When your congregation is between pastors, there will be times lay leaders will need to arrange for pulpit supply. Here are some tips for extending hospitality to your guest preacher:

Pay generously, or at least fairly. High-quality sermons generally take at least ten hours to research and write. Do the math and make sure you are compensating a professional with an advanced degree accordingly. Multiply the pay if there's more than one worship service. And if your preacher is coming from out of town, reimburse mileage and cover a hotel room.

Think through what it is reasonable to request a guest to do. Worship logistics vary greatly from one church to another, and there’s a lot that isn’t written on the order of worship. Plus, it's odd for a guest to give the welcome (“Welcome to this church. I’m here for the first time too!”) and greet people coming forward to make commitments at the end of the service. (“I’m happy to invite you into this faith community that I don’t belong to.”) Minimize the potential for confusion and awkwardness by asking the preacher to do only what laypeople or staff cannot. 

Ask if the minister would like to take on particular piece of the order or worship. For example, I like to read the primary scripture text myself, because I use inflection and pacing that set the stage for the sermon.

Make sure the preacher has a point of contact who will be onsite. Give a name and a cell phone number in case your guest gets lost or has car trouble. Let the minister know where to park and at which entrance the point of contact will be waiting.

Physically walk the visiting minister through the order of worship. Related to point #2 above, help the preacher know where and when to sit and walk and stand. Rehearse the communion liturgy, if applicable.

Don’t make the preacher chase down the check. Give payment before worship. That way the minister isn’t worried that getting paid depends on making hearers happy, and the minister doesn’t have to ask to be paid.

Thank your pulpit supply. Many guest preachers do so on top of many other work and personal responsibilities. Appreciate them for taking 10+ hours to prepare a sermon, 1-1.5 hours to be in worship (more so if there’s a second service), and however long to drive to your church.

Aside from the gifts that hospitality offers to your guest preacher, treating your pulpit supply well will let potential candidates for your ministry position know that they should check out your church. (Clergy talk to one another!)

Ministers, what would you add to this list?

Scenario 1: Your search team is interviewing a candidate by Skype. You’ve told the candidate to expect an hour-long conversation. At minute 57, you ask if the candidate has any questions for the team. The candidate looks miffed, flustered, or a combination of the two.

Scenario 2: Your search team has narrowed the pool of candidates still in consideration to two, and you’re ready to start setting up in-person conversations. One of the candidates asks about your intended timeline for the remainder of the search, because this candidate has been invited to preach to another searching congregation in the coming weeks. You are taken aback.

Scenario 3: Your search team and finance committee have agreed on a salary package for the candidate of choice. The candidate, upon seeing the package, has lots of questions and a counter-offer. You start to worry if the church and candidate will be able to agree on terms.

Your search team is listening deeply for God’s guidance throughout the process. Sometimes, though - in the midst of details and excitement and church members’ anxiety – it is easy to forget that candidates are doing their own discernment work. Candidates need space to ask their questions about the congregation and the position. (You want them to ask! Their queries can tell you a lot about their experience, perceptiveness, and interview preparation.) Candidates are likely talking with other pastor-less churches who are at various points in their searches, unless you and the candidate have agreed that you are in the negotiation phase. Candidates want to make sure that they will have the compensation they need to pay off seminary debt, live close to your congregation, and focus on ministry.

For the fit to be great, both church and candidate must explore every data point, every issue, and every gut feeling, praying that God will speak clearly through the collated information. As a search team, don’t hesitate to ask at each stage, “What questions do we need to answer and what information do we need to provide to our candidates before they even ask?” This openness will breed trust and assist discernment in both directions.

“The Joe Lamb Award for Outstanding Youth Leadership goes to Laura Stephens.” I remember where in the worship space I was sitting, what I was wearing, and how doubtful I was that my jelly-fied legs would carry me to the front. I had never considered myself a leader in youth group. For that matter, up until the year prior, I wouldn’t even have called myself a willing participant in anything church-related. But with this public recognition of my gifts, a sense of call began to awaken within me. And my longtime struggle with the lack of inclusive language and female ministerial leadership in the Southern Baptist Convention intensified, because as a lifelong Baptist I saw no clear path for living into my call.

So I did what all nerds do when they run up on a problem: I studied. In my last two years of college I researched and wrote an honors thesis (very wordily) entitled “Attempting to Eschew The Handmaid’s Tale: The Interplay of Denominational Politics, Biblical Interpretations, and Women’s Ordination in the Southern Baptist Convention.” Through this project I learned about how women were gaining ground in Baptist leadership until the well-orchestrated fundamentalist takeover of the SBC in the 1980s. I read how the Convention’s adoption of a resolution that blamed women for the fall of humankind was critical to the fundamentalists’ platform. And I noted that the banning of women from ordination and the relegation of women to complementary status was essential to the fundamentalists’ plans to retain power over the long haul.

What then was I to do as a Southern Baptist woman called to ministry, now educated in the forces I was up against? My first impulse was to run from Baptist life like my hair was on fire. I went to a United Methodist seminary. I started denomination-shopping on Sunday. Nowhere felt homey to me. Then one evening I was watching the late news in my apartment. A local Baptist congregation was being disfellowshipped from the state convention for its inclusivity. I was in a pew at this church the next Sunday. Women prayed from the pulpit. I had never witnessed even this, much less a woman preaching. I cried in my seat.

