We Appreciate You Too!

This past Sunday the congregation presented my family and me with a basketful of cards and Cincinnati Reds themed gifts for Pastor Appreciation Month, which our congregation has aptly renamed Pastor and Family Appreciation Month.  We were very touched as we read through the cards and letters that afternoon.  We were very appreciative of the gifts that were enclosed within some of the cards, but the words of appreciation were of much more value to us.  I am being completely truthful with you in saying that, while the congregations I served previously were wonderful, this particular congregation has done the best job of making a pastor feel welcome and appreciated that I can imagine.  In return, I’d like to tell you and any other readers of this blog how much I appreciate this congregation.

A lot!  Okay, maybe I’ll expand on that a little.

My appreciation for this congregation began before I was even called to serve you as your pastor.  During the interview process I sensed very early on that the Pastor Nominating Committee was different than others with whom I was in conversation.  This group exuded trust in God that regardless of what happened they were in God’s hands, and they knew what they were looking for in a pastor.  They seemed to be on the same page, which was not true of most PNCs with whom I had spoken.  They seemed to care about my family before they even knew us.  More than anything else, I came to appreciate this congregation (through the PNC) when Christy Wall directly contacted Danielle and communicated with her.  Very few churches would have done that.  If you’re glad I’m here, which at least the people who wrote cards seem to be, then you have not only God to thank for that but Christy Wall.  As the old saying goes, “If momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”  Christy’s emails and calls made Danielle very happy.  Christy’s gesture of communication and hospitality showed that this congregation sees Danielle as her own person, not just the pastor’s wife.  Danielle never wanted to be a pastor’s wife.  I kind of sprung that on her after we’d already been married a couple of years.  Just as I’ve never grown into the traditional role of pastor, she has never grown into the traditional role of the pastor’s wife.  Personally, I’m glad for that.  We can be misfits together.

In addition to the PNC, every single minute of work that was done on the manse in preparation for a new pastor was an act that showed appreciation for whoever was coming.  When we walk around in the house, we know that you appreciate us.  The only other manse I lived in was quite nice, but I have been in a lot of manses in which not one elder on the session of that church would have been willing to live but they expected their pastor and the pastor’s family to live there as some sort of vow of Christian poverty.  That is not the case with this congregation.  My family and I appreciate this greatly.

I could go on all day about what I appreciate about this congregation, but I don’t have all day.  So I’m just going to throw out a kind of random list.

I appreciate this congregation because…

Those of you who stuck around through the tough years didn’t give up on the ministry of this congregation when you could have and when others did.

You respect my days off (Saturday and Monday), but you know that if there is an emergency that you can and should call me no matter what day it is.

You don’t act like the manse is just part of the church for you to use however you want.  You treat it as though it is our house.

You actually listen to my sermons.  I put in a lot of work on those.  It is terribly disheartening when you work hard all week and then people don’t seem to care while you’re preaching.  You seem to care.

You are open to seeing the Christian faith in different ways.  I’ve been very encouraged by our congregation’s openness to new ideas.  A lot of small town congregations wouldn’t be that way.  This congregation has a lot of open-minded people who don’t feel the need to have answers to everything.  I appreciate that more than you’ll ever know.

You think of us at certain times of the year when it is difficult for us to be away from family.  You invite us into your homes and support us whenever we feel the need to make a visit back home.

Even after two years you still ask us questions like, “Do you really like it here?  Are you all doing okay?”  Just the fact that you care makes me want to hug you when you do that.

You love and accept our kids.  As you’ve probably heard, being a pastor’s kid can be a pretty tough gig.  You don’t treat them any differently than the other kids.  You don’t expect them to be saints. 

You care about people in need.  You’re not always in agreement as to how that care should be lived out, but you do care.  A lot of pastors have to push that on a congregation.  I don’t have to do that; you all are more generous than I am.

You have made worship music a priority.  I’ve been to churches in which the music is neglected or just plain bad.  It doesn’t matter how good the prayers and sermons are in a worship service if the music is bad.  People will suffer through bad sermons for good music, but people don’t usually suffer through bad music for good sermons.  I truly appreciate Dick and the whole music staff.  They set the tone for worship, which is of utmost importance.

