Pastor's Blog

Doing something ... new

I like comfort. Although owning more pants, I wear (mostly) three pair of jeans. I like the way those jeans feel, not too tight and not too loose. I wear (about) five shirts. Over and over again. I like it that way. Others may tire of seeing me in those shirts but I do not tire of wearing them. They are neat. They fit. They go with the jeans.

Same criteria of comfort goes for the shoes. Few articles are more necessary to life than comfortable shoes. And comfortable means forgetting I'm wearing them. My feet are dry and warm, protected from all splinters, shards and icky gunk on the floor. 

I like the comfort of my favorite foods. I know how they're supposed to taste in my mouth. The right temperature. The right texture. The right blend of spices. The warm feeling I'm supposed to get from a bowl of delicious stew. The refreshing lift that comes from just the right cold, crisp salad. All of that is comfort, and I like comfort.

I like my favorite shows on television. Yes, I watch TV. I realize I'm supposed to act like I read spiritual books all the time, engaging in nonstop spiritual contemplation; that kind of thing. If that's what "spiritual" means then I'm missing the mark.

What I DO watch on TV would bore the eyeballs out of many. Though once an avid fan, I no longer watch sports. Haven't EVER watched a complete episode of any "reality" show. I heave in convulsion at the thought of "reality" shows. I believe "reality" shows to be one of the rings of hell, and not one of those easy-to-dismiss outer rings.

But to each his or her own. I like the comfort of what I like. You know what? You like comfort, too. You like your routines. You like your food AND you like it in a certain way. You like your clothes. How do I know this? Because I've seen you wearing them over and over again.

You like your entertainments. Oh, yes, you do. You may have convinced yourself (some of you) that your entertainments are more high-minded than others - say thoughtful drama over slapstick comedy - but when you want to park your brain and gear down from the rest of your busy life you still have your "go-to" entertainment options. 

Comfort is not a bad thing. A steaming bowl of my grandmother's chicken and dumplings was a bowl of pure comfort. But comfort comes with a cost. Comfort can be so satisfying it can strangle in the crib changes which need to be made or opportunities which ought to be pursued. 

A diet of comfort food will shorten your life. And what a metaphor for life THAT is!

Limiting my intake of, just name it - food, entertainment, news, fashion, travel ... people! ... - to only what is comfortable will constrict my life. My capacity for discernment declines. It's like the arteries of my judgment harden.

What formerly was mere personal preference (say, being a morning rooster rather than a night owl) now becomes the only choice. It's a small step from the only choice to passing judgment on you for choosing differently from me. Check out my judgment regarding reality shows! My world grows smaller even as my comfort remains unchallenged. This is not good.

So, what "new" have you tried lately? I do not believe new is always better that old; in fact I'm sure it's not. By asking about "new," I don't mean the bleeding cutting edge of culture. I mean "new" that might jar you from your comfort. In particular, I mean "new" in a way that is more healthy for you. 

Over the next three posts, I'm going to spend a little time exploring what it might mean to do  something ... new.


Posted by Tim Alexander with

Lessons from a Great Vacation (Pt. 4)

There are many reasons I love my wife, "the wonderful Miss Polly." One of those reasons is that Polly has taught me to embrace ... vacation.

Polly has always been highly supportive of my work ethic. Only very rarely over our 34 years (this week!) has Polly challenged me to consider I might be "working too hard." She knows the unpredictable time demands of pastoral ministry. Weeks can go by when routines are as regular as a Swiss watch. Yet unexpected events can so riddle a pastoral calendar that it looks like Swiss cheese. Polly adjusted early on to the fickleness of a pastor's day. 

Throughout our marriage Polly has been firm on two items regarding rest and "re-creation." First, when I'm home, I'm home. My home is not a second office.

For example, we frequently entertain people in our home. Polly is marvelous at putting people at ease. We believe having people in our home is 'strategically' effective pastoral ministry. But much more than 'strategy,' both of us truly enjoy the blessings of personal fellowship with smaller numbers of people. We like smaller groups. We like personal conversation around the table. 