This church was starting a Wednesday night series on what it means to be Baptist. A professor from a nearby seminary spoke about Baptists’ emphasis on the freedom to relate directly with God, to read and interpret the Bible for ourselves, to be ministers to one another, and to make decisions at the congregational level. I claimed this historical way of being Baptist nineteen years ago, and I affiliated with Baptist networks who hold these fragile freedoms dear. Though I have worked outside the Baptist world at times, I have always been clear about who I am and where my home is.

Because of my winding journey through Baptistdom, I am both close to and distant from, unsurprised and grieved about recent revelations of various abuses perpetrated against women by past and current Southern Baptist Convention powerbrokers. Part of me says, “The SBC’s doubling-down on inequality was always heading toward this reckoning, and this has not been my fight for nearly two decades.”

But that’s not true.

Anytime a person created by God is emotionally or physically harmed, we are all accountable for calling out the violence.

Anytime a person uses God as an excuse to abuse, we all must rise up and proclaim our belief in a God who loves and wants good for us all and who privileges the downtrodden.

Anytime our sisters are treated as less than, we all must point out that there is no male or female in Christ Jesus.

So this is my fight. And yours, no matter what your relationship (or lack of) to the SBC. Because as members of God’s one family, our flourishing is tied to each other’s. And this flourishing is rooted in healthy practices and policies, right relationships and righteous resolutions.

There is no such thing as benevolent patriarchy. Wherever there is inequality, the table is set for one group to exercise – misuse – power over another. May we all claim the power of love and justice so that all people might know safety, access to resources, and paths for living into the fullness of their personhood.

Nickels and noses are the two most common measurements of a congregation’s vitality. That’s because they are the easiest to track, not because they are the most useful metrics. Income as compared to expenses tells us whether we’ll be able to keep the lights on and make payroll each month, which is no small deal, but a simple spreadsheet of revenue and expenditures reveals little else. For example, how many giving units does our church have this year as compared to last year? Did repeat givers increase or decrease their contributions, and what are the pastoral care questions posed by these patterns? We don’t know. Similarly, average worship attendance is just that: a flat number with no nuance to it. How often are unique individuals coming? What patterns do we notice among newcomers? ASA doesn’t give us any of that.

There is another problem with the nickels and noses approach to metrics. What do those approaches to measurement say to our members? When we emphasize a strictly numbers-based view of budgeting, we tell givers that their relationship with the church is transactional. You come, you put some money in the plate, and we’ll give you a feel-good Jesus experience. There’s little theological reflection on how we’re using our finances or education around the spiritual impact of giving on the giver. When we make a big deal out of ASA, we imply that we don’t care who is coming, why, and how often – as long as there are butts in the pews. It’s no wonder that congregations and denominations who put a lot of stock in these metrics are hemorrhaging members and seeing a lot of transitions among pastors, who are told that their effectiveness depends on growing these “vitality” stats.

What, then, would it look like to develop measurements that are meaningful and useful? I suggest using the following factors to name metrics that truly assess vitality:

• The measurement must be, well, measurable. “Spiritual growth” is too vague to be quantifiable. The number of unique people who volunteer (as opposed to being voluntold) for leadership positions can be counted.

• The measurement must be within the church’s control. You have zero say in how many people actually come through your doors on Sunday morning. Your church members can control how many potential newcomers they personally invite.

• The measurement must give ownership to the members. Yes, the pastor needs to be accountable for her ministry. But the church is actually stewarded by the members, who were here before and will be here after the pastor leaves.

• The measurement must take impact into account. It does no good to track how many pairs of gently-used adult shoes your church donates to a local organization when said organization deals in providing formula and diapers to low-income families with newborns.

Metrics that measure the wrong things can send churches and pastors into shame spirals and anxiety about survival. Measurements that are meaningful for your setting can be a means of discernment and a way of encouraging your congregation and leadership, however. Take care to set your mileposts with intentionality.

Here are my translations of the sixth through tenth commandments into practices for congregations to covenant around when welcoming their new ministers.

6. Thou shalt encourage, encourage, encourage. Share your hopes with your new minister. Express your excitement that your minister is part of your community. When things go well, give your minister genuine and specific affirmation. That feedback provides replenishment, motivation, and focus.

7. Thou shalt address concerns directly and promptly. Don’t allow problems to fester, and don’t relay your beefs through a third party. Instead, give constructive and timely comments so that the issue can be nipped in the bud. Though it is hard to tell people things it might hurt them to hear, your minister will appreciate your courage, forthrightness, and investment in the relationship and in the church and will know that you can be counted on to give honest feedback.

8. Thou shalt pay your minister fairly. Appropriate cash salary and benefits and annual cost of living pay increases will allow your minister to focus on ministry alongside you instead of on scraping together enough money for groceries.

9. Thou shalt refrain from making assumptions, and thou shalt stop rumors in their tracks. It’s easy to make mental leaps about someone you’re just getting to know, then spread them around as facts. Instead, be curious. Ask. Use your wondering to build the relationship.

10. Thou shalt manage your expectations. Remember that this is a new city, faith community, and role for your minister, and there will be a period of adjustment. Be helpful and welcoming without monopolizing the minister’s time and attention.

Chisel these guidelines into a couple of stone slabs and keep them constantly before you, and you will have laid the groundwork for years of growing in God and serving your neighbors together.

You toil over your newsletter articles. You prepare diligently for meetings. Yet despite all your efforts, you are sometimes met with the following:

• Blank stares.

