In the early years of my ministry, I kept a chalkboard outside my office door and would leave simple notes for those who might drop by while I was away. "Gone to lunch, back by 1:00 o'clock." "At the hospital -I'll be in tomorrow morning." It was a low-tech communication tool, and it worked well in those days.
Sometimes, visitors would erase my note or write around its edges, leaving their own messages. One morning when I arrived at the office, I was amazed to find an elaborate chalk drawing of a dragon. The scene was complex and frightening. The background was a forest. Huge boulders were strewn around in the foreground. In the center of the scene, a dragon loomed large and angry. It was many times larger than the small man it was attacking with flames of deadly fire flowing from its nostrils.
In addition, to feeling amazed when I discovered the artwork on my chalkboard, I felt scared, threatened, and vulnerable. Who would have put such a scene outside my office door? What did it mean? My initial impulse was to see myself as that tiny little person. I jumped to the conclusion that some congregant was angry with me, upset about a Sunday sermon or a missed opportunity for pastoral care. Sometimes a pastor's ego and insecurity really works overtime! Mine did as I came upon that drawing of the dragon.
Then I saw it, in the right corner down in a small clump of grass in front of a boulder were the tiny initials, "JT" Ah, yes, this was Joe, the congregant who often stopped by to chat about how things were going in the church. Joe was the owner and manager of the local office supply store. He had inherited the family business and from his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather. For nearly a century, Joe's family had run the business in the small-town community. I was even more confused now: What was up with Joe? He never drew pictures like this before.
Later that week, I visited a professor who had deep insights into the interpretation of images and dreams. Thankfully, she helped me to see that the image on the board was not about some deep-seated animosity towards me. The dragon was not Joe; and the little, vulnerable man was not me. Nor was this a theological statement with a fire-breathing God who is out to intimidate and destroy humanity. She suggested what a subsequent visit with Joe confirmed. The weight of the family business, its place in the community and the assumption that it would go on forever, handed down from generation to generation was the oppressive issue. Joe would have been far better suited to running a building design company or using his artistic gifts instead of managing a family business that was becoming increasingly irrelevant in a world of mega office supply stores. The world was changing rapidly. There was no son or daughter in Joe's home who would take over the business when he retired. The kids had other aspirations and interests. So, Joe would be the last of the local owners of a business that bore the family name. The end was imminent. It was with some sadness, but also a wonderful sense of relief that Joe sold the family business and moved away to Arizona with his wife, Sandi. There in semi-retirement he paints landscapes and enjoys a new life . . . without the dragon.
Many today might draw the parallel between the weight of a family business and that of managing a mainline, old-line church. The weight of the centuries now rests upon us. We have inherited a heavy tradition, and there is the expectation that we must leave a legacy of faith for the next generation. Clergy and lay leaders worry over the future of our houses of worship, which are vestiges from a far different era. While they hold many special, even sacred, memories, they also are a heavy burden for congregations that are smaller and older, serving in a different world than when they were first gathered. I am not suggesting we throw up our hands in despair or post a For Sale sign on the front lawn, but I do question whether it all rests with us. Last summer's reading of Edwin Friedman's Generation to Generation taught me that too much "seriousness" in a system is a sign stress and disease. A fire-breathing dragon is a serious and scary symbol.
Perhaps we need to remember a text, attributed to Jesus, first spoken to Simon Peter back at the beginning: "And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it." (Matthew 16:18, NRSV). It is not so much about Peter or his profession of faith, but about the promise of the One who does the building: I will build my church! I think it is time for a breath--the deep, life-giving breath of the Spirit--in a new day. It is time for the return of joy, rather than seriousness and dire predictions of our demise. It is time to confront our dragons and demons and be free of the heavy burdens we try to carry in the name of Christ. It is time for listening for a call, for being disciples who can be surprised and inspired, for serving in the midst of God's beautiful and broken world.
O God,
Build your church anew today.
Shape us by your Spirit, so that we may be the church together, making the faith our own in this generation.
Free us to laugh and to love and to serve with courageous and joyful hearts.
