"The Art and Practice of Ministry"

The occasion of my inaugural sermon and of your Ministerial Search Committee beginning its search for a settled minister has led me to contemplate ministry. What do ministers do? Or what are they trying to do? For me, the whole subject is conscience-stirring. It forces me to think about what people like Ernie Pipes and Judith Meyer and I are really up to. And to consider the standards (Isaiah, Theodore Parker, Olympia Brown) by which the craft is — and always should be — measured.

Old timers say one should preach on ministry at least twice a year. I always find that incredibly difficult, mostly because ministry is, I think, an almost impossible job.

- 2nd oldest profession;
- Rabbi Jerome Malino: “If you’re not almost losing your job, then you’re not doing it.

This often leads to problems…

- Young seminary graduate: preached his first sermon on “Following the Teachings of Jesus.” And then his 2nd, 3rd, and 4th sermons. Until….
- Theodore Parker preached on abolition something like 74 times in a row.
- William Ellery Channing’s anti-slavery sermons irritated his largest contributors, many of whom made their fortunes in the shipping and textile industries.

The problem: There are several implicit contradictions woven right into the fabric of ministry. Success in the ministry, it seems to me, is the art and practice of turning these contradictions into creative contrasts.

- It’s like the “+” and “—” of electricity;
- Teamwork and competition within a company;
- Or the male and female of a heterosexual marriage relationship. The art is turning it into a dance—creative contrast—instead of a brawl.

Well, how does one do this? How to avoid the pitfalls and turn one’s interactions into a dance? The first step, it seems to me, is to recognize and identify some of the implicit contradictions; whereby we’re less likely to be trapped by them unconsciously.

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The first problem is the various roles the minister is asked to assume. Get clear on what you really want, then express it — to me, to my successor, but also to yourselves. Do you want me, do you want your next settled minister, to be a prophet, a scholar, a comforter, a friend, a toastmaster, an administrator, a PR man, a hipster, or an Old Salt? Probably — if you’re like every other church — you want all of these things. Good luck! Since that’s impossible, just be attentive to when your minister is wearing which hat. And talk to him or her about which hat you want them to wear today.

Take, as just one example, the prophet role…. Churches say they want to be challenged; to be inspired and motivated to new heights, new levels of social action and personal growth…. But the truth is that most of the time we don’t want to be challenged. We want to be patted on the back. We want the minister’s spiritual blessing on our conventional lifestyles and social complacency. We want to be affirmed and supported in our social and psychological ruts.

That’s all right, but…. Many of us tend to think in terms of the ‘60s civil rights and anti-war movements and to forget that, by and large, the church, along with the University, is a great supporter

— a bulwark, really —

a foundation of the status quo. And the Unitarian Universalist church is no exception. Even in the ‘60s most churches were conservative and most Unitarian Universalist churches were pretty staid.

Churches — even UU churches — are essentially conservative organizations. In the late ‘40s and early ‘50s when A. Powell Davies of All Souls Unitarian Church in Washington, DC was preaching to four members of the Supreme Court every Sunday he was not preaching revolution. And ministers — or professors — that do (like Jesus or Socrates) tend to get in hot water, to say the least.

Remember: many of the denominational heroes we celebrate today had, when they were working, one heck of a time.

- Ralph Waldo Emerson: resigned from the ministry under pressure;
- Olympia Brown: forced out of her own pulpit in Bridgeport, Connecticut;
- Theodore Parker: shunned for years by nearly all of his colleagues.

Keep in mind: religion is an irritant, not a slave. The prophetic message (whether East or West, activist or mystical; from Jeremiah Wright to Stephen Fritchman) puts the lie to complacency. And what’s funny about it — a contradiction — is that at the same time religion is an irritant, the minister is called upon to be a healer and physician. To balm our weary souls and help us go forth and carry on.

“Say something spiritual,” I’m forever hearing. “Remind me of the grace that abounds. Give me a glimpse of infinity. But don’t run over twenty minutes!”

Almost more than members want to be challenged, they want to be touched. To be reminded of the beauty all around them; of the meaning — the deep meaning —

in our families,
in our capacity to take pride in good
work,
to be inspired
and fortified —
to keep at it! To “keep on keepin’ on,” as Marvin Gaye once put it, for another week.

And most of all we want to feel, for a moment, our souls.

- The rush of discovery;
- Of awe, amazement, or wonder;
- The rekindling of affection;
- And a sense of thankfulness, or gratitude.

One learns, over time, how to do these things…but it’s never easy. The key, I think, is humility. There’s a lot of beauty and wonder and meaning in the world, but one has to get off their high horse before he or she can see it. As the Unitarian Henry David Thoreau wrote in Walden, “Humility, like darkness, reveals great lights.”

