Over the past several months I’ve seen a big uptick in inquiries about congregational coaching. Usually these requests stem from a pastor or lay leader knowing that something is changing or needs to change but not knowing how to go about making that transition as positively as possible.

I can help with that. In congregational coaching I work with leadership teams or entire churches on moving forward with faithfulness and curiosity. This work begins with listening for a congregation’s gifts, circumstances, and yearnings. Based on what I hear, I design the parameters, process, and prompts for congregations to have fruitful conversations among their members and with God. While I carry over some tools from one church to the next, I largely start my approach from scratch because I believe each church’s story is one of a kind.

Here are some of the coaching conversations that I have had recently or are in process:

• Creating structure for a congregation to rebuild trust and imagine its way forward as a result of renewed relationships.

• Rediscovering purpose as a church after years of neglecting or eliminating needed procedures and in the aftermath of major damage to the physical plant.

• Helping a newly-called pastor and church begin their journey together with expectations and boundaries that lay a good foundation for mutual ministry.

• Searching for a new pastor, with complicating factors overlaid on the search process.

• Designing a new pastoral staffing model that better meets current and future needs.

• Making difficult decisions about church buildings and land and the accompanying debt in ways that contribute to identity and mission.

• Identifying how best to regather after lockdown, using this transition to ease into bigger-picture discernment.

I can coach your congregation through transitions like these, encouraging you and broadening your sense of what you’re capable of and what God might be inviting you to consider along the way. These coaching conversations take place by Zoom, making them easier for your leaders to schedule and lowering the cost of processes that can have a big impact on your church.

Is your congregation facing a change with a bit of uncertainty and trepidation? Let’s talk.

Photo by Ross Findon on Unsplash.

Back in the fall I predicted that a tidal wave of pastoral departures awaited near the end of the pandemic. I stand by that assertion, particularly now that:

1. This might be the hardest stretch of the Covid-19 crisis for clergy.

2. It is becoming more possible for searching churches to host on-site visits for pastoral candidates, meaning search activity is picking up.

3. Ministers are starting to accompany their congregations beyond the most restrictive distancing practices, a milepost many had set for themselves before searching for a new call.

4. Clergy could potentially have in-person closure with the churches they are departing, which is important to many.

If you are a pastor who is searching or whose search is imminent, please do not settle. There will be - and already is, in many denominations - so much turnover. Instead,

• Cast a wide net. After a year of staying at home and doing things differently, you probably have developed some new self-awareness. It could be about the shape of your ministry, the kind of place you want to live, your values, or your gifts. Permit yourself to take all of these factors into account as you search.

• Apply for positions that seem like stretches to you. The worst a search team can do is say no, which feels terrible but also broadens your network and provides you with more information for discernment. And what might have been a reach for you in a tighter job market might not be now, particularly since you have lots of examples of how you lead well even in crisis.

• Name your non-negotiables and stick to them. This might be about compensation or days off, but it might not. Maybe you’ve developed a new ministry passion or skill this past year that you want to have space to continue building on. Maybe you want to push for more meetings via Zoom than in person for reasons that are helpful to you or others.

• Take your time. Haven’t found the right fit yet? More and more positions are opening up all the time.

• Ask for what you need and for what you’re worth. Yes, it’s important to pay attention to how Covid-19 has impacted a church’s finances and raised questions about long-term sustainability. But with so many congregations searching, now is not the time to undervalue your worth.

• Ensure everyone is on the same page regarding expectations. The church is (or at least needs to be) different post-pandemic. Find out what identity, mission, and leadership pieces the congregation you’re considering has and hasn’t already worked through. Talk with the search team about what covenanting with and educating the congregation about the shape of your role could look like.

In short, take heart and be bold. May your search be a process of embracing who God has made you to be and discovering where you can flourish.

Photo by Cherry Laithang on Unsplash.

You heard it early in the pandemic, when wise people urged us to talk about “physical distancing” rather “social distancing.” Language matters. It shapes how we think, feel, and act. In the case of being apart from one another, contrasting physical to social isolation emphasized that we still could and should remain connected, even as we stayed at home to keep ourselves and one another safe.

We’re at a point in the Covid crisis when it’s again important to pay close attention to the words we use.

Instead of “re-opening,” say “re-gathering in person.” Many of you have already made this shift. While the church’s physical plant might have been closed, the Church never was. To claim such would be to deny the hard work of ministers and lay leaders and the presence of Christ in all times and places.

Instead of “getting back,” say “moving forward.” The former suggests we will spring back to pre-pandemic practices as if Covid was a nightmare we can shake off rather than a reality-altering event on a global scale. We will waste the pain of the past year if we don’t learn from it and make changes based on what we glean.

Instead of “normal,” say “a new way of being.” Normal conjures up nostalgia for a time that never will be - shouldn’t be - again. Normal has left out too many people. Normal has been too stuck in it ways. Normal has been too enamored of itself to ponder changes needed in order to remain faithful.

Instead of “how soon can we lose the precautions?” ask “how can we continue to show care through caution?” Understandably, people are ready to shed masks and hug their church friends. But the numbers show that we are not past the danger, and we’ll be right back in the thick of it if we aren’t careful. It is an act of discipleship to continue to protect one another.

Instead of “but I’m vaccinated” ask “who isn’t yet vaccinated?” While in some areas vaccine supply now surpasses demand, that is not the case everywhere. There are people with health concerns who aren’t yet willing or able to get their shots, and while we might be on the brink of teen vaccination, the timeline for younger children remains uncertain. It’s important to keep asking who remains at risk and plan around those folks.

