I recently finished reading Ada Calhoun's book Why We Can't Sleep: Women's New Midlife Crisis. It was pretty on-the-nose about how I feel these days - stretched thin, anxious, and simmering with low-grade rage most of the time. Calhoun points out the myriad reasons why many women of my generation feel this way. Among them are having so many more career possibilities (expectations, even) without much additional support for parenting and managing a household, coming of age professionally during financial crises that ultimately let to fewer and lower-paying job opportunities, being dismissed by much of the medical community around peri/menopause symptoms, and caring for young kids and aging parents simultaneously.

And yet, as many memes have been reminding me lately, Gen Xers are uniquely qualified to manage in a pandemic. Our expectations are low, partly because we're used to being invisible to others. We're able to entertain and take care of ourselves. We've partaken of our fair share of dystopian films and novels, so not much surprises us.

I think that Gen X clergywomen in particular are suited to this moment in time. No, the pressures common to our generation have not lifted. But we have the Gen X survival skills paired with the grit, wisdom, faithfulness, and creativity that come from having to make our own way in the church world. (Yes, we owe much to the clergywomen who came before for blazing the path. We have the benefit/challenge, though, of figuring out how to lead and be valued in ways authentic to us, not just imitating the guys like our forebears had to do.)

And so I would remind you that you are likely crushing it, even when you don't feel like it, and urge you to tend to the three steps Ada Calhoun recommends:

Get support. Don't go it alone. Lean on your laypeople to share the congregational care load and seek out clergy with whom you can vent and share best practices.

Reframe the situation. What's another narrative you can lift out of the current crisis, for yourself and others? What expectations do you need to lower since we're all feeling our way along?

Wait. The pandemic won't last forever, just like middle age won't. Life will be different on the other side.

If I can support, resource, or encourage you in this time - of pandemic, of season of life - please drop me a line. 

In the field of psychology there is a condition known as learned helplessness. The subject is put into a challenging environment – for example, there might be a persistent, sharp sound – with no way to overcome the issue. After experiencing that initial lack of agency, the subject gives up trying to alter the condition or escape. The subject accepts the situation as permanent, and this learned helplessness induces a passivity that becomes a default response in other, unrelated circumstances.

In contrast, another subject is given the means to change the challenging condition, such as by pushing a button that stops the noise. This subject learns that the problem is temporary and that the means are available to address it. This subject bounces back quickly from adversity, because the agency claimed instills a sense of optimism.

While many studies of learned helplessness and optimism have focused primarily on the impact to individuals, I think these phenomena are very applicable to congregations. Take a church that considers itself in decline, for example. This congregation tries everything it can think of to reverse the trends, such as sending postcards to the neighborhood, hosting a community cookout on the church lawn, sprucing up the nursery, and offering a grief support group. At most, a couple of new people start attending on Sundays from these efforts. The church accepts that it is helpless to stop its slide. It gives up trying to reach out to the community, and it dwindles until a discussion about permanently closing the doors becomes imminent.

On the other hand, a church in similar circumstances might claim a sense of optimism by finding agency in its situation. This could involve the congregation naming and ministering out of the gifts that a small church has to offer that a big church cannot. It might mean reframing growth so that it is not about Sunday morning attendance and offering but about numbers of unique individuals involved in leadership in the congregation and community or the length of time it takes a youth group to name all of the ways it saw God at work during the week prior. It could entail using perceived failure as a springboard for ongoing discernment and deeper dependence on the Spirit.

Learned optimism is not fanciful or untethered from reality. It is a secular term for the hope we claim as people of faith, rooted in the partnership that God invites us into. Whereas helplessness and passivity prevent growth, optimism creates the possibility for all kinds of positive change and for relationship development and strengthening.

Where, then, does your congregation need to recognize its God-given agency and begin to act out of hope instead of helplessness?

Searching for a new call is hard. Congregations are eliminating positions due to shrinking budgets. Systemic inequalities make it difficult for some candidates to get a good look from search teams. Call committees often don’t understand how covenanting with a clergyperson is different from hiring an employee.

And those issues don’t even address the mental, spiritual, and emotional toll of the search process on a candidate. In a previous post I described psychologist Martin Seligman‘s three Ps – personalization, pervasiveness, and permanence – and the ways these shame responses show up in congregational life. They also manifest in powerful, potentially debilitating ways in search & call. When a candidate hears “no” over and over, she can begin to think that:

• the problem is on her end (personalization),

• that every call committee will see her supposed unworthiness (pervasiveness),

• and that she will be stuck in this vocational purgatory forever (permanence).

The three Ps can suck any energy for a minister’s search and for her current position in a hurry. Let me assure you that you are a gifted and called minister and that with time you will find a great fit. I really believe that.

