Corporations Need Pastors

Posted on February 27, 2018 by Timothy Brown

This is from the movie _Office Space_…please don’t sue me.

Corporations need pastors.

Not in some “personal spiritual advisor” sort of way that many people take it…as if God has to rubber stamp your thoughts and your work. That kind of pastoring is largely just ego-stroking.

I’m talking about the real day-to-day work of a pastor that has more to do with picking up the broken pieces of existence, not reinforcing the powerful-but-fragile personalities at the top.

I’m talking about pastoring the real, vulnerable, crap-laden work of the corporate world.

I mean, let’s be honest, many HR professionals unofficially take on this role.

Or perhaps it’s the admin at the front desk who is both gatekeeper and secret-keeper for the people behind the door.

You know the situation: he’s the one everyone comes to with their frustration; she’s the one that everyone sees as both their confidant from the power brokers and their access to the power brokers.

But often times these are ad hoc roles, a way for the living organism that is the corporate ecosystem to right itself (or keep the even keel) so that harmony can exist within and mission…if there is one…can be maintained without.

Really, though, HR can only go so far before they break their own rules and regulations as both confidant and enforcer. And the person at the front desk may have the skills…but do they have the time?

Or, even worse, they have the time but not the skills…which is part of the problem…

Which is why corporations need pastors, chaplains, spiritual leaders. Because…well, let me give you a glimpse into the life:

-at our best we are well-practiced at the art of prioritization.

-every week we prepare at least one, but normally 4 or 5, formal reports. We do research, we write, edit, and re-write. We lean on knowledge and actively gain more knowledge as part of our work.

-every week we craft experiences. Every week we seek to engage hundreds of other people into the mission of the place, intentionally, through shared experiences.

-every week we seek to make direct connections between people’s experience and their greater purpose in the world.

-every week we seek to foster community.

-every week we mediate between individuals.

-every week we mediate between people and their personal struggles.

-every week we invite people to intentionally reflect on their lives.

-every week we deal intimately with a budget, and when we’re at our best, we filter our budget through our priorities.

-every week we manage staff and volunteers.

-every week we coach people in problem solving, both personal and otherwise (which I’ve sought special training to be able to do).

-every week we provide an ear and an open presence to take on the burdens of others, throwing them into the nether regions of the world so that the person doesn’t have to carry them…or at least, not as much of them.

-we’re trained and skilled in counseling, and don’t charge counseling fees. And when we’re healthy we’re a discerning referrer, paying attention to what we can help you through and what might require therapy beyond our capacity.

-we’re a trained dumping ground for anxiety. We can teach and encourage practices that alleviate stress and move people to living fuller lives.

-if you’ll let us, we’ll help you tap into something bigger than yourself. Most people I work with call it God. Some call it “purpose.” And some just say that they feel different after our time together. But regardless of what you think is going on, something is.

-we’re great at giving permission: to let go; to feel; to stop feeling; to ignore; to pay extra attention to.

-every week I have active projects with moving deadlines. We juggle people’s expectations and weigh them against our calling…and we help people do the same in their lives.

-every week we tell stories that wrap up the stories of others into a larger purpose

-every week we provide ritual moments that ground people in their contexts.

None of this is intended to glorify the work.

If anything, writing all this down terrifies me a bit (no wonder I’m tired as all get out every day)…

And, of course, I’m leaving out the phrases like, “Every week I wonder what the heck I’m doing and if I’m making a difference and I sit at my desk and scratch my head for a half hour deluding myself into thinking I’m working when actually I’m just not sure where to start…”

Which, of course, means that we’re just like you in many ways. But often times that’s exactly what you need: someone assigned to walk with you who is in many respects just like you because in this social media crazed world it feels like no one can relate to you. Right?

I write it all because, more often than not, when I talk to people in the corporate world, they’re struggling with time management and purpose. They’re struggling with having the rat-race business rub up against their values. They’re struggling with connecting their work with their deeper purpose in life. They’re struggling with how to relieve anxiety and stress in an ever expanding work week. They’re struggling with a corporate culture that encourages competition to the detriment of personal actualization and mission cohesion.

And I write this because the CEO’s and managers I talk to struggle with keeping mission and vision at the forefront of their work. They struggle with asking the hard questions about their role and impact in a society that is feeling more fragile and fractured these days.

And there’s evidence that a deep spiritual life helps an individual handle life…which makes me think it could certainly help a corporation handle life.

Most people think a pastor’s work is primarily one of evangelization, and certainly that fits our training. But practically, I see the soul-emptying work of many of my friends screaming for a chaplain for their soul. And not just outside of their work, but specifically in their work.

With the growing number of “nones” and “dones” who are leaving organized religion (and with good reason…I get it), there is an aspect of life that might be lost here. An aspect of the whole person that might get neglected.

