Closing the Doors

West Side United Methodist Church was the quintessential country crossroads church. Located midway between Oakland and West Point, it was originally a Swedish Methodist church that served the rural farms surrounding it. I got the impression that its heyday was circa 1940 when the church sponsored its own baseball team that played on the field adjacent to the church building. Also on the grounds were the parsonage (there was a time when West Side had its own pastor) and the ubiquitous church cemetery. Six miles must have been longer back then, because it was apparently very natural for there to be a church equidistant between the two towns. The ensuing economy of the latter twentieth century, however, did not pass over the little country churches any more than it did the larger metropolitan congregations. Indeed, it likely had a much more significant—and debilitating—impact. In order to keep their church going, its dwindling number of parishioners had somewhat reluctantly agreed to become part of the Tri-Church Parish in order to have the services of a pastor that it couldn’t afford by itself. If it seemed complicated to reunite the Uehling church with the United Church of Christ, that was nothing compared to helping the West Side congregation accept that its time had come.

Mightily Weak

Undertaking major changes goes more smoothly when there is support for what’s being done. In the case of the Tri-Church Parish it was understandable that such support might not be readily forthcoming from the parishioners affected, and so I looked to my district superintendent, the Rev. Dr. James Brewer. I sincerely complimented Jim’s wife, Carol, as the best D.S. I ever worked with/for/under, but it quickly became apparent to me that leadership qualities do not emerge simply by virtue of marriage. Jim is a very large man with a robust baritone that easily dominates nearly any discussion. And, as I have found to be true of almost everyone the higher up you go in the United Methodist hierarchy, the thought never crossed Jim’s mind that he might not know everything about everything. Much as No Child Left Behind has narrowed the scope of education to teaching for the test, apportionments (that UM tax) often become the measure by which the local pastor is evaluated. Therefore, if you’re paying your apportionments, you’re a good pastor. If you’re not, you’re not. When a local congregation perceives that it is being slighted or ignored by the annual conference, one of the quickest ways to regain attention—albeit negative—is to withhold apportionments payments. Even the casual reader can see that this issue was compounded for the Tri-Church by its federated composition as the Uehling UCC church did not factor into the UM calculation of apportionments. After lengthy discussions with Uehling’s board, I finally convinced Jim to attend one of their meetings to contemplate what might be entailed in returning the church to its UCC roots. With an insensitivity I had not anticipated, Brewer informed the Uehling folks that they were free to do whatever they wanted because he really didn’t care; they weren’t United Methodists and therefore not his responsibility. Trying hard to put into practice Henri Nouwen’s concept of the wounded healer, I worked with the Uehling congregation to eventually reunite them with their own denomination without any support from my D.S. or The United Methodist Church. It was a bittersweet success, but I have heard since that the Uehling congregation prospered after being liberated from the Tri-Church. Now it was time to work with West Side.

Remembering How It's Supposed to Be

The agreement usually exists in a federated (two or more denominations represented in a single congregation) church that there will be an alternation of pastors from one denomination with the other(s). For the UCC church in Uehling this should have meant that every other appointment to the Tri-Church Parish would have been an ordained UCC pastor. This would have required relatively tedious administrative oversight of the arrangement by both denominations, as well as the local churches involved, so it wasn’t really surprising to discover that the Uehling church had deferred to so many successive United Methodist appointments that it had, for all intents and purposes, lost touch with its own denominational roots. This was unfortunate for a number of reasons, not the least of which was the lack of exposure for all three churches to the relatively progressive theological and ecclesiastical position of the UCC. The Uehling church had no binding representation in the Nebraska Annual Conference of The United Methodist Church, and it had been ages since the congregation had been fully represented in its own conference. I have long appreciated Kris Kristofferson’s words—“freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose”—which were perfect for my role in presenting this concern to the Uehling board.

