Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Oh, Let's Have Another Cup of Coffee

I’m sure that there are others who handle anxiety much better than I do, but being kept in the dark about my prospective appointment to a new church start in the Nebraska conference was making me increasingly uneasy. My call to Nate Holt yielded more concrete results: the senior pastor of Trinity UMC in Las Vegas (the Reverend Donald Smith) was very unhappy with his associate pastor (the Reverend Dr. John Cox) and was working with the Cabinet to effect a change. I should have paid more attention to the Rockbrook déjà vu, but feeling keenly that I owed my wife and daughters a sense of security I accepted an invitation to fly to Las Vegas to meet with the Staff-Parish Relations Committee and Pastor Don (my experience leads me to caution the reader to be wary of clergy that insist on being called Pastor So-and-so). Nate and his wife, Alita, were living in a luxury apartment on Desert Inn Road where they invited me to stay with them. I was, of course, struck by the heat, but was equally impressed by an aridity that made toweling off after a shower virtually unnecessary. The meeting with the S-PRC was not until evening, and the Holts graciously loaned me their car so that I could drive around and become a little more familiar with the territory. After an early supper, I rode with Nate west on Charleston Blvd. Somehow knowing that the Trinity people would not have any coffee (the Methodist cocktail) at the meeting, we stopped at a 7-11 to brace ourselves. Driving on west a few more blocks, my first thought was wondering why Nate was pulling up to another 7-11, but lo and behold, we were parking in front of Trinity United Methodist Church!

Monday, February 26, 2007

A New Starbucks Buddy!

I have a very happy reason for why I’m not going to be blogging during my lunch hours for a while. Rebecca has started a part-time position as a data entry operator for the Criminal Division of the District Attorney’s office, and since she’s located right across the street from where I work we can take our lunch breaks together. I continue to be blessed beyond what I deserve, but that doesn’t prevent me from being truly grateful for my good fortune.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

A Queer Turn of Events

Homosexuality has played a queer role (yes, I know) in my relationship with The United Methodist Church. During the seventies and eighties it emerged as one of the red flags of right-wing Christianity along with abortion and capital punishment. Long-considered liberal among Protestant denominations, the newly united Methodist church was challenged to compromise with the more conservative evangelical strains that were included beneath the umbrella of what was then the largest Protestant denomination in the United States (a rank soon overtaken by the Southern Baptist Convention as the whole of American religion started tilting to the right). With tongue in cheek I thanked the gay community for focusing the General Church’s attention on whether homosexuals could be legitimately ordained or not; this aided those of us who chose to skirt the traditional route to ordination. But if anyone bothered to check out yesterday’s link they learned that the shenanigans of the Reverend Jimmy Creech, et al, also created a detrimental effect with regard to my needing the guidance and direction of a district superintendent who was instead obsessed with getting “her man” appointed to Omaha First. Having kept in touch with Nate Holt I was aware that he had been appointed by Bishop Elias Galvan as superintendent of the North District of the Desert Southwest Annual Conference. I inquired of my old friend about any possible openings that might prove to be less ambiguous than what was being proposed by the Nebraska folks. Nate said that he would get back to me because he was aware of a staff conflict at the (then) largest UM in Las Vegas, Nevada. What I had no way of knowing at the time was that during our eight years apart, Nate had turned into a raving homophobe.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Left Hanging

For all of those who continue to hang in here with me, I acknowledge that this little saga of mine is, at best, laborious. I’m getting dangerously close, however, to providing the answer for all those who have asked, “How the hell did you end up in Las Vegas?” I ask for your patience, because we still need to spend a little more time in Nebraska. It cannot be documented, of course, but I think that district superintendents in The United Methodist Church sometimes wonder how they can get the troublesome pastors for whom they are charged “out of their hair.” Lowen Kruse and Dick Carter managed this by shipping me and the family off to Burwell, and now Jim Brewer was giving serious thought to how to get me out of his district. While Nebraska had conference-sponsored new churches under development, the new church start that Jim had in mind for me did not fall into that “official” category. Two of Omaha’s suburban congregations had somehow figured out that they could go in together on what was tantamount to a “satellite” in the Bellevue area. There was no housing, no building, no concrete plans at all other than putting a feather in the caps of the pastors who concocted this scheme—if it worked. My prospective district superintendent, The Reverend Susan P. Davies, was completely focused upon finding a replacement for Denny Silk (Denny voluntarily left his post as senior pastor of Omaha First after admitting to some sort of indiscretion with a congregant) and never gave me so much as a phone call. Annual Conference was drawing nearer by the day, and the only thing I knew for certain was that nothing definite with regard to my future in Nebraska was taking shape. The Zeitgeist was encouraging a call to my old friend, Nate Holt.