How might you help your church people make these shifts in language so that they can make accompanying changes in expectations and focus? And what other language replacements would you recommend?

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash.

By now many clergy have been introduced to the good work of the Nagoski sisters on burnout, which they define as emotional weariness, the inability to give a crap anymore, and the persistent sense of yelling into the void. The Nagoskis talk about completing the stress cycle as a way to avoid the desire to collapse in a heap or run like your hair is on fire in the opposite direction from your current one. This means going all the way through the feeling (once you’re safe from the stressor itself) instead of stunting the emotion. If you haven’t read Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle, I highly recommend it. The book offers some practical tips for mitigating a persistent problem for people, and particularly women, in the helping professions.

But even as I read Burnout, there was something nagging at me. It wasn’t until reading a recent piece by culture study author Anne Helen Petersen that I figured out the issue. When we talk about burnout, we largely frame it as a personal problem: we need to set good boundaries and take better care of ourselves. And while that is absolutely true, completing stress cycles alone will not fix what I think is weighing heavily on so many ministers - demoralization. Petersen quotes an article on teachers by Doris Shapiro:

“Demoralization occurs when teachers cannot reap the moral rewards that they previously were able to access in their work. It happens when teachers are consistently thwarted in their ability to enact the values that brought them to the profession.”

Many teachers approach their vocations as callings, just like pastors do. And I see a direct connection from the difficulties teachers have faced during and even before Covid to those clergy are reckoning with. Yes, ministers work too much and bear responsibility (though not sole responsibility) to tend to their physical, mental, emotional, relational, and spiritual health. But underneath all the stress is a bigger problem, which is that pastors were called to partner with God in transforming lives and communities, and many of the people in our pews mightily resist even the smallest of changes. That is neither a personal problem nor an easy fix.

We cannot control what those in our care do. They might not ever change, and if that’s the case, it might be time to move on. But we can adjust how we show up as leaders and what questions we ask so that we invite our people to consider new modes of being and operating. We can do what some see as “soft” work but is actually wisely playing a long game, building the trust, spiritual muscle, and imagination required to make permanent changes. We can start with curiosity, simply saying, “Tell me more” or “What’s important to you about that?” We can bring in spiritual elements, musing aloud, “I wonder what God is up to in this.” We can incorporate regular reflection as individuals and teams to celebrate what we’ve done well and learn from our mistakes, taking the sting out of “failure” in the process. If we take this posture with our congregations, it might just initiate incremental experimentation that can pick up momentum.

Teachers, unfortunately, have limited say in curriculum standards, teaching methods, and learning benchmarks. Pastors have much more freedom. Let’s leverage it, encouraging and noticing a widening gap between what we’ve always done and what is possible so that we all can live fully into our callings and not become mired in the quicksand of demoralization.

Photo by Luke Porter on Unsplash.

I had a short tenure in my first call. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the church. It was full of people who believed like I did, a relative rarity in the southeastern US. I heard exceptional preaching every week from the senior pastor, and I got my own opportunities in the pulpit. And, my office was located on a college campus, which meant I was a short walk away from all the books in the university library. Drool.

But my now-spouse lived a 10-hour drive away. As a United Methodist provisional pastor, he could not leave Alabama without setting back his ordination process. When we got serious about our future together, I was the already-ordained and thus more mobile pastor. I was ok with moving. For one thing, I was awfully naive about my professional prospects in what would be my new home. For another, the church I was departing, as wonderful as it was, had some challenges. I had followed a long-time, much-loved associate pastor who, a couple of years after her departure, was still present in many ways. She had also led the church through a significant change for which there was little lead-up process, leaving church members’ trust in one another, in the university, and in the pastoral staff iffy. While her actions were not in any way intended to cause conflict, they resulted in a number of difficult circumstances. When the senior pastor took his long-delayed sabbatical a few months into my tenure, I ministered solo through a messy situation for three months. By the time he returned, I was wrung out.

The chair of deacons (in this context, he was the key lay leader) was the first layperson I told about my imminent move. He said, “You’ve been a great unintentional interim for us.” That was a gut punch. I hadn’t taken this call to be a short-timer, and this statement dredged up some serious shame. With time, though, I saw his comment differently. I had provided much-needed consistency and clarity during an anxious time. This was a gift I was uniquely suited to give as someone who had barely put both feet in before taking one, then the other, out. This experience set me on a ministry trajectory toward intentional interim ministry and coaching, both of which fit me and my circumstances as an itinerant clergy spouse well. Today, I treasure that deacon chair’s observation and the work it began in me.

Many ministers have found - or will find - themselves in that unintentional interim role. You came into your call with great hope for a long, fruitful tenure. When you arrived, though, you found a church that either had not done the hard work of self-reflection during the pastoral transition, or that had so many issues to address that they couldn’t all be covered in one stretch, or that developed deep fissures over, say, pandemic response. You have realized that your remaining time at your church will be shorter and more intense than planned. You probably have Feelings about that. Whatever they are, they are valid.

Know, though, that just because you are an unintentional interim, that doesn’t mean your leadership isn’t incredibly valuable. You are steadying the ship during a very fraught time. You are allowing problems to surface so they can be named and dealt with. You are loving your people. You are paving the way for your successor to succeed. All of this is the Lord’s work, and you will leave your congregation better than you found it.