Sabbath Soliloquy

Canned Heat’s On the Road Again is playing in the background, while C-SPAN’s fare today has been coverage of the peace rally in D.C. and the commencement of Hillary’s campaign in Iowa. The three most important people in my life are socially, politically, and morally conscious activists, and the concentric “rings” spreading from this source include many, many more who, while they may not fall into the “three most important” category, are nonetheless critical elements of the construct I perceive as reality.

I am beginning to think that our government is growing fearful of its constituency, of its people. I think that this —if it is in fact what’s happening—is not a good thing. Jesus of Nazareth, who is proclaimed Prince of Peace by countless millions, repeatedly counseled his followers to not be afraid. Therefore, regardless of what they call themselves or think themselves to be, anyone who encourages violence by percolating fear throughout the public mind is truly antithetical to the Christ.

To find any truth or meaning in the teachings of the Christ requires clarity of theology that naturally becomes increasingly important for each succeeding generation; for it is true that the transmission is always but one generation from extinction. We must hope and pray that the transmission has not already been lost.

Twentieth century discoveries of ancient documents (e.g. Dead Sea Scrolls; Nag Hammadi library), however, has improved inestimably the likelihood that the Christ is still experientially (and therefore, in my mind, existentially) available to our contemporary consciousness. Combined with a progressive process worldview, a continuously reborn consciousness of the Christ has the power to redeem even today’s sinful world.

We must, then, apply ourselves not only to what we believe, but to why we believe it, thereby determining whether or not what we believe is actually true. Only then are we in a position to start living the Good News revealed so long ago to human consciousness. Our human survival, in other words, profoundly depends upon our ability to comprehend, and then, perhaps more importantly, to implement the Truth of God revealed to us through Christ!

Amen.

Pity the Pastor's Progeny

There’s an argument to be made for celibacy, even in the United Methodist pastorate. I do not concur with the reasoning behind the requirement for Roman Catholic priests to remain celibate, but there is a callous insensitivity toward the families of ordained UM ministers that justifies—in my mind, anyway—remaining single. Again, this is not as much of an issue for those who are elevated in the hierarchy, but it’s a damned important issue for the grunts serving the lowliest of appointments. The family’s level of comfort in the parish is directly related to parishioners' perception of the pastor. In Burwell/Taylor, for example, there was no great love lost on my predecessor. There was no overt effort by the two congregations to get rid of her (remember that, at least on paper, UM congregations are consulted through their Pastor-Parish Relations Committee), but when the change was made no one was really sorry to see her go. In contrast, that influential clique that “ran” things at Tri-Parish were quite infatuated with my predecessor and his family, and they made little effort to hide their dissatisfaction with them being moved (even though it was a “promotion” for Todd). Subsequently, the reception that Mary, Rachel and Rebecca received in Burwell/Taylor was notably warmer than at Tri-Church. Not only was I not going to be a satisfactory replacement for the much beloved Todd, but neither was my family going to measure up to the Kargeses. These again are subtle events in the larger scheme of the denomination at large that go unnoticed except by those who are subjected to them. I’ve been working through my reasons for leaving the active ministry, and so it seems important at this point to begin laying the foundation. Life for the Reverend Mr. Mark Hanna and his family had gone far astray of the original calling to preach the good news of God’s love.

Little Big Problems

If you aren’t—or never have been—involved with a church, I’m sure that it is difficult to understand what a powerfully emotional relationship it can be. Religion is composed of core issues such as who am I? Where did I come from? Where am I going? What is the meaning and the purpose of my life? Religion is unfortunately responsible for “canned” answers to such questions that take the form of dogmas and creeds. So when a pastor is foolhardy enough to start asking questions about the viability of a congregation, the subject is taken personally and quickly becomes emotionally charged past any hope of objectivity. The very foundation of people’s ego is challenged when the question “what is this church doing here?” is heard as “what am I doing here?” This is, I guess, all to say that church-goers are personally vested in their churches, and anyone thinking about rocking their boat had better be prepared for a fight (albeit a “Christian” tussle). The obvious inequity of a multiple-point charge such as the Tri-Parish is that each congregation—not altogether errantly—believes that it is entitled to its fair share of the pastor’s time, and then the whole money issue raises its ugly head because it seems reasonable that access to the pastor should be in proportion to the funding being provided. Hence, if our congregation is picking up fifty-percent of the pastor’s salary (and for additional leverage let’s provide the housing), we are entitled to half of the pastor’s time and attention. I daresay that the senior pastors of today’s mega-churches have never had to work through such thorny issues. But then, they shouldn’t have to, because they are among God’s chosen few that are qualified—usually by virtue of a seminary degree—to deal with the real and substantive matters of their magnificent ministries.