Again, I could go on and on, but I won’t.  I just want you to know that

MY FAMILY AND I APPRECIATE YOU TOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dreams of Writing (a follow up to last week)

First of all, I want to tell you about a fun new side project I’m doing.  I am going to write a novel (or perhaps a novella) by writing one very short chapter every week (about 1,000 words) or so and posting it online.  I’m trying to get people to “subscribe” to it for free so that you will receive notification each time I post a new chapter.  I simply have to know that someone is going to read what I write, or I have very little motivation to write.  This is not going to be Pulitzer Prize winning fiction.  This is going to be “pulp” fiction or “popular” fiction.  It probably won’t bring you to a state of enlightenment, but my hope is that it will be interesting enough to keep coming back each week.  It will give you something short to read and it will give me something short to write.  Please go to somewherewestofrockyford.blogspot.com, read about it, and register your email.  You will then need to check your email and click on a link in your email from “feedburner” that will verify your registration.  I’m trying to get 100 free subscribers before this coming Monday when I post the first chapter.

Now, I want to respond to several questions I received last week in response to my blog post.  The response to last week’s blog post has been quite positive; I thank you for that.  If anyone was bothered by it in any way, those folks have not come to me with their concerns.  Like I said last week, I’m different than a lot of pastors.  I appreciate your acceptance of my difference and even your support for my other interests.

The main questions that folks had for me this past week have been in regard to my statement that it is a dream of mine, a dream that won’t go away, for me to earn a Master of Fine Arts degree in Creative Writing.  I mentioned last week that I have voluntarily put that dream on the shelf two times—once to take the path of building a relationship with Danielle (that one worked out!) and once to take the path to become the pastor of this congregation (that one is working out too!).  I do not regret either decision.  The great Christian spiritual writer Richard J. Foster is fond of saying that wisdom is “knowing what to do at the moment it needs to be done.”  I believe that I was acting wisely both times I set my dream aside.  That does not, however, mean that the dream goes away.  It just gets moved to the proverbial backburner, but it keeps simmering.  Some of you wanted to know how I could ever achieve that dream.  The short answer is, “I don’t know.”  The longer answer follows.

The first thing you need to know is that not every college or university offers a degree in Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing.  There are only a few schools that do in the state of Ohio.  The second thing you need to know is that the majority of MFA programs are traditional residential programs.  That means that you go to school full time for two years.  During those two years you take graduate courses and teach undergraduate courses.  Quite often your tuition is paid through the stipend you earn from teaching.  All your other bills, however, are not.  To earn an MFA in this way, you need to have a ton of money saved up, live with your parents, have a spouse that supports the family, or take on a large amount of student loan debt.  This is why the vast majority of MFA students are people in their young twenties who just earned their undergraduate degrees.  I do not have a ton of money saved.  Living with my parents is not an option.  Danielle works very hard but does not earn enough as a teacher’s aide to support the family.  Within a year, we will have finally (after thirteen years of monthly payments) be out from under student loan debt.  I refuse to enter back into this kind of debt again.  As Proverbs 22:7 says, “The rich rule over the poor, and the borrower is slave to the lender.”  I’m about to be free of that “slavery.”  Why would I want to go back into bondage, especially for a degree that doesn’t pay off financially?  The most important reasons, however, that I wouldn’t fulfill my dream this way is that it would not be good for my family and because I love being pastor of this church.  So the traditional option is out, and I’m okay with that.  There is another option, however.  But there are some obstacles there as well.

Over the past decade or so, several colleges and universities have started to offer what is called a “low residency” MFA program.  It is a model that is almost exactly the same as the Doctor of Ministry degree that is offered by most seminaries.  In a “low residency” MFA program, you go to campus for 10-14 days in January and 10-14 days in July.  A couple of programs even offer an option where you go away just once for 14 days in the summer.  During those “residencies” you take intensive classes.  Throughout the rest of the year you work on your writing projects, work long distance with a writing mentor, and “workshop” your writings through online chat groups.  Most low residency programs are still just two years.  You get to keep your fulltime job, and this option works very well for students with family and work responsibilities.  However, there is a catch.  Because the low residency model makes it to where an MFA student cannot teach during the program and there is little to no scholarships or financial aid available, these programs end up being very expensive.

There is another issue with low residency MFA programs.  That issue is that the majority of them are offered by private universities.  This makes them very expensive (again without the scholarships and financial aid offered to undergraduates at the same school).  There are some public universities offering this model of program, like Murray State in Kentucky and the University of Alaska, but there are no low residency programs at all, let alone public university low residency programs, in the state of Ohio.  So my choice would be either to pay private school tuition or out-of-state public school tuition, which are pretty close to the same.  Then you also have to pay for travel to and from, as well as for room and board during your residencies.  While this option has greater possibility for me than the residential programs, since I do not have an extra $25,000-$30,000 lying around, this is almost certainly never going to happen either.  After all, if I was able to save up that much money, wouldn’t it make more sense to spend it to send my kids to college, rather than to earn a second master’s degree?  It makes me sad, but such is life.

