The first Sunday
Let me say for the record that I love the craft and the discipline of preaching. It’s such an esoteric art. There are careful guidelines that thoughtful preachers follow, even if no one else in the congregation knows what those rules are. Individual style and creativity are good things, but they are carefully balanced by tradition and good scholarship with the text. There is a kind of weekly preaching rhythm that you slip into, often after many years of searching and trying. I think it takes a good decade to settle into this strange calling. My wife would say that around 5 pm on Saturday afternoon I would start withdrawing emotionally. I would grow more quiet and want to go home if we were out, as I began making my own introverted and intensely personal preparations for Sunday.
This Foy Davis story was my attempt to put my own sermon process into words.
Several people have asked me how it felt not preaching the first Sunday after I left Covenant. I took to it like a duck to water. Apparently - and this was a surprise to me - most people do not have sermons to deliver each week. Most people do not go to church before dawn and spend hours getting ready for the congregation to arrive before leading worship and delivering a message to the faithful.
Sunday morning was, for me, like taking off my shoes and remembering that human feet were designed for walking. Really, we don’t need shoes. Barefoot works very well. Likewise, the body and the soul remember that we were not designed for preaching. It’s an artificial affectation, like flying in airplanes or scuba diving. It’s fine, maybe even desirable for a season, but NOT preaching is our natural state of being.
Saturday was a double blessing. Lillian and Shelby were at a Covenant youth retreat for the weekend. Jeanene and I were alone AND I had no sermon looming the next day. We puttered around the house. I went to the Pick-n-Pull junkyard and got a spare part for our aging minivan. Later we visited friends who have restored a home near downtown. I sipped a beer and sat on their porch chatting as evening approached. Juan said, “You seem more relaxed than usual. I can tell a difference. Last time I saw you, you were kind of…uptight or something.”
“Yep,” I said, draining the last of the beer. “Saturday nights were always hard. I didn’t really want to talk to anyone. Always looking to get away and get home. Not today. I don’t have to do anything. I could sit on this porch all night if I wanted to.”
What a great Saturday this was. We were driving home when something else hit me. Tomorrow was Sunday, and I could do the same thing all over again if I wanted. It seemed wildly extravagant to me - a weekend with two days in it. Wow, regular people live like freakin kings!
I wasn’t sure what I was going to do the first Sunday morning after Covenant. In the end, we stayed home. I slept until almost 9:00. We ate lunch and went to a fancy shop to buy some fancy tea, which we both love but feel rather guilty about spending money on. We wandered downtown to look at some historic homes that are facing possible demolition. We moved slowly. We were in no hurry. Later that night I brewed our new tea and we sipped some together.
Our weekend might not sound like much to you, but it was crazy wild fun to me. So much time. So little worry. So relaxed. So peaceful.
A body could get used to this.
rlp
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Yup, that's how I felt when I
Submitted by Anonymous on Mon, 02/15/2010 - 18:13.Yup, that's how I felt when I went on sabbatical from church--and I wasn't even a pastor or anything, just an active (overactive? hyperactive?) member for 40 years (give or take). To actually sleep in on Sunday morning, to have TWO FULL DAYS on the weekend, was an amazing feeling.
I finally appreciated why it was so hard for some folks to come to church regularly. It's a tough call to give up those hours, once you've experienced them. I've started back in to going to church regularly after a few years off, and every Sunday it's an active choice, rather than a habit. A bit like deciding to eat your vegetables or forgo a cookie.
--Textjunkie
Oh, RLP. This essay is
Submitted by Anonymous on Mon, 02/15/2010 - 19:20.Oh, RLP. This essay is exquisite solace for anyone considering making their own huge leap of faith. Your relief and joy at rediscovering the simplicity and nourishment of life is so palpable, it makes me want to cry.
You enjoy the hell out of your tea. You earned it.
Yep, it IS good, no?
Submitted by Anonymous on Mon, 02/15/2010 - 22:24.I'm four weeks ahead of you and I can say this... Sunday mornings only get better!
RPS
Speaking from this side of the pulpit...
Submitted by Anonymous on Tue, 02/16/2010 - 07:33....I find Sunday mornings the most relaxed, peaceful time of the week! I can't imagine sleeping in and missing the Liturgy by choice as I would be missing the refreshment I need to go on and run the race for another week.
Now I understand your situation as a pastor new to retirement is different than my view from the pew. Hopefully you'll get comfortable on this side of the pulpit quickly so you too can also "find rest for your soul".
Just curious...
Submitted by Anonymous on Tue, 02/16/2010 - 09:36.Did you have Dr. Tatum @ Southwestern? He turns 90 in July...and we're collecting notes from his students/friends...
M
No, didn't have him.
Submitted by rlp on Tue, 02/16/2010 - 15:12.No, didn't have him.
On October 15, 2008 You Wrote
Submitted by DSpitko (not verified) on Tue, 02/16/2010 - 10:15.RLP,
In the comment section to the Foy story you wrote, "How long can an honest person do that and survive emotionally? Foy does not know at this point in his life, of course. He perhaps thinks he will be able to do this forever. We readers know the future, which is an odd thing. So we know he will not be able to do it for much longer." And now we know that you also could not do it for much longer. Fascinating.
Dave
True and...
Submitted by Anonymous on Tue, 02/16/2010 - 10:48.Wow did I miss it when I didn't choose the change. My Sundays felt empty, yours feel full. And that is such a great thing. Funny about Saturdays, though. I withdraw too. Get downright grumpy. It's like Sunday morning is this magnet and the closer I get to it, the stronger it pulls me away from MY life and toward the corporate life of the church. My family loses me for a while, I belong to the church then...
Then there is re-entry on Sunday afternoon. It used to drive me crazy when my partner asked, "So, how'd it go?" There's no answer to that, especially in that weird "coming back to earth" time. I mean, what do I say? For years my answer was the same, "It seemed to mean something to people." It wasn't until days--sometimes weeks--later that I could reflect on a particular Sunday with anything like clarity.
Anyway, I love this "window" into your process of coming home to yourself. I suspect there will be a lot more small moments of joy and perhaps a few struggles with loss along the way. Some people may think you've given up a calling--to me, it seems like you are being given a new calling. One that comes with its own grace.
<3 Sparks
another penny for the pond
Submitted by Anonymous on Tue, 02/16/2010 - 12:44.preaching is very much a labor of love, but even the most loving can need to be recharged as well as pouring forth. I wish you many such small rediscoveries and recharging of your batteries, and a gradual reconnection with your faith as you find your new path.
in this, as in much else, an inspiring walk.
reconnection?
Submitted by Anonymous on Wed, 02/17/2010 - 13:41.I don't see how RLP ever disconnected from his faith. Did I miss something?
didn't mean to imply anything
Submitted by Anonymous on Tue, 02/23/2010 - 16:07.one's faith and one's practice are often intermingled, so while there hasn't been a "disconnect" per se, there has been an end to one path and the start of a new (still vague) one. I guess that going back to church on the pew side is going to be very different, and thus feel like a "reconnection" too. one recovers from burn-out, one reconnects with the familiar in a new way, blah blah.
acm