P.S. Some of you might be interested in learning more about who Davies arranged to serve as the new senior pastor of Omaha First. I sometimes wonder if she ever wished that she would have paid more attention to some of the little things—like me—that were going on in her district at the same time: http://www.umaffirm.org/cornews/uptomin.html

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

A Reason for Dying

Coincidence seems to be occasionally transcended, and this to me is one of those times. Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday on the Christian calendar, marking the beginning of the season of Lent that is defined as the 40 days (not counting Sundays) that precede Easter. In many minds Lent is the time to give up chocolate, smoking, or any number of would be vices to which it will be alright to return on the first Monday after Easter. Mardi gras (which, if I remember my French correctly, means “fat Tuesday”) and Carnival are two of the rather irrational indulgences in gluttony and hedonism that occur prior to the supposed forty days of going without. I suspect that most Lenten sacrifices are about as short-lived as New Year’s resolutions. With great thanks, however, for Rachel’s words of encouragement (see her comments on An Endless Tale, 02/15/07), I am realizing the potential for healing through finishing what I have started, namely the recounting of my days in The United Methodist Church. No longer associated with any organized religion, there is little reason for me to pay attention to the Christian calendar except to discover once again its inherent value of preparing for the death that must precede resurrection. And so, my Lenten journey will continue on the path of expose, but now with the purposeful intention of putting this period of my life to rest forever so that I may more fully live the new life that has grown from those ashes.

Thursday, February 15, 2007

An Endless Tale

Procrastinator’s Creed: Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow. I identify with the sentiment. Thanks to George, Abe, and all the other American men who have held the highest office in the land, I’m looking forward to a four day holiday weekend during which I hope to wipe my “to do” slate clean. That may include finalizing the cast of characters in my autobiographical melodrama. Then again, it may not. I’m beginning to think that if I hold even one other person’s attention with this blog then I should be focusing on things that truly matter rather than self-indulgently licking my wounds. Way back when, I started this endeavor in response to a co-worker’s question of whether or not I was really a pastor. I could think better of myself if my response had been along the lines of asking if it really mattered in light of globing warming, Darfur, and the unabashed immorality of the Bush Administration. But I did not. Instead I undertook a seemingly endless rationalization for why I no longer deserve to be addressed as the Reverend Mr. Mark A. Hanna. That’s a succinct summarization, don’t you think?

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Happy Valentine's Day, Mary!

Today marks the thirty-seventh anniversary of the happiest day—or night—in my life. On a predictably frigid Nebraska night, Mary Jean James agreed to go on a blind date with yours truly to the Valentine’s Day dance held in the cafeteria of Nebraska Wesleyan University’s campus center. My good friend, Neal Mersman (Sacko) had been dating an Alpha Gamma Delta named Vickie Peterson and Vickie approached her sorority sister with a carefully calculated proposal to double-date (my investment in a 1963 Chevy Biscayne was paying off big time) to the dance. Obviously, the evening surpassed my expectations and it’s been Mary and me ever since. It may appear that I have simply done a cut and paste job on last year’s entry, but I can truthfully report that this is not the case. Neither of us could have known what the years ahead would hold for us, but in that moment of what Joseph Campbell might call the recognition of our oneness it didn’t really matter. The world was ours to be shared together, and I am blessed to report that love between us has only grown stronger over the years. In her card to me this morning, Mary wrote that she was glad that I persisted in my pursuit of a snooty AGD. To her I can only reply that it was the best plan of action I ever came up with in my life.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

On Spinning Wheels

Being compulsively analytical (as I am) makes it only natural to try to figure out this present “writer’s block” that I’m contending with. I’m reasonably sure of the accuracy of my recollections from this point forward, but I’m reticent to proceed. It may be because the darkest moments of my life take place from 1996 to the present and I am simply not eager to revive the pain. Again, that I’m writing this from an 8’ x 8’ cubicle in downtown Las Vegas during my lunch hour foreshadows how the story ends, a humbling and disappointing truth for yours truly.

Mary, Rebecca and I had an incredibly invigorating discussion of all manner of things this past weekend, and it reawakened within me the conviction that for as important as it is to understand the how of things it is profoundly more important to seek the why. And so, as I attempt to muster up the courage to finish what I have started, I am realizing that it will be critical for me, in addition to simply recounting the morbid details, to try as best I can to explain why things went as they did. I have accepted that the primary benefit of this journal is its therapeutic value to the author, and now I pray that it might lead to genuine healing and renewal.

Monday, February 12, 2007

The Devil Is In The Details

I’ve managed to get bogged down by fact-checking. Because I’m going to become increasingly critical of the characters cast in this autobiography it seems only fair that I strive for accuracy with regard to names, dates, etc. It is indicative of the whirlwind that I and my family got caught up in beginning the spring of 1996 that eventually plopped us down some 1300 miles away in Las Vegas, Nevada. Several aspects of my career in The United Methodist Church are rather unique, not the least of which is that I finagled my way from the Desert Southwest to the Nebraska Annual Conference and then back to the Desert Southwest again! This is nothing to be particularly proud of. Indeed, it is shameful from the perspective of what it forced Mary, Rachel and Rebecca to endure. The good news is that all three of them still love me and don’t seem to hold it against me that I regularly generated such chaos in our family life all for the sake of getting to be an ordained UMC pastor. I’ve said it before and it is appropriate to repeat it now: the ultimate paradox in my pursuit of “success” in The United Methodist Church was that I was pushing God farther and farther into the background.

