Rethinking "pastor"

Luba and I have been church hunting here in St. Louis. One aspect of the church is a healthy pastor relationship with his congregation. It’s led me to really think of what I appreciate in a pastor. I no longer need a groundbreaking Sunday sermon. I used to, but I realized I went in to Sunday with the wrong expectations.

I’ve thought about how my perspective of pastors or preachers have changed over the years as I have grown in my faith and that perspective also changed as I got out during the week and USED that Sunday message. In those experiences, the message solidified and were personalized.

I grew up in the Southern Baptist Church. Jesus, to me, was "White" with long silky brown hair. He was so fair and soft-skinned. He probably didn’t even need lotion. Pastors were men (35+ which was old at the time, right?) and Caucasian. They wore suits. They never drank or seemed to have or be a lot of fun. They couldn’t make jokes lest they be offensive or misconstrued. They were addressed as “Brother so-and-so.” They were married to a lovely woman who kept the house, tended the kids and served tirelessly at church. She could also make a mean casserole. No one taught me this and this certainly wasn't the way it was behind closed doors, but this is what I saw so it was what I knew to be true. I knew there were Black pastors but I had never been to a Black church so it didn’t really impact my perspective.

This was my perspective for the duration of my childhood and early adulthood.

I then started at NewSong Church in Irvine, which was predominantly Asian. I met the lead pastor, Dave Gibbons. He was half Korean (I initially questioned the “half” part). Everyone called him Dave. I mean, to his face! Noone had warned him that he needed his Sunday suit. When I met him, he introduced himself as “Dave.” Over the course of the years, I became comfortable with saying “Hi Dave” to which he would respond “Hi Danielle.” He wore jeans. He was hip. He was like a normal person standing on stage. My brain that was filled with expectations and perspectives and experiences melted. He admitted mistakes and fault. He looked at his job as a shepherd, a coach. He challenged the church to even rid themselves of “Sunday” and have church any time outside our building. He cried on stage. I was not used to men showing emotions, much less the “pastor.” I gasped to myself as I began to rebuild my thoughts on “pastor” from the shattered pieces. Which ones fit? Which ones were to be thrown away?

I became close with other pastors on the NewSong team. I had a glass of wine with one and a beer with another. They joked. They laughed. They argued politely. For the first time, a pastor talked with me, not at me. For the first time, pastors encouraged me to ask the hard questions and for the first time, I heard pastors answer with “I don’t know either.” I took off the armor of behaviors and expectations that I wore at church and relaxed. I watched them lead by encouraging and not doing the actual work. They left me room to explore my own gifts, and they appreciated them.

I mean, look at this precious pastor who performed my wedding ceremony:

How much cooler can a “pastor” get? I’ve learned so much through her and much of it has been when she didn’t know anyone was looking. She has phenomenal messages on stage but she also speaks volumes in her actions.

I went to South Africa and visited churches representing different cultures there. I served in multiple ministries and watched young teens provide messages of hope to men and women several years or decades their senior. “Pastor” fit them too. Look at this dear couple -I'm biased because it's my parents-in-law. They pastor a church in Mbekweni, the church I attend when I'm in South Africa. 

Through these interactions with various pastors on staff at my church and in South Africa– both men and women, my image in my mind completely dissolved and did not develop into anything else. The perspective shift in pastors gave me a perspective shift on who God was. I had limited his vastness, his wholeness. God had so many layers and parts to him that I couldn’t even picture it anymore. He was white. He was Korean (I mean, he created that heavenly gift of Korean BBQ and bi bim bap). He was Black. He was SHE. He was feminine. He was fierce. He was kind. He was strong. He was old and he was young. He made jokes and he laughed with delight. He was a kaleidoscope of cultures and faces.

God got bigger and bigger and better and better! How had I missed all this? No one had intentionally set out to limit my perspective. It was just the single story that I knew. He was the character that I knew, and my cast of characters was limited.

During my years at NewSong, I feel like the life I had been leading as a follower was flipped. It was a rebirth. Sometimes the leader is the last line. Sometimes you speak the loudest when you are quiet or say nothing at all. When you find yourself last in line for the wrong reasons, sometimes you just turn around and become the leader.

It was through all of these experiences that I discovered this other precious member of the priesthood:

ME!