So I see you, unintentional interims. You are my people. I am cheering you on, and I’m praying for you.

Photo by Juliana Romão on Unsplash.

By sheer force of demographics, there is likely to be a big wave of pastoral retirements in the next few years. That number will be augmented by the strain that the pandemic has placed on clergy. After navigating the tensions around safety precautions and noting that some version of online ministry is here to stay, many pastors who have the financial means will, understandably, decide that the time is near to enjoy the fruits of their labors and spend more time with people they love and activities they haven’t had time for previously.

This retirement can be a celebration, a forward-propelling moment for both the pastor and the church. When clergy retire with intentionality, it

• Allows the ministry pastor and congregation undertook together to carry forward

• Shows care for the church

• Gets the departing minister in a good head and heart space for what’s next

• Helps set a helpful tone for the transition period, including the pastor search

• Strengthens congregations’ connections to bodies itself useful in the transition and beyond

• Paves the way for next minister to get off to a smooth start

• Can be spiritually transformative for all involved

In short, pastors can do as much leading in the ways they retire as in all their time leading up to their departures, setting themselves up to enter a new chapter with fulfillment and hope. Thoughtfulness, though, is key. That’s why I’m introducing a new coaching package for those clergy who are considering retirement. Over a series of 6 one-hour sessions, we will develop a plan to address the Ps of finishing well:

• Processing. What aspects of your identity are bound up in being a pastor, and what might be some healthy ways to have those needs met in retirement?

• People. How can you show grace to those you’re leaving behind?

• Priorities. What big picture pieces are you holding that you need to follow through on, pass to others, or set aside?

• Preparations. What logistics need to be tended to and by whom to pave the way for a good transition?

• Promotion. Whose voices, inside the congregation and beyond, need to be heard now in order to broaden the church’s imagination about what will be possible after you leave?

• Personal planning. What financial support will you need in retirement, and where might you find it? Where will you continue to find purpose, routine, and support once you are no longer the pastor of your church?

The cost for the six sessions plus a planning sheet organized by the 6 Ps of retirement planning is $900, and you can schedule a free exploratory call to talk about through your questions and hopes for retirement coaching here.

A couple of months ago, I believed my turn at vaccination against Covid-19 was way in the distance. But I suddenly found myself with an appointment in late February, and now here I am, fully inoculated. I cannot overstate how grateful I am to have had my turn. (Please take yours when it comes up!)

I’m not the only one with this sense of whiplash. The vaccine rollout was so slow, so discombobulated, at first that normal-ish still seemed out of reach for many of us. But then production ramped up and more vaccination sites opened. All people ages 16 and up in my state are now eligible to receive their doses, and President Biden stated that all adults could have had shots in arms by July 4.

This is fantastic news. It means that the timeline for fully returning in in-person church activities has shortened greatly. And that means that the conversations pastors were planning to have about what post-pandemic church looks like need to start happening now.

Most clergy knew pre-Covid that the church was headed toward major changes - or at least needed to be. Congregations are shrinking. In many cases it’s because members have dug in their heels, building fortresses around ministries that feel familiar instead of responding to the gifts and needs of younger demographics and surrounding communities. When the pandemic struck, so much had to change for safety reasons. And while we all have an understandable desire to reclaim our lives and our routines, we must not pass up this opportunity to think about what could be faithfully different. We might not ever get another moment like this - to reflect on God’s dream instead of simply springing back to what was - while our churches still have critical mass and decent budgets and a chance to flourish.

I believe that the world needs the church. At their best, congregations connect us to each other and to God, affirm the goodness of each person made in God’s image, promote thriving by accompanying people through life’s peaks and valleys and giving them tools to make meaning out of those experiences, offer tangible help to those inside and outside its walls, and push for equity based on the teachings and example of Jesus. Let’s imagine together what this can look like at this time, in our evolving contexts. Here are some questions to reflect on the learnings of the past year and prompt forward-thinking discussion:

• What has this church done well for a long time?

• What did we learn was possible this year that we didn't know before?

• How have these learnings excited us? Revealed God at work among us and through us? Built on whom we know ourselves to be (or whom we aspire to be) as a congregation?

• What have we learned this year about what we want to stop doing?

• What have we missed doing this year that we want to pick back up?

• What do we want our role in this community to be?

• What gaps do we need to fill in to make this happen?

• What do we want to try and then reflect further on based on all of the above?

• How might these choices help us live more fully into our values as a congregation?

As we move into the season of Easter (in which Jesus invites us to consider what resurrection means for us) and Pentecost (in which we celebrate the openness of Jesus’ followers to new people and ways), there is no better time liturgically and public health-wise to consider what God is nudging us toward. If we wait too long to have these conversations, our church members might settle so deeply back into the worn places in their seats that we’ll have to wait for another crisis to drive us to change - or to close our doors permanently.

Photo by Debby Hudson on Unsplash.

Impostors work alone, even if they always seem to be surrounded by people. That’s because they live in fear of being found out. One of the best ways to assure yourself that you’re not a fraud, then, is by seeking real connection with others.

We need some relationships in which we can take off our filter:

Who are the people with whom you can be your truest self?

Whom do you invite to help you and hold you accountable?

Connection can also take the form of amplifying others’ voices. In a vocation like ministry where the title “pastor” still conjures up a very specific, very male mental image for most people, clergywomen need one another:

How might we reach out to support other women?

Who needs our encouragement? How might we give it?

Who needs recognition? About what specifically?

