If It Ain't Broke...

Earning my local pastor’s license turned out to be a mixed blessing; in spite of our theological differences, Nate and I made a good team and we took albeit the egocentric foundation set by Bill Denlinger and continued to grow Trinity Heights upon it. The first year of the Course of Study at Claremont School of Theology afforded me the opportunity to study under the likes of William Baird and Jack Verheyden, a truly thrilling experience for one who had chosen to pursue an alternate route into the ordained ministry. The congregation was amenable to my appointment as their associate pastor, and all was good. Sometimes I like to think that my career could have been spent in Flagstaff (Dad’s thirty-five year reign in Arvada proved that it could be done) but the politics of envy and jealousy were not about to let such a thing happen. With the input from his cabinet (superintendents from each district of the conference) Bishop Elias Galvan deemed that local pastors should not—could not—serve as staff (associate pastors) at large churches. To do so would establish a precedent that would not favor Elders (seminary graduates) and this was obviously against the establishment’s grain. And so it was that the little burg of Williams, Arizona (about thirty miles west of Flagstaff) was raised as the likely spot that our now family of four (Rebecca blessed us with her arrival in November of 1986) would be relocated.

"The Least of These"

Choosing to enter the ordained ministry of The United Methodist Church via the Course of Study was probably as close to experiencing discrimination as this little white boy was ever going to come. While the Discipline of the church allowed for those COS students who demonstrated exceptional promise to actually be ordained Elder and given full membership in an annual conference, the chance of that ever actually happening was as thin as the paper it was printed on. The reality was that most—but not all—annual conferences would begrudgingly ordain COS graduates as Deacon (translate that to “servant of the servants”) and then assign them to the appointments that Elders refused to accept. (As I completed the COS at St. Paul School of Theology in Kansas City, Missouri, I was surprised to meet local pastors from the Rocky Mountain Annual Conference which had strictly abided by its “seminary rule” while I was living in Colorado. The reason that the RMAC was now tolerating these second-class wannabes?; because the conference could not find seminary trained Elders willing to accept appointments to the boonies.) Now, going strictly by the book (Discipline) it is theoretically impossible for any pastor who has taken her/his vows in the UMC to refuse an Episcopal appointment, but that, too, is only on paper. The truth of the matter was that we Deacons were regarded as the caddies for the elitist Elders playing the country club course of church politics.

The Wrong Direction?

To say that the local pastor’s licensing process was very basic in nature is quintessential understatement. I’m sure it was for good reason that the instruction presumed virtually no familiarity with UM polity, but it was so elementary as to make one wonder if my classmates had even completed some rudimentary form of training for the local church membership which was a prerequisite to applying for a license. Remember when I referred to the church as a business? Well, licensing school was designed to spell out the franchise’s policy and procedure for prospective assistant managers. And that was cardinal rule number one: don’t ever let yourself make the mistake of thinking that you were a manager. All authority of the local pastor is derived from the supervising elder, who in turn, I guess, is empowered by the district, which is empowered by the conference, and so on. The fundamental lesson I learned from licensing school was that by pursuing ordination in The United Methodist Church I was ironically putting greater distance between me and God instead of drawing closer.

Thought provoking...

...thanks, Steve, for bringing Military Matters: Cynicism on Iraq
by William S. Lind to my attention.

What Have I Done?

I just agreed to make telephone calls on behalf of MoveOn between now and November 7 to encourage people to vote. This is very unlike me. I really do think that it's time for a change, and the most productive change would be for more people to vote (more often :-) I'm going to be "trained" regarding what I suppose MoveOn wants me to say, but the truth of the matter is that I'm looking forward to doing nothing more than lubricating the machinery of our democracy by urging folks to vote! So, can I have your word that you will? If so, perhaps I can count this as a call.

Let the Hoop Jumping Begin

A candidate for the ordained ministry of The United Methodist Church undergoes rigorous screening to ensure that s/he doesn’t turn out to be of unsavory character; or so goes the company line. In order to apply for a local pastor’s license it was necessary for me to follow a prescribed path under the watchful supervision of an ordained elder. Since I was on staff at Trinity Heights it was deemed a conflict of interest to have Nate fulfill this supervisory role, and so I was farmed out—in a manner of speaking—to the Rev. Kendall Taylor of Flagstaff’s Federated Church (a Methodist/Presbyterian hybrid). I also made the trek down to Phoenix for a complete psychological evaluation which found me, in the words of the examiner, “disgustingly healthy.” That’s the last time I was assessed in such a positive light. My interview with the district committee on ordained ministry was on a rainy afternoon in the basement of First United Methodist Church in Las Vegas (the building was recently sold and changed into a coffee house and Manpower center). Finally, I was interviewed by the Conference Board of Ordained Ministry at Paradise Valley UMC in Phoenix. It was a high point in my life when the chairperson, the Rev. Dr. James Standiford, affirmed my calling and approved my entrance into the licensing school at Claremont School of Theology. This has gone on long enough, but it is important to me to mention in conclusion that not once in this entire process was I ever asked to articulate my theology or worldview. This was my introduction to the reality that theology is not really what the church is concerned with.

