Ministry Interaction

Every interaction with those people in our path is an opportunity to encounter Christ.

After receiving a letter of complaint about my interaction with rambunctious juveniles at a retreat, I asked the class for feedback after I read the letter to them. I was hoping to get some sort of apologies from the students. Hummm…”The best laid plans of mice and men gone astray.”

After making a pitch to the sophmore class, I did receive two written replies. A person who thinks they can predict teen spirit might want to re-think that for more than a minute.

• Student One wrote: “I don’t think that because a couple of kids messed up by talking at a boring retreat, that you should take your anger or disappointment out on our preacher, who would do anything for anyone at any time. He has been stressing since said retreat, just because this lady is a tattletale deep down.  In the letter you sent him that he read us, you made him seem like an evil, evil man who can’t control kids. The only thing someone can’t control is themselves.  When you came and sat by us, I immediately knew by the looks you gave us and by your attitude that you somehow thought you were better than us and should embarrass us, but I kept it to myself, unlike you, who frankly, seem judgmental. Preacher was not trying to be our parent, because no rebellious teens like their parents. Preacher can read someone and knows how to approach someone, unlike you who just sits down with such a sense of entitlement, and then knocks me down emotionally. I don’t think preacher did anything wrong, you’re just a bully.” *

• Student Two wrote: “I would like to respectfully disagree with the lady who wrote to preacher. She had no idea what preacher was doing. She didn’t even know why preacher was sitting with us. It was actually to help us, WHICH HE DID!  Preacher knows us very well, and he knows the boy he was sitting by has medical issues and ADHD. That’s why he sat there! If preacher hadn’t sat with us, I can guarantee you, it would’ve been a lot worse. I am very disappointed someone would write such a letter like that before understanding the situation. You should never judge a book by its cover. It has also come to my attention that in the letter, the writer admitted that this program or retreat was boring and long. I feel like the writer should’ve treated us with a little respect instead of acting like they knew the situation. After all, we are just 15 or 16 years old.  Who expects us to sit in silence for nearly 5 hours?  I am forgiving the writer for their rudeness. I ask that she thinks about her writing and follows up preacher’s apology with a response. I have asked other people’s opinions, connected and not connected to this event, and they agree with me and the letter I’m writing right now. I hope you realize what you have said was wrong and apologize to preacher. You should not throw him under the bus for trying to help. I hope I prove to you that I am very disappointed in how of all the gifts of God, UNDERSTANDING is the most very important one for us to use.  I believe that we don’t deserve a better preacher because we have the best. I feel sorry for you. But most importantly, I feel sorry for preacher, I don’t think he deserves this. This subject has been blown way out of proportion. To the writer of this letter, please write an apology as he did not deserve this!” *

Culture pushes us to fill up our calendar. In ministry, this busy-ness we adopt is not conducive to good really good listening skills. Listening where we meet Christ in encounter with the other. When I was in seminary, I wrote a poem about our failure to slow down.

Here is the link if you want to hear me read it: https://apple.co/3MNqTsm

Tell me, Mrs. Religion Teacher, do I come to the eighth grade to teach or to learn? This is a complex question. Most teachers understand that by teaching, we learn, and in learning, we begin teaching each other. I’ve realized this in my ministry, where I teach and learn from prisoners, the sick, the elderly, and middle-schoolers. I’ve learned so much from the middle schoolers, sometimes about them and sometimes about myself. It works the same way at the nursing home, jail, prison, hospital, or down on the corner. One thing I’ve learned is that whether you’re interacting with the elderly, the sick, the confessing, an inmate, or a teenager—those who need love the most—most readily give it. This is an amazing lesson I won’t forget. Their gratitude and notes of encouragement have become some of my most cherished possessions. It’s funny how simple things can carry great meaning. I’m proud to call all these friends; they are brothers and sisters in Christ. All glory be to God!

I thought long and hard about two years of my life where I had poured my passion into taking a local church to the next level. As I thought about accomplishments from the point of view of “gains,” I lined up in my head, physical achievements that clearly could say, “I was there when.” Beyond all that, I considered cases where I felt I truly shined, and one incident that involved a bad-boy sophomore, gave me a basic humility I had never experienced; as I reflected, it repeatedly came into my mind.. This was not about shining, this was about learning my place in changing the course, my course, in my personal ‘becoming.’ This is a basic leadership skill, ‘becoming.’

So, I called this young person’s mother and asked her to ask this fella if he would attend my sign-out chicken dinner after my last daily evening service. At that service, I preached about humility, specifically, what it means down deep to adopt a servant lifestyle. As I left the church to go down to the church hall, this fella was standing on the sidewalk outside, waiting for me; he had not come to the daily service.

He said, “I need to speak to you.” Smiling, I said, “Oh yeah?” He cut to the chase, “Why did you tell Mom you wanted me to come tonight?” I kept it simple, “Because when I think back on my time here, I keep coming back to the experiences we shared where you taught me something about who I was, and that means something to me.” As we stopped walking, he sized me up. “Are you saying you learned?” Pausing, “Yes.” Thoughtfully, he said, “Okay, let’s get this done.”

We joined the party, and that guy sat next to me. Looking back now, it’s easy to see that accomplishments we achieve are not plaques of ego that we hang on the wall. Achievements might be as simple as two of the faithful, sharing inside encounter; it is true what the poet said, “The best things in life are free.” When two paths intersect and then diverge, in the collision of the two, the encounter itself transcends mere exchange. If we are the sum of our experiences, simple lessons emerge where (and when) we least anticipate them, blurring the line between the giver and the receiver of guidance.

We had an excellent school church service that brought to my mind several points to ponder. The young people always make me think. Thinking is good, right? When I invite the grade-school congregation to yell out the answer to my questions, they comply…in spades.