And I wonder, I just wonder, what would happen if a corporation took a chance and, instead of hiring a new M.BA sought out an experienced, nuanced, competent M.Div?

Not to convert, but to convey.

Convey that this organization cares about you past your on-paper productivity.

I just wonder, what would it look like for corporations to invest in the soul of their employees in the same way they ask their employees to invest in the corporation.

I just wonder if corporations need pastors.

We Need to Stop Stigmatizing Mental Illness Every Time There’s a Mass Shooting

Posted on February 15, 2018 by Timothy Brown

53dc9ad853199-full I haven’t quite figured out how to say what I want to say here. It’s just not coming out right. So I’ll start by saying these three things that I think are absolutely true:

First, there is no excuse for the Parkland shooter. What he did was evil and horrible.

Second, we cannot have a conversation about mass shootings that only looks at mental illness and not at gun availability, gun sales, or our culture that idolizes violence.

And finally, when we talk about mental illness or mental health in these tragic situations, we need to start being more specific.

Because not all mental illness is the same. And we further stigmatize it when that’s (now) all that we talk about after a mass shooting.

In fact, there are over 200 different classified forms of mental illness.

And every time we have mass shooting in this nation, pundits and politicians and talking heads start pontificating about “mental illness,” as this generic, scary thing lurking in the dark corners of the classroom, of the internet, of the backstreets of America far from where normal, happy, and healthy people live.

And the problem with all of this is that many children (and adults), who would never pick up a gun and never hurt anyone, live with mental illness. And more and more are being diagnosed with mental illness at an earlier age…using that term (because that’s what it is)…and so they hear all this mess and it heaps loads of shame upon them.

Depression is mental illness.

Bi-polar disorder is mental illness.

ADD and ADHD are forms of mental disorders.

Anxiety disorders are forms of mental illness.

Schizophrenia is mental illness.

PTSD is mental illness.

Dementia, even, is mental illness.

The Greek word for “desert” is eremos, which literally means “abandonment.” And for many people, living with a mental illness already feels a bit like a desert experience, like you’re alone and abandoned and no one understands quite what you’re going through.

And to trumpet this as the cause behind these mass shootings, well, it’s just not the full case, and doing so just intensifies that desert experience for many. It further stigmatizes an already stigmatized illness.

And if we can’t talk about banning gun sales because not all gun owners and not all guns are the same, then we can’t talk about all mental illness as being the same.

(And don’t even get me started on the phrase “nut job” being in the same sentence as mental illness…which I heard from one politician.)

And today I heard calls for people to report “trouble children,” and news reports continually use the word “loner” when talking about him, and I’m not sure what to do with that. If more energy was put into befriending and including and lifting up these so-called trouble or loner children, we’d probably be better off.

Sure, we should report any activity, online or otherwise, that fantasizes about mass murders (which this individual did…and authorities knew about). And of course if a kid is talking about shooting up a place, we need to tell someone (which he did…and the authorities knew about it).

But, if you ask me, instead of looking for so-called loners, look for kids (and adults) with unhealthy idealizations of war, first-player shooting game obsessions (especially if they can talk to others online without parental supervision), unquestioned racism and bigotry, and unaddressed tragedy in the home or in the heart…these are probably more accurate indications of brooding unrest than just being a “loner.”

If you ask me, we should start talking about how we, as a society, have become violence voyeurs.

All of this is more troubling than having “weird kids” being singled out. So let’s not go reporting every kid who is quiet in class, wears black instead of blazing colors, likes to write and read and play role-playing games just yet…

All of my church’s research on youth ministry hammers home that the more adults that are active and involved in a child’s life, the more that child will feel cared for and accepted. It’s not just peers, and even probably not primarily about peers (though peer-love is necessary), but active adults.

Active adults who can change the narrative of “you’re strange” and “you’re trouble” into the real truths that point out the good qualities of a youth, that reinforce their strength and creativity and courage.

And you want to talk about courage? Talk to a kid who gets picked on every day at school but yet gets up the next morning and goes anyway.

Look, your parents may have mental illness. Your pastors may have it. Your children may have it. Your spouse may have it. You may have it. Mental illness is not some thing that people bring into “normal” society.

Mental illness is part of normal society.

There is no excuse for what this individual did. And it is clear he was ill in some way. But we all have to look in the mirror, too.

Our society has to look in the mirror.

And until we can all come to grips with the ways that our society hurts where it should help, alienates when it should alleviate loneliness, and ostracizes our children at the fringes, we’ll just keep stigmatizing mental illness, avoid talking about gun laws, and wait around as one so-called “nut job” after another amazingly reenacts the same scene over and over again.

What Valentine’s Day Can Learn from Ash Wednesday

Posted on February 12, 2018 by Timothy Brown

vintage_blindfolded_cupid_valentines_tarot_card-r69e9e0fbe135412f893d556e955012e3_vgbaq_8byvr_324 February 14th is Ash Wednesday this year.