• “No one told me about this,” said with indignation.

• “Who was involved in this decision? No one asked me for my opinion,” said with hostility.

• Silence and disengagement.

You and I are bombarded with emails, voice messages, and social media contacts every day. So are the people we minister alongside. This means we should be even clearer and more concise in our communications than we think necessary. One of the areas we can eliminate ambiguity is in announcements and discussion. Which are we doing, providing information about something that has already been decided or inviting others to be part of the decision-making? What does that delineation mean for what details we share and how?

In You’ve Got 8 Seconds: Communication Secrets for a Distracted World, Paul Hellman helps readers think through these considerations in terms of risk and control. Announcements are low-risk and high-control for the leader. Discussion is high-risk and low-control. Within those two extremes there are combinations of these two approaches. Here is an example, from announcement to discussion:

• Our church will be starting a community clothes closet.

• Our church will be starting a community clothes closet because there is a need in our neighborhood for free, quality clothing for children and adults so that they can use their limited funds for other essentials and go to school and work feeling confident in their appearance.

• Our church will be starting a community clothes closet. How might we go about setting this up, staffing it, and advertising it?

• Interest in and need for a community clothes closet has bubbled up. What are your thoughts about this potential ministry opportunity?

• What need/potential ministry opportunity has been on your hearts and minds?

In ministry we are likely to tend more toward the discussion end of the spectrum. (Stereotypically, clergywomen lean this way more than clergymen do.) Every point along the range is needed at times. The trick is to know when to use which approach and to be clear about what input you are (and aren’t) asking for. Here are some questions to ask yourself when identifying your path forward:

• How would Jesus come at this kind of message?

• How acute is the situation?

• How much ownership from others is needed?

• Whose expertise do you need to have all the relevant data?

• How attached to the outcome are you?

• How is God nudging you and others?

Asking yourself all of these questions can help you firm up your approach to an issue, know how to show up for the announcement/discussion, and clarify what you’re saying and asking for. The result will be increased trust and more forward motion.

Moses’ trek to the top of Mount Sinai and his receipt of the ten commandments came up in the lectionary lately. Call it coincidence or divine timing, but I happened to be preaching that Sunday at a congregation that was two weeks away from calling a new senior pastor … and I had been invited to speak directly to ways the church could welcome her new leader. I took the Sinai commandments and translated them into practices to covenant around as this minister and this congregation began their journey together. Here are the first five:

1. Thou shalt keep God first. Relationships built on shared faith lead to fruitful mutual ministry, and that is the goal of the clergy-congregation bond. Invite God into all your plans for welcoming and interacting with your new minister, and your belonging to one another will get off to a fast start.

2. Thou shalt open yourselves to your new minister’s ideas and gifts. Your congregation no doubt has tried and true ways of being church together. You likely also have some traditions and practices that need either to be memorialized or revitalized. Your new minister will bring experiences, gifts, and fresh eyes to your church. Allow your minister to exercise them in ways that strengthen your witness, even if that means smashing a few idols in the process.

3. Thou shalt be mindful of how you use God’s name. Names – and the ways we use them – have power. Use God’s in heartfelt prayers for your new minister and your journey together. Try out using relevant adjectives for God in your devotional time: welcoming God, life-giving God, loving God, surprising God.

4. Thou shalt rest and urge your pastor to do the same. You are near the end of a long interim period, which tends to deplete a congregation’s energy. Take your hard-earned sabbath so that you will be rejuvenated for the mission God has for this church. And remember that your new minister, though no doubt excited to be with you, will likely be tired from all the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual efforts that moving requires.

5. Thou shalt tend to your relationships with your new minister, minister’s family (if applicable), your current staff, and one another. Pay attention to people who are struggling with the transition. Be vulnerable with each other – this will build deep trust that you will rely on in the years to come.

Stay tuned for the other five commandments, coming next week.

I’m hearing of more and more churches designing succession plans rather that engaging in an interim period between lead pastors. (Before interim ministry was a specialty, this approach was common in some denominations.) I will admit my bias up front: I believe the time between settled pastors is an invaluable opportunity for reconnecting with the church’s history, understanding the congregation’s specific purpose anew, and making needed changes. I also think there’s huge spiritual transformation potential, because when there is no installed leader, the church has to lean harder into its faith in God’s presence and goodness.

If your church is considering a succession plan, I would urge you to discuss the following:

What are the reasons we want our next pastor in place before the current one departs? It’s important to be able to name motives beyond the desire to avoid the discomfort of the interim time and a lack of confidence in the congregation’s ability to do the work of the search.

In what ways will the current pastor be involved (or not) in the search for the next pastor? One of the functions of an interim time is to allow a congregation to find out who it is apart from the identity of the departing pastor. If the current pastor is permitted to influence the search process, your church will – for good and ill – continue to be strongly influenced by the outgoing pastor’s passions and personality.

What will the transition look like? How much overlap between the pastors will there be (and can you afford it budget-wise)? How will the responsibilities be shifted over the course of that doubled-up period? What agreements and rituals will you put in place for the eventual end of the current pastor’s tenure?

When will we build in time for self-reflection about God’s call on us as a congregation, and what will that process look like? Church mission/purpose statements evolve over time, and the interim is a natural period for re-evaluation. If there is no interim time, what conditions will you put in place to make sure this work happens so that your congregation continues to be as faithful as possible in its response to God’s call?

