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 Guiding Us Through ChangeGod does not abandon us when the future seems uncertain.
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I remember the first time I sensed the changing of seasons in my ministry. Standing in the doorway of my office, I watched the senior pastor listen to a new staff member—the way he used to listen to me. Things had changed around me and, for whatever reason, I hadn't changed with them. My gut wrenched. Suddenly, I realized I was outside of what used to be my territory. Because churches are living, breathing organisms, they change as they grow. They morph from season to season, dropping leaves and setting new buds. This can bring unexpected opportunities. It can also close familiar doors. In the church, success and longevity hinge on knowing whether to hold on or let go, when to build a cocoon and when to break out of one. Mandatory skills include doing a job well, but also periodically finding new ways to do the job as the rules change. An associate may lead several different specialized ministries during his or her career, even in a single church. My penchant is for start-ups. I love the fresh paint feel of a new ministry. The tricky part is that starting a ministry requires a different set of skills from operating that ministry long term. Whether I outgrow a position or it outgrows me, change is inevitable. It does no good to yell at the trees; the seasons won't change back. So, I remind myself that everything is for a time. Only God knows when the first leaf will turn. Still, I am seldom ready for that moment when I must decide between the rake and the "For Sale" sign. Meanie, Meanie, Fickle ParsonSitting at my desk, I stared at the wall. It seemed logical that if I stared long enough, the handwriting would appear, and I would know exactly what to do. I understood the reality: a new pastor had arrived with his choice for associate minister, one whose agenda included a lot of what had been my job. I felt unwanted, outdated, and out of the loop. My opinion didn't carry the weight it once did. Yet, I couldn't still the voice telling me that if I was worth my salt, the new leadership would value my presence. I could simply speak louder; maybe then they would hear me. Or I could clam up; my silence would speak for me. It was obvious that more change was coming, and I didn't know how to handle it. All I knew was that it hurt. Why, I wondered, is it so painful? One reason is that, as ministers, what we do is much of who we are. We interpret our vocation in terms of "call." We know God's call on our lives is broader than the job description in a personnel file, but that distinction gets lost. Somewhere along the way, the job takes on more importance than the call. Success as a professional—and faithfulness as a disciple—seem to be defined by job performance. Another reason is the human element in change. The shifting seasons in church life often appears man-made. Remembering that God still controls the weather is an effort that stretches the best of us. Change often feels like failure, particularly if it seems to lessen our influence. |             |
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