The questions are straightforward. I went to college at the largest university in Indiana. What university is that? "IU," came the reply. Easy-peasy. "What grades did I make? Yell it out." Yelled out, “Straight A's." Um, no. "All A's and one B." Thoughtfully, “Hmmm…You have confused me with another preacher!"

They were hanging onto every word at this point. "Math was difficult for me," I said. "Another question might help you understand. If math was my most challenging subject, which subject did I find the easiest?" Immediately, "P.E.," one yelled. "Art!" exclaimed another. One might say these were logical answers.“Dearest children, you are speaking from your own experiences; mine was literature."

"What's literature?" one asked. "Reading books, I was good at reading books." Someone added, "Then why didn't you get straight A's?" Pausing, “Good question.”

I continued deliberately, choosing my words carefully. "Dearest children, let me explain my grades like this: I graduated." What I did not explain is that my college friends thought social studies was inherently more interesting than math, science, or literature. The point of my obtuse lesson, if there is one, is the elusive nature of perfection. The rest of the teaching left them silent, considering my grasp of humanity, that is, my imperfection.

Once, I asked the Sophomore Class, “Raise your hand if you want to be heartbroken.” Not a single hand went up, so, I asked again, “Who wants to be heartbroken? Raise your hand.” Crickets, so to speak. So, now I ask you, does anyone here want to be heartbroken?

Huh? That’s really unfortunate. If you’re unwilling to be heartbroken, you’ll never know great love. Whether you’re speaking of your children, spouse, your grands, parents, family, a romantic interest, or God Almighty, at some point, if you love, you’ll experience heartbrokenness. The harder you love, the more profound the loss.

To love requires openness or vulnerability. To receive love, humility, with the willingness to suffer. Can you see to love with everything you’ve got, you may suffer a broken heart? After an exhortation about what love means and what great love is as an experience, I posed the question a second time, reworded. “Who is open to becoming broken hearted?” I think you know how many hands.

I went out of town about an hour to fill in for a preacher who couldn’t attend a funeral of his member. It happened on my day off, and I went there three times. The first time, I had a one-hour recorded interview with the widow and five of their eight children. The second time, I gifted them a personalized rosary based on the fruits of the mystery. The final time was for the funeral.

The sermon went swimmingly well. I had practiced on Sunday, singing the prayers surrounding the confection using a seminary psalm tone. Five minutes before Mass started, I found out that the seminary would have a representative there, a very good singer, and one of my former teachers. I wavered whether or not I had the strength to sing the prayers. It would make the service much more memorable for the family if I could do it halfway well.

The graveside service was in the pouring rain. During the sprinkling rite, as I sang “Amazing Grace,” there was this man standing next to me who sang like an angel. Seriously. Walking back to the church in the rain, I found out this singer was someone I knew from my childhood hometown. His dad had served at the altar for many years, and when I told the man, he didn’t even know that fact. His dad was the brother of the deceased.

Everyone left immediately for the small town where the bereavement meal would be served. I was completely alone in the parking lot and sat on the road for a few minutes. I could take the right turn to go home to my chair or the left turn to go to the fried chicken dinner. What to do?

Listening to the nudge of the Holy Spirit, I drove towards the chicken. When I arrived, I discovered they were waiting for me to pray. After the immediate family ate, I got into line at the nicest spread I had ever witnessed. Seeing how there were nearly 200 people there, when I got my meal, there was only one empty table, situated in the back where no one had their food yet.

Soon after I settled down, a man joined me and said, “I can’t let you eat alone.” He sat down and started sharing stories about his life. He was a lay minister with a wife from America, but he was from Chile. As the conversation went on, he began to tell me stories about his current ministry that his wife didn’t understand. He ministers to an Amish community that doesn’t drive and does things for them that they can’t do without help. Since he shared some aspects of his ministry that are difficult for some to comprehend, I started explaining my pen pal and in-person Catholic prison ministry, another ministry some don’t understand. It dawned on me that this exchange was a gift from the Holy Spirit for doing the right thing and going the extra mile to ensure a great man received a fitting send-off.

As our conversation drew to a close, I asked him how he was connected to this funeral. He explained that he was representing his wife, who couldn’t attend and had worked closely with the deceased son. Turnabout being fair play, I told him why I was there. He couldn’t believe my words. He said, “You’re one of the best liars I’ve ever met.” I said, “What?” He said, “I thought you knew this man your whole life. The personal stories and passionate delivery made me think you were an old family friend.” Sigh. Compliment or slam? You decide.

A week later, the seminary teacher sent me the kindest thank-you card I’ve ever received. It acknowledged the emotions of the family, the imagery of life used in the sermon, and the attention to detail. Finally, it thanked me for answering the call. This card is now one of my most cherished possessions, all of which lack value to anyone but me. The life of a preacher is funny that way.

I went to religion class with the eighth grade. As we talked, I posed a question, asking, "How humbling is that, to kneel and speak through the screen, admitting to the priest, I’m not perfect? Is that humbling?"

The reply came, "Very humbling." I said, "It is, isn't it?" I continued, “Because I preach about it all the time, guess what I have to do to make it right in my mind?" One student posited, "Repeat it over and over." I replied, "Huh-uh. Do I do that?" Another student tried, "Pray about it." I answered flatly, "No." They continued guessing, "You have to teach the youth." Funny, that one, "Nah."

Maybe I let it go too long. One asked me, "Now what was the question, again?"

"Because I preach it over and over and over, what must I do, to make it right with myself?" Finally someone was thinking, "You also have to do it!"

"AMEN!" I exclaimed. They burst into chaos, cheers and high-fives all around, celebrating their shared intellectual prowess.

"I practice - I go…I go to Confess."