October 19, 2008

I actually intended to slide through this twenty-five year thing. When the numbers get large enough you just as soon forget them. Or they become so large you can't remember them even when you try. So I intentionally did not mention anything about the twenty five year anniversary of serving as your minister, achieved this past October 1.

It was the Tribune that tripped me up, mentioning my installation of 25 years ago in its Sunday Montana Album article. It is amazing how many of you read it. I had two responses: 1) I am not sure it is that desirable when you become a footnote of history, and 2) the first week of October, 1983, must have been an awfully slow and uneventful week in Great Falls news.

Nevertheless, here we are, lo, these 2 � decades later. If you will permit me the pulpit privilege of some personal ponderings this morning, this will save me, and you, saying anything at the brunch to follow. After all, it only comes around four times a century, which is about how often ministers should preaching about themselves.

First of all I should say, I am sorry. I did not intend to stay this long. When Cathy and I moved here Labor Day Weekend of 1983, we had two children, Shannon and Shawna, who were going into 6^th and 7^th grade.

Our intention was to get them through school here, and a bit beyond, and once launched head off to another pastorate, perhaps back toward the west coast, Cathy and I both being native Californians, to retire from the next church or perhaps the next one after that. After all, we preachers are supposed to move along, more like Moses being tested in the wilderness.

So I say I am sorry, more to some of you than others, I suppose, we did not intend to hang here so long. Certainly adding seven more children to the nest played a part in our permanence. Thank you, by the way, for upgrading parsonages half way through the journey, though we have even in this past month done some creative bedroom changes to better accommodate the kids.

We moved up on Labor Day Weekend of ?83 so the children could begin their new school year here, back when school started after Labor Day. I actually had another month to serve the church in San Diego, inasmuch as the by-laws there required 60 days notice. Ours here requires 90 days, so you know I am good for 3 more months. So I spent September wrapping up my ministry of 7 � years in San Diego, where the farewell was so traumatic, not unlike attending my own funeral, I think I subconsciously vowed to never do that again. So here I am, still kicking.

That I did not meet an earlier demise was only the luck of distance, for on that first day of school Cathy called me to let me know it snowed in Montana. She was outside scrapping the snow off the windshield of our VW bug, which, pretty much took a run to Helena and back to warm up until we got the auxiliary gas heater installed, with a dustpan, taking the kids to school in their tennis shoes and lightweight jackets. We were not in San Diego anymore. At least, Cathy and the kids were not.

Credit Cathy, we had not been in Montana very long when she announced, "We're not leaving Montana." Hence a few years later, the purchase of retirement property in Kalispell.

It's a smart man who marries a smart woman.

Anyway, my apologies, it has just gone by in a hurry. That's life! My promise: I will not stay another 25 years.

It's like when I had my first adult ophthalmologist appointment at the age of 49. I asked when I should come back again. The doctor said, "Well, I wouldn't wait another 49 years." So, twelve years later, I had my second ophthalmological appointment this past week. And I can still see. No, I won't wait another 25 years.

I remember in one periodic review, where we clergy meet with members of the Conference Church & Ministry Committee to discuss the state of our ministry, I expressed guilt about being here so long, suggesting it perhaps was too comfortable a place and that I was being piggish serving such a wonderful congregation for so long.

John Schaeffer, our Conference Minister at the time, responded, "Well, Jim, if you want to feel pain, I have a couple of churches I can recommend you to."

What about this ministry thing? I must say I am disappointed. Which does not compare to my mother's surprise? I am disappointed. She is shocked! Shocked inasmuch as I argued through high school and beyond that God does not exist. She, being the church lady, and family enforcer of church attendance, argued the contrary.

I was still "winning" the argument at the time of her death, so I think it would surprise her that I ended up in the ministry. Or maybe not.

She did warn me against it, in one conversation we had near the end of her life, where I (well, it could not have been me, it must have been God in me), was discussing the parish ministry. She, who had been very close to the ministry, serving our church as church secretary as well as the Christian Education Director, and who, herself, had attended seminary some, Pacific School of Religion, the same seminary as myself years later, said, "Jim, only go into the ministry if there is nothing else that will satisfy what it is you want from your profession. But if something else will satisfy you, do it first." My mother loved the church. But she loved her son more. And she knew the ministry inside out.

That I went into the ministry anyway, contrary to my mother's deathbed advice (and she was literally lying in the bed at Stanford hospital that she would later die in as we spoke), I interpret in part as my "call to ministry."

So my mother is surprised. I am disappointed. I am disappointed, as I was saying to Paul Haffeman after worship last Sunday, that after 32 years, 25 here, 7 there, spending 10 hours a week preparing sermons, I am disappointed I am not smarter.

That's what I thought at the beginning. That there would be a payoff from the hard, hard work of researching and writing a sermon every week. At least I am going to get really smart. I thought. Well, as you can see... I think I know less now than then.