We should all go out to eat on Valentines Day with ashes on our foreheads.

I mean, whether you’re a Christian or not, you should go ahead and do it. Because Ash Wednesday is a day that speaks a deep truth about humanity that we all try to avoid: we’re mortal and flawed.

So no matter what kind of foundation you gussy yourself up with before that first date, and no matter what kind of aftershave you apply to make that skin smell just so-so fine, you can’t change the fact that we all share the same mortal boat.

And I don’t say this so that you will despair. I say it just out of honest truth.

Because here’s the thing: if you give your heart to something, you will lie to yourself. You will say, “This. I give it to this because it is worth my heart.” But the subtext that we too often have in such an action is some sort of delusion that the things worth our hearts are perfect or incorruptible or have earned it by some sort of morally superior truthfulness or…

Look, give your heart away to worthy things, but often times what makes them worthy is that you give your heart to them in the first place.

When I speak to couples about love and companionship and sometimes even marriage, I have to work hard to cut through the syrup and sentiment to arrive at something real at the bottom of it all: love is often, in the end, a choice.

Sure, it starts out as butterflies and pie in the sky, but once that wears away you will see what Ash Wednesday shows us: the flaw, the scar, the thing that was covered under foundation and aftershave, years of perfecting a story that omits a chapter, and hours of therapy.

But it is there, that flaw is there, and that is OK.

Do you hear me? That is OK.

Because you cannot give your heart to something perfect; there is no such animal…at least not one immediately available. You certainly are not perfect.

What Ash Wednesday can remind us, though, is that no flaw is fatal. It’s why Christians mark the forehead in not just any shape, but the shape of the cross, a paradoxical sign that is the embodiment of saying, “Dead things can live again…even those dead parts of you.”

And sometimes, Beloved, all it takes is a little love to make the dead places in us rise from the grave. Scars fade. Flaws smooth.

Just because something is dead in this life does not mean it will always be dead.

And nothing is ever perfect, mind you. Even Jesus’ own resurrection came with scars from the hurt and the pain of the fight two nights before.

But that body walked again, by God.

This year we have this fun juxtaposition: Cupid and Christ. Cupid blindly shoots and we romantically think we fall in love.

Christ, though…well, Christ’s love isn’t blind. God’s love isn’t blind to all our hurt and pain and wrongs and ego and all that mess. Christ’s love is visionary, illuminating all those shadowy parts of ourselves, exposing them for what they are: flawed but not fatal.

And that person you fall in love with? Perhaps we should stop imagining Cupid shooting blindly and start embracing a Divine love that sees all and still finds a way to keep the arms open, the welcome present, the love intact.

Not that you have to fall in love with someone to be whole. And even more so, sometimes the love we thought would last does not…cannot. Sometimes our flaws do push us apart in the end. Which is when we need to lean even more into the story of Ash Wednesday and a Christ whose love is visionary and completing (rather than competing).

Because it is not a flaw to not be partnered. Sometimes it is a calling.

And it is not a flaw to be divorced. Sometimes it is a necessity.

But when it all feels like a flaw, keep in mind that the deep truth of everything is that it has an expiration date. Feelings, life statuses, and even life itself. Things will not always seem and be the way are today.

So embrace the truth of the situation: we are dust. Glorious star dust, the stuff of the cosmos, wonderful and beautiful and sparkling, and yet, dust all the same.

So risk the date, fall in love, eyes wide open. Or be single and loving it, giving your heart to many other worthwhile things.

But remember that things aren’t worthwhile because they are perfect; often they are worthwhile because you love them.

And how do I know?

Because you and I are not perfect, and yet we are loved by God. And others.

And we’re worth it.

Why I Just Can’t…

Posted on February 7, 2018 by Timothy Brown

5079516280_dd8c5d1fe2 Folks, I can’t.

I try as much as possible to “live and let live,” but I just can’t do this anymore.

When a televangelist says that “You don’t need a flu shot if you have Jesus,” I just can’t.

I can’t let it go without saying something.

Jesus may be called “The Great Physician,” but good golly, get a flu shot. Kids are dying.

When a popular Christian website run by neo-Calvinist author (and, in my opinion, Biblical hack) John Piper tweets “We will find mental health when we stop staring in the mirror, and fix our eyes on the strength and beauty of God,” implying that somehow people who have mental illness are just “looking at things in the wrong way,” I just can’t.

I can’t let it go without saying something, because people are dying from mental illness and it’s not that they’re spiritually deficient. This is ignorance on fire, a charge too many people are already giving to Christians…thanks for proving them correct.

And when we start walking lock-step in line with political candidates, of whatever party, and claim such obviously blasphemous statements like “God has put them in charge,” I just can’t anymore.