Friday, February 09, 2007

JoAnn Died Today

Anyone who knows “Pete” must be curious about the timing of her departure. Not to be outdone by Anna Nichole—or anyone else, for that matter—JoAnn has once again done what she does best: she has put our priorities back in order. Joseph R. Sizoo quite uncannily captures the spirit of that life force which today has moved on:

Let it never be forgotten that glamour is not greatness; praise is not fame; noise is not influence; prominence is not eminence. The man of the hour is not apt to be the man of the ages. A stone may sparkle, but that does not make it a diamond; a man may have money, but that does not make him a success; a student may be clever, but that does not make him a philosopher. It is what the unimportant do that really counts and determines the course of history.

The greatest forces in the universe are never spectacular. Summer showers are more effective than hurricanes, but they get no publicity. The world would soon die but for the fidelity, loyalty, and consecration of those whose names are unhonored and unsung.

There is, therefore, no life, however humble, but may take its place in the building of a braver and better tomorrow. It is easy to exaggerate the importance of the unimportant and to underestimate the importance of the unimportant.

How do we begin to remember, and more importantly, to honor, one who has taught so many great lessons about life simply by the living of her own? I gave my word to “Pete” that her death will be celebrated, not mourned. So, while it is true that we are feeling a huge absence right now it is only because “Pete” occupied such an enormous place in this existential plane we call life. There is never any question of when JoAnn is in the room, and that is no less true right now than it has ever been. Our lives are the richer for knowing her. And while the nature of our relationship has changed significantly it does not mean that we will not continue to be enriched by it. Her raspy cackle will forever ring in our ears.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

On Opening a Can of Worms

From the time that I accepted the position at Trinity Heights UMC in Flagstaff, Arizona, I began to process my priorities. This was part matter of faith, part preparation for ordination, and part just being human. It wasn’t too awfully long before an order developed: God, family, church. It doesn’t require any particular genius to realize that from the church’s perspective my priorities were out of order. Theologically the church would have been hard pressed to argue with my first and highest priority, but it certainly found fault with my placing family above church. By 1996, Rachel had lived her young twelve years in no less than five different locations. Rebecca had lived in four different places by the time she was ten. Mary had resumed her teaching career in Loup County after nine years of maternity leave, only to be suddenly forced into resignation since it was her intention to follow me to the Tri-Church appointment. Rachel’s health was suffering from her allergies to the mold in the parsonage basement, and I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. There was but one doctor practicing in Oakland, so any specialized treatment had to be obtained in West Point, Fremont, or Omaha. I was also suffering from chronic adolescent naiveté (C.A.N.) which mistakenly induced me to believe that I could take these concerns to my district superintendent in confidence with the expectation of some degree of understanding and compassion. Wrong! I learned the hard way that the only thing you talk to an egotist about is her/himself, and Jim Brewer was the quintessential egotist. Once again I had aggravated Jim’s sense of self-preservation, placing myself and my family in ecclesiastical jeopardy.

Monday, February 05, 2007

Was Somebody Looking for a Fight?

If their ancestors really did all come over on the same boat from Sweden, there must have been incredible rivalry and squabbling among those who founded Oakland’s First (and only) and West Side churches. Because licensed local pastors are likely to be serving small, rural congregations, I had the benefit of specialized training in this matter from the Saint Paul School of Theology (theirs was one of the largest Course of Study schools in the country). We were taught to chart the “power positions” of the Sunday worship seating arrangements, etc, and these two congregations could have been the examples upon which the textbooks were based. Each church had enough of this going on within its own ranks that the notion of uniting the two bordered on the absurd. Now without the financial support of the Uehling UCC, First UMC was looking at having to pick up the lion’s share of the pastor’s compensation and benefit package and this only fueled the dissension between the two Methodist congregations while compounding the mutual dissatisfaction with yours truly. Jim Brewer’s blowhard approach was not appreciated by pastor or parishioners alike, and it became obvious that his primary concern was the blemish on his record as District Superintendent that he perceived was going to be the result of closing a church—albeit one the was no longer financially viable—on his watch. I had received some schooling in new church development, but I was never prepared for the emotionally explosive process of closing a church down.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

Anything You Can Do...

That there is even such a thing as “human nature” is debatable. But if it in fact does exist, the universality of rivalry must certainly be an inherent human characteristic. An incredibly fine line separates rivalry from enmity, which may help to explain why human competitiveness often spills over into violence. Prejudice, bigotry, discrimination on the basis of class; all have their roots in the human propensity for one-upmanship. The Christian gospels even record that rivalry erupted among Jesus’ disciples. This may seem not to have anything to do with my current expose on the Tri-Church Parish, but in truth competitive rivalry played a significant and counterproductive role in the way the three congregations got along, just as it plagued the denominations to which they belonged. If we ever wonder why cooperation is such a scarcity, I think that we have to look no further than our own personal aspirations to be Number One.