So what's the payoff? I have been in a flurry of e-mails these past couple of months. One of my Phi Delt fraternity brothers at Stanford got the creative idea of having a reunion, a tailgate party around the Stanford homecoming game of this year, which was last weekend against Arizona. (We won - go Cardinal!)

I did not go. I was here. But it got me reconnecting with fraternity brothers with whom I have had no connections since my early years following graduation. The last they had heard of me I was skiing in the Colorado Rockies, which they thought was pretty cool as they were in medical, law, business, and engineering graduate schools mostly.

So now, nearly 40 years later, we are getting reacquainted. And some of them pick up on this Rev. thing in front of my name. And they are curious enough to contact me, "Petey (that's me), what are you doing?" My full fraternity nickname was "Wheatie Petey," for I was forever getting the brothers' slothful butts off of the sofa and out onto the fraternity green for Frisbee, volleyball, basketball, and the like, some kind of workout.

"Petey, what are you doing?" They are doctors now, lawyers, business owners and land developers, several investment bankers (I suppose I will be hearing more from them), "Petey, are you a minister? What are you doing?" So we've had the chance to catch up and share a little of our life's stories, including some of their "come to Jesus" meetings, which I don't think they share with too many of their associates.

Admittedly, my path is less traveled from Stanford. Hey, they are not only flying in from the Midwest, but from overseas to attend this reunion. Me. I work weekends, have a house full of kids, and don't really spend my money this way.

So it has really been quite heartwarming and affirming to have Hern, who I thought sure we would lose to alcoholism and the race tracks, but who instead was accepted into medical school with a lower gpa than mine, his surname of Hernandez assisting him at a time when medical school admissions were ramping up their ethnic and female acceptances, leaving less space for white boys like me, write,

"Petey, I am not surprised you ended up in the ministry. You were always thoughtful and nice, a really wonderful brother, and I am sure you are a wonderful minister." Nice? I was the house-manager and always on their cases for being slobs. Mind you I am not preaching Gospel truths this morning. This is not the Word of God. I'm just doing some sharing.

Or Clem, our seemingly gruff beer drinking golfer, who returned to the San Joaquin Valley family farm of Central California, to manage their very big lettuce business, say, "Petey, you were always an inspiration and I'm not surprised that you have chosen a better way. Keep it up and always stay humble."

Or pot smoking Kitch, who levitated to a successful import/exports business, and then spent a second career in special education with profoundly disabled children, write, and "I am very proud of you and happy for you. Cherish your life and those around you. I am confident that all those who have had the opportunity to know you and associate with you in your congregation are happier and wiser people for the experience." Well, debatable, but nice sentiments.

But I am touched most of all by Hibbits' comment, who I did not know had a sentimental thought in his head, as he had it forever focused on engineering problem sets. In fact, I did not even know he could write, for he always did numbers. But Hibbits writes, "Petey, there are a lot of Phis that have done well for themselves, but probably none that have done so well for others."

Isn't that nice? I tear up reading it. Because it is not always easy. In my early years people would sometimes ask, "Isn't it hard being a minister?" People don't ask this much anymore. They probably said it back then because I was making it look so hard. It's still hard, I just fake it now.

One of my standard replies was, "Yes, it is a hard way to make a living, but it is a wonderful way to spend a lifetime."

What's the payoff? Look, when I die I want to go out with two things: gratitude and humility. I really did follow my mom's advice. I don't think I could have done anything else that would have left my cup as filled with gratitude as the parish ministry.

I am thankful. Including for Cathy, and my children, who have supported me while sacrificing plenty. And including for you. For serving you as your minister these past 25 years has been my greatest joy, well, as well as my greatest challenge.

Which, of course, ushers in the humility thing. If we know God, we are humbled. We are humbled. As well as amazed and encouraged.

We are humbled before the great gift of life, and the opportunity to respond to it as we are able. I do thank God my response has included the parish ministry, and specifically the parish ministry here with you, lo, these past 25 years.

For you see, given a few gifts, as we all are, I could have ended up a real jerk. A short... well, I'll spare you the alliteration. But by the grace of God I am only occasionally a jerk.

Well, that's more than enough about me, me, me, me, me... "It's all about me."

As the Apostle Paul wrote in his sweetheart letter to the Philippians, the church he established and loved in Philippi, using Eugene Peterson's paraphrased translation, The Message, "I'm not saying that I have all this together, that I have made it...so friends, don't get me wrong: by no means do I count myself an expert in all of this. But I keep running and struggling to take hold of the prize, which God gives us... So let's keep focused on that goal...stick with me, friends...for there is far more to life for us in Jesus Christ our Lord...How I love you and want the very best for you. You fill me with pride and joy. So stay on track, stay steady with God."

To which I would add, AMEN.