I have just become aware today, as I have been writing this post, that there is, perhaps, a third (and maybe fourth) option.  There are now a couple of schools, such as the University of Texas at El Paso and the University of Arkansas at Monticello, that are offering programs that are 100% online.  There are obvious advantages to these programs, but there are two very big disadvantages.  The biggest disadvantage is that a big part of the MFA in Creative Writing experience is being a part of a community of writers.  In that way it is similar to seminary.  Many seminaries continue to refuse to offer online programs because they believe (and perhaps rightly so) that the experience of academic and spiritual community is essential.  Many writing programs feel the same way, and in a “perfect world” this is true.  But people have responsibilities.  The second disadvantage is that, while technically an MFA qualifies you to teach creative writing at the undergraduate level, chances are that the person who is reviewing your resume is going to know that your program was online and not residential or even low residency.  My guess is that there is a great deal of prejudice in that regard.  “If you were a really good writer/writing teacher you wouldn’t have had to go to school online.”  That is not necessarily true, but perception is reality isn’t it?   

A possible fourth option is that there is an online program called a Master of Arts in Interdisciplinary Studies in Writing from Western New Mexico University.  This degree, however, does not necessarily qualify you to teach creative writing at the college level but it does (presumably) help your writing, it is shorter, and it is much less expensive.

So all that being said, I have to decide how important that dream is, and whether or not the dream really is to earn an MFA in Creative Writing or to become a better (and someday published!) writer.  Is the dream to be able to teach a creative writing class at a college?  Fulltime creative writing teaching positions are extremely hard to get (virtually impossible), they pay less than what I make as your pastor, and if it comes down to someone with an MFA from the online program at UTEP or from a first-class residential program like Iowa or Michigan or even good regional schools like Bowling Green or Miami (Ohio) we all know who would get the job.  So teaching (at least in any fulltime way) creative writing is a pipe dream; it’s not going to happen.  It would still be nice to have the degree, perhaps from a program like UTEP, that would make me eligible to teach creative writing as an adjunct, let’s say at local schools like Southern State Community College, Wilmington College, or OU-Chillicothe.  I would enjoy that experience a great deal.  The one semester I taught undergraduate New Testament was one of the top experiences of my life.  More than anything, however, I really just want to become a better fiction writer.  I can do that without an MFA degree, (after all Stephen King doesn’t have one) although the instruction and workshop experience (group feedback and revision) usually accelerates the growth and gives a great deal of inspiration.  I asked a friend of mine who graduated from the perennial number one MFA program, Iowa, what is important in an MFA.  He said, “a community of writers and deadlines.”  After all, an MFA degree won’t get your writing published “just because.”  It doesn’t usually hurt your case but ultimately it is your writing that speaks for itself. 

So don’t worry; I’m not going to run off and enroll in a residential MFA in Creative Writing program.  That would be ridiculously stupid on my part.  I’m not going to enroll in a low residency MFA anytime soon—unless someone has $30,000 burning a hole in their pocket that they want to give me.  I am, however, going to look into the online MFA at UTEP and the MAIS at Western New Mexico State University, and if one of those might be a viable option I might use my continuing education money toward that program.  It isn't a traditional thing for a pastor to do with that money, but most pastoral conferences bore me, and a Doctor of Ministry degree just doesn't get my heart racing the way a writing program does.  While these online programs wouldn’t be my “perfect world” choices, if my real goal is just to become a better fiction writer than they might be the wise choices.  So, again, I’m not going anywhere.  I love being your pastor; I just love writing fiction too.            

Again, if you haven’t done it already, please go to somewherewestofrockyford.blogspot.com and register your email address.

Next week, I’ll get back to more overtly spiritual matters.

Peace,

Everett

The Courage to be Vulnerable

In the past week or two, Pope Francis made the news for a couple of things he said in a personal interview. He said that the Roman Catholic Church has been too focused on “small-minded rules,” and then used words of grace when he spoke of people who are gay and lesbian. However, one of the things that made the biggest news was that he said, “I am a sinner.” Now, everybody knows the Pope is a sinner since everybody knows the Pope is a human being. The reason it was such big news was that it was so nice to hear it from someone in his position. He said, “I am a sinner,” because he was being humble. He was pulling back the curtain just a little and saying (in essence), “Behind all this pomp and circumstance I am a human being just like the rest of you.” As the worldwide leader of an embattled church body, it appears that Pope Francis is trying to cultivate what leadership expert Patrick Lencioni calls “vulnerability-based trust.” As far as what I can tell from my Catholic friends and family members, it seems to be working. So far it is even working for a Presbyterian like me who generally doesn’t pay all that much to what the Pope has to say (although I like this one so far). Sincerity and vulnerability can very often build bridges over troubled waters.

