On Sunday,  I shared observations about 10 years of shared ministry as I’ve served as pastor of the Broad Bay Congregational United Church of Christ.  Below are my words. Feel free to respond with your comments about what our joint ministry means to you, the church, and the wider community.  I’d love to hear from you.

—-Nancy

If I have been a blessing in your lives, in the fabric of the Waldoboro Community, or in the life of this community of faith, it is because of the blessings we have shared—the ways that you have nurtured and blessed me, enabling me and inspiring me to tap into my gifts and find my voice.  At our best, we’ve played off of each other as pastor and congregation, growing and challenging each other to trust the spirit, work for justice, and love one another—even when that is hard, especially when it is hard.

Over and over again, when I have taken personal risks and reached down to the core of my being to preach, to pray, or to listen, you  have responded in ways that have strengthened my resolve and deepened my sense of God’s presence in our mutual ministries. The people of this congregation—past and present, have supported me and helped me to find my God given voice as I hope that I have helped you to do the same.

Some people have the words to describe a rich and deep spiritual life; they go to mountaintops and see Jesus transfigured.  For me, it is the more ordinary interchanges that point to something extraordinary, filling me with strength and gratitude. Today I share a few of those stories of times that you helped me to see the presence of God and renew my strength for the journey.

When I came 10 years ago I was aware of an aging building and small congregation coupled with difficult financial and leadership challenges.  But the hardest, (and still hard) challenge was formulating a vision and charting a course for this Broad Bay in this time.  We were still known as the folks in the Baptist Church. We had not yet found our voice and the tools that we would use to reach out in love.

Should we dust off the organ and see if it can be a tool for sharing God’s love and power?

Shall we start a community meal with the Methodist church?

Shall we support civil rights for gay, lesbian, and trangender people?

Shall we become Open and Affirming?

Do we want lay led worship?

Do want to invite a Muslim exchange student or a synagogue choir?

On all of those things, we’ve moved to a definitive “yes.”

Over and over again, I have glimpsed the power of God in your words, your lives and your wisdom—in your laughter and tears.

One day, Chet Merrifield came in to the office and shared Johnny Cash’s song  Man in Black. “I wear the black for the poor and the beaten down, I wear it for the sick and lonely old,…” Chet and I created a service around that song and God was with us.  At the time, it seemed a little risky.  Today that is clearly par for the course.

Last Sunday, it was my privilege to work with Karen and Claire to create a sanctuary as we remembered the prevalence of domestic violence and worshipped a God who uses us to reach out and bring hope to others. A member of this church made herself vulnerable and the Broad Bay Church held her close.

Recently, we explored the story of Moses in the bulrushes. I struggled to find a focus for a sermon. When I hit a deadend with little to say, I let go and trusted that my questions and your insight would create meaningful worship. I knew that together we would create a sermon. A week later, you were still complimenting me on that service which we created together. I trusted you and God enough to accept that my dead end during sermon preparation could became vibrant worship.  I knew that you could and would pick up where words failed me. That synergy between pastor and congregation is what has led us through the challenges of ministry in this time and place.

You’ve shown me that the most meaningful worship does not necessarily come from the best researched sermons with the most flowery language but often comes when I’m feeling the most vulnerable.  Sometimes the sermon intro, “May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be good and acceptable in your sight, O God, our strength and our redeemer” is a desperate cry when I have little confidence that my words will do much to point to God’s presence. Over and over again, someone finds God in my halting words.

Our journey as Christians is one of death and rebirth. Of deadends and new doorways. You’ve brought hope in so many ways.

There was the cold rainy day I came into the windowless church office.  The copier was covered in plastic to protect it from the rain. I was clothed in my expedition weight long underwear and I noticed a new leak as water dripped down the inside wall.  I had just moved and dried the wet picture when I heard whistling and footsteps.  Peter Scheuzger came in with the mail. We exchanged pleasantries.  He surveyed the scene and said, “this is depressing.” We both knew that there was no immediate answer but the depressing reality was shared and I found strength and comfort.

I celebrate times when Deacons and other leaders have listened to a half-baked idea of mine and raised caution flags; sometimes I changed course; other times, I decided it was worth the risk.  It is a God given gift to have leaders who will give honest feedback which expand my understanding without wounding my spirit. Other times you have enthusiastically said, “Let’s go!”

–A holocaust remembrance service with synagogue choir.

–the great Easter challenge which involved transforming junked light fixtures from the Rockland dump into signs of resurrection.

–A Worldwide communion service with breakfast and a service project at head start.

–An organ concert to see if there is interest in restoring it.

After 10 years, the line between me and you, has become more fluid as you have molded me and I have molded you.