The Paradigm Shuffle

All systems are “go” today! It will be interesting to see how much time elapses before the next malfunction.

I’ve been internally debating where to go next with my expose of life in and with The United Methodist Church. The argument has been over how personal a blog should become. I’ve heard (though I’ve not read) that there are blogs where the author reveals everything, sometimes to her/his embarrassment later on. I don’t think that how many warts I’ve had removed over the years is really germane to the subject, but the fact that Dad left Mom shortly after we moved to Flagstaff somehow is. The values of the church as I understood them at the time—the sanctity of home and family paramount among them—were failing the experiential acid test just at the time I was preparing to publicly attest to them. My parents’ separation challenged the authenticity of the liberal theology I grew up with when compared to the conservative theology of Nate Holt who was inadvertently becoming my mentor and a surrogate father figure that had no intentions of leaving his wife. Which had more merit? The “practice what you preach” paradigm or the “do as I say and not as I do”? Suffice it to say that a holistic worldview which encompasses both the sacred and the secular is tested by such dilemmas, and my pursuit of the ordained ministry was certainly no exception.

Time On My Hands

You know how some people can’t wear wristwatches because they somehow cause them to mysteriously stop working? Well, I’m beginning to think I have the same effect on my workplace computer. There is a program that I use frequently, and I seem to have a quota for how many times I can apply it before it starts screwing up. The top IT personnel are at a loss to explain what goes wrong, but the net result is that I get a new CPU about every three months. I think that this might be an omen that I should have a thinking position that doesn’t require me to use a computer, but the thinkers that are already in place will probably disagree. It might be better if Bill Gates would set me up with a suite in Seattle where I could sup Starbucks while subjecting tried and true programs to my grueling repetitiveness (I just love being alliterate). Mark your calendars and let’s see how long it takes me to tear up another one.

And Now, for Something Complete Different

Having realized that I am at complete liberty to detour from my path of mundane introspection, I am choosing today to indulge in some amateur punditry. Don’t worry, I’ll eventually get back to the mind-numbing saga of my adventures with The United Methodist Church, but with midterm elections a mere three weeks away I just can’t resist throwing some barbs at the mindless 51% of the American electorate that has kept the immoral regime of King George up and running.

What the heck were you thinking? Oh! That’s right, you weren’t! Remember that you didn’t have 9/11 for an excuse the first time you finagled this cowboy into the White House. It was nothing more than a greedy grab by the rich for more combined with a masterful campaign that portrayed this nincompoop as a born-again Christian that successfully rallied fundamentalists whose ability to think for themselves was already proven to be nil.

With the sale of Hummers having increased—increased!!—by 16% in 2005, America gives the world just one more reason revile us. We deserve everything that’s coming to us, and I’m not talking about respect and support. Without any earnest campaign reform measures in place, even if the House shifts Democratic in this election, we will still be dealing with the best Congress money can buy. Shame on us!

A True Friend

With the exception of the year that Mary and I lived in Florida, I was known for thirty-five years as Earl Hanna’s son. That was how I was identified. The children of prominent parents will know what I’m talking about. But for some strange reason Dad’s reputation had not traveled to Arizona with a couple of notable exceptions (Don Sapp was a district superintendent in the Phoenix area whose daughter attended the Arvada church), and nary a soul in Flagstaff had any idea who Earl Hanna was. This was a truly unique experience for yours truly.

Nate Holt (the pastor who was appointed to Trinity Heights to follow Hal Cowart) and I could not have been at more opposite ends of the theological spectrum, but his ignorance of who my father was led him to judge me on my own character. In the Wesleyan tradition we agreed to disagree about theology, but Nate was impressed by my intellect and organizational skills. He allowed for the fact that these may have been inherited characteristics but, for the first time in my life, really, Nate made me feel that I was a person in my own right. Nate’s primary objective was for the two of us to work together as a team to build up the local church.

I had been at Trinity Heights long enough to recognize that working for a church is not synonymous with being in ministry, and Nate understood what I was feeling. He himself had come into the ministry as a second career having previously been a respected Phoenix lawyer. So when I approached Nate about the possibility of obtaining a local pastor’s license and then pursuing the Course of Study I discovered that I had his wholehearted support! To enroll in the local pastor’s licensing process required the approval of the Trinity Heights congregation, the district committee on ordained ministry, and finally the conference board on ordained ministry (whew! ain’t Methodism great?). With Nate’s advocacy I started jumping the hurdles that for years had seemed impassable.

