Lent-ward Leaning

I decided to keep giving up working for a living for Lent this year. It's going well. I really like it. The observing a Holy Lent stuff fits: self-examination, penitence, prayer, fasting, almsgiving and reading and meditating on the Word of God. Here's how.

Self-examination

I've done little else since I retired. Feeling it. How is my post parish ministry sabbatical year life serving God, if at all? It just feels so good! And why should I get to enjoy so much goodness when others have had to suffer so for their faith, especially in the Middle East recently? 

     I haven't missed presiding and preaching yet. I appreciate that I got to do it for a time, but retirement feels like a new thing for me. I've entered a new space. It reminds me of the big change from television directing to seminary and ministry in the late 80s. I was grateful for the TV years, but I didn't miss them though seminary and the early parish priest days until one day when I came across a crew shooting something in the foothills south of Calgary, one of whom was a sound guy with whom I used to work. That must have been five or seven years after the change. I felt a pang and a sense of loss, but not for long. Maybe I'm just slow. But I didn't want to go back. 

Penitence

I continue to be a thoroughly competent sinner in retirement. My self-examination reminds me of the selfish motives behind much of what I do and did as a parish priest—ambition, drawing attention to my abilities and talents—the list goes on. I have been reminded of how little I achieved that is measurable. Not that it was nothing. The LORD worked through me and the people I served in ways noticeable and not. So, penitence in retirement means I also, when I look back at what I've done, cannot say more than what Jesus suggested in Luke's gospel: "I am an unworthy servant; I have only done what was my duty" (Luke 17.10)—for some of the time, at least. My boat is so full of goodness, I am also reminded of Peter's words to Jesus, "Go away from me for I am a sinful man." (Luke 5.8)

Prayer

Anglican liturgical prayer in particular. I love leisurely Morning Prayer with Jude and a cup of coffee. I've enjoyed the time to pray Evening Prayer and Night Prayer, too. Rich. Especially this Lent. We've decided to use the traditional language CofE Daily Prayer app. The Canadian Book of Common Prayer was my introduction to Anglican daily prayer back in the 80s. I prayed through it thoroughly. The lectionary, the PRAYERS AND THANKSGIVINGS UPON SEVERAL OCCASIONS, the FORMS OF PRAYER TO BE USED IN FAMILIES. I prayed them all. Systematically. All 46+9 of the PRAYERS AND THANKSGIVINGS. I loved it. As a result, I got to know it pretty well. Praying it again this Lent is reminding me of those days of discovery. 

     The language is a treat. The LORD shews stuff, things are forgat withal, some women are strange, we are a thoroughly froward lot exhibiting all kinds of naughtiness all over the round world. We ought, therefore, and with haste, gat ourselves to the Lord, and that right humbly lest we be minished.

     The words have a certain Lenten grittiness and the liturgy is just as Sister Monica Joan said in Call the Midwife…

…happily clinging still, and that right happily. 

Fasting

Not so much other than on Ash Wednesday so far. Retirement has been more a feast than a fast. 

Almsgiving

Some opportunities. Here's a good one for Lent—or any time of year, for that matter—women in need of obstetric fistula repair. 

Reading and Meditating on the Word of God

My next post, LORD willing…

Writing by the Seat of My Pants

The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair,

wrote Mary Heaton Vorse. Dorothy Parker once quipped,

I hate writing, I love having written.

They are both writers, of course. Published writers who got their witticisms written down for people like me to quote in posts like this. I get the first statement. I don't do it often enough, but I get it. I can't totally relate to the second quote. I enjoy writing when there's something coming out of me. I enjoy organizing my thoughts and seeing where the ideas lead. It's like walking along a path I haven't walked before. I don't know what's around the next corner and I know I won't find out unless I start walking (the process, applying the seat and writing something down). I enjoy sermon and article writing. I'm enjoying writing this.

However, writing something more substantial is on my retirement bucket list. I have three or four such possible "projects" hanging over me at the moment. "Having written" only a very few thousand words in a couple of them, I am a long, long way from "having written" any of them. They all seem absolutely huge and complex and beyond me. I don't know what possessed me to think I was capable of writing anything beyond an email message, sermon, blog post or an essay. And the irritating thing is that it's all my own fault. Nobody forced me to take them on.