And here’s another contradiction: by helping us come back to our senses we begin to think that the minister herself or himself is something special. But it’s not really how brilliant or hard-working or creative the minister is; it’s about his or her ability to share with lay members of the church our thoughts and feelings and to hear the same from them; to be in open-hearted and open-minded dialogue.

At the heart of our Unitarian Universalist tradition is the idea (the mythic idea, really) of covenant: the notion that we are in an ongoing conversation with one another, in search together for the sacred, the really real. The minister — in our tradition — is not supposed to tell congregants how to think or how to feel, but to challenge and encourage them to think and to feel.

Covenant is based on dialectic (truth-seeking) as opposed to eristics (debate). And ideally, that’s what most of our congregational efforts are about: truth-seeking. Too many of our day-to-day conversations are, unfortunately, eristic; we know when we’re in one when we find ourselves framing an answer while our interlocutor is still talking. Dialectic, on the other hand, happens (a la Socrates) whenever we admit to our uncertainty and go searching together.

Unitarian Universalism can sometimes be like my 10th grade biology class. Whenever one of asked Mr. Chadbourn a question, instead of simply answering he'd ask: “How would you devise an experiment to figure that out?” His method could be wearisome, but he taught us how to think…and how to learn. I’m reminded of a UU congregation in Illinois with a sign over the sanctuary door: “Here all your answers are questioned.”

Well, okay then; so there are no “answers.” But at least we can expect — even if the world itself is never-ceasing open-ended flux — at least we can expect our minister to be solid and dependable. Somebody we can count on, depend on, and know where they stand.

So here we have another contradiction, probably the most difficult one to get beyond, i.e., to transcend and turn into a creative contrast. For if the world (as modern physicists tell us) is in constantly transforming open-ended flux, then we, too — if we are to be truly integral and whole in the world — must recognize ourselves as being in flux, too. And yet the world of social institutions and organization finds this almost impossible to accept. The open, changing person is threatening. We want to know what we can expect from our leaders, not always to have to be responding to something new.

It was when Jesus didn’t play to the expectations of his followers that they allowed him to be killed. And in just the same way, political and academic mavericks tend to be platooned or marginalized. While dependable — i.e., predictable people (the kind who take a position and don’t change it for forty years) — go far. Like Jesse Helms or B.F.Skinner, they develop a whole political faction or philosophical school behind them.

The rub, the contradiction, is that this whole “dependably consistent” thing is essentially ego, or mask — which is precisely the problem. To grow — spiritually and psychologically, and together as a community — we have to learn how, and become open enough to, take off our masks. And yet, too often, the whole religious enterprise is set up to keep our masks on.

I often lament that long-time church members will suddenly go through a crisis —

divorce,
loss of a job,
a disabling or disfiguring illness —

And, when they most need a loving and non-judgmental support community, stop coming to church out of embarrassment, or shame. At the very time they’re most in need!

But if the members have difficulty taking off their masks, how more threatening it is for the minister! How much easier it is to stay hidden behind the pulpit,

(STEP OUT)

Formally garbed in a clerical robe.

(TAKE OFF ROBE)

Make no mistake: all ministers — your next minister included — are only human. We can only lead with our strengths and our weaknesses.

Our faith, Unitarian Universalism — is grounded upon two great heresies. First, the Unitarian heresy: that ALL is ONE. Not three, but ONE, wherein everything is internally connected. And second (Universalism): that we’re ALL SAVED the way we are. The gig is up! Just accept it. Accept yourself. Accept each other, with all our foibles. Thus we can be open and honest with each other. We don’t have to wear masks at all.

This is nothing to be embarrassed or afraid of; indeed, it’s our greatest asset, our profoundest truth. Here, in this beautiful sanctuary, this magnificent place of art and music and self-discovery, and foremost of search….

Here was can come off our high horses,
take off our masks,
offer one another our hands, and hearts,
and enter into the dialectic of beloved community.

In reality, true ministry is a relationship — a relationship between an open, loving congregation and a learning, loving pastor. A vital ministry emerges between a congregation and its minister. Or doesn’t.

I’ve been in the professional ministry now for over thirty years. I’ve come to know a lot of ministers. Across the board, whatever their style, their theology, their gender or orientation, we Unitarian Universalists have a remarkably talented and able group of women and men out there in our ministry. Some of my colleagues have truly great capacities — and I include Judith Meyer and Ernie Pipes in their number: extraordinarily gifted and committed and loving human beings. But none of us is perfect. Or without flaw. Certainly I am not. Any more than any of you are. So please, don’t look to your next minister, or to me, for perfection — look to us, rather, for a relationship.

A relationship nurtured by mutual humility and openness to change. And by openness to each other’s weaknesses, as well as one another’s strengths. So that we — all of us — can grow, together, in the art and practice of ministry.

This is my prayer. Amen.