Diagnosis, Please

What perhaps distinguishes business/enterprise from other endeavors is that if it is as functionally dynamic as it ideally should be, it avoids static institutionalization. Not only did the Tri-Church Parish to which I was appointed consist of three anemic congregations, but there were sickly congregations such as Craig and Lyons that were within a fifteen mile radius of Oakland which also encompassed somewhat healthier congregations in West Point and Tekamah. Yes, that’s right, there were no less than seven United Methodist churches vying for viability in a predominantly Lutheran (Sweden’s official church, you know) population in which an Evangelical Free church was growing by leaps and bounds. I can only surmise that the Nebraska Conference would have regarded it as shameful to consolidate these smaller churches into one or two larger ones, but I learned firsthand that none of the parishioners would ever entertain such a notion. I’m sure that I was considered somewhat dull-witted to even think of such a merger because it would have almost certainly resulted in an appointment further into the wilderness than I had been (after all, we were now within a half-hour drive of Fremont and just one hour away from Omaha!). Nonetheless, it became very apparent to me that my purpose for being appointed to Tri-Church was to work with the congregations to move past the dysfunctional competitiveness that had developed between them toward a healthier sense of unity—even if that meant helping them learn how to stand on their own.

Times Three

One of the absurd ironies of the United Methodist appointment process is this: the “top” appointments are to single-point charges which often include professional staffs to carry out the administrative needs of the congregation, thus allowing the senior pastor to focus on preaching, delegation of duties, and whatever else he/she may find appealing. The “bottom” appointments, however, are often to multiple-point charges that effectively require the pastor-in-charge to fulfill all of the necessary functions not just for one, but in the case of the Tri-Church Parish for three separate congregations. This ecclesiastical juggling act was further compounded by an interdenominational aspect of the Uehling church actually being United Church of Christ. Just Sunday morning by itself became a logistical challenge with an early service at Uehling (approximately seven miles south of Oakland), a middle service at Oakland First, and then a third service for the rural crossroads Westside UMC which was approximately seven miles west of Oakland. As you might expect, the Uehling UCC congregation did not use the same hymnal as the two United Methodist churches, and each congregation understandably held on to a certain degree of wanting to do things their own unique way, so the pastor’s responsibility on Sunday morning was not just to repeat the same worship service multiple times but rather to conduct three distinct worship services. I had my work cut out for me.

Happy Birthday, Rachel!

Twenty-three years ago today I witnessed the miracle of Mary giving birth to Rachel. Life has never been the same since. I immediately fell in love with those inquisitive brown eyes that proved she was her mother’s daughter. Every day since has been made more special because Rachel is such an integral part of my world that—to shamelessly borrow a line from a movie—she makes me want to be a better man. I think it is impossible to pinpoint the single happiest moment in my life because there have been several that are of equal value: when Mary and I discovered that we loved each other, when Mary and I were married, when Rachel was born, and when Rebecca was born. Each of these events profoundly changed my life for the better. So, while I am indebted to all three women in my life, today marks the occasion when I can publicly celebrate Rachel’s life in particular. The world is a better place for her being here, and I know that I am not alone in feeling profoundly fortunate to know and love her.