It doesn't help having friends like Fred Stenson who has actually written and had published several novels. I've read them all AND his short stores and posted about his two latest novels here. Wonderful, complex, multi-layered, engaging stories that have beginnings, middles and endings; not to mention actual pages, covers and flyleaf's. And then there's Glen Dueck here in Medicine Hat who has just published his first novel, Joanna. It's the story of the one of the women who provided for Jesus and was mentioned a couple of times in Luke's gospel (8.3 & 24.10). I am in awe of the kind of commitment and application required to get that work done while pastoring a church for a day job.

Now I am retired I have to face up to the fact that I can no longer use work as an excuse for the lack of pants seat application to the chair and the Macbook to the lap. In the meantime, those projects, which I never should have mentioned out loud, loom and taunt. Sigh. This post is probably nothing but a ploy by my endlessly devious and panicked inner aspiring writer to avoid writing something—anything—down for one of the projects in that bucket. Double sigh.

This Lent, perhaps, the time has come for me fast from unapplied pants seats.

One Side to the Other: New Beginnings and Thoughts on Worship

This morning the missal stand (which holds the big prayer book at a convenient angle from which to read on the altar) had been moved from one side of the altar to the other at StB. I noticed it as soon as I settled into my pew. 'Tis an outward and visible sign of the fact that we now have a new presider. This next stage of our journey to meet Jesus when he comes again has begun. Our new and very welcome priest, The Rev Dr Dustin Resch, now has the con. This morning he presided and preached (praught?) for the first time. It was grand. 

Keep Calm and Worship On

Here are some thoughts and discoveries about worshipping on the other side of the rood screen (supposing we had one) from that most peculiar and sometime irksome personage; the previous rector. These have been bubbling up and mouldering as Jude and I wandered at first without benefit of flock in the early months of retirement and more recently when it felt right to return to StB.

All Circumstances

Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. (1 Thessalonians 5:16–18 ESV)

What we Anglicans (and Roman Catholics and most Lutherans, too) do most Sundays is celebrate Eucharist (more on that later). The word comes from the Greek word for thanksgiving. As as lover, follower and worshipper of the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ I ought to be able to give worshipful thanks for what God has done, is doing and will do, in all circumstances—especially on Sunday mornings at church no matter where I am, who is presiding, how loud the children are, whether or not I like the music, or denominational peculiarities, or style, or the people up front, or around me. This was impressed upon me especially during our wanderings. I was reminded that I have a job to do among God's people at worship wherever I go. My job is to apply myself to the task, or the work, in liturgical terms (the word liturgy means work of the people) allowing nothing to distract me. In all circumstances. It is my responsibility. If I let some real or imagined failing of a leader or anyone else deflect me, the devil wins. If something bothers me, I just have to work harder. Sure, my mind wanders. Less often than it used to, perhaps. If it does, I just catch myself and refocus on what's being said, sung and prayed. Over and over again, as necessary.

Bible Delight

I love the Bible. I love the way we hear three passages read aloud every Sunday. I believe God's written Word read out loud gradually salts us through and through so it will not return to Him empty. It will succeed in the thing for which He sent it (Isa 55.11). 

When I led worship from the other side of the rood screen, I used to encourage people to bring their Bibles to church so they could follow the readings. I thought that doing that helps us learn where things are in there. I used to feel a little impatient with people because most didn't. On this side of the screen I find myself repenting of that. I find that I don't want to read along as the passages are read, I'm enjoying listening to them. I have to concentrate. My monkey-mind can head off on tangents very easily. But I find watching the face of the reader helpful in listening deeply. I've seen some folk close their eyes to listen, but I find the watching helpful for some reason. 

I still have my Bible handy in some form in case I need to look at a phrase or a verse more closely and I think daily Bible reading in the context of The Daily Office (Morning and Evening Prayer) is important to help keep my faith and spiritual self alive, but Sunday listening has been the thing for me—somewhat to my surprise.

