should I do some chores around the house? or go for a walk someplace nice, someplace like this, where the family went for a stroll earlier this year:

The Pastor's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I went to sleep hoping for a divine vision, but if it came, I couldn't remember because the kids cried out all night and when I got out of bed this morning I tripped over the dog and by mistake I cut myself while shaving and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

At breakfast there were Rice Krispees for Ethan and Kix for Tristan but when I reached for my box of Cheerios, it was empty, and I'm also out of green tea, and I didn't notice the Kix that fell on the floor until I stepped on them.

I think I'll move to Australia.

I rode my bike to church because I care about the environment (and my wife has the car this morning), but on the way a truck almost ran me into a guardrail. I yelled to the driver that I was being smushed (or something to that effect). He didn't care.

I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

At church, one member told me how much she likes Joel Osteen's sermons, but she didn't say anything about mine. Another member called to tell me that I'm not in the office enough, while I third member sent an email complaining I don't spend enough time visiting shut-ins.

I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I could tell because when I got online, I noticed that one of the church youth un-friended me on facebook. He said it wasn't cool to have pastor leaving comments on his home page.

I hope your efforts to get the old facebook back fail, I said to him. I hope your farmville barn gets swept up in a tornado and crashes down in Australia.

The secretary got a coupon for a free Jamba Juice in the mail, and the music director got a free CD with cool music on it. Guess who got only junk mail?

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

That's what it was, because I got the directions wrong to the clergy association meeting and arrived twenty minutes late, missing the free lunch. We'll save you some next month, I was told.

Next month, I said, I'm going to Australia.

So then we started talking about how ministry was going. The Episcopalian priest just got a big raise, the Methodist minister welcomed five new families last week, and the Baptist preacher said that his youth group just finished building a new school for orphans in Mongolia. I felt like crying because my biggest accomplishment of the week was unclogging the toilet in the men's room, and I hadn't received a raise in three years.

I am having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, I started to say, but I realized that no one wanted to hear that.

When I got back to the chruch I finished my sermon, but the computer crashed before I could save it. Then I tried restoring the file but ended up spamming the entire congregation. When, an hour later, the computer was running again, I replied to an email from the board chair, letting her know how frustrated I was with a certain committee chair, except that I accidentally clicked "reply all," and so I had to send another email apologizing to everyone.

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

The treasurer stopped by to talk about the budget and I hate talking about budgets.

There was a hint of judgment in my "verse of the day" and I hate judgment.

The copier jammed, I couldn't find the book I wanted, my bank says I'm overdrawn, and the phone company wants me to pay my bill. I hate the phone company.

On the way home a teenager yelled at me out his car window, and then I went to make dinner but all we had was a box of mac and cheese, and when I drained the water, half the pasta fell into the sink.

I went to tuck the kids in bed, but they said they wanted their mom instead of me.

It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

My wife says some days are like that.

Even in Australia.

...with apologies to Judith Viorst

Is This Spooky, or What?

The pictures in the previous post and this post are from the Historical Society of Long Beach's Cemetery Tour on October 31. Ethan was asked to be a "ghost child," wandering around the graveyard, especially near the graves of children who died a century ago. However, this tombstone near the cemetery's entrance seemed a more fitting spot to take his picture.

Ethan enjoyed the day. Visitors had the opportunity to witness a dozen or so historical vignettes, performed by actors which, I'm told, even included the mayor of Long Beach. Over 1,500 people attended.

Happy Halloween

I went for a walk in the cemetery today, and saw ghostly visions of the past.

Updates

1. Yesterday, I got a call from the Press-Telegram. They wanted me to subscribe. I explained (politely, because I know what it's like to be a telemarketer) about my ongoing problem with the newspaper (which I've chronicled here, here, here, and here). I was told that my balance would be waived if I subscribe. I replied by insisting that I don't want to subscribe. It was then suggested to me that I call customer service "one more time." How many times does it take?

2. The plastic bag is still stuck in the tree behind my house, despite this week's strong winds.

First Interview

Reading a book about wild redwoods last night, I was reminded of my first interview for a full-time ministry position. Not that the two have anything in common. Who knows what triggers those old memories to resurface?

Anyway, I was in my last year of seminary. Graduation day loomed ever closer, and with it, the expectation that I would begin my ministry. That, plus the fact that I would be evicted from the campus apartments reserved for seminary students and their families, motivated me to begin searching for a place where my newly minted seminary skills could be put to use.

I got a call from a church half a continent away. The woman on the phone sounded elderly, and said that their pastor of 25 years (she described him as a "real doll") was retiring. They were looking for a new pastor, and had received my papers. I said, "Let's talk."

She told me that one member of their search committee would be vacationing soon in a state next to the one where I was currently going to seminary. Perhaps he and I could meet? He and I got in touch, and he confirmed that he would be taking a cross-country RV trip. Arrangements were made for us to meet over coffee (or tea in my case), in his RV, in a WalMart parking lot several hours away.

A few weeks later, I drove to the WalMart parking lot, and found the RV. I briefly thought of other meetings that take place in big parking lots, but quickly put those thoughts out of my mind. I knocked on the RV door, and this older gentleman kindly welcomed me in.

We sat down at the small dining table; the window above the table framed the entrance to WalMart perfectly. We began with small talk, but the conversation quickly turned to more pressing questions. One of those questions had to do with gays and lesbians. He told me that a lot of people in the region he's from favor the ordination of homosexuals, and if the larger church ever tried to impose such a policy on the congregation, they'd leave the denomination, and how would I feel about that?

It's strange. I've never once had a search committee ask me what the church should be doing about the 30,000 or so children who die every day from preventable causes. I've never been asked about what the church should do to end poverty in the world--or even in one's own community. And I don't remember being asked how I think congregations can work to help those outside their walls. But every congregation I've ever interviewed for wants to know what I think regarding the behavior of two adults in their bedroom.

I told him that, in our denomination, things don't work that way. Authority in such things rests with the congregation. No one outside the congregation can tell the congregation how it should do things.

He said to me, "But what if they did?" I said that what he was talking about would never happen, but if it did, I was committed to the denomination and what it stood for, and that if the congregation should leave the denomination, then I would probably need to leave the congregation.

Surprisingly, this did not end my conversation with that congregation. The lady who had contacted me initially kept calling me, asking for more information on various things. We continued the process of learning more about each other over the next few weeks.

Then one day, she called and told me that their dear pastor of 25 years had become so used to living in the parsonage next to the church, and that he was so old, that they didn't think it was right to ask him to move. So the congregation decided to continue renting out the parsonage to him, and that they would provide their new pastor--me, if things worked out--a housing allowance instead of the parsonage. Besides, she said, this will make it easier for him to stay active in the congregation, which he plans to do.

It is commonly understood among clergy that it is unethical for a resigning or retiring pastor to remain active in his or her congregation after the arrival of a new pastor. It makes things too complicated and difficult for the new pastor. In my mind, I could see people coming to the church, looking for the pastor, seeing a parsonage next door, knocking on the door--and where would that leave me? How could that possibly be any kind of an effective ministry?

This first interview was not a good match. The second congregation I interviewed with was better, but still the match wasn't right. Fortunately, it wasn't long until a third congregation came along, and just a few days after my last seminary final exam, I arrived in my new congregation, ready to begin a career in ministry.