INSIDE WORK, NO HEAVY LIFTING

A sermon by Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen
First Religious Society in Carlisle
September 7, 2003

READING: 2 Timothy 2: 20-25

I’ve been a little surprised this past week about how anxious I’ve been feeling about the approach of this moment. Not that this is really my very first Sunday in this pulpit, I’ve preached here before, a couple of times; but it is my very first REAL Sunday as your called and settled parish minister, and that somehow makes it special, which in turn makes me anxious -- in both the good and the unpleasant sense of that word. Which is why I am wearing all of my “special" clothes....

Last Spring, when I preached here as a candidate, I mentioned the advice that my mentor, Rhys Williams, had given me when I was his student intern twenty-five years ago, about not trying to tell folks everything I knew on the first Sunday, because they just might expect me to do it again EVERY Sunday; and I’ve been thinking about that advice quite a bit as this Sunday has approached, not just because it is still good advice twenty-five years later, but also because (as some of you already know) Rhys passed away this past July 20th from pancreatic cancer. So he’s been on my mind a lot as I’ve been reflecting about all the other things he taught me about being a good minister, and beginning a new ministry.

Yesterday afternoon I attended the memorial service held for Rhys at the First and Second Church in Boston, the congregation that he served faithfully for 40 years. And it was amazing to me, as I listened to the eulogists, many of whom had also been Rhys’s students and proteges, how similar all of our experiences were, and likewise how much of Rhys’s style and philosophy I have incorporated into my own ministry, often without my even being consciously aware of how they got there. Rhys was very much what I like to think of as a “Hands on/Hands off” kind of mentor. He was always there to listen, and to provide encouragement; but he never tried to tell you what to do or how to do it, and whenever you came to him uncertain of yourself or the quality of your own work, his response would inevitably be “I’m sure it will be fine.” Not that it always was, mind you, but he gave you the freedom to learn from your mistakes without necessarily suffering the consequences of failure. His leadership style was to find the best people possible and to give them the room to discover and do their best; and he was particularly adroit at mentoring younger seminarians such as myself, who may have possessed plenty of ability and “potential” but who were perhaps not quite as sure of themselves as Rhys was of them.

He was also without question the kindest and most generous person I have ever met, and on this point everyone who knew him well would agree. “Caring is Sharing; Living is Giving” -- I can’t tell you how many times I heard him say those words. He loved to work behind the scenes; always sharing the credit when things went well, never pointing the finger when things went badly, and somehow he always seemed to know the inside dish, what was REALLY going on, before anyone else did. And when you spoke with him, he had a way of making you feel like you were the most important person in his life. And the funny thing was, at that moment, you were. His theology was one of “Pragmatic Optimism;” -- he always seemed to see the best in any person or situation, and that alone inspired people to live up to his high opinion of them.

He also believed in brevity; yesterday his seminary roommate and lifelong friend David Pohl characterized Rhys’s philosophy as: “Stand up to be seen, speak out to be heard, sit down to be appreciated.” And he loved to tell funny stories to illustrate points in his sermons, sometimes with only the most random and tenuous connection to his topic. One of his favorites, which he told at my installation in Midland Texas, was about “a retired minister who decided to fulfill one of his great dreams -- to climb Pike’s Peak in Colorado. He had almost reached the summit when he slipped and fell 30 feet. There he grasped at a branch and found himself dangling over a 3,000-foot precipice. He held on with all his strength, struggling to gain a firm footing. But it was to no avail. Soon he became exhausted. He thought of his religious faith as he was almost giving up hope. Turning his face skyward, he called out ‘Is there anyone up there?’ A voice boomed back, ‘Yes.’ The minister asked ‘Who is it?’ The reply came back ‘I am God.’ ‘Will you help me?’ ‘Of course.’ ‘What must I do?’ ‘First, let go of the branch.’ There was a very long pause, and then the minister called out again, ‘Is there anyone else up there?’ “ The point, of course, was that we should never give up hope. But we should also always be realistic about our options. And this was Rhys, both in life and in death.

In any event, Rhys taught me an awful lot of things about both life and the ministry, and he tried to teach me a lot more than I was really able to understand or appreciate at the time; things which, for some inexplicable reason, I simply had to learn for myself, typically the hard way, and only much later became capable of seeing the wisdom of what he’d been trying to tell me all along. And, of course, like all great mentors, he taught me as much by example as he did by precept, and those lessons, over time, have turned out to be the most subtle, and the most valuable, of all. And I know (because he told me) that he was delighted that you had invited me to settle here in Carlisle, and equally delighted that I accepted your invitation. Because, as you might have already inferred, he had a very high opinion of this congregation and its potential, and he felt that we might do well together. And I, for one, am not inclined to disappoint him.

I wanted also to say just a few words about the title of this sermon, which I did NOT pick up from Rhys, but actually heard for the first time from one of THIS congregation’s former student interns, my Divinity School classmate Eric Heller, who did his field education here in Carlisle at about the same time that I was an intern at First and Second. Eric was a few years older than me; he was a military veteran, who’d served in Southeast Asia -- and when people asked him why he had decided to study for the ministry he would respond by saying “It’s inside work, with no heavy lifting.” And gosh I thought that was clever! Of course, now that I’ve stood at my share of gravesides (occasionally in the pouring rain), I’ve discovered just how weighty a handful of dirt can be. And I’ve also officiated at my share of garden weddings (generally a much more pleasant occasion for working outdoors), and I’ve lifted the (literally) TONS of boxes of books I’ve accumulated over my years in this profession more times than I care to count. So on that level, at least, Eric was wrong; ministers don’t always work inside, and there is plenty of heavy lifting.