So now you feel confident and ready to hit the interview trail again, right? Yeah, I didn’t figure a positive word from me alone would make the difference, even though I truly, deeply mean it. Then let me propose a few ways to combat the three Ps and their pernicious effects during that trying search season.

• Pray. Make sure your search is deeply rooted in your relationship with God.

• Seek encouragement from people who know you. Spend time regularly with a friend or small group that recognizes and affirms your many talents. Getting an attitude boost from those who cheer us on can help when it feels like we’re hearing a lot of rejection.

• Approach every interview as an opportunity to network. Not every church will extend a call to you, but with every encounter you expand your exposure and gain invaluable interview experience.

• Debrief interviews. Set a timer for 15-30 minutes to mull what you thought went well, where you felt hesitant, what questions bubbled up in you during the interaction, and what your prayer is going forward.

• Ask for feedback from search teams. Did you get a no from a church you were excited about? See if the search chair will give you a few pointers based on your time with the team.

• Focus your search. Have you been scattershot with your search approach? It might seem counterintuitive, but it could be time to cull your options. Create a one-sentence mission statement and self-refer only to those congregations whose positions would allow you to live well into that purpose. You’ll be better able to explain why you’re a good fit – and you’ll be much happier if you end up going to that church.

• Work on telling your story. Of the parts of the search process we can control, none is more important than good storytelling. Refine your paperwork, making sure you have included action words and vivid examples. Think before interviews about what you want to be sure a search team knows about you by the end of the hour. Role play with a colleague. Spend time picking out an interview ensemble that tells the story you want.

• Remember that you were called before, and you will be called again. If you are serving or have served a church, a search team has seen and responded to your gifts. It will happen again! (For years I held onto my first congregation’s newsletter that announced my call for this very reason.)

The church needs you, your gifts, and your call. Hang tight – a great fit is out there.

In a recent podcast with pastor/author Jen Hatmaker, research professor Dr. Brene Brown shared an insightful nugget from her work: shame is the enemy of innovation. When we believe that we are not worthy – of love, of belonging, of joy, of dreaming – we cannot think beyond our current circumstances. We cannot brainstorm new ways of being and doing. We cannot envision a future much different from our present.

I have noted this truth for myself. When I feel bad about how I look, it seems like making new friends is out of reach. When my inbox is not dinging, I worry that I’ll never get another coaching or consulting client. When I don’t have expertise about the topic of discussion, I’m certain my conversation partner won’t take my input seriously. It becomes hard to put one foot in front of the other, mentally and emotionally.

It’s no secret that many of our churches are stuck. They try to strategically plan their way out of the mire, but those plans often involve more of what the congregation is currently doing, has done in the past, or has seen work in other contexts. They cannot imagine a different way of being church, only returning to a day when attendance was three times what it is now and children’s Sunday Schools were bursting at the seams.

I think corporate shame plays a role in this stuckness. We think, what is it about our church that makes people want to leave, or not even come in the first place? Why do our regulars only come once or twice a month now, when a decade ago they were here every week? Why would a new pastor accept a call to a dwindling congregation with a shrinking budget? How can we draw in newcomers when everyone in this community knows about “the incident” that happened here twenty years ago? How can we call ourselves a vibrant church when our educational wing is a ghost town?

These are all questions of worthiness. And yet, our value does not come from attendance patterns or the weekly offering. Just because something bad occurred in our past doesn’t mean our story is irredeemable. There’s no need to sound the death knell when one part of the physical plant is lying fallow. We don’t have to earn our place in the whole of Christ’s body. We have significance simply because we were created by God and gathered together in God’s name.

How, then, do we push against this collective shame that prevents us from moving into a fruitful future?

First, we must unearth it. With a group of leaders – or possibly with the congregation as a whole – pose some discussion prompts. What chapters of the church’s life or which former pastors do we not talk about, and why? How do we think others view our congregation? What are our biggest worries about the church’s present or future? How do these worries affect how we do ministry?

Second, we must address the three Ps. Psychologist Martin Seligman writes that personalization, pervasiveness, and permanence radically impact our self-perception. In personalization, congregations think “we are not good enough” rather than “those members who went elsewhere needed something we don’t offer.” In pervasiveness, an issue in one area is generalized to all of church life: “our youth group has hit a membership lull” becomes “the church is dying.” And permanence prompts us to think that we can’t get off whatever train we’re on: “if we’re in decline, there’s nowhere to go but down.” Those big, shame-inducing Ps have to be shrunk down to their proper place as lower-case ps that focus on actions and circumstances rather than unalterable character.

Third, we must broaden the narrative. What are the stories that demonstrate the congregation’s uniqueness? How has this church changed lives for the better? What are the gifts of our current circumstances? What can we do now that we couldn’t do before? What are the non-financial resources we haven’t yet tapped? For whom would this congregation and its mission be really good news?

