Sustained Support

Back in the fall of 2019, I received a phone call from a pastor named Kim Ryan. She asked me if I’d like to join “Bethany Fellows,” a program for newly ordained Disciples of Christ ministers serving in their first or second call and transitioning from seminary student to congregational minister. 

Once I heard Kim pitch the program to me, I gave an emphatic “Yes!” I was unemployed and not ordained at the time, but I had a few mentors pulling for me to connect with other post-seminarians around my age. 

Bethany Fellows began a few decades ago after a national study revealed that 40% of young, newly ordained pastors left ministry due to isolation, debt and burnout. This program hopes to keep young people in ministry through bi-annual retreats, monthly small group check ins, and a lot of sustained prayers from countless mentors. The outcome? 90% of Bethany Fellows are still in ministry and 70% of Fellows are still in congregational ministry. 

Since my first retreat in Buffalo, Minnesota back in 2019, I have had the company of learning how to do ministry with other young people who are engaged in this “odd and wondrous calling.”

I have had the opportunity to travel to Northern California, Arizona, Minnesota, North Carolina and Chicago. Due to Covid, we had four retreats over Zoom and had to get pretty creative. For one of them, I drove out to a farm in Arkansas with four other Fellows to take our online experience and make it a more communal one. 

During these retreats, we learn “wise practices” that we can incorporate into our jobs, we spend time in small groups, and we worship together. While these are enriching parts of the week, the most important day for me is the Wednesday of every retreat: the mandatory day of silence.

This may seem ironic given that I love to talk, but I can’t tell you how much I have savored a day of silence. When I quiet my mind and am offered the built-in space and time to be silent, I am able to reflect on and notice what God is up to in my life. Sometimes, the silence is painful. It means that I have to face my own grief, confusion or burn out. Sometimes, it is the best kind of balm. I get to read and journal uninterrupted. I get to take slow walks and big naps. I always leave that 24 hour period wanting another day of quiet. I have come to depend on that pocket of stillness twice a year. 

My time in Phoenix last month was bittersweet as I said goodbye to the other Fellows. I have learned so much from them, mostly that we can’t do ministry alone. Jesus shows me that in the way he gathered a big group of friends to help him share the good news. I have been fortunate to meet other pastors who are now rooted in my life, who remind me to use all of my vacation days, let the small stuff go, and to always reach out for help when I feel lost or lonely. 

On the final night of our retreat, I led closing worship with my dear friend, Christy Jo. We sang, prayed poems, and broke bread with the group. At one point, I shared something I had written during my day of silence. Here is a refrain:

“I have shown up here unemployed. I have shown up here not yet a Reverend. I have shown up here grieving the loss of a family member, nursing a sports injury, weary from church strife. I have shown up here jealous of your church growth, wondering if I am holy enough, in need of a fellow pastor to nod their head and say, “I get it!” I have shown up newly ordained and newly employed. I have shown up here medicated and anxious. I have never shown up alone. 

I have shown up here witnessing your transitions: you who have had babies or gotten married or changed jobs, and you who have ended marriages, been through the pain of infertility and lost jobs. You have never shown up here alone.” 

God is good. She shows us that She is a triune God who doesn’t believe that we should do this following-Jesus-stuff alone. I will face many ups and downs in ministry, but thanks to Bethany Fellows, I will not face them alone. 

P.S. I can’t thank Vine Street enough for funding my last two retreats. Your financial support for my last two retreats show me that you believe in the importance of community and camaraderie in ministry, and that you believe in my spiritual well-being as a faith leader. 

Added / Taken

The season of Lent has snuck up on me once again. As I reflect on years past, I realize that I have added and taken away all kinds of practices for Lent. Here are a few…

Added: meditation for fifteen minutes a day, writing a letter to someone I love every evening, journaling six pages every morning. 

Taken away: social media, sweets, phone usage in the evening and morning. 

Whether I feel the need to add or take away something in my life for Lent, it’s clear that I love an intentional spiritual practice that challenges and enriches me. Until this year. Sure, I’ve thought about different things I could try: take a walk every morning, read from a devotional every evening, withhold from gossiping. But nothing seems to resonate this Lenten season. 

I asked my Spiritual Director about this and she told me to take the pressure off of myself; that I was being too hard on myself about finding the perfect practice to get me all self-reflective for the next forty days. As we kept talking, I mentioned that I was getting a new puppy later that week, and that I hoped she would become a “church” dog that I could take to work. “Well then,” she said, “sounds like you found your spiritual practice.” 

She encouraged me to see the first forty days of raising this puppy as a Lenten discipline; the fasting of sleep that it will inevitably require, the fear of my puppy’s death as I pull it away from cords, and the constant vigilance of taking care of another being. There’s not a lot of self-reflection in this practice, but there is surely a lot of self-emptying. I am already experiencing the loss of sleep and, for now, quality time with my partner. Friends come over and I can hardly be present because I am watching this puppy like a hawk! It may seem small, but it is a sudden, drastic change in my usually flexible, self-centered life. 

Luckily, we have a savior who is in solidarity with all of the fatigue and distraction I feel. A puppy is such an embarrassingly small comparison, but I think Jesus gets it. He knew something about losing his autonomy and freedom in order to love others tirelessly and he knew something about all of us who want to get faith “right” instead of doing faith honestly. 

I don’t know what I am trying to say here, other than that it felt nice to hear my Spiritual Director assure me that I can let go of trying to do something I deem “holy” for Lent this year and just take care of a new, living thing right now. I’m finding holiness in the ordinary of daily life with Jo. I haven’t caught a sunrise in years, but Jo’s relentless whining yesterday morning allowed me to smile at the sky. 

What are you planning to do for Lent this year? If you need ideas, there are still six puppies left in Jo’s litter… 

Peace, 

Margie