Who might we amplify? How might we do that?

The more we look for mutual support, the more we’ll be able to help each other combat self-doubt.

And the more we lift one another up, the more bonded we will be, with the positive by-product of others better realizing the gifts and experiences have to offer. Everyone wins - us, our colleagues, and those under our leadership. By contrast, impostors are in it only for what they gain for themselves. It rarely matters to them who else benefits - or who might even be sacrificed so that they can continue to look good.

I invite you to make lists or draw concentric circles of your relationships, from your closest ones to your acquaintances. Offer a prayer of gratitude for these people. Consider what it might take to deepen a couple of these connections. Take stock of the abilities of the people on your list/diagram and mull which ones you’d like to encourage further or amplify. Ask for God’s guidance in doing so.

I hope that by now you know deep in your being you are no impostor and that when those thoughts start to tug at the edges of your consciousness, you have some tools to combat them. The church and the world need you, the actual you, and all the wisdom and quirks and sass you bring.

If you liked this post, check out week 1, week 2, week 3, week 4, week 5, and week 6 of this series.

Photo by Carl Nenzen Loven on Unsplash.

When school was closed temporarily last March, I didn’t think I could handle it. I love my child more than my own life. And, I didn’t want to be his primary teacher. I didn’t know what first-graders were supposed to learn in the year of our Lord 2020. I also needed him to be out of the house so that I could work and get my essential introvert time.

When school was called for the rest of the year, I curled up in the fetal position.

One year later, it is astonishing to me that he’ll return to a classroom in the fall and that I’ll probably feel ok about the safety of it. On the virtual school mornings when we are frustrated with each other (these occur often, by the way), I dream of August 10. The rest of the time, though, I’m sad about sending him back. I have learned a lot from his resilience and adaptability. I have delighted in midday snuggles. I have laughed at the stand-up comedy routine he’s developed and shaken my head in wonder about everything techy he’s taught himself to do while he’s been at home. I am relieved that his quirky spirit and big dreams remain intact, uncrushed by teasing peers and unimaginative adults.

Sending my child back to school isn’t the only part of the world re-opening that I’m not too sure about. It’s been fantastic not worshiping in the fishbowl as a clergy spouse. I have not missed the seasonal flu one bit. Though there was a brief stretch when I lamented not traveling for work, I’m not looking forward to the prospect of having to do it again. And my beefs are small compared to many others.’

There’s a lot we have lost this year, individually and collectively. It’s vital that we process our reactions to it all. But I don’t hear many people talking yet about the grief that awaits us when we emerge from lockdown. Any change, even one that is largely for the better (and a world not held captive by Covid-19 is of course a positive change) brings grief. If we’re not ready for it, it will knock us on our butts. If we feel shame about it - why am I down when everyone else is celebrating? - we will replace physical isolation with its emotional and relational cousins.

With regard to clergy specifically, I hear anticipatory grief about what the After will mean for their vocations. They have pivoted and innovated, and what has not been ideal has nevertheless become familiar. What will it mean to leave the safety of this new familiar? If the church tries to make them pull double duty, continuing online ministry while leading in-person versions of the same events, they will burn out. If the church tries to forget the last year and all its lessons, grasping for a pre-pandemic iteration that was already in need of rethinking, they will not abide it.

Grief points us to what we value. Don’t ignore it. Don’t try to process it alone. Instead, let’s listen to and learn from it. If we allow it, our grief will be an unforgiving but invaluable teacher about how we can move forward together with faithfulness, grace, and intention.

Photo by Karim MANJRA on Unsplash.

Thanks to FX’s tv show The Americans, I have become completely fascinated by spies. How do agents perpetually inhabit such a morally ambiguous space? And how do they stay in their created personas, particularly when they juggle more than one alternate identity?

Spies are, by definition, impostors. They pretend to be someone different, or to like a target, or to operate under an ideology other than their own, so that they can obtain information they likely wouldn’t have access to otherwise. They sometimes - maybe often - have to remain consistent in their inauthenticity over a period of time to squeeze the most out of their marks.

Impostors, then, have to remember the stories they’ve constructed for themselves if they don’t want to be found out. To combat our own sense of being impostors, how might we remember the realities of our work and the truth of our impacts?

What are our purpose statements in ministry?

What is an image that reminds us of our authentic approach to ministry?

How might we build in regular reflections on what we’ve done?

Who are the people who see and value us, and how might we turn up their volume?

We have not imagined the work that we do and the effects we have on others. We do not have to keep concocted backstories in mind in order to speak and act in character. If we stay attuned to the call of God on our lives, we will be the real deal.

What are touchstones you can build in so that you stay on the trajectory onto which the Spirit has nudged you? Maybe the touchstone is a practice. Maybe it is a photo or a doodle on a napkin. Maybe it is a note someone has written to you. Maybe it’s a smooth stone that you keep in your pocket or a piece of jewelry you wear. Whatever it is, keep it handy to remind you as needed that you are showing up and moving about in authentic ways.

If you liked this post, check out week 1, week 2, week 3, week 4, and week 5 of this series.

Photo by Ava Sol on Unsplash.

Two weeks ago, I started having trouble getting out of bed. Once I did, I felt foggy and sluggish all day. My usual discipline and drive felt blunted. Whenever I had an unscheduled hour, I’d curl up in the guest bed, hoping to regain some of my strength.