Calling and building a relationship with a new pastoral leader takes great intentionality, no matter what that minister’s start in the congregation looks like. Leave no question about process undiscussed, and let your choices be guided by faith in God rather than fear of the unknown.

My son loves school, but every morning it’s like we’re living 50 First Dates. He forgets how much he enjoys learning and playing with his friends until he actually enters the building. He yells at our Amazon Echo when it reminds him that it’s time to get dressed for school. He mopes while he picks out (at an excruciatingly slow speed) his mismatched clothes.

Recently I’ve been using a coaching technique that has helped everyone’s mood. I’ve been taking his complaint and using it to broaden his perspective. Here are a couple of examples:

Example 1

Alexa reminds him to get dressed.

Him: Your reminders are terrible, Alexa!

Me: Are they really that bad? Let’s play a game. We’ll take turn naming things more terrible than Alexa’s reminders. I’ll go first: dropping my ice cream on the ground.

Him: [Thinks.] A monster destroying Ninjago city.

Me: Getting a cold and missing something really fun.

Him: A baby penguin dying. [Yikes.]

After a couple more rounds, he was laughing and we were declaring each other winners of the game. He then got ready without complaint.

Example 2

Child is refusing to put on his school clothes.

Him: I don’t want to go to school today. Today is Saturday. I want every day to be Saturday.

Me: Hmmm. I like Saturdays too. What would you do on your perfect Saturday?

Him: [Lets me dress him while he talks.] I would watch the Ninjago movie and play Legos.

Me: That sounds fun! What would you eat for breakfast on your perfect Saturday?

Him: Fish and krill. [He was a penguin that day.]

By then he was dressed, and he penguin-waddled across the hall to brush his teeth.

In both of these examples, it would have gotten us nowhere for me to keep askyelling for him to get ready. We would have both been grumpy and started our respective days in a terrible headspace. But by taking his lead and using it as prompt for us both to think creatively, he felt heard and reoriented his focus.

I use this approach in my coaching. If a coachee gets stuck in a thought spiral – often around the worry that she is not an effective pastor – I ask a question to help her widen the view: “What’s the best affirmation you’ve received lately?” (Often this is not an explicit “thank you” but a realization that she has been invited into a tender place by a parishioner.) She realizes that she is making a difference in tangible ways. Or, “what is one change you’ve seen in the congregation since your arrival?” One small change opens the door to thinking about several ways the coachee has led the church toward growth.

This can work for clergy in their ministry settings too. Consider the following:

Church member: This [ministry initiative] won’t work.

Minister: Hmm. Ok. Let’s think about everything that could go wrong.

After brainstorming the possible catastrophes, probe why these outcomes are so undesirable. Then name all the potential positive outcomes and discuss, in light of these different visions of the future, what the most faithful next step is. With this approach, you can acknowledge the church member’s resistance, unearth some unspoken – maybe even subconscious – norms and fears, move toward agreement on action, and stop many of the parking lot conversations that sabotage change.

Perspective shifts are invaluable when there is stuckness. Next time you feel mired down, try opening up the conversation with a question, brainstorming prompt, or game.

I defied my junior high Sunday School teachers yet again on Sunday night. I went to a rock ‘n roll show, as the kids say. Well, kids of a certain generation, I guess.

My youth leaders specifically warned me about two of the three acts. Don Felder – FORMERLY OF THE EAGLES, as I imagine legal actions require him to clarify – sang “Hotel California,” which my teachers said was about drug use. (I never really understood the objection, since the song seems like more of a cautionary tale than a ringing endorsement.) Styx put on the best concert I’ve ever seen, but did you know that the Styx is a river that leads to Hades? (My Sunday School leaders whispered that “Hades” is another word for hell.)

I hated every millisecond of my Sundays in that too-small room with teachers who saw the world through the lens of fear and divided everything in it into good and bad camps. (I promised myself then that I would crank up and sing along to “Hotel California” every time it came on the radio, and I made myself a mental note to check out Styx, even though it would be another five years until I really got into classic rock.) The worst part of my “formational” experience in that setting, though, was that there was no room for questions. And as a teenager struggling with the difference between what I deeply felt to be true about Jesus and what I was being told at church, I had a lot of ’em.

My parents took my abject misery and my soul’s peril (as I refused to be baptized in this congregation) seriously, and we hopped around until we found a church that was a good fit for our whole family. There I made my pastor, many a youth leader, and my peers uncomfortable with my questions and pushback, but no one tried to shut me up. Bless those kind souls. They are one of the reasons I am in ministry today.

Now, I ask questions for a living. What a dream for a person with so many! I don’t ask these questions on my own behalf in my role as coach. I listen for what is going on in clergy and congregations and make queries that will help them come to their own realizations and reach longed-for goals. I cannot tell you how much I love this work.

Maybe it’s a curiosity mindset that the Eagles were actually referring to: “you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.” And why would I want to?

I want to let you in on a secret. Interim ministry is extremely challenging. Here are a few of the reasons why:

The minister enters a stressed system. Pastoral transitions are never easy on congregations, no matter how amicable the last minister’s departure was. So unlike a settled minister, who (hopefully) comes into a church that is excited and unified behind the new leader, the interim comes into a swirl of confusion, strong feelings, and worries about what will happen to the congregation while it is without a settled pastor.

The minister has additional duties in addition to the regular pastoral responsibilities. Trained intentional interim ministers preach, lead worship, provide pastoral care, and attend meetings. On top of that they guide the congregation through a period of self-reflection and identity redefinition, which involves a lot of additional meetings, equipping of leaders, attention to process, and anxiety management.

