Pulpit Fiction

I have now preached my first sermon.

Years down the line, I may regret my references to "Star Wars" and "Late Night with Conan O'Brien," but I have preached my first sermon.

The Gospel lesson was Luke 4:1-13. It's the story of Jesus' temptation by the devil. I signed up to preach for this Sunday since I studied that text in my Synoptic Gospel course on Luke last semester. But that advanced preparation didn't keep me from getting more than a little nervous about preaching my first sermon. (Technically, it's my second, since I preached at my home church when I was 16 about my thankfulness for not dying due to a nut allergy the year prior — but there wasn't a lot of heavy theological insight that went into that one.) Driving up expectations even higher were my dad's preaching ability and the fact that today's text, a really fantastic one, is one of my favorites.

I got even more nervous a couple weeks ago after I learned in my introductory preaching course, Telling the Story, that ELCA congregations in a survey considered various elements of preaching to be among the top three most important parts of their worship services. I realized how important a good sermon is to parishioners, and with that, I didn't want to dread the memory of a first-sermon disaster for the rest of my life. So I thought hard over not only what was most important about the Gospel text but also what sort of ideas would keep people's attention. I for one, will admit to big-time daydreaming even during a good sermon.

The venue today was my Contextual Leadership site, Galilee Lutheran Church in Roseville, MN. All in all, I think things came out OK. I probably stretched for more eye contact than what my attempts at memorization allowed — I completely lost my place on my script twice. (And, even after I had cleared the hurdle of the sermon itself, I spoke the wrong blessing at the end of the service, which created some confusion). I think I may have freaked some people out a little bit with my reference to an old "Late Night" bit in which Conan, the host, would be tempted by a devil on one shoulder and would end up with a dimwitted bear on his other shoulder instead of an angel. The bear would give advice only suitable for bears, such as "When rummaging through a campsite, do not eat beef jerky. Spicy, dried meat may look yummy, but it can give Bear an upset tummy," a quote that I actually repeated in the original style of the cartoonish bear. (I connected that to humans' usual inability to overcome temptation on their own, without seeking God). I suppose that was risky. But people seemed to respond well to the "Star Wars" analogy, at least — one parishioner seemed excited afterward about how the sermon took him "to outer space and back."

The kindness from people at Galilee really helped me jump this hurdle. They really even made the sermon fun and energized me with their smiles, laughter and what often seemed to be genuine attention. My pastor and one parishioner were kind enough to offer some critique afterward. It was really exciting that about 40 people showed up for church, even amid the weekend-long winter storm warning. There was even a healthy bunch of wide-eyed kids for the children's sermon.

I was starting to wonder yesterday whether the persistent snow was going to force the service's cancellation, echoing back to a time several years ago when an ice storm led my home church to cancel a meeting at which I was supposed to present a video documentary for the building campaign — lucky for me, since I was running behind on the project due to no small amount of procrastinating. What was even weirder was that that ice storm came in April, prompting my dad to ask God why he would let me off the hook. But with this morning's bearable weather, it seemed that God wanted me to preach today, and I'm mighty glad things turned out the way they did. (What's really odd, as a side note, is that my dad ended up canceling church in Green Bay today due to weather there. It's the first time he's ever canceled church. With me preaching and him not preaching, it seemed like a kind of torch-passing.)

My first sermon was really a great experience and one I definitely won't mind looking back on. It helped that my wife, Tracy, was on hand, silently cheering me on the whole time. She also took me out to Fuddruckers for lunch afterward, which was a great way to celebrate. I think I got some good work done for God, and that's the most important thing. I'm even more sure now that I picked the right business.

CPE Application Hints and Tricks

The MDiv program at Luther Seminary requires many different applications, interviews and paperwork—entrancing, endorsement, internship, approval, psychological evaluations, jobs, etc.

Here’s some tips for applying to Clinical Pastoral Education.

1.Do CPE between your first (junior) and second (middler) years.