It hasn’t always been rosy.  For me there have been and continue to be times of grief and discouragement.  We are still very small.  Attendance is no longer growing.  Too often, our leaders burn out and meetings focus on conversations that leave us drained and discouraged.  Financially it remains very challenging; welcome to another stewardship campaign.  Budget will be higher in 2015.  Some pledgers have died.  Up your pledge, please.  How can a ministry that is so good and so vibrant be so hard to administer and fund?

For me, parish ministry is an opportunity to see my failings over and over and over again—missed opportunities, too many balls in the air, challenging pastoral care needs, seeking the balance between supporting us to find Sabbath and urging us to reach deeper into the community, deeper into our relationship with God and one another, to keep on tending the fires of our ministries.

And yet, over and over again, something happens to restore hope–to move from death to resurrection.  After the recent open house, one of your tired leaders said, “I’m exhausted. It’s great! Work hard and guess what?  We get to have a church.  We get to have this church!” I am not sure that the work of ministry gets better than enthusiam.

The story of the last 10 years is the story of highs and lows—of death and resurrection. The story for centuries has been highs and lows—of death and resurrection. From Noah and the ark, parting of the red sea to David and Batheseba, Jesus healing the blind man, to Jesus’ death and resurrection, death and resurrection is the story of faith. Though it all, God moves in and through me and us in wonderful and miraculous ways.

And moments of grace.

Remember the Unbinding the Gospel book studies?  They were ostensibly about evangelism and prayer.  We/you steadfastly avoided evangelism and focused on prayer.  I had hoped that it would be a jumping board for more outreach.  Instead it was a place of prayer and deeper community.  Sitting around the table under the flickering lights, we lit candles, shared prayers, and laughed and cried together. Relationships with God and one another were transformed.  And I felt the spirit moving through me as I lit the candles and led us in prayer with times of silence. A miracle of grace.

Over and over again, I’ve discovered and re-discovered the power of silence—whether in worship, in meetings, in pastoral visits.

Walking into the funeral home.  Gathering family in a circle, holding hands, saying “Let Us pray,” and waiting as the words stumble out of my mouth.  Words that are beyond what I can write—emerging slowly haltingly but real and holy.  And the community said Amen and thank you. And I am truly awed.

There have been so many kindnesses to me. Soup when my mother had open heart surgery. When my uncle died, the service was at 2 pm on a Sunday afternoon in Boothbay Harbor.  I could lead worship here and get there in time.  But I didn’t want to and the Deacons and pastoral relations said “go” and my husband and I enjoyed lunch overlooking Boothbay Harbor with cousins who had also loved and sailed with our aunt and uncle.

Remember the days when Max always brought Moose to worship? One morning, Konni walked into the Sunday School room and handed me a moose puppet.  Just after that, Marcus showed up with another Moose and shared a profound theological conversation that Moose and Marcus had had about God and church.  Recently, a child shared a quiet description about the meaning of communion with me over snacks downstairs.

You have been gentle enough with me for me to continue to risk and grow and explore. You have been honest enough with me for me to learn from mistakes. You’ve taken risks with me. And when I’ve fallen and when we’ve been lost, the spirit has swept through bringing hope and resurrection.

You have been gentle enough with me for me to give voice to that which is deep within me.

You know that I’m not the smartest or wittiest or the funniest or the holiest, or the most charismatic, or the most organized or the best dressed; I’m just me. You know my failings and missteps, my gifts and my accomplishments and seem to love me anyway.  And I have seen many of you through a variety of situations and challenges and I love you.  That is what this life of faith is about. Jesus said, “love one another as I have loved you.” It is a gift beyond measure that your love and acceptance mirrors what I believe about God. Does that knowledge of ourselves as human, fallible, flawed and holy people—known over a decade as congregation and pastor and community enable us to create a stronger faith community than we have now?  Does it provide a firm foundation to go out and share God’s love and acceptance?

A lot has changed in 10 years. And nothing has changed.  We are spread very thin both in terms of money and in terms of people to do the work.  Our outreach could go deeper. I am still searching for ways to be more effective, to equip each of us to do ministry where we find ourselves and to change the world with projects that matter.  We’re still learning to move beyond the inevitable conflicts and misunderstandings–hurts and angers. What we have today is the relationships, with one another, with the wider community, with God. Those relationships count.

This is my story.  A piece of it is our story.  But what about your story? How do you describe the interplay between me and you, between pastor and congregation?  Is it holy?  Is it a blessing?  Do our interactions bring forth the reign of justice and mercy, hope and resurrection?

You have loved and supported me into being the minister I’ve become and it is good.  Have I supported and nurtured you to be the church you’ve become and are becoming? To be the people of God you are and are becoming?  Let’s continue to share the stories.