The minister quickly grows to love the congregation, even knowing that the pastor-parish relationship will be short-lived. Your interim minister loves you like a settled pastor does and is invested in you. Yet for the transitional minister there is anticipatory grief built into the relationship from the outset.

The minister never gets a break from wondering about personal financial stability. Some interim terms of call are as short as 3 months with an option to renew while others are as long as 12-24 months. A transitional minister must always be looking for that next opportunity while staying engaged with your congregation for as long as it is feasible to do so.

The minister is often looked past by the congregation. You love your interim minister. You can’t help it – though the minister’s tenure with your church is time-limited, that person is still walking with you through the church year and your personal milestones, joys, and griefs. Yet you are understandably excited for the day when your congregation will have a “real” (settled) pastor. The interim minister gets this, but some days this reality is more painful than others.

Be sure and thank your interim minister for providing the leadership that allows your church to harness the opportunities of the transition time. And definitely throw a big party for your interim minister when your journey together has ended.

As a teenager I had an unhealthy affinity for Lurlene McDaniel novels. She writes about young people who have chronic or terminal illnesses. There’s also at least one book about a high school girl dying in a car crash because she didn’t want her seat belt to wrinkle her new dress. These works of fiction were the perfect/worst possible match for my personality: generally anxious with a side dish of hypochondria. I cannot tell you how many times I convinced myself I had diabetes or cancer, thanks to the similarity of my “symptoms” with a Lurlene McDaniel character. I mentally penned my farewell letters and practiced my brave face in the mirror. (Truth be told, I still kinda do these things.)

Which is why I couldn’t wait to read/put off reading Kate Bowler’s Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Lies I’ve Loved. Bowler is an assistant professor of church history at Duke Divinity School who was unexpectedly diagnosed with incurable, stage 4 cancer in 2015. She is in her late 30s. She is a self-professed church nerd. As a Mennonite she is a proponent of believer’s baptism adrift in a sea of infant baptizers at her Methodist seminary. She has a young son. She has a close-knit, irreverent family. In short, I could relate to much of her story. And her humor…oh, how I love her wit.

But Kate Bowler is not a fictional character. She is a real person who is wrestling daily with what it means to inhabit the space between living the dream and actively dying. She is a real Christian who is struggling with her subconscious assent to the prosperity gospel – if you pray hard enough and are good enough, the world is your oyster! – and her fear that death means disconnect from her husband and child.

Bowler’s words did not hit me square in my anxiety. They did something that is rare for someone as head-focused as I am: wriggled their way into my most tender, most guarded inner self. They made me want to be less private and more honest. They made me want to dream about more than control my life. They made me want to love so deeply that I would feel grief acutely. Now, how to do those things…

I guess I don’t have to spell out that I recommend this book, as well as the accompanying podcast.

Thank you, Kate Bowler, for the beauty of who you are and what you share with the world.

During the fall of my sixth grade year, I tagged along when my parents took my younger brother to sign up for rec league basketball. When we arrived, I shocked my mom and dad – and myself, for that matter – by declaring that I wanted to play ball too. I was bookish. I was freakishly short. I had never shown an iota of interest in anything athletic. To their credit, my parents only exchanged brief glances, asked me once if I was sure, and then filled out my registration form.

I was terrible at basketball, as it turned out. I wasn’t fast. I was clumsy. I had no arm strength, so I had to shoot free throws underhanded, which was humiliating. I also wore glasses – not the sporty kind – that required me to use a very sexy [snort] croakie to keep them from being knocked off my head. I put my hair up with a tie that had a tiny piece of metal on it and went into a game with newly-pierced ears, both mistakes that prompted the referees to stop the action on my behalf. (I had to change out the hair tie and put medical tape over my earrings to avoid harming self and others.)

That sixth grade season was not pretty on my part. The only points I scored that year were in one game, when my coach told me to camp out under our team’s basket and wait for my teammates to lob defensive rebounds downcourt to me so that I could (hopefully) hit an unguarded layup. But I was having the time of my life.

After the season I had an idea of what I needed to work on (everything) to get better. So I started conditioning. I shot baskets and ran ball handling drills for hours in the driveway. I attended camp at a university known for being a powerhouse basketball program in the NAIA. And I improved. I made my school team in seventh grade. I didn’t start, and I didn’t always see much playing time, but I persevered. In eighth grade I developed my arm. No more granny-style free throws for me – in fact, I was pretty reliable from three-point range.

But I was getting discouraged. I was working my butt off without seeing my efforts translate into playing time. I could shoot and play in-your-face defense, but my ball handling was still weak, and you can’t be 4’10” with a case of the fumbles and not expect to make gluteal indentations on the bench. Before my ninth grade season, with honors courses and all the homework that accompanied them piling up, I decided to focus on what I was best at – studying. I still traveled with the school basketball team as a statistician and played church league ball, but any hope of a varsity (or beyond) athletic career vaporized.

Several years later, I ran into my eighth grade coach. We caught up a bit, and then she said, “I wish you hadn’t stopped playing. With your work ethic, you could have been an All-American.”

Record scratch.

I mumbled a “thank you” and scooted out of there before my brain exploded. This coach had never told me that she saw my potential. I thought I was forever destined to be a benchwarmer, and to me Rudy is the saddest-sack movie ever made.

