The Purpose of a Paycheck

What brings you joy?

What gives you purpose and meaning, even if it doesn’t give you a paycheck?

My life is filled to the brim with things to do, things to create and repurpose and build and plan. It’s so filled with them, with these beautiful, life-giving, community focused things, that I am a workaholic, working way over 40 hours a week for almost no money and loving every minute of it.

Yet this presents both a practical problem and a societal one. The practical problem is that in reality a person needs an income to survive. The societal problem is that currently we judge something’s worth by how much monetary value it has.

But do you remember that blanky you carried around all the time as a kid? Or that serving dish that was your grandmother’s? Maybe the video game that you and your brother played for over 100 hours or the first “I love you, Daddy” stick figure drawing that your daughter brought home from school? These things cost almost nothing, and to someone else are probably worth nothing, but to you….

I have a job. It’s a job where I work 12 hours a week, where I make $12,000 a year. So on paper at least I can say that I have a job, I’m a Music Director, I’m doing SOMETHING, but on paper the figures make it sound like I’m super lazy and a huge failure.

NOT on paper, though, you want to know what I am?

• I’m the Music Director for two churches, though I only get paid for one.
• I’m a musician, writing and recording music and discipling other musicians.
• I’m an interior designer and painter, working 20 free hours a week building closets, refinishing furniture, redoing lighting, creating original art pieces, and more.
• I’m a community house leader, creating safe and warm spaces for people to feel loved and filled and spurred on toward greatness.
• I’m a church visionary, helping guide the collective churches of Bristol toward innovative ideas that will help spread the good news of Christ, of God, of heavens instead of hells.

And there is so much more. And I know for you there is too.

So I can give up these things, these very valuable, needed things, in order to make myself have more worth on paper, which would then help me make more income. Or I can look around and realize that I have all the income I need, and these things that I’m doing for free come from the Wellspring of Life.

(It might not seem like a tough choice. I wish you luck with yours.)

When You Marry A Pastor…

In college I got so annoyed by the girls who only cared about finding their perfect pastor husband that I almost swore I’d never date a pastor. Oops. And now that Gary and I are planning THE COOLEST WEDDING EVER for this August, I find myself wondering what those pastor-husband-seeking girls (and consequently, I) have failed to prepare ourselves for. In doing so I think of two things: the burden of ministry, and those who have gone before us.

Ministry is not all it’s cracked up to be; it’s more. There are more things to do, more decisions to make, more people to meet and include and pour into than is possible for any one of us. That’s partly why we are told to go in twos. But that’s also why no pastor or pastoring family can be responsible for all the ministry of a church. I am so thankful for Redemption’s core community, six or so couples, young couples, who have taken it upon themselves to build each other and to embrace those who are new. Gary and I would be drowning without them (without you). And this is the other side of ministry being more: while the failures seem grave indeed, the successes bring more life and hope than we ever could have imagined. Because of this, while the prospect of marrying a pastor, of being in the midst of messy and spiritually damaged/dangerous people as a constant life choice is terrifying, I also have incredible hope that God has not left us to fend for ourselves.

And this goes beyond just the core of Redemption. Over the past two and a half years since we church planted I have watched other local church leaders and their families to see if I could learn something about how to survive being married to a pastor. While there are a lot of different models, here are two lessons that I have found encouraging:

1. Being married to a pastor doesn’t mean you have to be highly visible or responsible in the church. Just because Zach is married to Francis doesn’t mean that he has to lead three ministries and be the go-to person for every problem. Zach goes to the breakfast outreach at their church on Thursdays and cooks sausages. That’s it. And he loves it. Same with Todd and Melanie. Todd might be a pastor, but Melanie’s job is to look after Todd and their boys. That’s it. She’s not on the liturgy team. She’s not in the band. She doesn’t do setup. She is a support system, a strong and vital form of leadership, and it’s exactly what she should be doing.

2. It takes a village to raise a child; it also takes a village to keep a marriage strong. Whether they live in a community house or not, it seems that the strongest pastoring couples I have seen are those who keep their friends and support networks close. So once again, I am very thankful for Redemption.