Worship in Song

Sometimes when I don't know a song I'm tempted to zone out and wait until it's over. But if All Circumstances above is valid, there are several ways I can be a part of the worship at all times. For example: 

1. I can silently pray the lyrics as those who know the song sing
2. I can harmonize by quietly singing or reciting appropriate Bible verses, for example, "How glorious you are, more majestic than the everlasting mountains!" (Ps 76.4) or "Be exalted O Lord above the heavens, let your glory be over all the earth!" (Ps 57.11) or I can pray "Glory to the Father, and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end!" Watch for verses you can use in this way in your daily Bible reading. 
3. I can harmonize by singing in the Spirit as I pray in tongues (1 Cor 12.10) if I have that gift.

There is no reason why I should allow myself to be left out of the worship whether I know the song or not or how well it is led.

Making Eucharist

I love the drama of the Lord's Table. The story of our salvation is told Sunday after Sunday. The bread and the wine are presented, prepared and prayed over. The Lord is remembered until he comes again. I enjoyed presiding, but I also now love being a part of the parade of humanity that goes up to receive what Jesus has provided; old and young, male and female, all shapes and sizes, Sunday by Sunday; we approach, receive and return; a graceful altar call and response. I miss it whenever we're away, but I can still worship when I put my mind to it. 

The most important thing is that the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ is worshipped and enjoyed in the power of the Holy Spirit no matter what and in all circumstances. 

It is SO good to be home.

Reckless in Slo-Mo: Small, Daily and Unglamorous

Reckless

If you debate for a second when God has spoken, it is all up. Never begin to say—‘Well, I wonder if He did speak?’ Be reckless immediately, fling it all out on Him. You do not know when His voice will come, but whenever the realization of God comes in the faintest way imaginable, recklessly abandon. It is only by abandon that you recognize Him. You will only realize His voice more clearly by recklessness. (Oswald Chambers, My Utmost For His Highest, June 8th)

I can't say I heard God speak giving me a retirement date. For me it always seems to come to the point of saying to God, "I haven't heard from you and I really want to do Your will and please you. This is what I'm hoping/planning to do. If it's not what you want, please let me know."

For me it was more a matter of three things:

• age; in the middle of the range at 67
• dates; after Easter with the summer then available for posting, interviewing and a move for a new priest 
• circumstances; my mother, who lived with my sister for fifteen years, always said she'd move into a senior's home before she needed extra care. Advancing years and a couple of strokes took her ability to choose that away so when the move had to happen it was very difficult for her and my sister. There's a lesson in that, I thought; you've got to move before you think you have to because too-late sneaks up on you. 

How reckless is retirement? I suppose one could argue that it's reckless to retire before one has to. It's reckless to abandon a well paid job and to join the ranks of the fixed income pensioners when one doesn't have to, especially when the Canadian Anglican pension fund has had some solvency issues. But it doesn't feel reckless. It's too comfortable for reckless. If it is reckless, it's reckless in slo-mo.

Which brings me to…

Small, Daily and Unglamorous

On their Facebook page Slow Church posted:

Slow Church hopes to affirm the small, the daily, and the unglamorous. It all matters.

Reckless retirement in slo-mo is about small, daily and unglamorous, too. I like it. Especially in the light of some things I've been reading in my daily offices lately.

Not one word of all the good promises that the Lord had made to the house of Israel had failed; all came to pass. Joshua 21.45

Not one word. And,

So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God. Luke 12.21

Retirement, I find, has not a whole lot of opportunity for laying up any treasure for myself so far. I'm hoping small, daily and unglamorous in slo-mo will be rich toward God.

From There to Here and Not Having to Come Back from My Summer Holidays

If these were my holidays they would be over or close to it. But they're not. I'm retired (I know, I've been bleating on about it for some time now). I won't be back. I don't want to go back (although we are looking forward to returning to StB as parishioners, LORD willing and when the time is right). I believe it was God's timing to go when we did. But still. After forty-eight years of deadlines and appointments and struggling to fit what most often seemed to be too many things into my calendar, this is strange new country. Sometimes I like the openness. At other times I feel adrift. 

A good deal of my sense of being for the last forty-eight years has come out of what I did for a living. I won bread for my family. I really felt made for that. 

For twenty of those years I was enormously blessed to earn our living by telling stories with moving pictures in glowing phosphors. There were stresses and strains, but what a wonderful way to make a living! 