The coach’s statement was no doubt hyperbolic, and yet I wonder if I would have made different choices if I had been given a slow drip of encouragement. “Keep at it – you’re improving.” “You’ll get your chance.” “You work at least as hard as anyone else on this team, and everyone notices.” Don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy with my life as it has unfolded. And it turns out I might have given up too soon on an outlet I was passionate about.

Everyone wants to know that he is not invisible, that she is valued. To be sincerely appreciated for who she is and what he does. To have her gifts-in-development called forth. This goes for loved ones, colleagues, volunteers, community leaders, and the people who serve our food and collect our trash and protect our neighborhoods and teach our kids. Intentional eye contact or a handwritten note plus specific feedback go a long way toward strengthening relationships and encouraging dreams in people who previously did not dare to entertain them.

Who around you needs encouragement this week, and how might you offer it? And who provides you with much-needed encouragement to keep moving forward? Thanks be to God for all of these people.

On Saturday my family returned from Disney World, a.k.a. The Happiest Place on Earth. (Ironically, more than once I overheard a parent using this slogan as a threat toward an overstimulated, beyond-exhausted child: “This is the happiest place on Earth, DANGIT, so start acting like it!”) I am glad for the opportunity my son had to fly on an airplane (a long-held desire), meet his favorite characters (he has always loved anyone in a costume), ride roller-coasters and spinny nightmares (which made him giddy), and see his first in-person fireworks (despite his initial terror that Cinderella’s castle was exploding). I am eternally grateful to my in-laws for making these experiences possible.

During our stay I was reminded of the complex relationship I have with all things Disney. As a forty-year-old, I have never known a world untouched by Disney, with all of its fraught cultural messages around gender, race, ethnicity, and other key identity markers. (If you’re not sure what I mean, see this list of more accurate Disney movie titles.) And Disney’s ability to turn anything into a moneymaker is unparalleled, building on and feeding a consumerism that I worry will be the eventual downfall of humankind. Not to put too dramatic a point on it, of course.

And yet I cannot argue with the hospitality that permeates the whole of the Disney experience. The church could learn a few things from this warm welcome. Rather than focusing on the consumerist side – how do we get people here and then entice them to come back? – that I think is the church’s default in the light of shrinking membership rosters and budgets, I want to encourage some reflection on how we notice and treat people when they come through our doors. Here, then, are some things that we as the church would do well to emulate:

The employees we encountered at every turn seemed happy to be there – and happy that we were there. Maybe you’ve encountered church greeters who look like they’ve just come from a root canal. Or members who glared at you for taking “their” seats. Or pastors who apologized from the pulpit for the sermon scripture or focus for that day. At Disney the bus drivers, security types, vendors, ride operators, performers – everyone – was smiling and helpful. That joyful tone created an expectation that I would be glad I came to this place on this day, no matter what kind of trepidation I came with.

Everything is set up from the visitor’s perspective. There is signage everywhere about directions, wait times, and events. Information is also available by hard-copy map, people stationed around the parks to assist, and an app for your smartphone. There are so many restrooms scattered around that you are never far from one, and the stalls are plentiful such that there isn’t much of a line. Contrast this approach to the one many churches take, in which everything is set up from the insider’s perspective. You’re just supposed to know which door to go in, what time worship takes place, and where the nursery is.

Language choices are given a lot of thought. Disney calls their employees “cast members,” giving them all – no matter their role – a stake in how the experience turns out. The people coming to the parks are not visitors or customers but “guests,” making it clear that they are to be treated as such. Language shapes the way we locate ourselves and others in an environment. What would change if churches called their volunteers “ministers,” which they rightly are by virtue of the priesthood of all believers? What if congregations referred to all newcomers as “guests,” seeing them as the people worthy of the most honor?

Despite my complex relationship with Disney, I came home from my trip tired and full of gratitude, thanks in large part to the welcoming aspects that Disney gives such careful attention. May it be so for those who enter our church walls.

In churches that follow the liturgical calendar, this is the season of Lent, the forty days leading up to Easter (not counting Sundays). Lent is a period of reflection with the aim of clearing away the barriers to our relationship with God. We are better able to celebrate – and then to share the good news of – Christ’s resurrection if these spiritual obstacles have been dismantled.

In a sense the time between settled ministers is in itself a Lenten observance.

Both are times of preparation. There is something that is “not yet.” We wait for what is to come, but our waiting is active, engaged, purposeful. Our hearts need this time during which God makes us ready.

Both are times of wonder. “What is God up to?” is a primary question of this season, as is “Where can we join God in this work?” 

Both call for self-study. We look back at where we have been and what brought us to where we are now. We consider what forms us spiritually – what we want to hold fast to – and what distracts us from our relationship with God and thus needs to be culled.

Both are fraught with potential challenges. Lent and interim seasons are wilderness journeys. There’s real danger that we might double-down on the things that keep us from loving God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength and our neighbors as ourselves.

Both inspire humility – and awe. We realize that we cannot move faithfully into the future under our own power. That God is present even when we don't immediately recognize it. And that God’s love is pulling us forward toward a purpose that takes our breath away.

What would it take for your congregation to embrace the transition time as spiritual journey?

Yellow: it’s the color of caution. (That is, unless you live in Alabama, where it apparently signals blow every other car’s doors off trying to make it through this traffic light.) Yellow flag words, then, are verbal indicators of the need to probe for deeper meanings before moving further into conversation. If we don’t clarify these words or phrases, we can make mental leaps that quickly morph into misunderstandings. Consider:

“I can’t get that report to you by Friday.” This statement might seem clear on its face, but it could actually have several meanings, such as:

• I want to get the report to you, but I don’t have the time.

