Dynamic Yet Consistent

[Kane lifts the cup after his game winning goal]

I have been a moderate hockey enthusiast for about 15 years now and have always been a fan of the Chicago Blackhawks.  In those 15 years, the ‘hawks have only made the Stanley Cup Playoffs 3 times (before last year, they had only made 1 playoff in 13 years!!).  I really got back into watching the sport this year whiling playing Fantasy Hockey with friends.  Boy did I pick a good year to start watching again as the ‘hawks were loaded with young talent and easily made the playoffs.  I was able to watch every game of the first series through the Nashville affiliate and then watched most of the second and third series online.

When Chicago made it to the Stanley Cup Finals by sweeping the San Jose Sharks, I was beside myself with excitement.  I vowed to wear my Blackhawks sweater (jersey for you non-hockey folks) every game night in the series despite the blazing June heat.

On Wednesday, Chicago found themselves on the road against Philadelphia up 3-2 in a 7 game series; I found myself at Annual Conference for Kentucky Methodists.  At the conclusion of the final session, I rushed out of the conference center to find the first period over and the score tied at 1-1.  I ran up to my hotel room and pulled on my red, white and black jersey.  I watched most of second period by myself (and it was a great period of hockey).  The only time anyone paid any attention was when I made a fool of myself cheering.  Those around me limited their interest to the mere fact that anyone actually watched hockey.  The second period closed with Chicago up by a goal and my room mates looking to go to bed.  I knew I had to find another place to watch the game.

I headed to the hotel lobby and asked if they knew of a place where I could watch the hockey game. “They play hockey in the summer?”  she asked.  “Yeah… the finals are on!” I said.  Her only suggested was to go to the bar downstairs.

I walked down but was dismayed to find the Reds playing baseball.  Probably wouldn’t be a problem, but since I could literally see the Reds Stadium from the bar, there seemed to be little chance I was going to be able to convince them to change the channel.  After asking several people if it would be possible to watch the game on one of the many TVs, I was told I would have to take it up with bartender.

I went to the bar and asked if there was any chance we could watch the hockey game.  She gave me a hesitant look and said as long as the other patrons were okay with it.  Luckily the two guys beside me piped up and said they would love to watch it.  Turns out both of them used to play hockey (one of them said he played semi-pro).  Suddenly a small new world emerged.  In the midst of a sea of uninterested bar-goers, three of us could talk about forechecking and plus/minus and penalty killing.

It quickly became obvious the two other fans were not only interested in hockey – they were also big fans of women and booze.  I can say without hesitation that the things discussed were most certainly not things most of my pastor friends at Annual Conference were talking about.  Besides being obviously drunk, these two guys were quite excited about a certain “dancer” who had given them her number and whose proportions seemed to be abnormal.  I will leave the specifics to your imagination, but I have no doubt that whatever you are imagining is tame compared to how the conversation actually unfolded.

As the third period played out with Chicago up, I also engaged the gentleman on my other side in friendly conversation.  Turns out he was a Catholic business man with an economics degree from Yale who also happened to be a Detroit Redwings fan.  Between his third and fourth glass of wine he asked what I was doing in the area.  That is when I got to explain that I was there because I was a Methodist pastor; he was not shocked by this, but was amused with the fact that I was also a distillery manager.  Within a few minutes we transitioned from talking hockey to talking about the socio-historic setting of the Ancient Near East.  Basically he asked me if I preached and I told him I was more interested in teaching so people could come to their own conclusions.  When I told him I often “preached” on historical practices of Israelites, he sarcastically said “yeah, I bet people flock to hear that!”  Before long, we were talking about the theological implications of Assyrian and Babylonian suzerain-vassal treaties.  Oh the joy.

Our conversation was often interrupted by either a great play in the hockey game or by our friends on the other side who were excited about a new female patron to the bar.  So there I was, in a bar, at a church conference, talking with one guy about how the flaming firepot passing between the split carcass of a lamb in Genesis is essential to understanding the cross, and talking with others about what sort of sexual escapades are available to amateur hockey players.

With just a few minutes left in the game, Philly scored and sent things into overtime.  Again, in a large crowd of sports fans, there were only 4 of us in the bar that cared that the Stanley Cup playoffs could come down to a sudden death overtime period.

A rumor started spreading that there was another hockey fan outside and that the bartender at that bar might be willing to turn the larger TV on to the game.  I excused myself and made my way to the porch.  As soon as I walked out (still wearing my Blackhawks jersey), a very large and very drunk man ran up to me and gave me a hug.  Between a  barrage of curse words, he expressed his enthusiasm for Chicago.  We sat down at the bar to watch the overtime period.  It was nice to not only find a hockey fan, but also to be able to cheer with someone who supported the same team.  At one point after a long string of enthusiastic cussing from my new friend, I turned around to see that my District Superintendant and his wife were sitting right behind us.  Oh well… nothing I can do about it.