Then, after a brief foray into teaching television production and three years in seminary, it was ordination and parish priesting—Jesus and real life in his church—a big, messy family with all the gatherings, joys, sorrows, squabbles, beginnings and endings that go with it. 

What is like moving from there to here? Three images come to mind: 

From television days: so far retirement feels like going from the stress and hype of the shoot to the peaceful, dimly lit editing suite where you have time to look at everything you’ve shot, reflect and get it all to make sense so the story gets told—only there is no longer any deadline to keep me moving. 

Parenting: retirement’s like going from parenting’s challenging intensity to grandparenting's freer, more relaxed pace. 

Daily Devotions: retirement is going from praying the Daily Offices (Morning, Evening and Night Prayer) with the doings and anxieties of vocation and the parish and Sunday's worship and preaching always in mind, to worshipping and reading Scripture and praying non-productively, just because, just being present to The One in whom I live, and move (rather less often than before), and have my being. 

Lake Retirement

Four weeks retired yesterday; Ascension Day. Not sure I feel ascendant in retirement so far or that I have gone up with any kind of a mighty shout. It feels more as if my life has simply opened up so that I am now floating in something more like a lake than travelling busily between the vocational banks of being a parish priest—moving steadily with the current sometimes, drifting in quieter eddies at other times, and speeding through rapids that left me breathless every now and then. Banks give direction and velocity. There was always the next thing; the daily office, a call, a visit, Sunday worship approaching, a meeting.

In retirement the banks have receded and I drift facing one way and then the other; no particular destination or things that demand my attention. Oh, there is plenty to do, but apart from actual appointments, I can do them, or not, whenever. I like that. I like being able to go and visit children and grandchildren at a moment's notice. I like not having to be "on" and somewhere at a particular time every week. I enjoy the time to pray Morning Prayer with Jude at a leisurely pace. To read. To walk. To potter around the house and yard.

I'm a recently retired Anglican priest bobbing around in Lake Retirement and I'm okay.

From Hearing the Word to Doing a Bit of It: Rogation Sunday at St Mary's, Regina

A little compressed Rogation Sunday parish bounds-beating at St Mary's Anglican in Regina. As The Reverend Claude Schroeder, Parish Priest, told us; the word rogation is from the Latin rogare, to ask; so the YIELD sign is particularly fitting considering The One of whom we're asking and the processional cross next to it; a reminder of the one upon which Jesus "YIELDed up his spirit" (Mt 27.50).

To God be the glory, great things He has done;
So loved He the world that He gave us His Son,Who YIELDed His life an atonement for sin,And opened the life gate that all may go in.

So, we YIELD our asks to The LORD, trusting that the seeds of his Word, planted in our hearts, parishes and communities, and watered by our prayers will germinate and bear fruit as God gives the growth.

Fitting, also, to plant the parish garden, YIELDing the seeds to The LORD's good earth. As Claude also said to the children, we plant, water and wait:

Jude and granddaughter, Emily, planting and watering. May the doing YIELD a hundredfold (Luke 8.8) on every level.

This is Sunday in retirement number four. Missed number one because of gall stones; number two, Lutheran; number three, The Sheep, Okotoks. Rich. 

Some Things I Have Learned as the Priest’s Wife and a Member of a Worshipping Community: Wisdom from Jude in the Eastertide Edition of "The Encourager"

It’s not all about me. It’s not all about you, either. It’s all about Jesus.

The church family contains every type of human being – the good, the bad and the ugly. The ugly are sometimes the most beautiful people.

Generalizations are nasty, and usually false. 

The priest’s wife does not need to play the organ or teach Sunday school to have a valid ministry in the church family.

The priest’s wife is expected to know everything, repeat nothing and attend everything.  

Although pews in church are not reserved, there is some ownership of seats, and people can be uncomfortable if one sits in their space.

Bible study is a joy and a delight. Preparing the Prayers of the People is too. So is doing the rosters. And playing the bells.

Worship looks and sounds different in different parts of the church.

Jesus commands me to love everyone. Like is different from love.

Everyone can do something – even the most ‘unlikely’ person.

Many people in the church family work very hard for the Lord. Some do not. 

I must do what the Lord calls me to do. Anything else is a waste of my time, and other people’s. 