• I want to get the report to you, but I don’t know how to write it.

• I want to get the report to you, but I don’t know how to submit it.

• I don’t want to get the report to you.

If you’re the person counting on this report, imagine your response to each of these interpretations. Three of them are about barriers. A bit more discussion might reveal that you and the other person both value the work, and then you can brainstorm about ways to remove or maneuver around the obstacles. The fourth reply, however, would likely make your blood boil. The relational impact and the possible solutions vary widely based on which response the other person actually intends.

Some other examples of yellow flag words or phrases include:

• “I’m not ready to take that step.” (What does ready look like for you?)

• “I don’t feel supported in my decision.” (What kind of support are you counting on?)

• “When the time comes, I’ll know what to do.” (When will that be?)

When there’s ambiguity around the meaning of words, ask an open-ended question. You’ll find out what your conversation partner does and does not mean, and you might also prompt some new awareness in that person around the power of her verbiage.

An ounce of curiosity is much less costly than an assumption that escalates into unhealthy conflict.

Two weeks ago I began taking an eight-part course on the language of coaching. The class is designed to help participants learn how to harness the power of words for even more effective coaching. Last week we focused on distinctions: phrasing that illuminates the difference between two options or states of being. One of the distinctions we discussed was interest vs. solution. Interest is what I ultimately want to happen. Solutions are means of attaining that goal.

Sadly, during the time that we were in class, the latest school shooting was occurring in Florida. The deaths of 17 students, faculty, and staff provoked strong reactions, as they should. My Facebook feed began filling up with explanations for why these mass shootings keep happening – easy access to guns, parental failure, mental health issues, white supremacy, toxic masculinity, teachers not being armed, and the First Amendment, to name a few – and strongly-worded proposals for making needed changes. I watched as friends, family, and acquaintances doubled down on their positions when questioned. (Admittedly, I was guilty of this as well.) Conversations spiraled down or ground to a halt. Ain’t no knotty problems getting resolved this way.

Which is what made the distinction between interest and solution timely. If we start with our plans to eliminate the world’s ills, we will never get on the same page. There’s always a reason my approach is better than yours and vice versa. Before we can work together on the answers, first we must agree on the goal. For example, I have hardly seen mention of the fact that surely – hopefully – we can all stand on the side of protecting the lives of young people and the professionals who nurture them. When we understand that we’re all working for the same purpose, we gain trust in one another’s motives. We recognize our shared pain. We acknowledge that we are not alone in our efforts. That is a much more promising starting point. Then there’s potential for deep listening. For throwing out a range of solutions and then working together to improve them. For making legitimate progress toward the endgame we’ve agreed upon.

So I commit to identifying a shared goal with at least one person this week. Around what issue – and with whom – will you seek common ground in the next few days?

The special season of waiting for the birth of the Christ child has come around again, bringing a new liturgical year with it. I don’t know about you, but for me the undercurrent of danger in the Advent scriptures is more relatable than ever before, and I need to hold on more tightly to the peace, connection, and equality that Christ’s incarnation portends. If you’re feeling the same, here are some possible themes to explore in preaching, teaching, and writing this month:

Listening to women’s voices. The lectionary gives us the Magnificat (with an option to use it on Advent 3 or 4) and Mary’s conversation with the angel Gabriel. Mary is not a wilting flower in either passage. What do these interactions tell us about how God sees women? How do we better attune ourselves to and/or amplify the voices of women?

Naming the ills of the world. In addition to the Magnificat, the texts from Isaiah and Mark invite us to pinpoint the injustices we see around us and to repent for our roles in them. How – specifically – have we fallen short in loving our neighbors as ourselves, and to what changes do we commit? Who else do we need to call to repentance, and for what?

Claiming our role in the redemption of the world. God uses mere mortals to bring about God’s purposes: Mary and Joseph; Elizabeth, Zechariah (thought merely mentioned in this year’s texts), and John; shepherds; even – dare I say – the emperor whose decree forced a very pregnant woman to make a hard journey and give birth in a barn. What is our part in ushering in God’s reign?

Staying vigilant. “Beware, keep alert, for you do not know when the time will come.” (Mark 13:33) As our political scene, cultural dynamics, and military engagement status quickly evolve, we are living in times that call for wakefulness. How will you stay alert?

Preferring the outcast. Mary’s Magnificat makes no bones about it. God favors those who show awe and fells the proud. He fills the hungry and gives nothing to the powerful, for they have already grabbed more than their fair share. God has done these things, and there is no reason to believe that God will do otherwise in the future. Who are the “lowly” to whom we should be paying heed?

Embracing hope and joy in the midst of uncertainty. Gabriel’s visit blew to bits Mary’s (and Joseph’s) expectations of the future. Her “overshadowing” by the Holy Spirit put her in dire straits. And yet, scripture points us to the long arc of God’s work in the world. How will we open our hearts, minds, and spirits to the work of God so that we might choose joy over fear?

Renewing the promises. We are starting the church year over and journeying again to Bethlehem. In doing so, we note the reliability of God’s promises and presence, still firm even as circumstances around us change. How does this trustworthiness encourage us to live? What in our lives needs renewal or redemption with the turning of the liturgical calendar?