As I read the Pope’s comments this week, I was reminded of Brene Brown, who is a sociologist at the University of Houston and the world’s most renowned “vulnerability expert.” She is also a great speaker that you should look up on YouTube. She says, “Vulnerability is our most accurate measurement of courage.” You see, if you are invincible you do not need courage. It is when you know that you are vulnerable yet you march forward anyway that courage is needed. In my Protestant opinion, the Pope is showing courage through being honest about himself, and watching the Pope do so has made me feel that it might be okay for me to do the same.

After reading that interview, it got me thinking about some things I have wanted to say for all seven years I have served churches as a pastor, things I have been told by seminary professors and fellow pastors that a pastor should never say. I have been told, “Never ever tell your congregation what you’re really thinking. You have to keep that boundary there between pastor and congregation.” Yet, I am a person that absolutely has to be straight forward and authentic. Otherwise I feel like a charlatan. So although I’ve always been told not to do it, I’m going to follow the Pope’s lead and give a little peek behind the curtain. Because I love this congregation so much, I want to be honest with you about who I really am. Don’t worry; I’m not an escaped convict or a Russian spy. To me, vulnerability and authenticity are integral to having real relationships with other people. That’s what I want to have with you all.

Here it goes:

I want everyone to know that while I am a pastor, a pastor is not who I am. Sounds very Zen Buddhist doesn’t it, like “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” What I mean by that is that my vocation is that of a pastor but I personally do not like to be defined by that vocation. I have never really had the same relationship with the role of pastor that many of my colleagues seem to have. I don’t like being called Rev. Miller, especially when I am not working at the church. I know that I have to be listed that way in official church records, and if I’m in a robe or sitting in my leather chair and someone feels the need to call me Rev. Miller I guess that’s okay. But if someone sees me at Wendy’s and feels that need then I feel uncomfortable. The word “reverend” implies either that I am to be revered, which I most certainly am not (check out Matthew 23 about this), or that I am more reverent than others, which I most certainly am not. Because church-life is everyday-life for me, I am probably less reverent about a lot of things than everyone else is because they are more common place to me. Someday, many eons from now when I finally run out of my business cards, my next ones probably won’t say “Rev. Everett Miller.”

To tell you the truth, I don’t even like to be called Pastor Everett by other adults. I know that you have been trained for decades to use “Reverend” and “Pastor” as a title of respect, but I am different (not better or worse) than a lot of pastors. I do recognize, however, that it makes sense for the children of the church to have some way to address me as one of their elders. Perhaps more than even the use of Reverend or Pastor, I get an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach whenever someone—almost always a fellow pastor—uses the word “clergy” to refer to us pastors. To me, the word “clergy” has connotations of a privileged class of people, which is what clergy used to be. Clergy used to be the only people in town who were educated and could read. So whenever I hear a pastor speaking of the “clergy” getting together it makes me think this group of people might think they’re still the only ones in town who know how to read. In addition, the word “clergy” is nowhere in the Bible (and Jesus had tough words for the leaders of the people who relished being identified as leaders of the people), and it is nowhere in the Book of Confessions or the Book of Order.

Although I know people are just trying to be respectful, I prefer just to be introduced as Everett. If what I do for a living is pertinent to the introduction then you can follow that up with, “He is the pastor of First Presbyterian Church.” And please, if you and I are friends, don’t introduce me to someone as your pastor. Introduce me as your friend. It hurts to share a friendship with someone and then to be relegated to my office in the church when I’m being introduced by that friend. I am a pastor, but a pastor is not who I am. I am Everett Lee Miller II. My parents and siblings still call me by my childhood nickname, Buddy. I am a husband, a father, and a friend. I smell funny sometimes; I screw up sometimes; I doubt sometimes. I like reading, writing, hiking, baseball, college football, and zombie movies.