I was behind the door when the Lord handed out patience.

When I pray for patience, the Lord always gives me plenty of opportunities to practice it. I keep forgetting that.

No-one is perfect, not me, not Gene, no follower of Jesus. Jesus is perfect, I am forgiven – often!

Being in church leadership is full of faith-building moments. Also moments of deep disappointment, anger and frustration. Thank you, Lord, for you.

God always shows up when invited.

God does not always show up to church events.

Gene’s loving, valuing and encouraging me has allowed me to be comfortable in my own skin.

Fussing about my age is a form of spiritual pride.

Ill health does not make me, or anyone else, more interesting.

Advice-giving is a sin.  Listening is a God-given grace.

Criticism is a gift some people think God has given to them. Sometimes I am one of them.
The church family is a source of much kindness and caring. Some people are a wonderful example to follow.

I have learned a lot. I still have lots to learn.

Thank you, Lord, for the opportunity to serve you. Thank you, St Barnabas, for teaching and blessing me.

Judy

More Parting Thoughts for StB: in the May 2014 edition of The Encourager

It’s Eastertide! Fresh new Resurrection streams are flowing to irrigate the seed-beds of our souls. The somber night-time of Lent is finished and so is the journey we enjoyed together as priest and parish. Now we await new season’s growth and the fruit it will bring.

I have a prayer for Night Prayer from Sri Lanka stuck in my Book of Alternative Services which, with some small modifications, could be helpful for people like us at a time like this. 

Lord, it is night. 
The night is for stillness.
Let us be still in the presence of God. 

While I don’t believe we’re all about to go into some sort of night-time in our transition to new pastoral leadership, many of us are grieving and are nervous about the changes we face. It feels a little dark and scary some days. Rather than getting all frantic and rushing about, let’s do our best to be still, know that God is God, and that He is present with us in Jesus. 

It is night after a long day.  What has been done has been done; what has not been done has not been done; let it be. 

This change has come after a lovely, long, stable time. We’ve enjoyed fifteen years together in which there have been joys and sorrows, satisfaction and disappointment. What has been done has been done; what has not been done has not been done; let it be. 

The night is dark.Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives rest in you.
The night is quiet.
Let the quietness of your peace enfold us,
all dear to us,
and all who have no peace. 

Change and uncertainly can look dark from this end. Let’s allow our fears to rest in the God and Father of our LORD Jesus Christ. If things seem quiet for a season, let’s enjoy it as we let the summertime peace of God enfold us. 

The night heralds the dawn. Let us look expectantly to a new day, new joys, new possibilities.

What a great time we’ve had together! The good times are not over, they’re just changing. There’s a new day coming!

On Being Without Benefit of Flock

This morning for the first time in what must be twenty three years, other than when on holiday, Jude and I went to church and sat together during worship. We didn't have to be there early, unlock any doors or prepare anything. All we had to do was show up, sit side by side, listen, respond and worship. We were warmly welcomed when we arrived and when it was over we lined up at the door, waited our turn, thanked the pastor and went home for lunch. We didn't know anybody except Julianna Wehrfritz-Hanson, the Pastor (We were at St Peter, Lutheran). It felt a little strange; incomplete some how; but I enjoyed it. I enjoyed not having to be "on."

Pastor Julianna preached on John 10 and our need for a Shepherd and of being part of his flock. She remarked on the dangers of being "without benefit of flock or Shepherd" all in the context of Mother's Day, parenting and the kidnapping of the school girls in Nigeria.

Pastor Julianna's phrase "without benefit of flock" impacted me particularly because, as we begin our retirement, I feel a bit like that's where we will be for a while as I make the transition from parish priest to parishioner at StB.

Being part of a flock has benefits. Safety is one. Having a Shepherd watching for and defending us against thieves and bandits is another. Predators always go for the individuals who are careless enough to wander from the flock. We are most vulnerable when we are alone.

So, even though the retirement and search for a new Parish Priest process means it's best we don't go to StB for a while, it's really important that we keep going to church during this time. Jude and I need the benefits of flock in the Church of Medicine Hat or wherever we are.

We all do.