Vote for who you vote for and don’t try to blame the outcome on God, regardless of who you wanted to win. You break the Second Commandment when you do so, by the way.

Did God put Hitler in charge of Germany? What about Pol Pot in Cambodia? No? It’s only in the US that God puts people in charge? Well, then God must have it out for the Native Americans to put Andrew Jackson in charge. Or for the Japanese Americans to put FDR in charge (we kindly forget about those prisons, don’t we?).

I just can’t, folks.

The church is wonderful and beautiful. We take care of one another and do good by the world. We can change the world for good, too, by God.

But boy oh boy, when we are silent in the face of such ignorance. When we just say, “Well, we’re not like those Christians…” to the rest of the world without providing the counter argument, without calling those voices to be silent, by God…

And even more problematically, when we continue to go to these churches, buy their spiritual wares, and don’t confront our friends and relatives (and even those shadow places inside ourselves) who buy into all of this, we are just sending invitations to the spiritually-seeking-but-religion-skeptical friends to not bother with the Jesus story altogether.

I’m all for big tent Christianity, but I just can’t anymore. I don’t know if I’m in a totally different tent, or no longer find myself in that tent, or am just making my own campsite…I can’t think that’s the case, but perhaps it is.

But what I do know is that will not be quiet about it, and I don’t want you to be, either.

Because people are dying. Because the cross cannot be confused with Caesar and still be the cross we see on Golgotha, the cross we find in scripture.

Because Christianity cannot be a religion where “ignorance is on fire and intelligence is on ice” as author Brian McLaren so rightly says (The Great Spiritual Migration, pg 7).

And we can’t let it become that.

You can’t.

And I can’t.

Will the Real Racist(s) Please Stand Up?

Posted on January 16, 2018 by Timothy Brown

It’s about to snow here in Raleigh, which means two things: there are no pantry staples in the stores, and there is 100% chance of no school tomorrow.

So I’d like to take this moment to talk about the white stuff.

No, not the snow. By “white stuff” I mean “white people.” Including me.

Because I’m hearing some nutso things lately on the news, and I’m hearing well-intentioned people wonder aloud or deny aloud if the President of the United States is a racist, specifically because he supposedly said some terrible things about countries with majority Brown/Black populations.

But here’s the thing: even if he hadn’t/didn’t say such terrible things (and we can agree that the reports of what he may have said are pretty terrible, right? Not just “salty language” sort of terrible, but the “Geeze I’m embarrassed I know you” sort of terrible that happens at Thanksgiving with your uncle who makes political incorrectness into a contact sport)…even if he hadn’t/didn’t say those things: he’s still a racist.

And not because of the Birther stuff.

And not because of the Muslim ban stuff.

And not because of the “Mexican rapist” stuff or the whole “Mexican-heritage judge can’t be impartial toward me because I want to build a huge wall along the Mexican border (but Canada gets no such architecture) stuff.”

None of that makes him racist. It makes a person many things, but not racist.

What makes him racist can be reduced to a simple equation which happens to be the (most commonly accepted in academic circles) definition of racism.

Ready? It’s going to make you mad. Just warning you.

Ready?

Here it is:

Prejudice+Privilege/Power=Racism.

And until the world shifts dramatically, being born with white skin still affords you so much privilege and so much power, it is impossible…my sisters and brothers…impossible!…not to be racist and participate in racist systems as a white person who isn’t a hermit living in the wilds of Maine.

BUT EVEN THERE they’d still be racist if they are white because the very fact of their whiteness gives them enough power in this world to give them a leg up.

Now, there are some (really poorly argued) articles on the interwebs that will debunk this definition. I obviously reject them, but I don’t do so glibly.

See, I don’t want to be racist. So why would I embrace a definition of racism that clearly paints me as racist?

Because it is true.

If I’m humble and reflective and honest and not defensive, I know it’s true.

It’s been proven true in my own life and my own actions, and it’s a cactus I have to hug if I’m ever going to effectively do anti-racism work and offload the (often subconscious) prejudice I have.

Look, this blog post will put me at odds with friends and relatives, and members of my own congregation. They don’t want to be racist, they don’t think of themselves as racist, and many of them have even felt prejudice from people of color (though, according to the above definition , they must understand that “reverse racism” is about as real as unicorns or good roads with low taxes…it doesn’t really exist). They don’t want to believe this about themselves, especially if they’re on the lower end of the socio-economic scale, or they’ve spent their lives donating to African orphans, or have black and brown friends.

Of course they don’t. I don’t. But it’s still true.

And the very fact that I can write this and have it read by many white people is indicative in part of the systems of racism I participate in (because, do we really need another white blogger writing about race?…and yet I continue…)

And we always seem to get hung up on the prejudice thing. I get that. I’ve felt prejudice from people of color directed toward me.