The Grass is Always Greener

Pastors don’t exist in isolation, a fact that their families know all to well. Having grown up in a relatively large church allowed me a certain amount of anonymity when compared to what Mary, Rachel and Rebecca experienced following me from parish to parish. Todd Karges was especially well liked by—for lack of a better way to put it—a clique at Oakland First, as was his wife, Diane. In Nebraska’s Swedish capital (this title was challenged by a couple of other towns in the state), the Karges family apparently hobnobbed their way into the society-page set (I feel compelled to remind the reader that this is a town of 1,200) while managing to be somewhat oblivious to the feelings of those who didn’t share the limelight. As a result, there were those who were not happy to see the Kargeses move, and they were the same ones who weren’t going to be happy with whoever replaced them. I always thought of Burwell as a fractious community (13 churches for 1,200 people) that managed to live in harmony, but the Oakland appointment introduced me to outright jealousy and competitiveness that created an environment that could hardly be described as harmonious.

Connections

Dynasties seem to appear wherever there are politics, even in the church. Gil Karges, who succeeded Carol Roettmer-Brewer as district superintendent, was a second career pastor with several sons and daughters-in-law who were themselves ordained clergy. One son was none other than Todd Karges. Todd was serving a three-point charge based in Oakland, Nebraska, but it was apparently time for the Karges dynasty to flex its muscle and “promote” him to an appointment that was more worthy of his stature-by-association. I’ve already tried to explain that the unwritten rule of Methodism to keep things relatively stable at the top of the pyramid exacerbates the domino effect that ripples through the trenches. The United Methodist “contract” with local congregations is that they will never be without an appointed pastor, so moving one pastor creates a vacancy that the conference is obligated to fill. When Roettmer-Brewer left the district it was necessary to appoint her to a church that was worthy of her status as a former D.S., and as part of a clergy-couple this meant that her husband, James Brewer, would need a complementary appointment. Thus it was that Jim became a district superintendent with the district office in Fremont, Nebraska, where Carol just happened to be appointed as senior pastor of Fremont First UMC. Todd Karges was appointed to Nebraska City (a one-point charge of higher status), and that’s where yours truly enters the picture as hole-filler extraordinaire. I will never be able to prove this, but I’ve always thought that Bishop Martinez and his cabinet figured that if a two-point charge didn’t cause me to fail, a three-point charge might just do the trick. In June of 1993, the Hanna family reported for duty in Oakland, Nebraska.

Please Read

Scientists to Move Doomsday Clock Forward

Is it too late? Have we already missed our opportunity to employ the power of love? Some would say that only God knows; process thought grounded in the conviction of human volition questions if even this is true. Of only one thing can I be certain: now is the time that we must try. It has been observed that the opposite of love is not hate but indifference. Those of us who hear the voice in the wilderness calling us to repent must act now to transform violence into compassionate love. Only those who truly seek communion with our Creator can hope to evolve as the answer to the question.

Don't Get Too Comfortable!

“Success” aptly describes nearly every aspect of our time in Burwell and Taylor. Mary’s Master Teacher status was much appreciated by the Loup County School District, Rachel and Rebecca were at the perfect ages to make friends both at church and in the community, and I graduated the Course of Study to be ordained Deacon. Both churches’ apportionments (that UMC tax) were being paid-in-full, worship attendance was growing (to my mind a more valid measurement than membership rolls in communities with relatively static populations), and both congregations were exuding a kind of positive enthusiasm that I was told had been missing in the past. But change was in the air. Carol Roettmer-Brewer was succeeded as district superintendent by Gil Karges (both names will be ironically linked to our family’s future), and Bishop Woodrow Hearn was succeeded by Bishop Joel Martinez. One way that bishops and district superintendents can exert their absolute power is through making appointments. What every United Methodist pastor knows, however, is that such power is not absolute when it comes to “successful” pastors who have no intention of changing charges (Dad’s thirty-five years at Arvada UMC is the most extraordinary example I know of), and so the second-class tier of pastors (local pastors, deacons, and submissive elders) are the victims of arbitrary shuffling that callously ignores the good of pastors, their families, and the congregations they serve. The family and I were about to once again be subjected to the dark side of The United Methodist Church that, as the child of an influential and powerful pastor, I had no inkling existed.