Yet even with those caveats, at first glance this still looks like a pretty cushy occupation. An hour on Sunday morning, plus an occasional evening meeting or two, make a few phone calls, answer a few e-mails, now and again maybe a hospital visit or a counseling session, a little administrative paperwork just to tie it all together...it’s really not that much, when you compare it to a REAL job. Of course, there’s always the “inside” work to consider: the inner, spiritual work we clergy do on ourselves, to keep ourselves fit to BE professional religious leaders. Not to mention the “heavy lifting,” the burdens that other people share with us, and which we help them to bear as best we can. So maybe there really is a little bit more to this job than meets the eye. It’s kinda hard for me to say, since I’ve never really done anything else -- managed a bookstore for a few years, a little restaurant work when I was young, some college teaching as a graduate student (but what kind of work is that?). The only real difference I see between those jobs and the professional ministry is that even on days when I don’t “do” much ministry, I never stop “being” a minister. But perhaps that, in many ways, is what makes all the difference in the world.

Historically of course, Ministry (along with Law and Medicine) has always been understood to be one of the three “learned professions,” which basically meant that in order to “practice” one needed to have attended college and mastered the ancient languages. But nowadays, with so many people attending college, and so many occupations assuming the mantle of “professionalism,” these categories, and boundaries, are not always so clear. For example, is the primary responsibility of a “professional” minister to the people they serve, or to the standards of their profession? The easy answer to this question is obviously "Both." But try finding that perfect balance in real life. It's a common problem in all professions. Standards of professional practice often conflict with the desires of the clients. If you deviate from the standards, you are considered unethical; but if you don't satisfy the client, you don't get paid. I am reminded of something John D. Rockefeller supposedly once said to his attorney: "I don't pay you to tell me what I can and cannot do. I pay you to tell me HOW to do what I WANT to do!" (and presumably stay out of jail while doing it).

Yet even "zealous advocates" like attorneys have limitations on what they can and cannot do in order to represent their clients. True professionals are supposedly disinterested "experts" who apply their specialized knowledge, their "expertise," for the benefit of their clients according to the recognized standards of the profession. And they maintain their integrity by maintaining a monopoly, a professional cartel which polices those standards, drives out renegades, and squashes competition. If you want the job done “professionally,” you have to do it their way.

Yet this notion of "professionalism" is, in many ways, antithetical to both the idea and the IDEAL of ministry. The whole idea of ministry is that you give knowledge away, you try to spread it around as widely as possible. Moreover, in its broadest sense, ministry is something churches do as a group, and the minister is basically someone who hangs around to try to make certain that things go smoothly. Now don't misunderstand me: I believe very strongly in the standards of professional ministry. I know that ministers spend a lot of time in school in order to become “credentialed,” and that we do (or should) possess a specialized expertise that can help make our churches more effective, and enhance the lives of all who participate them. But I also recognize that ministers are not individuals who are set apart from the group by virtue of their profession, but rather must share and participate in the common life of the group in order to be most effective in their professional role. It's built right into the nature of the job, in which the leader must also be the servant of all. When authority derives from the power of love (rather than the assertion of the love of power) is ONLY the generosity of those with whom we work that allows us to make a living at this at all, and it is only with their help and cooperation that we are able to effectively meet our professional responsibilities.

When you think of Ministry as a Vocation, a “Calling,” rather than a “profession,” you suddenly see it from a very different perspective. It becomes something you do because you love it; one of those dream jobs that you can’t believe people are actually willing to give you a paycheck to keep doing. Because ministry truly is an occupation that offers a very nice combination of working with ideas and working with people, which provides ample opportunities for self-development, which gives you a lot of control over your time (although never quite enough time to go around!), and which above all else, honestly does offer a wonderful chance to make a difference in the world because of what you do, to have a real impact both on the lives of people, and on the society in which they live.

And this is why I am so delighted, and grateful, that you have called me to settle here in Carlisle as your new parish minister. By extending this invitation to me, you have done something much more complicated and involved than merely hiring a new professional employee to undertake the “usual and customary duties” of an ordained clergyperson. In a very real sense, we are entering into a partnership, in which I will do my best to utilize my unique skills and knowledge, education and professional "expertise," in order to help you cultivate your own special gifts for service, to teach and guide and lead you by example as we work together to create a new and dynamic ministry for this church here in the 21st century. Your shared vision of this church’s compelling mission, combined with your own spirit of generosity and cooperation, are the essential ingredients which will enable me to be as successful in my ministry here as your previous ministers have been. Because my ministry really is your ministry as well, and it will never be truly effective without your active participation and support.

I recently heard it suggested that one reason that our society no longer seems to look to the ministry for leadership the way it used to is because people no longer really believe in God. Yet is seems to me that if this is true, then we need wise and insightful professional ministers now more than ever. Disasters which we have traditionally attributed to the Divine — Famine, War, Pestilence and Death — we are now fully capable of bringing on ourselves. We NEED an awareness of the things we hold sacred in order to save us from our own inhumanity. This is the real mission of the modern church and its ministry: to help humanity to see a better way, and to inspire one another to act generously to bring it about, not only for ourselves, but for all with whom we share this planet. I look forward to sharing this important responsibility here in Carlisle with all of you.

Let us begin today.