• You cannot do an international internship unless you get your CPE done before you even apply.
• You won’t want to be worrying about finding a CPE site in the middle of getting an internship site the winter of your middler year.

2. Apply early.

• If you want to do summer CPE, apply in the fall of the year before. Get your application mailed in before Christmas break.
• CPE sites in the Twin Cities fill up fast. The earlier you apply the greater chance you have of getting in.

3. Write a real application.

• Don’t plagiarize your previous admissions or entrance essays. The CPE supervisors know.
• CPE supervisors want a real picture of who you are. Be honest.
• Be clear about your learning goals. Demonstrate you are a self-directed learner.

4. If you apply at non-local sites…

• Arrange an interview with a local CPE supervisor. Get a copy of the summary and include it with your application.
• Retired CPE supervisors may conduct an interview for you.
• You may have to pay for an interview.
• Offer to arrange a phone interview.
• Follow up your hardcopy application with an email.

5. Be honest about your spiritual crises and developments.

• CPE operates on a theory of the “wounded healer.” One cannot help others in pain until they understand their own pain. Talk about times of pain.
• Think about how events—deaths, births, losses, transitions—have challenged your faith and brought up personal issues.
• Self-awareness is key.

Happy application process! I hope my advice will serve you well.

The Big News!

So after Kevin and I found out my regional assignment this week. I sent out an email to a large group of family and friends entitled "Big News!" The big news was of course that Kevin and I received our first choice--Region 2 (CA, HI, NV, AZ, CO, WY, UT, NM, and a small part of TX- I think that's all of it!) However, almost every response that I received included, "When I saw your big news email I thought you were going to say that you are pregnant."

Let me clear that up right now, I am not pregnant. Fellow classmates have commented that I have been knitting baby things lately--they are not for me! They are for my friend whose baby shower is coming up. Now that that is out of the way, back to my story...

It was pretty neat that all of us who are going through assignment gathered together to receive and open our envelopes on Tuesday, and then to worship and share with one another. There were, of course, a lot of mixed emotions in the room--excitement, uncertainty, surprise, confusion, and elation, just to name a few. But as I looked around the room, I realized that we had all been through quite a lot together in the past four years and now our time in seminary is drawing to a close. I also realized just how deeply I care for all of my classmates and know that God will work through them wherever they go.

Kevin and I were so thrilled after we opened our assignment envelope that we decided to walk to the pub where a group of seniors were gathering to celebrate together to burn off some energy. The pub is about a mile away and it is still February in Minnesota. However, we rushed out without grabbing warm coats or hats and by the time we were about half way there realized that we had made a mistake, but it was too late. As a result, we both woke up the next day with pretty severe head colds. Kind of funny. Anyway, we still have a long road ahead of us, but we are excited to see where it takes us. I have a feeling that it is going to be a quick spring semester!

Thembaletu First Impressions

After 36 hours of plane travel and 6 hours of driving across the South African country side, I was a little tired. My mind was not its clearest.

When we entered the city of George at night my anxiety level began increasing. I was still a novice at driving a manual transmission vehicle on the left side of the road. Then we entered Thembaletu, a dimly-lit Black township with people socializing in the streets. My fear went up again. I did not want to hit anyone. I did not want to lose the other van that I was following. I did not know where I was going.

I was driving slowly down the street to avoid pedestrians when a woman came up to the passenger's side and began knocking on the glass. She was jogging a little to keep up with our van. Amanda, my co-pilot, rolled the window down.

"I'm with you! I'm with you! Let me in the van! You will come with me!" the strange woman called to us in the front seats.

I looked at Amanda for guidance. She looked at me with despair. Amanda said, "I think we should keep going." I nodded, rolled up the window, and kept going. The woman ran after us for a little time and then stopped to walk.

We continued through the dark streets of the township and made a sharp left at the bottom of a hill. A man approached the van on the driver's side. I rolled down the window.

"Come with me. Just turn the van into this driveway. You're staying with us."