What is going on here? I wondered. I didn’t have the usual symptoms of physical illness, like fever or chills or congestion. I was sleeping terribly, but that was nothing new. There hadn’t been any significant changes in my circumstances, and any minor alterations were for the better, like warmer weather and my first Covid shot.

Then it clicked. It was the one-year anniversary of lockdown. 12 months of pivoting in parenting and working. 52 weeks of not going much of anywhere. 365 days with no time to myself. 525,600 minutes of worry about the state of the world and the physical, mental, and spiritual health of the ones I love. Of course I felt like I’d run full-tilt into a cinder block wall.

Once I realized what was happening, I started making changes immediately. I’d gotten lax about my internet use, checking email and Facebook before I got out of bed in the morning up until I went to bed at night, and it was ramping up my anxiety. I began enforcing a boundary of no internet until after I got ready and none after dinner. I also purposefully left my phone in a different room at points between those start and end times so that I would be less tempted to look at it.

I paid more attention to what I was eating. As someone who had gestational diabetes, I am at risk for developing the non-pregnancy kind, and I’ve been sensitive for years to big fluctuations in my blood sugar. I made sure I was getting more protein into my diet, particularly at breakfast and snack times, so that my blood sugar wouldn’t bottom out.

And - arguably most importantly - I acknowledged what was happening in my body and mind and what my limits were. This was (and is) a time to be gentle with myself, not to bulldoze ahead as I typically do.

When so much is out of my control, these were three steps I could take that were in my purview. I am still weary. After all, Covid hasn't gone anywhere. But these changes have helped a lot, and I hope that they have laid the groundwork for ongoing adjustments as the ebb and flow of the virus impact continues. If you have hit the wall, what are some tweaks you can make to clear out the concussive fog?

Photo by Pete Willis on Unsplash.

In last week’s post about impostor syndrome, I focused on how we arrived at our current spheres of influence. This week I invite reflection on what we’re doing with what we’ve been given. Impostors don’t typically have a (positive) effect with much depth or breadth. They can’t, because their energy is too self-focused: how do I continue to impress? Who is about to get close enough to see the real me? How do I use sleight of hand to prevent that? It’s true that we might ask similar questions of ourselves sometimes. But if we retain a heart for service, an outward orientation, we can have a big impact even when self-doubt gnaws at our inner being.

Consider, then:

What gifts do we bring to our settings, including the ways that we show up?

What does our ministry allow our settings to do that they couldn’t otherwise?

Where have we seen God at work through us?

Answering these questions is a spiritual discipline, an act of gratitude and connection.

I encourage you to create some sort of visual of your impact. Maybe it’s a list of all you bring to the settings you inhabit. Maybe it’s a painting or drawing that illustrates the gift of your presence. Maybe it’s a literal box with a bow on top and slips of paper inside that name all that you are and do, placed strategically where you can see it when needed. Pray over your visual, offering gratitude to God for your authentic self and asking for the courage to live it in ways that serve justice and peace.

If you liked this post, check out week 1, week 2, week 3, and week 4 of this series.

Photo by Jess Bailey on Unsplash.

I still tear up every time I read about Facebook friends receiving round 1 or 2 of the Covid vaccine, the photos of their faces reflecting a whole range of emotions: relief, utter joy, regret that people they’ve lost didn’t live to see the vaccine rollout. It feels like we’re collectively turning a corner, especially as vaccine availability ramps up. Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

And yet, this very good news has a shadow side for pastors. Our churches are increasingly made up of the fully-vaccinated, since those who are currently eligible to receive shots are disproportionately represented in most mainline congregations. Those folks are saying, “Woo-hoo! I’m vaccinated. Let’s throw the church doors open.” It’s an understandable impulse after a year of no hugs and unchanging surroundings, but it’s not without issues:

In many states clergy are not yet included in the ranks of those who can sign up for vaccine appointments. Unless your pastor is eligible by virtue of inclusion in a different qualified category, your minister does not yet know when to anticipate inoculation. It can make a clergyperson feel like a hired hand rather than an integral part of the faith community when church members say, “It’s safe for us,” with the implication that that’s the only consideration.

The vaccination of some populations is still an indefinite number of months away. Shots for children, for example, are still more promise than reality. What do we do with that knowledge as a congregation? How do we balance the needs and hopes of those who feel safe coming inside the building with those who do not? What are our deeply-held values as a church, and how are they being lived out (or not) through the decisions we’re making about re-opening? It often falls to your pastor to ask these essential but complex questions.

There’s a lot of pressure associated with Easter. That’s always true, but it’s even more the case this year. Easter is a catharsis after the sometimes painful introspection of Lent. Nobody got their Easter blowout in 2020, and in some ways it feels like Lent 2020 never ended. With vaccines coming online right now, many church folks are clamoring to be in church for that long-delayed sigh of relief and subsequent celebration. That’s not a lot of time for your leadership to put all the necessary precautions in place and communicate those to all who might want to attend.

There are bigger unresolved questions about the shape of ministry, and by extension, the pastor’s job description. Your pastor has learned how to lead worship and Bible study, provide pastoral care, and carry out other key tasks from a distance. And here’s the thing - even when we’ve reached herd immunity, some of those virtual tasks will still be important. People who would never walk through the church doors have found spiritual support through online worship and interaction. Members who are homebound or who don’t drive at night have found new ways to engage with their congregation. This means that your pastor is in danger of having to do everything twice over, when ministers already (both now and in pre-pandemic times) feel stretched too thin.