The priesthood that dwells in me had been awakened. I could also shepherd. I could lead. I could be the one that makes the difference in one’s life – I didn’t have to bring someone to church, I was the church. I play a crucial role in the Kingdom. I began to see church as my filling place and the work was done outside of the Sunday service. Oh and Sunday service? It is not an absolute. Maybe one gains a better closeness in nature sometimes. What works for one may not work for another – what is important is the relationship and what yield closeness and spiritual growth.

Now as I search for a pastor, I look for an encourager, a coach. I appreciate a good lesson on Sunday but I know the rest of the message comes when I activate it. The pastor is not there to carry my weight, tell me everything to do (the Bible already tells me), pray for every single problem that I have of which I’m not doing anything about, or conform to my perspective of scripture. He is support staff. He is a catalyst to set off a reaction that WE carry out. Sunday is our time to fuel up before our missions throughout the week.

I hope as I grow a family, my children have multiple images and experiences of who God is. It is up to me to provide multiple experiences, a diverse cast of characters, and an acceptance of a unique experience.

But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. 1 Peter 2:9

Why don’t you thank your pastor today? What can YOU do for him? Here are a few ideas:

• Cook a meal for his family and DROP IT OFF – don’t stay and ruin the peace
• Send a card telling them what they mean to you - one to EACH if for the couple
• Babysit their kids so they can go out alone to a non-church function
• Give a gift certificate to a restaurant or something fun
• Give the wife or (woman) pastor a candle, bracelet or something she can enjoy that doesn’t have bible verses. It’s like being a educator….we like things without apples or children sometimes 
• Tithe- if you don't, you are taking from the church. We leave filled every Sunday. We appreciate the pastor and other support staff that cares for our children. we'll pay the daycare providers during the week, why not Sundays? We often go to counseling or other support groups but we don't think about the fact that we are abusing a system. If you benefit, give back. If you don't benefit, still give so others who don't have financial resources can receive. Tithing pays salaries. For some churches, funding from resources are coming out of the pastor's empty pockets. 
• Change your perspective and expectations.
• Pray for THEM - they have the same struggles, hopes, temptations, worries as all of us

 Also, please don’t forget the wife (or husband). SHE may not have signed up for this job initially and she should not have to live in a glass house. I think women especially have a difficult time due to gender (and other) expectations that WE place. She carries the weight with and of her husband (or HE carries the weight of his pastor WIFE).

Go love your pastor,

Danielle

PS:

This lovely pastor April wrote a book about working with youth. Maybe gift that to your local youth pastor or read it if you work with youth. Click here for her website.

Dave has a few books out. The Monkey and the Fish really changed my outlook on the Church and he has now released his latest book. Find out more by clicking here.

The Church as a Mother

Recently, I was flipping through my journal and came across this picture....

Today, I came to mind so I flipped back to look at it. I'm not sure when I wrote this or why, or if a post was in the works in my soul, but it's there from maybe 6 months ago. As I thought of mothers today, both my own and those who have served as a mother to me in some capacity, I thought of NewSong as a mother.

The sentence is true: I LOVE this church, and by church, I mean the people, my community.

Like a mother, it has pushed me to be more than I thought I could be. I remember the first day I walked in to this church. I was timid. I barely spoke. I stuck out like a sore thumb (less white people circa 2003). I sat on the back row. I felt shame having been out of church and deep in sin for a long time. I loved my first time and have hardly missed a Sunday since. It was exactly what I had dreamed of when I was younger but had given up in finding. This church embraced me. It wiped away the fear, tears, shame and other emotions that had been bottled up inside and comforted me, just like my mother would have done. While it hoped for more from me, it met me where I was. With encouragement and resources, it has shaped me to be who I am today and prepared me to be more that I have yet to realize or see unfold. It recognized me as a leader before I did and gave me opportunities to lead when I did not believe I had the tools or was the right fit. I've been gently reminded here of what I need to "do" or "change" to be more in tune with God without feeling condemnation. I've felt that no matter how much I screw up within or outside of the building, I'll be accepted and loved. And just like my real mama, I can say something about her but if YOU do, "them's fightin' words." 

Sometimes, I look around and am immediately teary-eyed seeing the extraordinary people that are part of this community--many I know personally and some whose stories I only know. I see my personal heroes in families that have adopted or fostered. I see the mother with children with disabilities who provides hope and encouragement for others. I see the physician who built an agency to help pregnant women with alternatives to abortions. I see pastors who are tangible and believe in the congregation as being priests. I see the group that visits Mexico monthly despite warnings to love and bring joy to the children in the orphanage. Everywhere, you can't move without bumping into Heaven on earth. You can't slip through the hallways without brushing up against one or many of God's hands and feet.