God did not make us – as individuals or churches – for shame. God created us for love, connection, joy, and innovation. Let us do the hard work of exposing and eliminating the shame that keeps us from embracing the worthiness that comes from our kinship with Christ, thereby becoming free to live fully into the purposes God has for us.

I don’t remember much, if anything, about being three years old. The furthest I can usually reach back is the year after that, when I suddenly had to share my parents’ attention with a big-lunged baby brother. I’m certain that who I am and what I know is built on experiences from those earliest years, but I’m also sure I could audit a few classes from a less-jaded version of myself. That is why I’m taking notes as I watch my son grow up. Here’s what my newly-minted threenager is teaching me:

Resilience. I have watched L outrun his own feet, causing him to leave several layers of skin on the concrete. Sometimes he cries, sometimes he doesn’t, but it’s never long before he has popped back up and started playing full-tilt again. He doesn’t understand shame, so he has no need to make his scrapes seem more dire than they are or to blame them on someone else. That frees him up to keep going.

Boundaries. I’ve seen other kids shove L when we’ve been in public play areas. He usually looks that child in the eye, points his finger, and says, “No hit!” in a firm voice. He knows he doesn’t deserve to be pushed around. (Let’s hope he always remembers that others don’t either…)

Feeling the feels. When something is really bothering L, he will break down in sobs and wail, “I’m so sad!” He gets it out, lets his dad and me comfort him, and moves on. He doesn’t stuff it down deep until it explodes at another time.

Love of self. This child loves the mirror. He tries out different expressions. He admires how he looks in a tie. He doesn’t brush off compliments; he beams at them. No body image issues here.

Un-self-consciousness. L loves planes, trains, and helicopters. He also loves Fancy Nancy, accessories, and the color pink. He doesn’t limit himself to a category, and (at least so far) he doesn’t try to impose labels on others either.

Persistence. L got a 24-piece puzzle (a real one!) for his birthday. It took a few days to complete. We left it out so he could work on it a bit at a time. He turned the pieces this way and that, trying to match the colors, lines, and notches. When he would find a fit, he’d take a moment to celebrate: “Great job. I did it!”

Forgiveness. No matter how often I mess up as a parent, he loves me. He gives me biiiiig huuuuugs. And he tells me it’s time to play again. He gets that our relationship is larger than one incident.

Yes, a lot of the great qualities that I admire in my son come from the fact that he is in the early stages of understanding how to relate to the world, which is itself still small in his eyes. He’s still very ego-centered. But I can’t help but think that he has much to teach me about myself – and that he is giving me pointers on how to help him as his challenges get larger – if I will only pay attention.

My coaching clients are very brave. Almost all of them are young clergy women. They have responded to God’s call to serve in a youth-dismissing, increasingly-disparaged, male-dominated profession. Like I said, BRAVE. And they are doing amazing ministry. I am constantly in awe.

Still, I know from my own experience that it can be tough to remain confident when you are often asked, “Are you sure you’re old enough to be a pastor?” To stand tall when the people in your care take shots at you because they are anxious about personal matters or angry at God or unhappy with the church. To keep going when you see your male friends from seminary keep climbing into bigger and bigger pulpits when those same churches won’t even grant you an interview.

My clients are changing the culture of professional ministry with their faith, gifts, and persistence. I can see the shift happening. As it does, I offer these thoughts on how to stoke one’s courage as needed. (Printable PDF available here.) Please share!

Resilience is perhaps the most underrated but necessary trait of a pastoral leader. Think about it. We’re supposed to shepherd our people as the world becomes both more connected and fractious, as expectations for clergy grow but respect for ministers ebbs, and as the bar for “active” church involvement keeps getting lowered. Resilience is what keeps us plugging along in the name of Christ when we’d rather binge-watch Netflix and eat our feelings.

An article from Faith & Leadership describes resilience as “a kind of lived hope, a way to keep getting up again that has its roots in God’s permanent faithfulness” (C. Kavin Rowe, “Cultivating resilience in Christ-shaped leaders,” 4/23/12). It is not synonymous with toughness, which often results in bottling up our feelings and cutting ourselves off from others. It is also not a denial of difficulty. Instead, resilience is a recognition that God is at always at work, bringing us ever closer in ways that are both now and not yet realities.

So what prompts greater resilience? Consider these questions:

• What does resilience look like for you?

• What do you need to let go of to become more resilient?

• What resources do you need – skills, support, etc. – to be more resilient? Where do you find these resources?

• How do you point others toward resilience, since resilience is a community endeavor?

When we are more resilient, we are healthier emotionally, spiritually, and physically. We are also more able to tell and hear truth, making relationships stronger and congregations more prepared and eager to engage with the world beyond the parking lot.