Pastors are so very, very tired. Your pastor has worked extremely hard this year to care for you, help you stay connected with others, and bring church ministries to you in innovative ways. Beyond the complicated logistics of ministering while distanced, clergy have had to make public health decisions - something no minister signed up for - in a climate that has politicized mask-wearing and staying at home. As a result physical, mental, and emotional fatigue has set in, making all of the above issues that much more daunting.

All of these realities are contributing to high anxiety for clergy right now. Church folks, you can both help your pastor right now and pave the way for your congregation’s effective post-pandemic ministry by asking questions in informal interactions, meetings, and group gatherings:

• What are the values that define us and that we must stay true to as we make decisions?

• Who might get left behind if we do things this way?

• What opportunities (and newly-discovered tools) do we have to be creative in this situation?

• How have our priorities permanently changed in the past twelve months?

• What parts of this decision and its implementation belong to the congregation as a whole?

• What has our pastor taken on during the pandemic that needs to shift back to lay leadership, and how do we aid that smooth transition?

• What are we hearing from the larger community about its hopes and needs at this stage in the pandemic, and how might we contribute in ways that align with our values and gifts?

• What support does our pastor need to be healthy and effective?

There are upsides and downsides to every situation. With curiosity and reflection, though, we can lean into the former in ways that propel us closer to what is possible in partnership with God.

Photo by John Cameron on Unsplash.

It’s pretty easy for me to sit in front of my computer and assure you that you are not a fraud. I know as a fellow impostor syndrome sufferer, though, that it might be a lot harder for you to receive and internalize that word. For the remaining weeks of this blog series, then, I will offer reflection questions so that you can work through the logic for (for those head-oriented folks like me) and root it more deeply in your feelings about (for those of you who are heart-focused folks) yourself.

Impostors are people who can’t show their work. Even as we cultivate awareness of our privilege and acknowledge that we’ve probably had a few lucky breaks along the way (Or were those moments of good fortune divinely orchestrated? God only knows.), let’s think about how we got where we are.

Who are the people who invested in us along the way?

What was it they saw in us that caused them to invest?

How do we know we were called by God?

What work did we put in ourselves?

I’m willing to bet that if you spend some time with these reflection points, you’ll see that you’re not in your current role by accident or deceit. Instead, you’ll have a broader sense of how God has been at work in and around you all along, beckoning you to join in the good work of building God’s reign.

We honor those who have believed in and helped us as well as the image of God within by rightly seeing ourselves. Close your eyes, then, and allow the faces of your supportive mentors and family members, friends and teachers, leaders you’ve known and role models you’ve never even met, to float up in your heart and mind. Remember their instruction and encouragement. Think back to your experience of call, whether it was a sudden realization or a slow revelation. Physically tuck all of these experiences into your pocket or press them to your heart so that you can carry them with you. They are God’s own acts of care, spoken and lived through others.

If you liked this post, check out week 1, week 2, and week 3 of this series.

Photo by Vlad Bagacian on Unsplash.

On my last work-related trip in the Before, I watched the CBS Morning News in my hotel room as I got ready for the day. It was March 10, and Italy had just gone into lockdown. I shuddered at the tv footage of desolate public spaces. With equal parts naivete, willful denial, and internalized American exceptionalism, I thought, that could never happen here. Then I went to my conference, where I sat in a room full of people crowded around tables, shook hands with new acquaintances, and ate my buffet lunch after touching the same serving utensils as everyone else.

The reality of what was unfolding didn’t become real until the next day. The NBA suspended operations until further notice. The SEC men’s basketball tournament sent fans home in the middle of a game as a precursor to canceling the event entirely. These actions grabbed my attention since pro and college sports are big moneymakers with a lot of beneficiaries. Decisions to pause or end seasons would only be made under the most dire circumstances.

The dominos toppled from there. Church gathered for the last time in the building, but hardly anyone was there. The school system made attendance optional the next week before ending in-person instruction for the rest of the year. Stores began closing. Toilet paper became scarce.

All of this unprecedentedness drove me to a depth of uncertainty and fear that I had never known, compounded by the fact that it was taking place everywhere. There was nowhere a person could go within the surly bonds of earth to escape it. How could we stay healthy? Where could we turn for reliable guidance and help? How long would all of this last? What would it mean on the other side? How could I keep from pulling out every last chunk of my hair in the meantime?

I adapted, of course, like we all did. We had to. I mourn all that we have lost along the way: people, trust in leaders and institutions, jobs, small businesses that couldn’t hang on, time with loved ones, planned experiences we had to cancel, milestones we couldn’t celebrate in the same ways, position descriptions that have long since been tossed out the window, relationships with our church members uncomplicated by disagreements about masks and re-opening pressure, and so much more. And, as we all army crawl toward hope in this season of evermore available vaccines, some of the ways I am different now are good.

I’ve written before about reflecting on lessons from the pandemic. I decided recently to approach this from a slightly different angle, that of asset mapping. In this exercise you take all of the gifts you have access to - financial, physical, relational, skill-based, and anything else you can think of - and put each on a separate sticky note. Then you put them all on the wall, take stock, and dream of new ways to put those gifts together in service to your (individual or corporate) mission.