Collaring Within the Lines: More on Retirement and Things I Would, or Would Not, Do Differently

This is a rather naughty doodle concerning how collar height and the position of one’s neck within it might correspond to one’s title (we Anglicans like our titles) and level of importance in Anglican heirarchy. If one wears the wrap around full collar, the height may also indicate one’s theology. The higher the collar, the more evangelical and low church. The lower, or narrower the collar, the more Romish.

We Anglican clergy do tend to wear clerical collars. Some of us all the time and some not so much. I did at first because I could, I was excited to be newly ordained and I enjoyed the novelty of swanning about in "clericals." I began with tab collared shirts in black, navy and trendy oxford cloth in pale blue.

Then I graduated to the Clericool neckband collar that goes all the way around my neck; like the collars above, only mine were a modest and Anglican via media inch and a half high; like a halo that has slipped, as one wag put it. Tab collar shirts were expensive and stipends were modest, so I started buying my shirts from Value Village for $5 each and Jude, my wife, took the collars off and set them up so I could wear my Clericool neckband clergy collar studded to them. An added bonus was that at Value Village I had a huge selection of colours and patterns. As my more sober dark blue and black shirts wore out, they were were replaced with coloured, patterned ones (see my Full Easter here). Black seemed too funereal. Heavy. I would be "hip" and unique—colourful and cool.

After a while, however, I bought into some adverse ideas about clergy collar wearing; too many negative connotations, some said, nothing but symbols of abusive power, of boring, outmoded Christendom, especially when worn with black shirts. Those who wear them are hiding behind them, some believe. I have to confess I never felt particularly hidden when I was collared. Try walking down the street in one and see how hidden you feel. So my collaredness became less frequent.

For the first half of my ministry I was blessed with some modest growth in the parishes I served which seemed to suggest that God might be liking my only occasionally collared colourful approach.

Here's where I think I went wrong. The shirt colours and not wearing a collar was all about me, about me expressing myself; "Look at him, what a cool clergyman, he's out here with us."

If I was starting out again, I think I would work collared all the time, not because I’m superior, but because of the office I bear. Rather than expressing myself, I need to express The One I serve.

The Right Reverend Kelvin Wright, Bishop of Dunedin, New Zealand (where I once went intending to become a Presbyterian minister and where I met, Jude, my wife, through which The LORD made me an Anglican by marriage—but that’s another story) puts it well in a blog post about wearing vestments during worship:

I don't stand up in front of people in my own right. I do it in the name of the church, which has, for better or worse, decided that I am a suitable person to perform acts of ministry on the church's behalf. And in token of this, I am vested; that is, my own identity is masked. It is hidden within the garments which represent to the congregation the church's history and the Gospel out of which that history has grown. Take, as an example of ministry, the absolution that I pronounce most Sundays. I, obviously, have no ability to forgive anybody's sins. What I do have is the authority to pronounce the truth of God's forgiveness, given by Jesus to the apostles. One of the signs that I am not speaking on my own behalf is the clothing I wear. 

Masks and signs. I think much the same could be said about wearing clergy shirts and clerical collars.

So, for the last few months before I retired, I wore my collar every working day, my own identity symbolically masked and as a sign that I was not speaking or acting on my own behalf.

I'm a recently retired (a whole week!) collarless Anglican cleric. For now.

Retirement: a Rather Galling Day Two

Something I didn't mention about day one is that I spent most of the day with a pain in my gut (including while I was writing yesterday's post). It felt like gas, so I went to my cardiac rehab exercise session and didn't tell anyone. Foolish, as several people have told me. It didn't get any worse when I exercised and my blood pressure was its usual now drug-induced normal so I carried on.

If I'm honest I have to admit I just couldn't bear the thought of having to admit to or deal with anything like that on the first day of my retirement! It was too embarrassing. Silly, I know, but I really didn't want to go there. It appears I already have a really well developed retirement capacity for denial and avoidance.

As the day wore on the pain got worse so, in the evening, I finally had to give in and go to emergency to rule anything cardiac out. The results? My heart numbers were "pristine," but they thought they'd better check my gall bladder. Gall bladder!?! I have absolutely no history of anything like it; no indigestion or heartburn; nothing. So painkiller for the night and back to the hospital fasting for an ultrasound this morning. Results next week.