But what you have to understand is that prejudice doesn’t have a color attached to it. All races can be (are?) prejudice in some form or fashion, often subconsciously and many times quite consciously.

Prejudice is harmful and often hateful and is often dangerous. And while people can be less/more prejudiced, I’m not sure anyone can be totally without prejudice, especially when whole systems (economic systems/prison systems/government systems/hiring systems) have implicit and explicit prejudice.

But prejudice alone is not racism…though they can be linked.

I can be prejudiced. Denzel Washington can be prejudiced.

Let’s not pretend that the backpack I was born with was the same one that Denzel Washington was born with.

The man now has economic and influential power, and his pinky toe can act circles around me…he’s got talent (though he’s made some poor movie choices…looking at you Book of Eli).

But even with all that, I cannot dismiss the fact that the hill I’ve had to climb just because I’m white: that my job application with the boringly innocuous “Tim Brown” at the top as opposed to his “Denzel” will get looked at first and with more priority; that my presence in an establishment (with the obvious exception of buffet lines) has never caused concern; that jails are full of people who don’t look like me at an alarming ratio that causes just about every statistician to conclude bias in the system…

My hill is smaller and easier.

White is still synonymous with privileged power worldwide. It just is, despite the trends of increasing global diversity. And the fact that I don’t feel very privileged or powerful most of the time doesn’t change the reality that I am.

I don’t feel tall most of the time…but statistically I am.

That’s a horse pill for most of my white friends and relatives and parishioners (and I know it may put us at odds, but we’ve got talk about this!).

It is for me, too.

It’s a horse pill because there are so many white people who don’t feel empowered. Who don’t feel as if they’re privileged. Who don’t feel as if they have a leg up in a world of Affirmative Action and diversity quotas and falling Confederate Statues.

Look…I hear you my white friends. But it’s not about feeling. It’s about reality. The system is wrong and terrible and we participate and perpetuate it often without our knowing (but often with our full approval). It’s sneaky and real and you’ve been taught that it’s just status quo, but listen closely to our friends of color and you’ll hear that the status isn’t actually quo! It’s rigged and harmful to human flourishing in many parts of the world.

Because the powerful always want to retain power. It’s why we Christians have taken a wandering Middle Eastern man and made him white with perfect hair (and apparently all artists assume that he had some form of ancient Norelco trimmer because that beard is always on point!) and call him Savior. If Jesus looks like me, well, then my power is confirmed.

I feel your anger at my words here. Please know I’m just trying to talk about something no one wants to talk about in white circles above a whisper.

And the reality is that immigrants from Norway (where this Jesus looks like he’s from) are still preferred in this country to immigrants from Haiti, especially if they’re moving into your neighborhood, affecting your property value. Don’t think that kind of thing is attached to race? I have a couple of maps made by a man named Gerry Mander to show you…

But there is hope, my white friends (and my white me).

Let us hug this cactus in a way that unclogs our defensive hearts and opens our ears.

I am racist. I don’t want to be, and I gander you don’t want to be, either. I try not to be prejudice…but they’re not the same, folks. They’re not the same thing.

We were born into systems much larger than ourselves. But we can dismantle them, if we’re willing. We can give up some power, actively deny our privilege in the way one denies fatty foods that aren’t healthy, and we can dialogue and learn and grow.

Recently I was talking with a Black friend about racism and I said, “You know, white people like to pretend they’re not racist because it makes them feel better.”

He said, “That’s the most honest thing I’ve heard a white person say.”

And then we talked openly and honestly about racism, prejudice, and all sorts of things. That honesty was a big part of that dismantling process.

So, is our President racist?

As racist as I am.

So if you’re asking for the real racist to stand up…here I am. And probably you, too.

My Pastoral Note on Las Vegas

Posted on October 2, 2017 by Timothy Brown

Beloved,

images Another act of domestic terrorism has filled the news, filled our heads, and at this writing, hundreds of people who were enjoying life just hours ago are now filling the hospitals and, tragically, over 50 are already confirmed dead.

Our addiction to violence is a disease, and it is a sin.

I refused to tune into the news channels this morning, fearing that the children that live in my house might see the world they’re inheriting. They’re too young not to know how to be brave in the face of such madness. Sometimes I wonder if I’m too young.

St. Peter, in one of the moments when he spoke out of love and not fear, responded to Jesus in a time of perplexity, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of abundant life.” (John 6:68)

We don’t go to guns. We don’t go to violence. We don’t go to partisan bickering which all just becomes a distraction. The war of words rages while people die. Trite moralisms and vapid optimism will not do any of us any good today. And, when we go to Jesus, he doesn’t offer that. He offers true solace, he offers us the chance to confess, to forgive, to breathe, to mourn, and to re-center ourselves in peace rather than fear.