I decided to do this virtually, using Google Keep to visualize gifts I gained or unearthed during the pandemic. (If you haven’t used it before, Google Keep is very intuitive. You can find it in the Google apps tab in your Google-based email account.) I brainstormed all the gifts I could think of, then I color-coded them:

• brown for new physical assets

• yellow for new outlets/platforms

• blue for new teaching/leading opportunities

• green for new products I’ve created or credentials I’ve earned

• pink for new discoveries about myself

• purple for new skills

Here’s what this looked like:

If you want to do this exercise for yourself, your leadership team, or your church, you can start with specific gifts or with categories that prompt thinking about particular assets. Create any buckets you’d like, and make sure you think broadly about intangibles. Note that you don’t have to come up with a lot of post-its or pins for the reflection to be fruitful.

Now that I have my virtual sticky notes, I can easily refer to them when I get discouraged, and I can group them to think about what my ministry looks like in ways that take into account what this year has wrought. This asset mapping is a means of honoring the experience of this year and to using it to reimagine as necessary, even as I do the parallel process of muddling through grief.

On this one year anniversary of my initial (and slow on the uptake) understanding of what this past year would look like, I celebrate with you all the resilience you have tapped and survival skills you have developed. I can’t wait to see how you will put these gifts to faithful, ongoing use in the After(ish).

Impostor syndrome is all about imprisonment by expectations, whether they are our own or someone else’s, whether they are spoken aloud or unstated. We’re afraid that we’re not going to stack up to what we “should” be. (“Should” is a more toxic word than any four-letter curse.) Then we wish away who we are in an ill-fated attempt to put on a public persona that doesn’t fit, like when I wore a navy pantsuit to an interview for a job in college. I didn’t initially get the job, and part of the reason was that stupid suit with the ginormous shoulder pads. My interviewer, who offered me the position after the first choice candidate turned it down, later let me know that the suit made my 4’10” self look like a little girl playing dress up. It hid my superpower, which was an unassuming look that belied my toughness in conflicted situations.

Do you know who else didn’t live up to expectations? [Insert the standard, but correct, Sunday School answer here.] Yup. Jesus was not what the people anticipated a Messiah to look or act like. He was not mighty in a military sense. He did not use force to overthrow unjust institutions once and for all. He did not sort people easily into those who do and don’t follow the rules, into the clean and unclean. He didn’t bluster. He didn’t usher in God’s full reign shortly.

Sure, the distance between expectation and reality was what got Jesus in trouble. (It can be dangerous for us too, because we’ll at times be pushing against long-held yearnings or deep-seated biases.) It was also what made him a savior and the harbinger of God’s realm, characterized by grace and peace. The Incarnation was intended to be a reflection of God and God’s dream, not the people’s expectations.

Not trying to be something we’re not and instead moving about our work and lives authentically is an act of following Christ, then. It is courage embodied, as it makes others face their assumptions and biases, which many will fight hard to maintain. It encourages others to be faithful to their unique expressions of God’s image within.

If you could look squarely in Jesus’ face, then, what would he say to you? What would he lift up and affirm in you? How would he gently challenge you? Imagine yourself in conversation with this God-in-flesh who knows how hard it is to shake off the shackles of unhelpful, status-quo-protecting expectations. Then turn, in your mind or in reality, toward someone you’d like to encourage to be more fully themselves. What would you say to that person? Allow those words to volley back as wisdom and compassion for yourself.

If you like this post, check out week 1 and week 2 of this series.

Photo by Will Myers on Unsplash.

The tightening of the gut. A higher-pitched laugh. Strain in the lower back. Restless sleep. An inauthentic display of extroversion. Extreme overfunctioning. Increased sweat production.

These are my internal and external impostor syndrome tells. (That last one is particularly lovely.) What are yours?

The symptoms that accompany impostor syndrome seem harmless enough. But are they? The physical symptoms indicate stresses on the body that can wreak havoc if they are persistent enough. The emotional, spiritual, and vocational effects might be even more detrimental, though. Impostor syndrome makes us undervalue our gifts and ministries. (What do I know anyway?) It urges us to lead in ways that are not authentic to us (How can I seem more authoritative?), and as a result we don’t leverage our God-given strengths as faithfully as we could. It causes us to doubt our decisions and avoid calculated risks instead of using them as ongoing discernment. (What if I mess up and people realize I don’t deserve their trust in my leadership?) And the comparison that impostor syndrome is often rooted in can lead to such discouragement (Why is everyone doing so much more or better than me?) that we consider leaving the ministry altogether.

Well, here’s the thing about being wonderfully made. We’re supposed to learn from others but not copy them. Our backgrounds, challenges, epiphanies, relationships, and more have been woven together in such a way that we speak and act in ways that aren’t exactly like anyone else, and God uses that for good.

Right now, you being you is changing the face of pastoral ministry, is altering the perception of what a clergyperson looks like. Ministers don’t have to inhabit outsized pulpits at big steeple churches to be effective, thanks be to God! We don’t have to have 20 years of experience under their belts. We don’t have to be male, or white, or straight. We simply have to listen for the nudging and wait on the equipping of the Holy Spirit to be pastors who work for the full arrival of God’s reign. If we do that, we’ll be surprised and delighted by what can be done with what we’ve been given.

This week, spend some time in a breath prayer. Breathe in God’s care for you. Breathe out your care for others, expressed in your own way. Do this for at least a minute.

If you like this post, check out week 1 of this series.

Photo by Noah Näf on Unsplash.

I come face-to-face with self-doubt on a weekly basis. More often, it’s daily. (Ok, ok, multiple times per day.) Why should churches or other ministers think I can help them? Who am I to think I can speak to [insert complex issue here]? What do people think when they look at my rate sheet?