As the overtime period got underway, my excitement began to build.  Even without the sound on, you could tell the Philadelphia crowd was going crazy.  The Flyers are a tenacious team and always play hard, especially when something is on the line.

But then, four minutes into OT this happened:

As you can probably tell, the goal was odd.  Even players on the ice didn’t know what had happened.  It was even harder for me to grasp what was going on between the lack of sound and the drunk ramblings of those around me.  Eventually, as the Blackhawks flooded the ice, it was obvious what had happened.  The young phenom Patrick Kane had ended the 49 year drought for Chicago.  I went crazy, along with the only other Chicago fan in the whole city (as far as I could tell).  The drunk womanizers and the wine-drinking Yale grad made their way to me to offer congratulations.  It was a hell of a night.

It certainly was not the setting where I expected to celebrate the first ‘hawks cup win in my lifetime, but it was magical either way.  I would have loved to be in the Windy City to see that happen, but it was plenty of fun to be a sober distiller at a pastor’s conference watching the game with washed-up hockey players, Catholic history buffs, and drunk Chicago fans.

In many ways the setting only enhanced the experience.  Sure, my DS may have “caught” me in a crowd of intoxicated ruffians, but I bet I am one only a few pastors who were able to talk with absolute strangers about redemption.  Plus… the ‘hawks won.  What more could I ask for.

Technically I can put the letters “Rev.” in front of my name.  That is because the United Methodist Church recognizes me as a pastor.  Although I am not employed by a church, I am appointed as a local pastor to a church.  Practically this means I can marry and bury, consecrate communion and baptize.  Sometimes it also means people look at (to) me differently.  I am not sure how I feel about that.

Today I was in a meeting at church when one of the people there received the awful news that her mother had passed away.  She took a phone call in the hallway and instantly began sobbing.  Someone commented that it was unfortunate that all the other pastors were away meeting with the Bishop.

That bothered me.  Not because they were gone, or because I was viewed differently than the “employed” pastors.  It bothered me because I realize there is nothing special a pastor could do in that situation.  What this person needed was a shoulder to cry on, and someone to pray with her, and people to support her.  It doesn’t take someone with a fancy white collar or special letters in front of their name to do that.

A friend of mine passed on a thought to me the other day.  He was talking about the formation of the Quaker church and the way it was received.  At one point the Quakers, who function largely under the guidance of the congregation members, are asked why they are trying to get rid of the clergy.  Their response was this: “We are not trying to get rid of the clergy, we are trying to get rid of the laity.”

Wow… that is big stuff.  It is not that pastors are unimportant, it is that everyone is important… and called… and empowered.

I left the full-time ministry nearly 2 years ago.  One of the main reasons I left was because I was not comfortable with being paid to “pastor.”  I felt weird taking people’s tithe money in exchange for services that all Christians were called to do (i.e. visit the sick, help the poor, study and proclaim the word, etc.)  It wasn’t just that I felt I should be doing these things without pay, it was that I realized I was in a very real way preventing others from doing what they needed to be doing.  It is easy to pass things off to a pastor when you don’t feel comfortable with doing them (after all, it can be awkward to talk about Jesus, or counsel a person who is dying, or pray with a grieving spouse).  Plus… isn’t that what we pay pastors to do… might as well get your money’s worth.

Now I realize that some pastors have extensive training that the average parishioner does not have.  I think we need people who are well trained to teach the scriptures, and I think we need people with special talents and skills to provide loving counseling.  But at the same time, when people look to pastors instead of to themselves to be the hands and feet of God then we are in trouble.  Anytime a person pulls back from ministry because they feel they can’t do it because they are not a pastor, we are all the lesser.

Pastors have no special line to God, their prayers are no more effective and their crap still stinks.  You should avoid at all costs a pastor who tells you otherwise.  If you knew the problems I deal with and the doubts I still have, you would not look up to me with special eyes just because of a title (and I would guess this is true of most pastors).

What was great to see today was that in the end, no one disqualified themselves from ministering to this woman because they lacked the title.  No one called for a pastor in the same way you call for a doctor when someone is having a seizure.  No one hesitated in offering their care because there was not a staff pastor on site.

That my friends is how the Body of Christ is supposed to work.  That is what things look like when we all realized we are called to be a redemptive force in the world.   And that is what happens when people realize that just because pastors can sign a wedding certificate and bless the bread, we are all called and empowered to be agents of restoration and redemption.