Give us wisdom to manage well, but not to take our management too seriously.
Surprise us with what may yet be in store, and help us paint a landscape of justice and peace.
Amen.
Sometimes, visitors would erase my note or write around its edges, leaving their own messages. One morning when I arrived at the office, I was amazed to find an elaborate chalk drawing of a dragon. The scene was complex and frightening. The background was a forest. Huge boulders were strewn around in the foreground. In the center of the scene, a dragon loomed large and angry. It was many times larger than the small man it was attacking with flames of deadly fire flowing from its nostrils.
In addition, to feeling amazed when I discovered the artwork on my chalkboard, I felt scared, threatened, and vulnerable. Who would have put such a scene outside my office door? What did it mean? My initial impulse was to see myself as that tiny little person. I jumped to the conclusion that some congregant was angry with me, upset about a Sunday sermon or a missed opportunity for pastoral care. Sometimes a pastor's ego and insecurity really works overtime! Mine did as I came upon that drawing of the dragon.
Then I saw it, in the right corner down in a small clump of grass in front of a boulder were the tiny initials, "JT" Ah, yes, this was Joe, the congregant who often stopped by to chat about how things were going in the church. Joe was the owner and manager of the local office supply store. He had inherited the family business and from his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather. For nearly a century, Joe's family had run the business in the small-town community. I was even more confused now: What was up with Joe? He never drew pictures like this before.
Later that week, I visited a professor who had deep insights into the interpretation of images and dreams. Thankfully, she helped me to see that the image on the board was not about some deep-seated animosity towards me. The dragon was not Joe; and the little, vulnerable man was not me. Nor was this a theological statement with a fire-breathing God who is out to intimidate and destroy humanity. She suggested what a subsequent visit with Joe confirmed. The weight of the family business, its place in the community and the assumption that it would go on forever, handed down from generation to generation was the oppressive issue. Joe would have been far better suited to running a building design company or using his artistic gifts instead of managing a family business that was becoming increasingly irrelevant in a world of mega office supply stores. The world was changing rapidly. There was no son or daughter in Joe's home who would take over the business when he retired. The kids had other aspirations and interests. So, Joe would be the last of the local owners of a business that bore the family name. The end was imminent. It was with some sadness, but also a wonderful sense of relief that Joe sold the family business and moved away to Arizona with his wife, Sandi. There in semi-retirement he paints landscapes and enjoys a new life . . . without the dragon.
Many today might draw the parallel between the weight of a family business and that of managing a mainline, old-line church. The weight of the centuries now rests upon us. We have inherited a heavy tradition, and there is the expectation that we must leave a legacy of faith for the next generation. Clergy and lay leaders worry over the future of our houses of worship, which are vestiges from a far different era. While they hold many special, even sacred, memories, they also are a heavy burden for congregations that are smaller and older, serving in a different world than when they were first gathered. I am not suggesting we throw up our hands in despair or post a For Sale sign on the front lawn, but I do question whether it all rests with us. Last summer's reading of Edwin Friedman's Generation to Generation taught me that too much "seriousness" in a system is a sign stress and disease. A fire-breathing dragon is a serious and scary symbol.
Perhaps we need to remember a text, attributed to Jesus, first spoken to Simon Peter back at the beginning: "And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it." (Matthew 16:18, NRSV). It is not so much about Peter or his profession of faith, but about the promise of the One who does the building: I will build my church! I think it is time for a breath--the deep, life-giving breath of the Spirit--in a new day. It is time for the return of joy, rather than seriousness and dire predictions of our demise. It is time to confront our dragons and demons and be free of the heavy burdens we try to carry in the name of Christ. It is time for listening for a call, for being disciples who can be surprised and inspired, for serving in the midst of God's beautiful and broken world.
O God,
Build your church anew today.
Shape us by your Spirit, so that we may be the church together, making the faith our own in this generation.
Free us to laugh and to love and to serve with courageous and joyful hearts.
Give us wisdom to manage well, but not to take our management too seriously.
Surprise us with what may yet be in store, and help us paint a landscape of justice and peace.
Amen.