Providence, Arizona Style

The move to Arizona gave me a new appreciation for—and understanding of—providence. Unbeknownst to me when I applied for the position at Trinity Heights, Arizona and the southern tip of Nevada were preparing to form a new annual conference. Again, anyone not involved in The United Methodist Church would understandably not recognize this as the once-in-a-lifetime occurrence it was, but there I was just in the nick of time to witness the whole thing. Being a layperson not elected as a delegate from the local congregation made my attendance unofficial at best, but the good folks at THUMC still felt that I should be there to observe the proceedings.

What I regarded as so providential about this development was the fact that a brand new conference would not, in all likelihood, have a “seminary rule” in place as did the Rocky Mountain Annual Conference. Such a rule was, in my opinion, emblematic of the elitist class that United Methodist clergy had become. For nearly two-centuries the historic avenue into the ordained ministry of the Methodist church had been through the Course of Study, but post-WWII seminary graduates looked down upon this non-academic route and devised rules requiring graduation from a seminary in order to be ordained and become a member of the conference. This always struck me as “illegal” because the provisions for the Course of Study were included in the Book of Discipline, but I was told that annual conferences had the latitude to institute such provisions if they so chose. But in what came to be known as the Desert Southwest Annual Conference the only rule book was the Discipline and it was very clear to me that now was the time to act!

The Times They Are A Changin'

Hal Cowart was an intelligent man with a relatively progressive theology. As mentioned previously Hal had the unenviable assignment of following the charismatic Bill Denlinger, and it was my observation that he really didn’t possess the necessary skills for taking control of a congregation that was still in the throes of the separation anxiety that resulted from having the only pastor it had ever known taken from it. Added to this mix was the sometimes no-so-subtle manipulation of local church politics by born-again fundamentalists that saw their opportunity to remake Denlinger’s church in their own image.

Hal probably realized that his time at Trinity Heights was going to be short. The United Methodist Church, as a rule, has no provision for interim pastors and so it substitutes sometimes brutal appointments that are intended to absorb the ire of a disgruntled congregation (Denlinger was clear that he had not wanted to be moved to Phoenix, and the congregation had been clear that it wanted him to stay; this is a deadly combination in the politics of the UMC that is usually most keenly felt by the sacrificial lamb that is the resident bishop’s tool for demonstrating that s/he is still in charge).

The net result was a schizophrenic church that wanted to continue in the glory of its former pastor while puzzling over why the new pastor seemed more than willing to just put in his time. Hal was courting a perky airline attendant that was a divorcee with an adolescent daughter (he had never been married) and that pursuit was obviously of more interest to him than wrestling with the issues of a congregation that more than likely would not be his responsibility in a couple of years. Hal knew how the UMC worked, and it was not long before the Staff-Parish Relations Committee was being notified that it needed to be preparing for yet another appointment: The Reverend Doctor Nate Holt, J.D.

I Found It!

...with Mary's help, of course. As is true of so much I was introduced to these words in my father's church (I am still trying to figure out if such idealism has proven to be a blessing or a curse to my life). This describes the capital 'C'hurch for which I so long to be a part:

Before I was born MY CHURCH gave to my parents ideals of life and love that made my home a place of strength and beauty. In helpless infancy MY CHURCH joined my parents in consecrating me to Christ and in baptizing me in His name. MY CHURCH enriched my childhood with the Romance and Religion and the lessons of life that have been woven into the texture of my soul. Sometimes I seem to have forgotten and then, when else I might surrender to foolish and futile ideals of life, the truths MY CHURCH taught become radiant, insistent, and inescapable. In the stress and storm of adolescence MY CHURCH heard the surge of my soul and She guided my footsteps by lifting my eyes toward the stars. When first my heart knew the strange awakenings of love MY CHURCH taught me to chasten and spiritualize my affections; She sanctified my marriage and blessed my home. When my heart was seamed with sorrow, and I thought the sun could never shine again, MY CHURCH drew me to the Friend of all the Weary and whispered to me the hope of another morning, eternal and tearless. When my steps have slipped and I have know the bitterness of sin, MY CHURCH has believed in me and wooingly She has called me back to live within the heights of myself. Now have come the children dearer to me than life itself and MY CHURCH is helping me to train them for all joyous and clean and Christly living. MY CHURCH calls me to Her heart. She asks my service and my loyalty. She has a right to ask it! I will help her to do for others what She has done for me. In this place in which I live, I will help Her keep aflame and aloft the torch of a living faith.

--William Henry Boddy

Brilliant!