But, we must remember that, if we go to Jesus, if we seek refuge under those wings, Jesus will send us back out, too. It is not enough to pray for the victims of mass shootings, we must pray with our shoes on, prepared to work for justice and an end to this kind of violence, as Jesus calls us to in our baptism.

Walter Brueggemann, a prophet in our own time, has a book of prayers (Prayers for a Privileged People [Abingdon Press: Nashville, 2008]) that I find myself thumbing through when these mass shootings happen.

And, let me be honest: I have looked at it too much in my almost 10 years of ministry.

His prayer/poem “God’s Gift in the Midst of Violence” is one I offer to you here today. But pray it with your shoes on.

Peace today.

P.S. One immediate thing that you can do is donate blood at your local Red Cross. Click that link to find where your nearest donation center is. Blood donations will be needed!

God’s Gift in the Midst of Violence

The world trembles out of control.

The violence builds,

Some by terrorism,

Some by state greed,

Dressed up as policy,

Violence on every side.

You, in the midst of the out-of-control violence.

We confess you as steadfast, loyal, reliable,

But we wonder if you yourself are engaged

In brutality

We confess you to be governor and ruler,

But we wonder if you manage.

We in the midst of out-of-control violence,

We in great faith

We in deep vocational call

We in our several anxieties.

We—alongside you—in the trembling.

This day we pray for freedom to move

Beyond fear to caring,

Beyond self to neighbor,

Beyond protection to growth.

That we may be a sign of steadfastness,

That anxiety may not win the day.

You are the one who said, “Do not be anxious.”

And now we submit to you.

About That Knee…

Posted on September 26, 2017 by Timothy Brown

football-player-kneeling-with-helmet-off “Take a knee,” he said. We all knelt as he explained the next play.

I didn’t play football for long. Let’s be honest: it wasn’t my calling in life. Team sports leave me largely exhausted, and team players find me largely exhausting.

But for the short time I did play, we took a knee every time we had to hash through something.

“Take a knee,” she said as I grew really tired standing next to my wife during the birth of our second son. Neither birth was long, mind you, but I had been standing up and needed to hold the hand…but also needed not to be on my feet the whole time. I was going to give out, too. So I knelt.

I took a knee by the bedside as we waited for something new to be birthed.

“I invite you down on your knees,” he said as I took my ordination vows. Hands were laid on me and people spoke words over me, and I responded back, about how we’d try to care for God’s people and the world.

The position of humility, but also of power, of one assuming the mantle.

Their knees all bumped up against the counter as they sat there, still. They couldn’t order anything, and they were harassed right out of their seats, and yet there they sat, knee to knee, protesting their right to exist at the same counter as their white counterparts.

It was another position of humble power.

We take a knee to hash things out, to encourage new things to be born, to take vows, and yes, to sit in and protest when things aren’t going well.

Are things going well? Maybe it depends on who you ask.

But if my brother and sister are in trouble, it stands to reason that I’m in trouble…or will be soon…so maybe we do need to take a knee to hash it out.

And, from a Christian perspective, look…standing up for a flag, saluting, even putting your hand over your heart, the early church would absolutely be shocked that Christians ever do such a thing.

For the early church the choice was clear: you were either part of the empire, or you followed the God seen through Christ.

For that early church, you could not do both. Any allegiance to anything other than Christ was allegiance misplaced.

And that was true until the church and politics got married…certainly the definition of a “marriage of convenience.”

Convenient for whom, though? Are they still married? Can we pledge allegiance to both today?

Maybe we should take a knee and discuss it. It’s worth discussing.

Now, please don’t get me wrong…I’m not suggesting you shouldn’t stand for the national anthem or salute the flag or place your hand over your heart. I fully believe you’re welcome to wrestle with whatever you do or refrain from…whatever it is you decide to do.

Women and men died for the flag; yes. That can’t be denied, and should be honored and respected. Why did they die? How did they die? For what did they die? That’s all part of this discussion, you know…not just that they died.

There is a larger conversation that is trying to happen here, some things that are trying to be birthed, some ways we need to figure out if we’re keeping our vows to one another as a country, some people who are protesting the fact that they feel left out of the promises our flag stands for.

So perhaps we should take a knee and discuss it all. It’s worth discussing.

The Call to a Certain Amount of Loneliness

Posted on September 22, 2017 by Timothy Brown

loneliness_cover My post on how your pastor is not your friend has called forth lots of emotions from people.

Some have rightly identified that loneliness is a problem for pastors, and they’re not wrong about that. I don’t think anyone entering the ministry with eyes wide open will dispute the fact that the call to ministry is, in some ways, a call to embrace a certain amount of loneliness.

By this I don’t mean that depression is to go untreated. This is a real problem for many service professions, pastors included. We must take actions to counteract this terrible reality.

And by this I don’t mean that pastors should not have friends or cannot have friends, just that deep, personal friendships should rarely (if ever) be cultivated within the congregation.

