Gentle Reader,
It was 2019 the last time I attended District Assembly in person. (In the Church of the Nazarene, congregations are organized into districts and we gather together once a year to conduct necessary business – elect people to committees, ordain new elders, etc). Between then and now I participated from a distance, via Zoom. At first everyone had to do so because of the pandemic. I continued on for another two cycles because of my heavy seminary workload. So this year felt almost like a brand new experience.
And it was, in many ways. I’m not part of the same congregation I was then. I’ll be 40 soon. I’m not “doing” ministry in the same way or in the same environment. I’ve been through a lot these last five years. Perhaps it’s better to say that I am a new person.
I was asked to give a little testimony about my time in seminary to the assembly, and so was privileged to share just a bit of my journey toward newness:
I told God “no” for years. Not me. I’m not the outgoing type. I don’t like public speaking. I take medication every night to help treat a couple anxiety disorders.
I can’t be a pastor.
During the ordination service in 2019 – right here in this place – the Holy Spirit asked, in that gentle yet confrontational way the Spirit does, “Well, are you going to obey?” With great fear, I finally surrendered. I entered Nazarene Theological Seminary as a Master of Divinity student just a few months later, and began both the journey toward ordination and toward discovery of who God made me to be.
I am forever indebted to the professors and the classmates who encouraged, challenged, and taught me over the course of four years. Without them, I would not be here in this capacity today. There were many times that I wanted to give up. Graduate school is hard work. But those professors and classmates, they pointed me back to Christ again and again. There I found the strength to continue on. They showed me how God could use both my intelligence and my affection for God’s glory and purpose. I learned how to give all of myself to the Lord of All.
I am grateful that the Church of the Nazarene values education. I am grateful for the way my church family at Spokane Valley, where I am so privileged to serve as the discipleship pastor, who celebrated with me as I crossed the graduation finish line. I commend the faculty, staff, current students, and generations of alumni of Nazarene Theological Seminary for continually declaring “Christ is Lord” through their preaching, teaching, and other works. The education I received will remain with and shape me forever. By the grace of God during my time at NTS, I discovered that I am a preacher. I am a pastor. And I know that our denomination is stronger, richer, because of our seminary.
I know for sure that I am stronger, richer, because of our seminary. The challenges I faced, I would not have been able to face without the support of classmates-turned-battle-tested-friends and professors. Between the shared trauma of a global pandemic and the personal ache of leaving a congregation I’d been part of for so long on top of the rigor of the coursework – I came close to crumbling more than once. I truly believe that God wrapped me in grace through the encouragement of God’s people in that space that so artfully blends academia and worship.
I’m not a big fan of change. I thrive on routine and structure. But as I consider who I was then and who I am now, I am deeply thankful for the ways I’ve changed. For how God has been faithful to shape me into the person God wants me to be. Five years ago, I was still trying to figure out where I fit, where I belonged. Some days, I still wonder. But there’s not a desperation now. I’m not driven to people-please, because, let’s face facts, someone is always going to be annoyed. I’m not a jar of Nutella, so I can’t make everyone happy. That’s okay. It’s not my job to do so.
I don’t want to be part of “in” crowds. And there shouldn’t be “in” crowds in the Church anyway. How absolutely ridiculous that is. What arrogance. Everyone belongs. Sure, there will be people with whom you naturally resonate more than others, but cliques aren’t of Jesus.
I don’t care if anyone thinks I’m “cool.” Really, truly – what does that matter? Some of the most loving, most Jesus-type people I interacted with during the assembly aren’t “cool.” They’re themselves, made more wholly themselves by their relationship with God. And my word do we need to become a whole lot better at celebrating that.
I want to be a person who loves freely, in the holy way that Jesus does. Who makes more room at the table. Who’s not worried about guilt-by-association. Some of this I’m sure has to do with the fact that my birthday’s not too far away, and I understand that when you reach midlife you just let go of a lot of things. But I’m also so sure that much of this has to do with the last five years. Every bump, every turn, every conflict, every tear. God has used, and is using, each pin-prick of pain to somehow, in the mysterious way of God, make me both stronger and softer. Praise God for that.
I wonder today what you might see if you look back to 2019.
GRACE AND PEACE ALONG THE WAY,
MARIE
Image Courtesy of Priscilla Du Preez