When Not Seeing is Believing by Andrew Sullivan

The Church at the Top of the Hill

Life in Flagstaff was good! The position at Trinity Heights was a good fit and allowed me to do the kind of work I enjoyed. One of the lessons I learned from working at Dad’s church was that pastors in charge (senior pastors where more than one is on staff) need to possess certain CEO qualities if the congregation is going to grow and thrive. Dad was one of the best in this respect, and having worked under him for the first year after Mary and I wed gave me a behind-the-scenes look at what made a large church (later to be labeled megachurch) tick. Trinity Heights was about a third the size of the Arvada church in terms of membership but still fell into the large church class. Hal Cowart was the senior pastor who had the unenviable assignment of following Bill Denlinger, Trinity Heights’ founding pastor. Denlinger was (I was told) very charismatic and had been permitted to stay in Flagstaff long enough to put his personal brand on the congregation. Cowart, in contrast, was more scholarly and introverted, and struck me as someone not really suited to convert Denlinger’s church back into a United Methodist church. My predecessor, Irma Campbell, decided to move on herself when Denlinger, who had hired her, was appointed to a Phoenix church. I think that Cowart would have been just as happy working solo, but the congregation was intent upon continuing to do things the way that Denlinger had done them which worked to my advantage. It was going to be Hal and me working together to erase the Denlinger/Campbell legacy at Trinity Heights.

Arizona, Here We Come!

It was mid 1984 and Rachel’s birth in January had plunged me headlong into the world of adult responsibility. No longer was I the carefree lad free to explore whatever occupation of the moment might intrigue me but was instead being called upon to be one of the co-providers for this precious gift that had been bestowed upon Mary and me. I was losing the fight as a Field Underwriter for New York Life (even though I had just passed my NASD exam on the first try; a rather extraordinary accomplishment, I was told) and Mary cut to the chase in her characteristic style. If you would spend as much time trying to sell insurance as you do volunteering for the [Arvada] church, she told me, you probably wouldn’t find it to be such a struggle. This should be telling me something, she said, about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. My NYLIC trainer was Bob Paul, himself an inactive ordained minister who had achieved notable success with the company, and he concurred that the biggest problem I was having with sales was that my heart just wasn’t in it. He agreed with Mary that working for the church seemed to be my true calling. And so I set about looking for a church job. A new position was being created at the Arvada church which very much interested me, but it was explained to me that I didn’t possess the required credentials. A search of the denomination’s various publications turned up a position of Director of Lay Ministries at Trinity Heights United Methodist Church in Flagstaff, Arizona, and my resume earned me an interview with the Staff-Parish Relations Committee. The competition didn’t stand a chance! I offered my organizational and administrative skills and the question of my credentials never even came up. So, on the threshold of my thirty-fifth birthday (remember that magic number?) a caravan consisting of a U-Haul and cars full of grandparents made its way toward a new adventure.

Still Looking

I’ve spent most of today’s lunch hour looking without success for a particular statement. I know that I’ll be able to find it at home, and so let it suffice for now to say that I am aware that my commentary on The United Methodist Church has been tinged with negativism. As the story unfolds I trust that the reasons for this will become apparent, but in the meantime I need to clarify that it was my church, composed of family and friends, which deserves the credit for anything about my character that can be construed as positive and constructive. The same is true for education (which I hopefully have distinguished from academia). I try to be a good person, and that is because of the lessons learned from my church experience. This being said, what I discovered as an ordained minister about the political machinations of the UMC was made all the more disappointing because the church in general had been so seminal to my overall development.

Sabbath Soliloquy

Abba,

I have every reason to believe that Jesus of Nazareth observed this highest of holy days—the most awesome of the Days of Awe—to deeply introspect into what “sins” stood in the way of complete communion, of at-one-ment, with you. Yom Kippur as the climatic conclusion of Rosh Hashanah makes so very much sense that it is very puzzling to me why it never made its way into the Christian calendar of holidays. While it’s true that we almost have our ten days between Christmas and New Year’s they are hardly time spent focusing upon the nature of our relationship with you (celebrating the birth of the Christ into our world could come close to fulfilling such a function but you well know that is a far cry from the practical observance predominant in our contemporary culture). Forgive my digression that is so characteristic of the many things I’ve discovered that daily break the oneness with you that I truly strive for. Why is it so very true that the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak?

As this birthday of the world marks another anniversary of your magnificent, miraculous creation, I renew my declaration that I desire to genuinely be at one with you, and I will more earnestly repent of those things that I allow to get in the way. I am going to try very hard in the coming year to recognize each moment of life that is granted to me as the miracle it truly is, and to remember that this includes your children—all your children—with whom I share your gracious gift. I pray that I may become your faithful servant devoted to co-creating the New Day of your divine reign on Earth. Amen.