Archive of Letters to My Friends: Five years and counting

  

Five years and counting

December 2004

By the Rev. Jon Rieley-Goddard

Dear friends,

    On or about October 15th, I logged my fifth year as pastor of Pierce Avenue Presbyterian Church. I hope that you noticed, at some level, because this was an important milestone for me.

    You see, when I arrived just over five years ago, the cosy, warm, and fuzzy church as described in the Church Information Form used to solicit dossiers from persons such as myself had slid below the horizon.

    What I actually found was a big, beautiful building and a small and struggling congregation that had lost or misplaced most of the programs and activities that the CIF, written jut two years prior, had pointed to with justifiable pride and quiet satisfaction.

    For a pastor who has always served small churches of 100 or less in worship, it still was a shock to be preaching to 39 souls Sunday to Sunday.
As I sat in the dim light of the Sanctuary, I felt grave misgivings about my decision to accept the call to be your pastor. At the same time, I was certain that anyone who puts the hand to the plow, then turns away, is not fit for the Kingdom of God.

    What to do?

    With the help of those whom I love and trust, I made a private commitment to give Pierce Avenue Presbyterian Church the next five years of my time to see what God would do here. At the end of that time, I would evaluate the situation and decide whether I was still called or not to be your pastor.

    By the time October 15 of this year rolled around, I had already decided. I had already nailed my colors to the mast. I didn’t want or expect a cake. I didn’t even give it that much thought.

    God called me here, and that call endures.

    Granted, the future is grim, and the likelihood is that my compensation will not continue at the comfortable level at which it has been.

    But, then, my call has changed inside the certainty of remaining in this place for this time.

    In the past year, I have come to the realization that my call is to find new ways to keep my family income at a level that we can tolerate, at least, with hope for the future. And I have found the beginnings of promising ways to do just that.

    Do I like this?

    Not really.

    What I do like is the increased intensity and satisfaction that I feel as your pastor in these difficult times. And I am also intensely proud of my recent efforts as an entrepreneur.

    The list of those who think that I am either misguided, willful, or just plain crazy seems to grow with each round of social and professional obligation. That is of little moment, however.

    I believe that more and more pastors and churches will be facing our life-or-death decisions, and if I were to go somewhere else, and it would be a small church, I would find the same reality and challenge to work out ways to be The Church that use new ways of funding the enterprise. And I would be without you-all, and that is not good. Colleagues who question my choice to endure with you, and call it Hospice Care, don’t yet realize that I am working out implications and indicating new directions that they will face sooner or later.

    And I find that the fight begins inside me, just as I debated five years ago the wisdom of my accepting your call. Sometimes I feel all but paralyzed by the fear and uncertainty, and I seldom stop telling myself that whatever I’m doing to address the dire situation of my own finances, and the church’s finances, is too little, too late. This is what shrinks call self-talk, and need not be listened to that much.

    I think it was a day last summer when I had to go upstairs and lay down, and close my eyes, and rest, because my eyes suddenly stopped working the way I was accustomed to, that I decided to set a pace that I can maintain, and to begin talking about how we need time in which to make changes together.
Oh, the eye thing was a one-time expression of tension, and a timely and pointed invitation to worry less and live more. I see just fine, now, and though the levels of tension remain high, my support is excellent. In fact, I find ministry to be more interesting than it has been at any other time in the 12 years that I’ve been in ordained ministry.

***

    Right around the time that the October 15 deadline/milestone had come and gone, I applied for a full-time job as executive director of a non-profit agency. The job seemed to be perfect for my need and your need, and I felt for a time after the interview, that I had a chance at the job and that I could reduce but also protect my time with you and do this other job, and make more money, and all that stuff.

    At the same time, I had started selling used books on Amazon.com under the name of BaldyBooks (and if you don’t know why I chose that name, you’ve never seen me). Initial sales from my private library, which is much more like a mountain that a molehill, to say the least, were gratifying, but I knew that I would have to augment, and in time replace, sales of personal books with books found at garage sales and estate sales and library discard sales.

    It was at a Saturday sale in someone’s garage in the burbs that I bought a small art print for a dollar or two. The print, titled The Bookworm, shows a shabbily dressed old man working away in a library with books up to the high ceiling. He is at the top of a platform, about eight feet from the floor, and he is facing the shelves upon shelves of books upon books. He has a book in one hand and a book in the other hand. Yet another book is tucked under his left arm, and a book is tucked between his thighs. With his left arm, he holds a book just inches from his nose and thick eyeglasses. An enormous white rag trails from his back pocket, for dusting the books.

    As seductive as the prospective executive director’s salary was, I realized by the time that I got home and had posted the art print where I would see it every time I sat down at my computer to grade, price, and post used books for sale on Amazon.com, that this was an important part of what I wanted to do and be. And as the initial week of guarded optimism after my job interview for the executive director position stretched into another two weeks of growing anxiety and waning hope in securing that seductive salary, I began to hear my prayer louder and louder to be that I would be the bookworm instead of the executive director. And still the pastor. Your pastor.

    A book (natch!) that I’ve been reading has a character who makes the comment that more tears have been shed over the prayers God answers with a yes than have ever been shed over prayers that God seems to ignore or reject (and as someone else somewhere has said, No is also an answer to prayer, but that is another story ...).

    God has blessed my new avenue of effort with books with gratifying sales figures. And like any other self-satisfied business person, I don’t disclose specifics ... . Time will tell whether I should shed tears over this or not. For now, it is a part of my personal financial strategy.

***

    The Session and I during this month will be writing a budget for the coming year. There will be changes. Of that, there is no doubt. What we decide is still an open book, a blank slate. But you can be assured that we all will see changes, and we all will need to continue to work and make sacrifices for what we hold dear.

    My hope is that we accept a reduction in my pastoral time while working to find the combination of new thinking and acting, both individually and together, that will ensure not only our survival but also our continued and growing satisfaction and joy.

    We are almost beyond the point of needing yet another pitch for your money. At this point, the faithful are stretched on that front. But if you have been staying away, it would be a blessing to the 25 or so souls who still worship here week to week, if you joined us. Our strength has always been in our relationships with one another, and this is even more true now that it ever was before.

    We are worshiping in the Lounge/Chapel room. The Sanctuary is being kept at a constant 55 degrees or so to protect the pipe organ and other precious artifacts. We hope for a significant savings in heating bills this winter.
It is not a particularly uplifting place to worship, but the presence of one another in that clean, well-lit space is more precious that ever. If Israel could weep by the waters of Babylon, we can worship in a clean, well-lit place and feel like royalty.

    Any good Calvinist would relish such a challenge. The rest of us are doing the best we can, and it would be a deep blessing if you would show your solidarity by your presence. I realize that this wishing for your company isn’t good marketing, but then we aren’t flipping burgers or selling books here, just peace, love, and joy in the Lord, issuing in service.

    Those things we have in abundance, and no one and no thing and no outcome can take those from us, as us. In fact, we have a little bit left to share.

Blessings and peace

Pastor Jon