Galling.

Retirement: Day One

Haven't tried any "retirement" thing yet and can't identify how I feel. There were some emotions close to the surface every now and then during the services last Sunday. There was a sense of, what? emptiness, I suppose, as I left the sanctuary and again as I left my cleaned-out office at the end of the day. The cliché would be, "I can't believe the day has arrived and it's really happening."

Leaving this job is not like leaving jobs before I was ordained. I wasn't a part of people's lives then. Oh, there were friends, but this is like leaving family. I've shared joys and sorrows, life and death with these people. Heart to heart.

I've dotted as many i's and crossed as many t's as I could think of needing dotting and crossing. Did some last minute visits. My neatly labelled keys are handed in. A very capable team now have the watch. What's done is done, what is not, is not. Let it be.

I've told many people that all of this reminds me of how I felt when I was finishing high school (except for the old age and death thing). I remember a sense of openness into the future and not being sure what would happen when. It felt good, but a little anti-climactic. So does this, so far.

I now have several piles of things to be sorted and stored here at home. A clothes hanger full of stoles, some files I need to go through—not many, I was pretty ruthless at the church—some pictures looking for new walls and knick-knacks looking for places to belong. This retired cleric has arrived to stay, too. I look forward to coming alongside Jude in the home she has made so warm and well for us.

More on Visiting the Sick, Who Does What, Retirement and Things I Would Not Do Differently with some Jerry Cook Thrown In

Who Does What

My friend, Michael Peterson, alias The Mad Padre, commented on yesterday’s homily,  More Than Meets the Eye and Visiting the Sick, to wit: 

I know you're retiring soon but it is still sobering when put like this.  However, in an era when some Anglican seminaries are rediscovering words like "priestcraft" (ick!) it is refreshing to hear a cleric say that the church can go on without us.

I agree, the church can go on without us, but bishops, priests and deacons were created for a purpose. When we’re doing what we’re called to do properly and without taking over what other people are called to do, we help and make it better. 

First, a confession: I’ve used “priestcraft” myself. It’s one of the labels associated with this blog and I’ve used it twenty-four times; but that is neither here nor there, a rose by any other name and all that…

Yesterday’s homily arose from my belief that we priests—or pastors,  or whatever you want to call us—ordained persons—are not absolutely necessary, the church started without us, but we can be helpful and useful if we’re living our vocation out properly. We’re set aside to do some specific things. The purpose of the doing is to 

1. get God worshipped and glorified
2. the Good News of Jesus proclaimed
3. the power of the Holy Spirit applied, and 
4. the Saints equipped for the work of ministry (Eph 4.12). 

Two ideas have stuck in my mind on this matter during my ordained years over who should be doing what: 

1. Bill Easum wrote or said something to the effect that the “pastor” is not to do all the work of ministry, but to equip the people to do it and get out of the way. 
2. Jerry Cook, in his book Love, Acceptance and Forgiveness; wrote that what God wants is more people in ministry who don’t know what they’re doing. 

Retirement and Things…

I have tried to apply those ideas over the years. Looking back, I wouldn't change that. I just wish I’d been more consistent and done it better. 

Visiting the Sick

Speaking of equipping the Saints—as I was looking for the title of Jerry Cook’s book in which I remembered the “don’t know what they’re doing” quote, I came across one of his talks entitled “Where You Are, He Is!” which describes what happens when Christians visit the sick, or do anything else for that matter:

You are the healing presence of Jesus. Where you are, people are healthier just because you are there. 

There is a body of people whose presence is, in fact, the saving presence of Jesus Christ in the world—the Jesus that brings wholeness to every situation.  

You’re the point where miraculous wholeness can happen! You may not even be aware of it! 

Because you’re there the situation is more whole than it was before you got there. 

Amen! Something to just believe. When the people of God simply show up, much more happens than the eye can see or anyone can ask or imagine. 

Cook’s talk is worth a listen: 


Jerry Cook: Where You Are, He Is! from The Foursquare Church on Vimeo.

On Retirement and Things I Would or Would Not Do Differently

As retirement approaches I find myself wondering about what I think I’d do differently if I were starting out again.

