How Could I Plan for This?

I had my life all planned and knew exactly where it was headed. Buckeye born and buckeye bred, one day I would be buckeye dead. When I entered Bowling Green State University, I figured I would graduate and teach little kids how to play “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” somewhere near my hometown of Hamilton, Ohio. I had it all planned. But that’s not how it went.

Seemingly out of nowhere, I felt this inexplicable, dare I say, bizarre call to become a pastor. I hadn’t grown up a church person and didn’t have a clue what that might mean, but I felt like the Hound of Heaven was never going to give me a moment’s peace until I went to seminary so I might as well do it before it drove me nuts.

From the get-go, God and I were at odds with one another. Maybe it was because, when I began, I had no women role models. Or maybe it was just me. But, as a pastor, I always felt like I was pretending to fill a role. When I put on my collar and my robe, it was like wearing a costume. For the longest time, I wasn’t completely convinced this was who I was or what I should be doing with my life, and I always had one foot out the door, ready to make my exit. No one is as surprised as I am to see that I’ve made it this long. How did this happen?!

If you had followed me through all my calls, you would know me as very different pastor in each of them. In the beginning, I was a young mom and shared ministry with my then husband, also a pastor. I was all about children and education. I wrote children’s songs and Bible School curricula and directed children’s musicals.

I had such a passion for Christian education that I decided to pursue a doctorate. I was sure God was calling me to teach in a college or a seminary. I completed my dissertation and earned my Ph.D. after I had served on the bishop’s staff and then returned to the parish. Timing and the circumstances of my life got in the way and my window of opportunity to move to a teaching position closed. Was this God’s way of keeping me in parish ministry?

When my marriage and my life fell apart, I didn’t know if I could continue as a pastor. I needed time to heal and ended up serving a congregation with a colleague who gave me the space I needed to do that. But, in the process of healing, I felt like something had died inside me. I went to school to do something else, and I publicly announced that I was leaving ordained ministry. It was over.

And then, once again God wouldn’t let me go. We had quite a go round about it until I went on a retreat to sort it all out, and a wise spiritual director said two things to me that changed my life. The first was, “Following Christ doesn’t always have to be hard.” Really? I hadn’t experienced that. I always thought that following Christ meant choosing the hard way.

And second, she told me, “When you love someone, you want what they want. You don’t fight them every step of the way; your wills become one.” And I realized it was time for me to stop doing battle with God. God was not my enemy. God loved me, and all they wanted was for me to love them back. And if God wanted me to be a pastor, I would become a pastor, full hog. No holding back. No fighting it. (This was when I started wearing a full clergy collar. Prior to that I had worn one of the little tab collars. There was symbolism in my switch to a full collar. When I put it on, at last I was saying, “I’m all in.”)

I went to serve at a congregation that should have scared me to death. They were less than a year from going down the tubes if things didn’t change, and yet I knew everything was going to be okay. That’s where I really became a pastor. But I was still a pastor with a plan, and I planned to stay with that congregation until I retired.

God had another plan, and that brought me to Ascension. Those of you who’ve worked closest with me probably realized early on that I’m a compulsive planner. I had all staff and committees writing goals, implementing and evaluating them every year. I carefully built a staff that could handle the transition from having two or three pastors to a solo pastor. I started lay ministries to share the joy and, quite frankly, to make it possible for me to breathe. I gave myself totally to the task at hand. And it was all very organized.

I was in my comfort zone, things were going well, and I had a plan for my time at Ascension. Before I finished up, we would spend some time developing a long-range plan and revising our goals to better reflect where we were as a congregation. And then, after we were squared away on that, we were going to have a capital campaign to reduce our mortgage payments. Then it would be time for me to retire. And I could leave Ascension in a great position for the next pastor. 

It was a great plan. But, of course, I hadn’t planned for covid.

As a planner, it probably goes without saying that chaos is my idea of hell. I don’t do well with chaos. And yet, for some reason, God has given me the gifts to be really good in a crisis. And I rose to the occasion. From the first day until now, the pandemic has not gone the way I expected, and I’ve worn myself out thinking through, what if this happens? what if that happens? planning for one possibility after another. The pandemic has left me exhausted. But I’ve also come to realize that my exhaustion goes way beyond the pandemic. Over the course of a lifetime, I’ve exhausted myself trying to control everything. 

I know there’s some of that need to be in control in all of us. And you might think that I’m telling you all this today as a cautionary tale. But that’s not it.

Looking back on my life as a pastor, I’ve made some good choices and some questionable ones. I’ve often found myself in circumstances that were clearly beyond my control. I’ve had a few heartbreaks. And I’ve experienced some amazingly delightful surprises along that way.

And here’s the thing… Through it all, I’ve never been alone. God has been with me every step of the way. And the way I’ve experienced that is through the people God has sent into my life. I’ve had more of that than any person could ever hope for. Through my family and dear friends, through people in Columbus, Ohio and Marine City, Michigan, and Jamestown, North Dakota, Carrollton and Kilgore, Ohio and Uniontown, Ohio, and the Northeastern Ohio Synod and Charlotte, North Carolina and now here in Towson, Maryland. Thank you for your partnership along the way. I have been so incredibly blessed.

We never know where our journey will take us, and it usually isn’t going to go the way we’d planned. A big reason for that is that we ourselves change so much along the way.

As a pastor, I’ve changed the way I think about so many things: About how to interpret scripture and the meaning of the cross. About Holy Communion and who ought to be receiving it. About the value of children and youth—not for the adults they will one day become, but because of the gifts they bring us right now as children and youth. About gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender folks and what they have to teach us about living authentically as the people God created us to be. About racism that’s blatant and racism that’s latent, and how difficult it is for us white people to see it. I’m not at all the person I was when I began as a pastor. I couldn’t have planned for that. And God isn’t finished with me yet.

I can’t expect to know what’s next, and neither can Ascension. God doesn’t give us a roadmap for what lies ahead. The best we can do is take a step forward and wait on the Spirit to guide us as we take the next step, and the step after that. And trust that when we’re living into God’s reign, our lives have purpose. God has a plan for us and all creation. We may not be able to see what it is, but we can trust we’re a part of it whenever we embody the Jesus way in the world around us: the way of mercy, compassion, and justice.

It's been an honor to do that among you as your pastor. Thank you.