Church leaders aren’t kidding when they say that dealing with people will get you everything: love, transcendence, disappointment, betrayal. And since church planting two and a half years ago I’ve seen all of this be both a blessing and a curse to the one I care most for in this world. That might be the most difficult thing about marrying a pastor: watching him go through it and not being able to fix anything. But this is what we’re choosing. And this is what we’ll fight for. And, praise God, we’re not in it alone.

(Gary and I at the entrance to the bat cave outside Hollywood.)

Spring Scumming

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every

purpose under the heaven – Ecclesiastes 3:1

(or add the “turn, turn, turn” in there and you’ve got a Byrds song)

 

 

It’s almost spring. Can I get an amen?

When I was a child I never kept anything. I would always “clean” my room by putting everything in a trash bag and hauling it out to the dumpster. Art projects, toys, clothing, pictures: I’m surprised my parents never got mad at me for it. (Or maybe I’ve blocked that from my memory.) I even threw away an old Bible once. It was falling apart and had no front or back cover anymore. Like everything else, it went in the dumpster, but I remember being really sneaky about placing it there. My practical side said that it was trash because it was falling apart, but the rest of me felt (and maybe still feels) guilty about printed holy words rotting away in a trash heap somewhere. Maybe I was afraid that God would think I didn’t care. Maybe I just didn’t want to get in trouble.

And we often do this with our lives as well.

On Sunday I made a new friend; I will call him Fred. Fred has always tried so hard to be presentable, to be a good picture of who Christ is so that others might know the love of God. The trouble is, Fred’s pretty screwed up. And, though he has probably told people a million times that, as Jesus said, “it is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners,” Fred has only just now come through a season bad enough for him to realize that he needs a doctor. Now, I’m not talking about salvation–Fred knows Jesus–I’m just talking about the sheer realization that if God finds value in the scum of the earth, then the scum of the earth have value on earth too. So, I listened to Fred talk for a little while. He told me about childhood problems. He told me about church problems. And when he was done talking, he apologized: as though he’d been a burden. I could have listened to him for hours.

On the other side of every season there is opportunity to use what was learned in that season. God will bring us through our junk, but I think he expects us to use that junk afterward to benefit those around us. To me, it would seem like quite a waste to do spring cleaning, to throw all that junk in the dumpster and forget why we ever acquired it in the first place.

Dear Fred, I so look forward to seeing what you will do with the opportunity that is before you.

Redemption Church

Presence

I just started working at the Sweet Mustard Seed a couple weeks ago. It’s a coffee shop/bakery/deli right on Mill Street, the main street of historic Bristol Borough, PA. We have wi-fi and local art. We have a cool alleyway and a back yard where we’ll have concerts when it’s warm. We have food that rocks my socks off, including a vegan sandwich (Ezekiel bread, humus, avocado, tomatoes, salt and pepper, toasted) which we run out of all the time because people order it so much. But I think the best thing we have, and the thing that will make this place survive, is presence.

There are 2-3 foot drifts covering the sidewalks of Bristol right now. Storm after storm has hit since the day the shop opened, and we’re expecting an ice storm again tonight. Now between the weather and the fact that we aren’t advertising yet so we can get our bearings, you’d think business would be slow, that we’d be struggling, but you’d be surprised. There are four tattoo shops within a 20 second walk of the Sweet Mustard Seed and it’s this supposedly rough and tumble crowd that’s keeping us on our feet.

I have a favorite customer already; his name is Jay. He is tall, wears a tidy beard and a burnt-orange stocking cap, and he has tattoos covering both arms all the way down to his knuckles. He’s an artist, an artist of tattoos, and his eyes are a calm blue. Jay comes in our shop every day, sometimes twice, and orders a slightly burnt bagel with cream cheese. The first time he came in, he and his friend and my work friend and I started up a lively conversation about the tattoos that we have or don’t have, want or don’t want, and why. This led to an explanation of how I can’t ever get full sleeves (tattoos up my arms) because I work at a Christian university. This then led to a conversation about whether God exists, whether any religion actually gets the whole truth, and whether having a belief gives you permission to treat people badly. Eventually, after hearing horror stories of believers abusing their non-believing neighbors, I outright declared that “I might want you to love Jesus but that doesn’t mean I can hate you if you don’t.” Everyone seemed relieved. An atheist, a guy on the fence, a sassy believer who works at Hooters, a meek Christian college professor: we all stood and nodded, knowing that we could be friends.