One thing I wouldn’t change is being Anglican. I love the way we worship. I love the theatre of it, the drama, the colours, the visuals and the way the divine narrative is covered year after year whether we want to, or not. I love the amount of Bible in it; read out and set to prayer. I love the way it’s always all about Jesus. It picks me up and carries me along no matter how I’m feeling or how engaged I am.

As always, Matt Marino, Episcopal priest in Arizona, puts it well when he describes how Anglican worship works in one of his The Gospel Side blog pieces: To Donald Miller and anyone else considering dumping church: The church works best when you like it least, in which he quotes another Arizona Episcopal priest, Gil Stafford:

The liturgy is like a rock falling into a stream. It rubs the rough edges off of us week after week, year after year. It is an infinitely slow and quiet transformation that is about being with other rocks in the stream as the Spirit works through the years, the prayers, the Sacraments and the community of faith. 

I love it all; the daily offices, the church year, the chanting, the bread and the wine each Sunday. I love the traditional prayer book worship in Shakespearean language and the contemporary rites according to our rather gracelessly entitled Book of Alternative Services. I love the routine, having to resist ennui, the cycle of the church year, the politically incorrect Scripture passages that slip through on Sunday mornings despite attempts to protect our delicate Anglican sensibilities. I love the Englishness of it and having to abide by the pastoral direction of a bishop. I love the way the liturgical system draws me into something much bigger and older than me. I have to serve it. It is not there to serve me and meet my needs.

Marino describes it in a rather lovely Eugene Peterson-esque way, also in the aforementioned post:

It is a long obedience in the same direction. It is about consuming Jesus and being consumed by him. And, I am convinced, the church works specifically best when we do not like it! When we choose to engage and to cooperate with the prayers, and surrender to the Lord of the prayers, and come, kneel, reach out our hands and receive, and “taste and see that the Lord is good,” then we truly worship.

It works best when I don’t like it. It works best when it doesn’t feel as if it’s meeting my needs or feeding me. I like the awkwardness and real-ness of that.

I’m a soon to be retired Anglican priest and I’m okay.

On Retirement, Change and St Barnabas: my piece for the latest (Epiphany) issue of The Encourager

The only constant in life is change (Heraclitus). From conception to death, we never stop. Some changes are incremental, barely perceptible; others are obvious and dramatic; some we welcome, others we resist; some for the better, some for the worst. Change challenges us.

That is especially true for you and me right now. We’ve got a big change coming on May 1st, 2014. From that day I will no longer be your priest and you will no longer be my “flock.” It’s a time that had to come sooner or later. As that time approaches it is important for us to reflect on how we can make the best use of the time (Ephesians 5.16) as we prepare ourselves for what The LORD has in store.

James Ryle, author and speaker, describes how healthy change works; change challenges us, challenge forces us to trust God, trust leads to obedience, obedience makes us healthy, healthy things grow, growing things change.

According to Ryle, change that challenges is not necessarily a bad thing because challenge forces us to trust God, which is exactly what you and I need to do right now. We need to trust that St Barnabas is God’s church, that we are God’s people whom He loves, and that Jesus, who stays the same yesterday and today and forever (Heb 3.18), and who never changes, is God With Us (Matthew 1.23, Joshua 1.9, Matthew 28.20, Hebrews 13.5, Romans 8.38-39). One of the ways we can trust in God is by praying for our time of change always and not losing heart (Luke 18.1).

Trust then leads to obedience. What should we obey? What Jesus taught. The Great Commandment is a good start: love God and our neighbour (Mark 12.29-31). Trusting God will also enable you to obey if He is calling you to be involved in the change process.

Obedience makes us healthy. Healthy people in healthy communities bring glory to Jesus. They are open to change, manage it well, make good choices and work their changes for the better.

Finally, healthy things grow. Where Jesus is worshipped, served and obeyed in community there is good health. When that happens the whole cycle starts over again because growing things change.

Retirement

Today (which happens to be the twenty-second anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood) we announced that, LORD willing, my retirement will begin on May 1st, 2014.

I'll be seventeen years late according to Numbers 8, but then I'm not Levitical.

We will have served The LORD and His people at here at StB for fifteen good years.

The prospect is at once alluring and a little frightening, joyful and sad.