"I'm not sure of the plans. You should talk to our leader. He's in the van ahead of us," I replied and then I rolled up the window.

I looked at Amanda. "What if that woman was actually with us?" I wondered ashamedly out loud.

I saw our lead van turn into a nearby driveway and the man who had spoken with me was directing me to follow.

We parked and went inside of our lodgings, a bed and breakfast owned and operated by Jerry and Eunice.

Eunice was the woman who greeted us earlier on the road. Jerry was the man who approached afterward. We were staying at their house for the week.

Eunice came into the house a little out of breath and approached me.

"Why did you pass me by when I called to you? Were you afraid of me?"

I stared down at my shoes. I could feel my ears burning. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know who you were."

Eunice let out a big laugh. "Of course, you didn't." She clapped her hand to her forehead. "I was standing out there raving like a mad woman. How were you supposed to know what I looked like or that you were staying with me? I probably would have done the same thing."

I let out a little chuckle. Eunice clasped my hand.

"Don't worry. It's alright. You know who I am now."

"I won't make the same mistake again."

I really did feel bad about the whole affair. Why hadn't I trusted her? Why hadn't I let her into the van? Was it the color of her skin? Her clothes? My tired and/or racist state of mind? I knew that I wouldn't make the same mistake with Eunice and Jerry, but would I with other people who don't look like me?

For the rest of our week in Thembaletu, Eunice retold my little identification mishap over and over to her friends and neighbors. She always told it as a joke. Each time the embarrassment and shame lessened and the humor grew. Eunice forgave me with her motherly chiding and healed any bad feelings that I may have caused between us. Thank God for her sense of humor. Throughout our visit we had a wonderful time getting to know one another. Fortunately for me, my first impression wasn't my lasting impression.

About that 'improv comedy' hobby ...

For as long as we've been running this blog, there has been that little line on my bio that lists "improv comedy" as my hobby. I figured I ought to finally explain that, especially since my history as an improvisational comedian in Green Bay recently has been weaving more than ever into my seminary life in the Twin Cities.

When I was in middle school, I became aware of a comedy club, then called ComedySportz, in downtown Green Bay. It was a place for family-friendly improv, which, unlike stand-up, involves groups of comedians using audience suggestions to perform spur-of-the-moment skits and various other activities that for one reason or another end up being funny. I was initially amused by these folks but never considered this sort of performing to be within the scope of my abilities until a friend, also named Andy (he was more recently my best man when I got married), attended a meeting of the comedy club's High School League in 1996, our freshman year. I followed Andy to the High School League's next session the following week and soon met a number of people who have been some of my best friends ever since.

Even after Andy moved on to other things, I stuck with the league throughout my high school years and performed Saturday shows for various friends and parents. Sometimes the shows were even funny. I got my big break in the fall of my junior year when the "professionals" (I use quote marks because the pay was never really a career-maker) were short on players one night and invited me to join them. Shortly after, I began a period of my life in which almost every Friday and Saturday night involved hours of performance and after-show gatherings with the comedy troupe, which in 2000 became ComedyCity when our owners determined to expand from the ComedySportz franchise. The club is now located in De Pere, Wis., just outside Green Bay, and is paired with Venture Theatre, a venue for original plays.

My existence as an improvisational comedian brought me not only some of my best friends but also some of my most unforgettable experiences. Among them: the 1999 around-the-clock comedy marathon in which, after a municipally enforced closing time, a gritty bunch of us performed in the cold, outside the nearby mall's food court, for a group of dedicated audience members; and in 2000, the trip to the Twin Cities when a group of us were mistakenly booked for a show at UW-Eau Claire a night early and spent the next day at the Mall of America, where my friend proceeded to throw up at Knott's Camp Snoopy (apparently from food poisoning, not a roller coaster). I even got to perform in 2002 for an assembly of my ELCA synod and thankfully did not embarrass myself too badly to ruin my candidacy for seminary four years later.