I Have Something to Say

I will forever be in awe of my father’s preaching. For thirty-five years he provided spiritual manna from the same pulpit without ever repeating a sermon unless it was by popular demand. He literally spellbound hundreds of thousands of listeners with messages that were grounded in a progressive theology that dared to posit the compatibility of religion and science instead of pitting the two disciplines against each other. It was from that same pulpit that I was afforded the opportunity to deliver my first sermon, and I fully appreciated the gigantic footsteps that I was stepping into. Preaching was a sporadic endeavor for me until being appointed to Burwell and Taylor, at which time I relished the challenge of preparing a weekly message that would be worthy of my listeners’ attention. Learning to preach from Dad’s pulpit was an exercise in precision since the worship services were broadcast live on radio. That’s how I became a “manuscript” preacher. Eleven double-spaced pages of manuscript (well-rehearsed) came out to the allotted twenty-two minutes. I was told that I was reasonably effective with this style, but as I stood before congregations on a weekly basis I began to sense that it lacked the personal sincerity of an unscripted message spoken from the heart. Thus it was that one Sunday I stepped away from the Taylor and Burwell pulpits to engage in a homiletical “conversation” with those who had come to worship. It was scary, to say the least, but it eventually became my (again, I’ve been told, effective) way of paying homage to a man that taught me the art and science of preaching.

Let the Growing Begin!

If you’ve never lived in a town of 1,200 people, it is probably hard to imagine just what it’s like. Everybody knows what everyone is doing. This fact is magnified significantly for the family of the pastor of the largest Protestant church in town (never could compete with those Roman Catholics). It was foreign to each of us who were called upon to make the transition from the relative anonymity of the Omaha megalopolis. Being three times larger than Taylor gave Burwell the privilege of providing the parsonage with all of its attendant perks of having the pastor’s family living right there. This had long been the case, and so the folks at Calvary UMC had grown accustomed to what I viewed as second-class pastoral care. It was about as close as I’ll ever come to experiencing what Albert Schweitzer must have sensed when he took his ministry to deepest, darkest Africa as I was intentional about spending Tuesdays in Taylor in addition to the customary Sunday worship. Mary resumed her teaching career—after five years of maternal leave—with the Loup County school (yes, that’s singular) in Taylor, which further reinforced the perception that we were there to minister to the whole charge. Both churches responded very positively to this personalized attention and made excellent progress toward becoming actualized congregations.

A Tale of Two Towns

Ordained Elders in The United Methodist Church can sometimes be an arrogant lot. The Reverend Nancy K. Flader, who preceded me at Burwell-Taylor, was one of a growing number of clergy couples where both husband and wife were ministers (Carol Roettmer-Brewer was also in this category; her husband, James Brewer, was later to become my district superintendent when we moved to Oakland, Nebraska). The impression of Flader given me by parishioners in Burwell and Taylor was of someone so intent upon moving up in the conference hierarchy that there was little or no time to be a real pastor to these folks who resided far from the prestige of Nebraska’s “important” churches. This naturally worked to my advantage as the people in these two backwater bergs were somewhat dumbfounded by my personal interest in them. Both congregations had done a remarkable job of staying alive and vibrant in spite of their relative anonymity with regard to conference politics, and to have a pastor that was willing to devote the same time and attention to them as to congregations ten times their size resulted in an almost giddy enthusiasm for being the church. Programs were instituted; attendance and offerings increased, and apportionments (that UMC tax) were paid-in-full. It was the best of times, with little thought of the worst.

Sabbath Soliloquy

It might be difficult for the reader to understand just what a profoundly sad and disturbing personal process began for me when I realized that I no longer wished to be identified as a Christian. It is an identity that I feel—with no little resentment—has been co-opted by a fundamentalist Right that has finagled its way into the popular perception as what the faith represents. I have carefully and purposefully chosen the words corrupted and perverted to describe what I believe has happened to the teachings of Jesus in the name of “official”, “evangelical”, and “bible-based” Christianity.