I'm surrounded by people who have walked hard roads, roads that are often avoided for an easier path, but they are transparent and vulnerable along their journeys. They share not only the ending, but the details of their struggles. People have bid farewell to that facade that is too often worn in churches. When I've had a dream that sometimes felt farfetched and out of my realm of ability, I've not heard "Let me know if you need help" but instead I have heard "You can do this! How can I help you?" For those that have said this, thank you. Your words have given me life.

If you are out there and looking for a church with an authentic community who isn't afraid to get messy with you in life's ups & downs, check us out. It doesn't matter how long you've been out of church, how many Saturday nights that you cap off with regret or shame, how deep in sin or despair you are, there is a place for you here. I know this, because there was a place for me. You can find more info here and here.

PS. My seat on the back row is available. I'm in the front.

Love, 

Danielle

3 Sundays ago...

Sundays are very special to me. I love Sundays.

I love Sundays in South Africa as well. When there, I visit Harvester Church at least once. It is just like a "NewSong away from Irvine." I love the openness, and the pastor and his family are very dear to me.

This year was different. Before leaving, the pastor had asked me via email if I would share the message one of the Sundays that I am there. My immediate response, you want? Honestly? "Not no, but hell no" was whispered under my breath a few times." That's not "my thing." After the initial shock and pants-soiling moments, an immediate conviction rushed over me. I knew I had to do this. The problem-solver in me kicked in and immediately asked "What do you have?" or "What is in your hand?" I knew it. My story. It's all I got though it is riddled with pain, mistakes, doubt, and prejudice but yet redemption, hope, love, blessings and surprises. It's all any of us have. I was reminded of Esther and "such a time as this." You see, part of me knew this day was coming. Bits and pieces have come to me over the past few years but I was never ready or it just wasn't the right time. I felt that affirmation as I reread his email and the words that followed the statement that I have been there many times: "it is time." 

This isn't a big deal for many, but for me, it's REALLY not "my thing." 

I spent days pushing aside the anxiety and feelings of inadequacy to ask: What part of my story will I tell? Would it be relevant there? How could I do this to not put undue glory on me or highlight myself?

Driving home from NewSong a week later, "it" began as soon as I sat in the car. It was like a download. On the way home, I told my story to myself as the words came to me. It flowed [as much as it can being a raw draft]. I walked into the house, turned on the laptop, and typed it out from memory in less than 5 minutes. I wasn't sure if it was the perfect message, but I knew it came in a way that it had to be told as given.

On that Sunday, I woke up and was suddenly gripped with doubt: Is it silly? It seemed okay when I left, but now that I'm here, is it relevant? Am I going to look stupid?

I immediately emailed my prayer shield in the States. It was late at night in the US so I worried that everyone may be sleeping but I knew the right ones would be awake and would intercede on my behalf. The emails of encouragement came flooding in. Thank you guys, you know who you are! Because of your prayer, this lamb felt like a lion. 

Thank you, April Diaz, who offered these verses that I read over and over and over [and then "over" some more].

He must become greater; I must become less (John 3:30)

My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit’s power, so that your faith might not rest on human wisdom, but on God’s power. (1 Corinthians 2:4-5)

Thank you, Mqokeleli for sharing the platform so I could "storytell."

After hesitation, I decided I would post it here. Vulnerability is hard, but I should "practice what I preach" and share it in the event that someone needs to hear it in its entirety or part of it.

Here's my story as I shared it there before I led us into communion:

I wish I could stand before you and tell you that I have always wanted to be here. That I have always wanted to visit Africa. That it has been my desire to do missions. But I can’t. You see, if I could, that would be my story. But, I can tell you that I stand before you now in love with South Africa. In love with the people. In love with missions. And that is God’s story. I grew up in the Southern United States where racial tensions were and still could be high to some degree. I was sexually harassed by Black men at school and had, I believe, rightfully earned my prejudices. I had no desire to love or serve that community, and I remember saying that I would never go to Africa because for some crazy reason I equated it with the men in my town. Funny how God takes notes to pop those things into your story later on in life. As my relationship with Christ deepened, I began to be more open to just be obedient to what he had planned. As he worked through my own pain through reconciliation with him and others, he also revealed my passions—passions I could have never dreamed for myself. In particular, my life forever changed when I came here to South Africa and it was an open door to so many other revelations and joys that I never would have known. To name a few, I now have a passion for children in orphanages and foster care, I plan to adopt, and I have an increasing passion for black boys in foster care and preventing them from ending up in the prison system when they aren’t adopted. Only God could have turned my pain into my passion. 