In that moment, we were all very present. We each brought something to the table, something to offer one another by way of growth and genuine understanding. This is the kind of presence that changes things. And it all took place around a cash register in a little coffee shop. I love my job.

It’s Gonna Be A Good Year…Or I’m Walkin’

• Watch this video:  In The New Year – The Walkmen
• Look up the lyrics: song lyrics
• (This song is probably not about Jesus, I’m just using it for my own purposes.)

“Oh I’m still living….” It might not seem possible but we made it through 2010. And while we’re probably still struggling in some capacity to get off the starting block in 2011, “I know that it’s true, it’s gonna be a good year.”

Sometimes church planting is more than surprisingly difficult. Not only are there the tangible difficulties of having few members and no money, but there are also intangible difficulties that lurk behind every new step forward that we take. We choose a leader and have to soothe the hurt feelings of those not chosen. We decide to volunteer and then have to maintain the morale of those whose time and resources get spread too thin. We try to build community and then (as would seem obvious) have to shoulder the needs of others: relationship equals responsibility and vulnerability, both of which enable pain and fatigue. So I guess it’s “out of the darkness and into the fire,” but at least in the fire we can see what’s burning us.

At the moment, it seems that a lot of us are still waiting. John’s dream coffee shop location sold so he’s still waiting for a chance to move forward. Our friends in the woods are still waiting for a place to move. I’m waiting for a job to come through so I can sustain my existence. Half of us are waiting for relationships and mentors and helpers and leaders to join in this life with us. And we all wait for our God to show up—if only in a whisper–hoping that He’ll mend our problem of pain, whatever that means for each of us.

Sometimes it feels like “my heart’s in the strangest place,” and that God’s “[taking his] sweet time” in His plan for how our lives are supposed to work out. But even this week I’ve watched all the stuff that has happened to Forrest, my fellow deacon, and I can’t deny that something God-inspired must be afoot in Bristol. The most recent “miracle” is that Forrest, whose car was recently totaled and who had no way of replacing the vehicle, was just given a car for free. For free! I’m still somewhat baffled by this, but it makes me think that maybe God’s not as far off as I feel sometimes, and maybe, instead of waiting, I should just be looking around.

I’ve said it to Gary at least 3 times this month: this year is going to be INTENSE. I think he’s right when he replies that we have no choice but to be different by the end of it, I just pray that there’s comfort throughout the change. For now, let us be hope-filled; let us sing with the Walkmen…“I know that it’s true, it’s gonna be a good year.”

Forrest, Susan, and John

 

The Night Is Nearly Over

I could say that things aren’t going well, but that’s not really true. A year and a half into church planting I look around and see a lot of work that’s done, a lot of relationships built or being maintained, but I also see the hundreds of projects that need to be started. And, I think, we’re all getting tired.

But it could just be the time of year, the darkness and cold. In this season of Advent, we look back at what has happened and we long for what is to come. “The night is nearly over; the dawn is almost here” (Romans 13:12); Kyle, my weightlifting buddy, wants to get that tattooed on himself amongst a rising sun. I like the idea.

So what do we long for? Personally, I long for another job. I long for my finances and loan junk to get straightened out. For Forrest and John to stop bickering about paint color and floor sanders and just enjoy their room. For Matt (and myself) to stop being afraid of girls. I long for projects to get done in Gary’s house so he’s not stressed out all the time. And I long for the holidays to be a time of rest and love and celebration instead of stress and budgeting and bustle.

More importantly, I long for decisions to be made about relocating the homeless. I long for The Sweet Mustard Seed to get open, for Mill Street to thrive, and for me to be there to see it. I long for my family and friends to know that I love them, especially since I hardly pay attention to some of them. I long to be of such character that I don’t act like a jerk toward the guy who’s taking 2 hours to help John pick out paint at Walmart.

I long for God. And to just be.