So it is then with great joy and excitement that I report a Gestalt! I am a child of the Christ! This designation acknowledges the Judeo-Christian roots of my worldview while at the same time placing me squarely in the reality of the present moment. I need not be ashamed of my childish imperfections so long as I intentionally strive to mature toward the perfection revealed to human consciousness by the Christ in its various forms and incarnations. Yes, I am saying that the cosmic Christ is universal and is therefore knowable in an infinite number of ways.

I am pleasantly struck by how inclusive this understanding is as compared to the exclusivity of the “I am the only way” misinterpretation embraced by literalists. When the Christ is understood as all things that strengthen the connection between the Creator and the created it can then be legitimately thought of as the Way, but not as an exclusive claim to one particular dogma that fails to accommodate the comprehensiveness of universality. I am not alone a child of the Christ but am instead one of many children included in the whole family of God who celebrate our kinship through connectedness.

Going to the Promised Land

It wasn’t the intention of the Kruse/Carter collusion to do me any favors, but sometimes the best of intentions fail. By sending me to Nebraska’s “wilderness” on the edge of its sandhills I was literally introduced to what the residents proudly proclaimed “God’s country”. And they weren’t far from being right. Some day when you have nothing better to do, get out your atlas, turn to the map of Nebraska, and look for a little dot about ninety miles north of Grand Island named Burwell. Then go west about another fifteen miles and you should find Taylor. I was appointed to—in the parlance of The United Methodist Church—a two-point charge, meaning that there was a UM church in each town (closer study of the map will reveal the reason why each is the county seat). The receiving district superintendent was the Reverend Dr. Carol Roettmer-Brewer, to whom I was introduced at the time I was first inquiring about the possibility of moving to the Nebraska Conference. At that time she had been very to-the-point that as a Course of Study student I could never hope to be appointed to a large church because those would always go to seminary graduates (I took this as a backhanded compliment that she would even think that such would be in my future as a seminarian). Now, however, she was much more congenial and supportive, and in retrospect I remember her as the best D.S. I ever had. In yesterday’s post I summarized my understanding of what ministry is all about, and as the pastor-in-charge of the Burwell-Taylor appointment I found myself in the glorious position of getting to put theory into practice.

Setting the Stage

I am called to share the good news that God is real, and that to the degree we assimilate that reality into our world view our lives are fulfilled through purpose and meaning. I have spent most of my life attempting to integrate my calling into the scheme of organized religion (i.e. the Church) only to gradually realize that the two are not necessarily complimentary, and in many instances are actually incompatible. The dynamic of the Christ (in my humble opinion) is a balancing act of self and other that is held together by the transcendent Other that is ultimately recognized as First Cause. In this sense, the great “commandment” to love God, neighbor, and self is sufficient. If organized religion serves such an end, then it is “worthy” of its calling. If, however, organized religion becomes focused upon its own importance, it fails the litmus test of genuinely being the Body of Christ.

Happy New Year!

Renewed and refreshed by the best Christmas ever, I am ready to tackle the New Year and whatever it may bring. The greatest blessing from my years as a pastor is the people I’ve been privileged to serve, and the holiday correspondence that continues with many of them serves as an annual reminder of how fortunate I am. Even though I tried to be cognizant of the countless numbers who experienced no hope or joy or love during the season, I eventually could not help but be totally immersed in the hope, joy and love of family and friends. I think it a worthy resolution for the coming year to seek out ways to spread that feeling to as many as I am able. With that in mind, I am mulling over whether or not to continue with the retrospective of my experiences with The United Methodist Church. If I can find a way to do so in a positive spirit then it will be consistent with my goal. This will prove to be a challenge, however, because my memories are of an increasingly negative relationship to the church and its hierarchy. I’ll take it one lunch-hour rumination at a time and see where it leads me.