I feel like some of you have pains and you cannot imagine becoming passionate about the group or the idea that is causing pain. I urge you to pray into that and just be open. God calls us to use our pain. It is biblical. It is a catalyst. It’s the most human feeling that connects us to one another. 

2 Corinthians 5:18-19 commands this:

All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation.

For the past couple years, God has whispered a theme for my life. Throughout the year, it never fails that I see that theme interwoven across areas of my life and through people that I meet, and I’m often surprised just where I see it. This year, my theme is redemption. I won’t go in to that but am always happy to share further 1:1. Next year’s theme came early and I wasn’t sure why but I think that I’m supposed to share it with you. Last month, the theme of “storytelling” came to mind for next year and I shared that idea with some close friends at NewSong. I’m not sure what it will entail, but I do feel that God will fulfill some promises that I’ve been waiting for – promises that I’ve clung to in the midst of a trying couple of years of “pruning.” I’m reminded of my favorite holiday, Easter. I feel that we go through the same process Jesus did. We experience life, humility, death, but then there’s a resurrection. I’m excited to see how God wants to use my story.

Like I said before, I’m from the Southern part of the United States, which tends to more rural and people-oriented than some of the other areas. One thing that I love about the South, is the art of storytelling as a pastime. We convey so much through stories and that is how we pass information to our children. We spend so much time sitting around the dinner table telling stories until wee hours of the night. It is especially common in the black community which is inherited from their African culture. I’m told that when the black people were enslaved, they relied on sitting around and telling stories. 

This is nothing new to God. He’s so awesome that he created each of us with our own story. Noone’s story is the same. Each is filled with tragedy and triumph, sadness and celebration, highs and lows, and mountains and valleys. (Ecclesiastes 3:1--There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven). We love to hear the good things and celebrate with others. However, it can be hard to relate to someone’s “mountain” when we are walking through the “valley.” Instead, we connect through the valleys. So often, we don’t want to reveal the trials. We don’t want to look weak. We are fearful of exposure. 

Through the theme of storytelling, God is calling us to share the whole story because it is His story. Pain connects us. Too often, especially at church, we are hesitant to share the pain or admit our sins because judgment may be more intense in church than out. As a church community, it is imperative that we create space to share and remember that there is no condemnation in Christ. If we can’t support each other and love each through pain “in here,” then we are entirely unable to share the gospel through our lives “out there.” Remember that your story may be at a painful chapter right now, but it is continually being written and it will be redeemed. It’s not over yet. A resurrection is coming. 

Focus on God’s glory through your story. When you are on a mountain, and see someone in a valley that you recognize, connect. Pray and cancel out fear that may prevent you from sharing. Keep your eyes above.  I’m going to end with an experience that I had at NewSong that illustrated this reminder to me a few weeks ago. I was seated at the front in the 2^nd row. We have this space between the stage and the first row. The band was playing and I noticed a small girl around 4-5 go into that open spot and start to dance. She caught my eye because she was cute, especially as she twirled with arms out, with pure abandonment of any awareness that anyone else was in the place. I could not take my eyes off of her no matter how much I tried. She occasionally went back to her father to hug his leg at which time he would pat her. She would return to the open area to dance. She never took her eyes off of him. Had she looked around, she may have stopped when she saw that hundreds of people at service that day. At that moment, something inside me clicked. She showed me something that I had been missing. We must dance as she knew how to. We must only keep our eyes focused on our heavenly father. At times, we will go to him for comfort and assurance and then we will dance again. 

This also brings Hebrews 12:2-3 to mind: ² Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

So I beg you to dance. Twirl in His presence. Keep your eyes on him and dance with all abandonment. I had never seen Luke 18:17 like this before (“I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.")

One of the most beautiful acts of service to me is to serve communion to each other. I love communion because of what it represents but also it is a visible reminder of the family that we are in Christ. We are all brothers and sisters who have been adopted into a great kingdom. I remember attending harvester during one of my first trips here and being absolutely overwhelmed by hearing you sing, listening to different languages, and seeing different skin colors but knowing that we are one. I thought to myself, “This is a glimpse of what heaven will look like.” So as we take communion today, I’d like us to serve it to each other. Look your brother and sister in the eye and just take in the beauty of the family we share.

Grateful for all those who have written my story,

Danielle