Impostor syndrome is feeling like a fraud, moments away from being exposed, despite having a verifiable track record. When you are your own employer, it’s easy for impostor syndrome to make itself at home in your psyche. After all, your ability to work in your field depends on constantly putting yourself out there. And in my case as a coach, I am not so much offering a thing to purchase as I am myself: my presence, experience, and gifts. That feels very tender and risky if I think too much about it.

Certainly impostor syndrome is not limited to those who run their own businesses. I felt it in congregational ministry as well. Who am I to speak on God’s behalf? What if I hear wrong? Does anything I say or do matter, or am I yelling into the void? I know from talking with coachees that many pastors wrestle with these questions and many more, despite feeling confident that they have been called to ministry and are continually being equipped by God.*

Humility is a good thing. It helps us stay in our own lanes, and it reminds us that we need God and those around us. But when humility mutates into something corrosive, it is no longer a gift of the Spirit. It becomes an obstacle to right relationship with God and God’s beloved.

That’s why I’ll be spending Lent - the season when we focus most intently on removing all that comes between us and God - on impostor syndrome. How does it manifest, and what kind of spiritual reflection can we engage in to step back from self-doubt into a humility rooted in being made in God’s image?

I invite you to join me.

*Some of these struggles are prompted by internalized structural inequities and the prejudices of others. Even so, we must learn how to maneuver through them as we seek to dismantle them.

Photo by Kyle Head on Unsplash.

The healthiest pastors - the healthiest people - I know either are currently in or have been in counseling, or they have a plan for whom they would call if they experienced a mental health crisis.

To me, health - mental or otherwise - is not indicated by a lack of vulnerability. Instead, health begins with an awareness of and willingness to engage vulnerability.

Looking health issues squarely in the face is easier said than done, of course. There’s a lot of fear around admitting that one is not well, especially when we’re talking about mental well-being. What will this acknowledgment and treatment of vulnerability mean for my quality of life? My work? My relationships? Others’ opinions of me?

These last two questions in particular can create a fog of shame through which it is hard to see the path forward and to reach out to those who could be grounding companions - even those closest to us. That’s why Rev. Dr. Sarah Griffith Lund’s new book Blessed Union: Breaking the Silence About Mental Illness and Marriage is so important. In it she shares stories about marriages impacted by mental health struggles and the ways those couples dealt with them. She gives short, easy-to-understand definitions of the diagnoses included in the anecdotes. She notes available resources. And, most noteworthy, she bookends each chapter with verses from and interpretations of 1 Corinthians 13 at the beginning and a plain-spoken prayer that acknowledges God’s love and asks for God’s help at the end.

Since I am a clergyperson, a clergy spouse, and a clergy coach, however, the aspects of the book that most grabbed me were the stories about mental illness in a pastor or a pastor’s family, including the author’s own. It is time for the church to recognize that ministers are human, that we might have treatable mental illness in ourselves or in our families, that church support (or lack of) can have a big impact on leaders’ wellness, and that the vulnerability of mental illness can - if managed well - can open up important discussions and ministries in the faith setting around mental health.

These conversations are all the more crucial right now, as study after study shows that navigating the pandemic has adversely affected everyone’s mental well-being. Not only that, some research is indicating that having Covid-19 can cause psychosis.

I encourage you to pick up a copy of Blessed Union and to work through the reflection questions and journal pages that allow you to make the content personal. Let’s make it ok to talk at church about mental health, a subject that affects us and so many of our loved ones and people in our care.

[Note: interim pastors, settled pastors planning to transition out, and judicatory leaders, please share this post with your churches.]

You’ve been selected to serve on your church’s search team for a new pastor. This is an exciting task! You will be part of a process that will deeply impact your congregation’s ministry for years to come. Pastor searches are daunting for that very same reason, along with the time commitment required to do the search work well. If you are feeling a swirl of emotions about being named to the pastor search team, that is completely normal.

After your initial reactions, your next concerns might be about how to carry out the work of the search. Most members of pastor search teams have never served in this capacity before and have no background in hiring (or in the case of a pastor, calling). You might not even be totally sure what a clergyperson’s day-to-day schedule looks like.

That’s ok. A congregation’s laypeople are still in the best position to call a great-fit pastoral candidate, because you know your church better than anyone. You just need the search framework and tools to carry out your task faithfully.

In the new online course version of Searching for the Called, you will find what you need to set up your search process and ground it in God, tamp down your own (and the congregation’s) anxiety, engage well with pastoral candidates, discern which candidate with which you can envision fruitful ministry, and help your new minister get off to a fast start. The course breaks the pastor search into bite-sized chunks to eliminate overwhelm and utilizes videos, tools, and assessments to move you along the search timeline. There are also sections dedicated to helping your search team think through common questions that pop up during pastor searches, including anytime questions as well as pandemic-specific issues.

You can purchase two years of unlimited access for your entire search team for $250. (For reading this blog post, I’m happy to offer your team 10% off! Enter the code BLOG10OFF at checkout.) Simply have one member of your search team enroll in the course, and then I will contact the enrollee with login information for fellow search team members. You will also have the capability to contact me through the course with brief questions about your search.

The pastor search can be formational for your search team members, church, and pastoral candidates. Let Searching for the Called assist you in claiming that opportunity.

Judicatory and denominational leaders, I invite you to use my contact form to email me for a free preview version that will allow you to see all course content so that you can recommend it to your churches with confidence.