As I said, I have never really grown into the role of pastor the way I thought I would. Don’t get me wrong; I enjoy my work as a pastor. I enjoy getting to be a part of your lives. However, like I said earlier, unlike a lot of pastors I do not like being defined by my role in the church. Also, as a pastor I used to think that I had to try to please everyone in the congregation. What I have figured out over these past seven years, in three very different congregations, is that pleasing everyone is impossible. If I say something progressive I get the Evangelical folks mad at me. If I say something Evangelical I get the progressive folks mad at me. If I say something that won’t offend either group then I’m very often not saying much of import. So I decided fairly recently that I am done with trying to please everyone in our congregation or any congregation for that matter. I’m just going to be myself and tell the truth (as I see it) in as loving a manner as possible. If at any point the congregation grows too uncomfortable with that then it will be the congregation’s prerogative to deal with that in the way that will best benefit this church’s ministry. Over our years together, there is a pretty good chance that I am going to see things differently than a lot of folks. This may be because of my age or season in life, because of my own life experiences, because of the life experiences of my close friends and family members, because of my background in literature and creative writing, or because of the way I was educated and trained in seminary. I will say things you don’t like, but I am always open to setting up a time to have a loving dialogue with you about those things which may have upset you.

Something else I have always wanted to admit to a congregation is that there is a pretty good chance I will not be a pastor forever. That isn’t because I don’t enjoy being a pastor; I greatly enjoy being a pastor. It is because there are so many things in life I would like to do. When I was in the midst of the ordination process, I remember people saying, “If there is anything else in this world you could do, then you shouldn’t become a pastor. That’s how you know you’re called to be a pastor, when that’s the only thing that will fulfill you.” Over time I came to reject that statement, to see that it is incredibly binding, and to see that it shows a lack of trust in God. If you are truly in relationship with God, then whatever you do can be fulfilling. Honestly, I can think of a lot of other things I would enjoy doing. More than anything I would love to be a professional fiction writer. I’d love to be a travel writer. I’d love to teach religion or English at the college level. Even though it doesn’t pay much I’d even enjoy working at Barnes & Noble or a coffee shop. I could be happy as a National Park ranger. Does that mean I shouldn’t be a pastor? Whoever said that God’s call on a person to a particular ministry is forever? People change direction all the time.

After a conversation not too long ago about this same topic, a friend of mine wrote me these words: “God has created you - not a pastor. You may discover the gifts with which God has endowed you may be used as a pastor; regardless, God wants you to be you and continue to bless us with the joyous gift you are. God does not want you to ‘cram, stuff yourself’ into any human ‘box,’” including the box of being a pastor. Again, don’t get me wrong; I love being a pastor and more specifically I love being your pastor. But although I am a pastor, a pastor is not who I am.

I have a great dream or goal that I want to achieve in my life. It is not becoming a pastor of a large church or becoming an executive presbyter. Actually, it isn’t even church work. It is a dream that I have set aside two times in my life already. This dream is to earn a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. The first time I put that dream on the shelf was to stick around town long enough to see if my relationship with the girl I was dating was serious—after twelve years of marriage and two kids I’m starting to think it might be serious! The second time I put that dream on the shelf was after I had taken two courses toward the degree (at night while still working fulltime as a pastor) when I decided it was more important for me to move to some place I’d never heard of called Washington Court House, Ohio to pastor a church that it seems God has meant for me to pastor during this shared season of our lives. I pray that somehow God will open a door (I’m even willing to crawl through a window or squeeze through the doggy door) for me to achieve that dream, and I don’t want to wait until retirement to do that. If there is a way for me to figure out how to be a pastor and an MFA student at the same time someday in the future then I’ll probably choose that option, but this is a dream that won’t go away. I believe I am being called to that just as much as I was called to be a pastor. To change up a quote from Chariots of Fire a little, when I write “I feel God’s pleasure.”

There’s your peek behind the curtain. You may have wished I would have kept the curtains drawn. My seminary professors and colleagues in the pastorate will think I’m crazy if they read this post. “You broke the code!” they will say. “Code Schmode!” I respond. As the commentator on the radio said today about Reds manager Dusty Baker, “He’s different than any other manager in the major leagues. He’s going to do things his own way even if everyone else tells him he’s doing it wrong.” That’s kind of the way I am. If I’m going to live in Christian fellowship with you as a church family, if I expect you all to be honest with me, and if I truly respect you all, then I have to tell the truth; I have to be vulnerable. I don’t know any other way. I can only be who I am. I’ll promise to love you and serve you as you are, and my hope is that you are open to doing the same for me.

I am thankful each and every day that you allow me to serve as your pastor, and I pray for many more.

Grace and Peace,
Everett