So in this season, we long. And the longing isn’t bad. It can be uncomfortable; sometimes we want relief, but when we sit in the ache we can learn from its teachings. Let us sit, for “the night is nearly over; the dawn is almost here.”

(I was supposed to meet Kyle 10 minutes ago in the gym. Sorry, dude.)

Kyle in Israel

 

A Not-Necessarily-Success Story

Not long ago, I was at a church-and-social-justice type conference in Trenton and Bart Campolo was there too. At some point I heard him say that it’s nice that his church doesn’t have to raise funds: if they pay for themselves they don’t have to lie to people, they don’t have to embellish the success stories in order to get people to buy in. In fact, he said he was glad he could be completely honest and say how much building a community can suck sometimes because that’s what’s real. I tend to agree, but that doesn’t stop Bart or myself from building our communities anyway.

So here’s a quick not-necessarily-success-story message just to give you an update, just to give you some things to think and pray about.

Klondike telling Phil a tall tale.

• Our homeless friends might be getting evicted from their patch of woods here pretty soon. Pray that we can help them find a place to go. Pray that we have enough time. Pray, because winter’s coming.
• Praise God that most of the people in our tight circle have found good jobs.
• Pray for Mill Street. Bristol is still economically depressed.
• I, personally, am thinking of doing fund-raising so I can take on further responsibilities with Redemption Church. As a deacon, I would like to take even more steps toward unifying the community of Bristol through arts and music and social networking. But I don’t know if I’ll be successful in my objective, and I don’t want to lie to people–telling them how great things are going–when in reality it takes money even to try and fail at something.
• Our friend, John Fuerst, is looking into starting up a coffee shop on Mill Street! Pray that we can find the means to accomplish this (most of us are only in our 20′s).

That’s it for now. We all continue to work hard. The community has ups and downs and nothing magically happens on its own. But we are not yet discouraged. We continue to love this place and have childlike eyes to see what incredible things God can do with it. Take care.

The Mill Street Run. From left: Andrew, Kelly, Brian, Trisha (back), Dorie (front), Gary, Jen, Susan

 

Happy November, Dear Ones

It’s November, elections are tomorrow, time’s flying by, but all I can really think about is how thankful I am (again, it’s November).

I’m thankful for a job that, while failing to pay the bills, IS something that I love doing.

I’m thankful for a church community that, while imperfect, does accept me, embrace me, and enable me to do the same for others.

I’m thankful for family who, while over 1,000 miles away, continue to care and give support in whatever fashion they can.

I’m thankful for friends, that self-proclaimed family of choice, who surprise me constantly with their depth and breadth of love for me and for our community.

I’m thankful for Gary specifically who, though just as screwed up as I am, refuses to give up on me, on life, on the world, or on God.

I’m thankful for the faithfulness of Christ, of God, who continues to stick around, to meddle, and to provide in every way.

And so much more. I just realized that, in the midst of all this hectic living, I am thankful. I’m not thankful that I’ve made a mess of my schedule or that I get so stressed out that I recite excuses for my failings to imaginary judges, but I am thankful for these tangible things that show a great amount of mercy. Happy November, dear ones.

Jesus Likes Me, This I Know…

Taken by Shanna. I was talking.

And we’re back.

Sorry, I had to take a couple weeks off so my life could fall apart and be stitched back together. Now I live with the stitches–maybe someday, the scars–but I also must thank those who have been present to do the stitching. Thank you.

…

So because of the past couple weeks, I’ve realized that I have a great amount of trouble knowing for certain that God likes me. Not loves me, because I believe THAT without a doubt, but likes me. And this has little to do with circumstances. I learned a long time ago that stubbing my toe does not mean that God is mad at me. In fact, stubbing my toe might make me a few seconds late at an intersection where I would have been squashed like a bug had I been on time. Thus, stubbing my toe might mean that God’s actually looking out for me, that God loves me…but I think what’s still difficult is that God might be able to watch out for me, direct my path, take an interest in my goings on and still not actually like me. Half the time, people I know get on Facebook to stalk people that they DON’T like, rather than the people that they do. While I’m not saying that God is as childish as we, I am saying that my mind struggles to know for certain that the character of God includes liking those whom He loves.