I think the solution to combating loneliness within this particular profession is two-fold:

1. Pastors need to find ways to cultivate healthy relationships outside of the parish.

This is difficult to do. Let’s be honest, many people see the church and the church community as part of their service work in the world. Choir practice, helping at service opportunities, even sitting on the church board or on the evangelism team are opportunities for them to give to something that is not work or family related.

Pastors are usually not free with their time or energy to invest in something else. Their focus is on making this particular thing work, and it usually requires the church to be not only their job but also their hobby/service to the world.

It is tough. If we make it impossible for our pastor to find outside friendships because we expect them to be at everything, especially things happening on Saturdays when the rest of the professional world is largely “off,” then we’re setting them up for burn out and churn out.

Pastors have to have space and time to cultivate relationships outside of the parish. The parish is not enough for them…will not be enough for them.

2. With all of the above being said, pastors also have to be honest about their role in the lives of people: they are the container of both promise and problem, the dead-end for words that can’t be spoken in other places and to other people, the scapegoat for troubled people’s troubles and the savior for other people desperately seeking something to save them in the world (and this last one is, of course, not a good thing…but it is a reality nonetheless).

In short: the way the pastor is seen in the profession, used in the profession, and abused in the profession will, naturally, lead to a certain amount of loneliness…and unless this is somehow embraced by them it will gnaw at the pastor and eat them up.

And we need not embrace it like a cross to bear, or as something that sets us apart or special or as an object of pity. Please…as if anyone should seek pity. And let me be clear: we need not embrace abuse. Guard your heart and your mind and, yes, your relationships against the wayward person who sees you as the convenient dumping ground for all of their own insecurities and psycho-social issues.

That’s not what I mean.

What I mean is that it should be embraced kind of like your ordination vows, even the difficult ones, are embraced. In fact, one of the vows we take in the Lutheran Church is not to give illusory hope to others. Perhaps we, ourselves, need to take that to heart, too.

Illusory hope in this work would be to expect that this profession will provide you with friends. Your friendship needs will not be met here, even if you seek it out…it will disappoint you.

Embrace it like you embrace the shadow part of your life: you swing punches at it even though you know it’ll always be there.

Wide-eyed, without apology, let us say that a certain amount of loneliness is just a part of this whole gig.

A pastor must do what they must to make sure that it doesn’t take more of a share than it’s supposed to.

A Follow-Up: Don’t Pastors Need Friends?

Posted on September 19, 2017 by Timothy Brown

hands There has been quite a bit of chatter about my last blog post, so I thought I’d write a follow-up, an addendum, to clarify a bit of what I’m *not* saying.

I’m not saying that pastors are somehow “above” friendship.

I’m not saying that pastors don’t need friends.

And I’m not saying that pastors should be aloof or unfriendly.

In therapy circles we talk about the many different harbors we have in life, places where we take shelter.

What harbors do you have? Here are some I’ve identified:

We have the harbor of our family of origin, those who raised us and (often) love us with an unconditional type of love.

We have the harbor of our close friends, a family of choice if you will, who provide the kind of filial love that we need to be fully actualized humans.

Some of us have the harbor of partners or spouses, a harbor that checks many different boxes on the needs chart.

We have the harbor of our closest friends, those intimate friendships where bonds are tighter than most any wind that can come along…most any wind.

And then we have the harbor of community, a place to belong and be loved in a communal way.

Now, just about every human needs almost all of these harbors to be fully actualized. There are exceptions, of course. Not everyone is called to be partnered/married. And not everyone needs the harbor of a community past their family. But, by and large, I think most humans need these particular harbors to be fully human.

Pastors included, of course.

But, depending on the issue that comes up in life, I would claim that not all of these harbors are *safe* harbors. If you’re having trouble in your marriage, you shouldn’t go to your parents. It’s not a safe harbor. They are not unbiased. You may receive the kind of love and comfort you desire, but it may not be the kind of love that will lead you to a resolution or an objective viewpoint.

When a pastor is looking for a safe harbor, a person to confide in, I would readily claim that a parishioner is not the port of call. And can never be.

Categorically, can never be. The relationship won’t work that way.

And this is what I mean when I say that your pastor is not your friend, at least not in the conventional sense of what deep friendship means: they can never confide in you. Your relationship doesn’t provide them with a safe harbor. There is always some distance necessary.

Most of the push back (most, not all) on my article has come from people in congregations who certainly feel their pastor is their friend. In many ways, yes, they are right…in many senses of the word friend, they might in fact be “friendly.”

But if you cornered your pastor about whether or not they could confide in you, if you asked them clearly about the nature of your relationship, I would bet that they would be honest and admit that you’re not a safe harbor.

Because if you want your pastor to be a safe harbor, it can’t be any other way.