In a recent podcast with pastor/author Jen Hatmaker, research professor Dr. Brene Brown shared an insightful nugget from her work: shame is the enemy of innovation. When we believe that we are not worthy – of love, of belonging, of joy, of dreaming – we cannot think beyond our current circumstances. We cannot brainstorm new ways of being and doing. We cannot envision a future much different from our present.

I have noted this truth for myself. When I feel bad about how I look, it seems like making new friends is out of reach. When my inbox is not dinging, I worry that I’ll never get another coaching or consulting client. When I don’t have expertise about the topic of discussion, I’m certain my conversation partner won’t take my input seriously. It becomes hard to put one foot in front of the other, mentally and emotionally.

It’s no secret that many of our churches are stuck. They try to strategically plan their way out of the mire, but those plans often involve more of what the congregation is currently doing, has done in the past, or has seen work in other contexts. They cannot imagine a different way of being church, only returning to a day when attendance was three times what it is now and children’s Sunday Schools were bursting at the seams.

I think corporate shame plays a role in this stuckness. We think, what is it about our church that makes people want to leave, or not even come in the first place? Why do our regulars only come once or twice a month now, when a decade ago they were here every week? Why would a new pastor accept a call to a dwindling congregation with a shrinking budget? How can we draw in newcomers when everyone in this community knows about “the incident” that happened here twenty years ago? How can we call ourselves a vibrant church when our educational wing is a ghost town?

These are all questions of worthiness. And yet, our value does not come from attendance patterns or the weekly offering. Just because something bad occurred in our past doesn’t mean our story is irredeemable. There’s no need to sound the death knell when one part of the physical plant is lying fallow. We don’t have to earn our place in the whole of Christ’s body. We have significance simply because we were created by God and gathered together in God’s name.

How, then, do we push against this collective shame that prevents us from moving into a fruitful future?

First, we must unearth it. With a group of leaders – or possibly with the congregation as a whole – pose some discussion prompts. What chapters of the church’s life or which former pastors do we not talk about, and why? How do we think others view our congregation? What are our biggest worries about the church’s present or future? How do these worries affect how we do ministry?

Second, we must address the three Ps. Psychologist Martin Seligman writes that personalization, pervasiveness, and permanence radically impact our self-perception. In personalization, congregations think “we are not good enough” rather than “those members who went elsewhere needed something we don’t offer.” In pervasiveness, an issue in one area is generalized to all of church life: “our youth group has hit a membership lull” becomes “the church is dying.” And permanence prompts us to think that we can’t get off whatever train we’re on: “if we’re in decline, there’s nowhere to go but down.” Those big, shame-inducing Ps have to be shrunk down to their proper place as lower-case ps that focus on actions and circumstances rather than unalterable character.

Third, we must broaden the narrative. What are the stories that demonstrate the congregation’s uniqueness? How has this church changed lives for the better? What are the gifts of our current circumstances? What can we do now that we couldn’t do before? What are the non-financial resources we haven’t yet tapped? For whom would this congregation and its mission be really good news?

God did not make us – as individuals or churches – for shame. God created us for love, connection, joy, and innovation. Let us do the hard work of exposing and eliminating the shame that keeps us from embracing the worthiness that comes from our kinship with Christ, thereby becoming free to live fully into the purposes God has for us.

In chapter three of Braving the Wilderness: the Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone, Brene Brown cites a startling statistic. The odds of dying early are increased by the following factors:

• air pollution = 5% more likely to die early

• obesity = 20% more likely to die early

• excessive drinking = 30% more likely to die early

• loneliness = 45% more likely to die early

Yikes. I know a lot of pastors – single and partnered, extroverts and introverts – who are seeking meaningful connections they haven’t yet found. I’ve been there many times myself, even as a person who loves her alone time. The boundaries and ethics that have been drilled into us for good reason by seminaries and judicatories often mean that we keep parishioners at arm’s length. (The paradox is that appropriate self-revelation is the key to building trust with a congregation.) Our personal theology and politics can cause us to feel estranged from the people we serve and even from many in the larger community. And the odd, demanding hours of a minister’s vocational life, not to mention the assumptions people have about clergy, make it difficult to cultivate connections outside the church.

We have some significant hurdles to overcome, but the 45% more-likely-to-die-early stat makes it plain that loneliness is a life or death issue. It’s also a matter of theological integrity; we serve a God who seeks us to draw us ever nearer not just to the divine heart but also to one another.

So what can we do to push past the loneliness? Here are a few thoughts:

Know how much connection you need to feel emotionally healthy. Typically (perhaps stereotypically), introverts need a few deep relationships while extroverts value a wide range of friendships.

Identify and share what makes you feel understood and embraced in relationships. What you need to feel seen and close to someone varies from one person to the next. (That makes it important to consider this same question about others.) Gary Chapman’s work on the five love languages has been extremely helpful to me in this vein.

Look for places and people where you note commonality. For example, join a club or a team. Volunteer for a cause. Go to an art class. Look for ways to expand on or dig deeper into that shared interest with those you meet.

Prioritize people. It’s so easy to get buried in tasks. Step back occasionally to remember the purpose behind the task, which is often human-centered. And when faced with the option between nurturing a relationship and checking off a to-do, choose the former as often as possible.

Know your warning signs. How do you know when you’re lonely? What happens in your heart? What changes in your body? How does your calendar look different? When these alerts pop up, step back and reflect on what is happening.

What would you add to this list?