But when the people have left: "I'm home." Or, expanding from intentional hospitality, when the day is done, the office writing saved, the appointments kept and the visits made: "I'm home." Let's be quiet with one another OR let's share about our world. Let's figure out what we're going to do with the basement OR let's dream about our next vacation. But enough conversation about ministry.  No more shop talk. We're done.

 Second item from Polly: there will be vacation. Whether its the large two-week trip like Yosemite, a two-day B & B getaway, or staying four middle-of-the-week days in a "rustic" State Park cabin: there will be vacation. Polly told me early on, "I'm good with your work. Work as hard as you feel you need to work. I won't complain. But I need undivided time apart from work for us to be with one another."

 I married a wise woman.

I was not opposed to the concept of vacation but I didn't know how to do it. Or, at least do it without guilt. 'Surely," I thought, "there needs to be a higher purpose to justify the money of a vacation. Surely there is some ministry, or preparation for further ministry, to serve as the reason to spend valuable time on a vacation."

It did not dawn on me loving my wife and loving my children and taking care of myself were reasons for a vacation. (Let alone, good or worthy reasons!) Never crossed my mind.

Polly helped me learn the spiritual and relational value of vacation. She helped me learn God will love me even if I rest. In fact, being willing to rest is kind'a like a short term exercise in eternal trust. God will take care of me and work things for good ...  even when I'm off the grid for a week.

That was hard for me to learn. Pastor's place a lot of stock in being on the spot problem-solvers and all-purpose hand-holders. The anxiety that surfaces comes in the form of these questions: "Will I have a job when I get back? Am I safe from people who might take my absence as occasion to criticize me? Will they still love me, if I'm not there, with them ... for a week? For two weeks?"

Over the years my relationship with Polly has only deepened because of our vacations. When we were younger at times our vacations were ... how can I say this? ... economical. (And by economical, I mean cheap.) No need to regale with old stories now, but we have stayed in our share of flimsy tents and bargain-basement State Park cabins.

But now those memories are embedded in our hearts. Mostly we remember where we were in our relationship when we took those trips, A rough stretch of adolescent angst with the kids? Yep. Moving through changing roles with our own parents? Yep. Reeling from an extended period of church crisis? Yep. Time to reboot and re-energize for the exciting ministry to come? Yep. And much more. 

Being away on vacation, seeing the glories of the mountains or feeling nature's base rhythm pound the beach in the ocean's waves: these experiences draw our souls to a larger view of life. We experience these things together and we rejoice in them together. 

Polly and I do not go on vacation to be around a lot of people. For us, being around a lot of people is not a vacation. God has placed both of us in spheres of life which, by their very nature, are intensively people-centered. We rejoice in this because we both love people. Yet taking time away from being with people so that we can go some other place and be with more people: this is not vacation.

I have learned from Polly this is, "Okay." I need a vacation from being "on" with people. I have learned from Polly this compulsion is not intrinsic to a life a ministry (though it is an occupational hazard); it is not a problem to be laid at the feet of other people. This is my problem. I have to deal with it. Because, truthfully, being "on" with people is not a good thing. Constantly feeling the need to inhabit a role before others and attend to their expectations is not a good way to live. How I navigate the swirling currents of my own (perhaps flawed) assumptions of how other people perceive me, or what they may want of me: this is my task and not theirs. 

Polly has taught me, over 34 years, to live with an increasing authenticity as myself and with other people. Our vacations over that time gave me safe, sheltered spaces to let those kind of concerns move through my heart, like Elijah's cave allowed him to hear the low whisper of God in the small breeze.

I'd like to think even before our Great Vacation I was already thankful for Polly. I believe I was.  But if God blessed me in no other way on my Great Vacation, then He most certainly blessed me in this way: I thank God for Polly.

Lessons from a Great Vacation (Pt. 1)

Lessons from a Great Vacation (Pt. 2): July 4th in Yosemite

Lessons from a Great Vacation (Pt. 3)

Posted by Tim Alexander with 1 Comments

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