And look, I have lots of examples where this has messed people up, messed churches up, messed pastors up. I’ve encountered many people quite cold to their current pastor because they felt so close, so “friends” with the predecessor, even a sense of loyalty if you will, that it causes trouble, it causes deep confusion, some real hurt, and plenty of pain on all sides.

It is not a safe harbor in the end.

This doesn’t mean that you don’t have deep conversations, honest conversations, deep affection, and real love between pastors and parishioners. That is all absolutely there.

But if the pastor is getting their friendship needs met by parishioners, they do so at the peril of the office, and the peril of that person continuing in the congregation after they leave the office.

In fact, I wonder what leads more pastors to depression: pastors realizing they can’t seek a safe harbor in their parishioners, or pastors who seek parishioners as safe harbors but then realize it didn’t work; it wasn’t safe?

Pastors need friends. They need safe harbors. And congregants need pastors who know that they cannot be it.

Why Your Pastor is Actually Not Your Friend

Posted on September 18, 2017 by Timothy Brown

*Disclaimer.*

dog collar I’m not wanting to be rude or put anyone off by this statement. And this doesn’t come out of any recent personal issue or encounter. And this is certainly not some sort of passive-aggressive way to get a point across to someone I’m reluctant to talk to in person. That would just be bad behavior.

But this is a consistent point of confusion for many, and so I think it deserves a little blog article, and discussion if you wish.

*End Disclaimer*

Your pastor is not your friend.

It’s hard, because they feel like they are.

And this is not a hard and fast rule, by the way. Some pastors do make a friend in the congregation, someone they can absolutely be themselves with.

But that needs to be rare. It may not always be rare…and then things get fuzzy…but I believe it *needs* to be rare, for you and for them.

Because here’s the truth: you’re one day going to have to tell them something that you can’t tell a friend. Something about yourself, a deep truth, that maybe only your best friend might know, but they’re not going to give you what you need about the topic because they’re too enmeshed in your friendship.

In that case you need a pastor. You need some abstraction. You need someone close enough to you to care, someone with some sort of authority, but also someone far enough away from you that they’re not going to hold it as the primary thing they know about you.

Pastors are trained in the art of not hearing what we hear.

People sometimes worry that a pastor’s view of them will be tainted by something they learn or know, but I assure you, we learn and know so much about everyone that we’ve come to the conclusion that everyone is just as messed up as everyone else, ourselves included, so no one is any different. The CEO of the huge corporation with boats and houses is just as dissatisfied as the person living paycheck to paycheck, they’re just unhinged at a different point in their personhood…

By and large you need your pastor to be a pastor, not a friend, and your pastor is not your friend if they’re doing it well.

Plus, your pastor can never confide in you the way one confides in a friend.

They can’t.

I sit stone-faced in situations where people talk about one another. My opinion in that situation may not be neutral, but it has to appear to be, because I probably have to be that person’s pastor, no matter my opinion of them.

Your pastor is not your friend.

There are certain exceptions, of course: childhood friendships, close bonds, ways we can compartmentalize our relationships that work in very specific situations.

But it’s not the norm. It can’t be the norm. If it becomes the norm your pastor is no longer able to be your pastor.

Plus, if you and your pastor are friends, then your pastor can never leave. As if leaving a parish isn’t hard enough, the idea of leaving not only parishioners but also friends makes it impossible. Co-dependent. Bad for vocation and bad for any avocations you now share.

This doesn’t mean you don’t kid around with your pastor. It doesn’t mean that you don’t drop by to say hi, that you don’t do things for one another that friends do. It doesn’t mean that you don’t even sometimes take trips together, play sports, attend birthday parties, and have a beer or two…many of these things that friends do with one another.

And it certainly doesn’t meant that you don’t share many of the same qualities you would with friends. Pastors can open up, to a point. Pastors can kid around, to a point. But everything is “to a point” and that point is exactly where the collar hits what you need from them…

In every situation, they are “pastor”…which is just a very different way of being than just “friend.”

And finally, one thing we have to be really clear-eyed about: friendships end. They do. Friends fight and squabble, hurt each other’s feelings, get jealous, and get enmeshed. Pastors who become friends run the risk of ruining the pastoral relationship when the friendship dissolves.

This is just plain bad for the office. It’s a bad risk to take. It’s a risk, I think, not worth taking.

We’re not the only profession that suffers from this fuzziness.

One of my very best friends is a doctor. I casually ask him for medical advice sometimes, but if push came to shove he’d refer me to someone else for serious diagnosis…we’re too close for him to be my doctor. My best friend is a financial adviser. I ask him for financial advice sometimes, but he can’t manage my money. We’re too close for that.

It’s hard to explain I guess, and hard to accept in some instances, but I really haven’t found any other way to put it:

Your pastor is your pastor, not a friend.

Reluctant Xtian

When Arguments Cease Making Sense