And this might be just me, my struggle, but I don’t assume so. I assume (another thing that I learned NOT to do a long time ago but continue to do anyway) that you feel it too, that Bristol feels it too, that the world feels it too. I assume every time you do something that you know is wrong, and every time you ask for forgiveness, and every time you do that same wrong thing again, that you might believe in God’s love, God’s forgiveness, God’s grace, but you don’t believe that He likes you. After all, what perfect being could like something that continually revels in its imperfection and then seemingly lies about wanting to change? He might be able to love that thing, as anyone loves and cares for a frog with a broken leg, but He cannot deny that the frog is slimy and somewhat revolting.

Now, I guess I should take the time right here to tell you that I am wrong. That God both loves us and likes us to such a degree that we WILL NEVER comprehend it. That, unlike us, God can actually forget our past dealings and see us as new creatures. That we belong to Christ, whose actions present us, unblemished and unashamed, into God’s assembly. I have to tell that to you because it is true. And, finally, I have to tell that to me. I have to say it because, while I know it, I might spend the rest of my life having to learn that God likes me.

“Physco” Bill

I have to tell you about my friend, Bill.

Bill lives in the woods in Bristol with a lot of people I’m proud to call my friends. He’s a younger guy compared to the rest (in their 50′s or 60′s), or maybe he just has a 13-year-old’s energy about him. Either way, he’s kind of a goofball, but he’s also dangerous. One doesn’t get the nickname “Psycho Bill” for nothing.

Like a lot of people in and out of homelessness, Bill has mental issues. He knows this. He refers to it as “Psycho coming out” and he talks about the things that happen when Psycho shows up. Things get broken. People get broken.

Now, as you can imagine, when I first started hanging out in the woods I had to promise my closest guy friends that I would never show up out there alone. You can imagine the lectures they gave me, the stern looks, the fatherly stances that they put on as they made me promise (especially after I wrote a play wherein the character most similar to myself is killed out in the woods by a psychotic homeless dude). And, when it came to Psycho Bill being around, it was easy to keep that promise.

Over the course of time things have started to change, though. This summer, we all went to the beach and Bill and I got to play frisbee. When Leo died, even though Bill said he’d never go to church, he (Bill) showed up at the memorial service we had. And last month when my bike broke and I had no money for repairs, Bill repeatedly asked me when I was going to let him fix it. (I did drop it off and he did fix it and it works beautifully.)

But the thing that surprised me the most is what happened today. It’s been a difficult week for some reason, so by the time I showed up in the woods I was at an emotional low. After  a while, I left the camp to be by myself. I sat on a log at the edge of the woods and cried, trying to figure out just what I was crying about. And then along came Bill. He and Pat (an older fellow) had just shown up from who knows where, and, seeing me crying by myself, Bill walked right up. “Sue, are you ok?” I said no and wiped tears from my cheeks. Bill sat on the log next to me and pulled out his phone. “I have something for yuh that might cheer yuh up.” He showed me a small video of a cat with headphones on, making a noise that sounded like it was laughing hysterically. It was precisely something that “13-year-old” Bill would have; I laughed too. “See, I told yuh you’d like it. I’ll send it to yuh.”

When I got home, I got the video on my phone and that’s what’s making me write this. Psycho Bill might be dangerous, but he’s my friend. He has taken care of me and loved me just like so many others in my community, and I feel honored to have that.

Now, you might wonder how good of a friend I am to Bill if I’m writing about him like this. Would I write about my other friends like this? Would I call them crazy or dangerous? I don’t know. But I do know that I’d call Bill dangerous to his face; after all, he says the same thing. “I told Tyrone, ‘my heart’s blacker than you,’” he says, and Tyrone (a friend of ours) is the happy color of a coffee bean. Still, I hope someday I can convince Bill that even my heart isn’t like snow, that he might be Psycho but I hurt people too, and that someone (I) care about him just like he cares about me.

Post Script: Bill has the word Psycho tattooed on his arm, only it’s spelled wrong. It says Physco. I know that Bill could potentially kill me, but the permanent error makes it almost impossible to see him in full bravado. And I can’t bring myself to point it out to him.