In fact, when I got my call and finally determined to become a pastor, members of my candidacy committee identified my experience with improv as one of my strongest tools for ministry — and not because of our troupe's improv game in which we portray dueling preachers who are unprepared for their sermons. In my years at ComedyCity, I got used to being in front of crowds, developed my sense of humor, learned how to work with others while embracing the unknown and jumped openly into situations for which I was totally unprepared. (That also came in handy last week in a rare opportunity to perform an impromptu skit in a Luther Seminary course, not to say that I didn't get especially nervous before an audience of peers.) After a recent discussion at Luther with my adviser and other classmates, I have developed a goal to one day as a pastor use my improv experience to welcome conversation from parishioners about each week's Scripture readings and immediately adapt my preaching to address their perspectives and concerns. Someday.

And it's always a blessing to make people laugh. Although I'm certainly not as sharp as I used to be when I was playing week in and week out, I still love to perform whenever I'm visiting Green Bay (the photo above is from a show last month). I'm still involved from a distance in planning for this year's 28-Hour Marathon of Comedy on March 30-31 to benefit two Green Bay-area charities serving children with cancer and their families. Last year, when some teammates and I revived the traditional marathon, the event raised more than $3,850 for the two charities. This year, we're shooting for $5,000.

What's all the more exciting are the sometimes unexplainable ways that my connections to ComedyCity have tied into my life as a seminarian. I mentioned in a previous blog how I last fall bumped into a former teammate from the troupe at a Packers-fan-friendly sports bar in St. Paul and learned he, too, moved here for the sake of the ministry, and how I few days later learned that the seminary journal, the Concord, had published a photo taken by another ComedyCity teammate.

Last night, fate struck again when my old friend and ComedyCity teammate, Kate, visiting from northeast of Green Bay, met my wife, Tracy, and me for coffee at Har Mar Mall, not far from the seminary. A classmate from Luther named Joe walked up to our table. I introduced him to my wife and started to introduce him to Kate when, remarkably, it became clear that the two already knew each other. Turns out they had worked together a few years ago when Kate was working at the Joe's parents' coffee shop in the Twin Cities. In fact, one of the reasons Kate was visiting Minnesota this weekend was because she wanted to visit Joe's dad. Not only did the chance encounter give Kate advance notice that his dad no longer lived in town, but it prompted us all to sit down for dinner. It was amazing enough that one of my friends from the comedy troupe knew one of my seminary classmates and all the more amazing that the two of them and Tracy and I happened to be at the same place and at the same time.

God really must have a sense of humor.

Shift Brain in Gear Before Lifting the Clutch

My cross-cultural J-term trip to South Africa didn't so much start with a bang. It is more of a lurch. Rather several lurches. You see I volunteered to drive the 8-passenger, manual transmission van on the left side of the road without ever having driven a stick shift in my life. And my first opportunity came after 24 hours of flying halfway across the world. It wasn't a smooth beginning.

Lurch one: release the parking brake. Check.

Lurch two: start it in first gear not third. Check.

Lurch three: let the clutch out slowly. Check.

After several neck-snapping stops, I haltingly got the 8-passenger van out of the rental car parking lot of the Cape Town International Airport.

Lurch four: when slowing down, push in the clutch. You can't go 15 miles per hour in fourth gear.

I must give thanks to Dave for riding shotgun during my white-knuckled first fifteen kilometers. Sitting in the front was not a passive position. He was just a responsible for watching for on-coming traffic.

Plus, when you switch sides of the road and drive from the right side of the car, your whole perception of the car's position gets thrown off. I kept nearly side-swiping curbs and cars on the left side of the road. It got so bad Jannie, our trip's leader, pulled over and sent Eric, another Luther student, running back from his van to warn me.

We made it out of Cape Town in one piece. But for that whole first week, first gear was not my friend. At the very end of our first day in South Africa we rolled into Themaletu, a township near George. It was late. I hadn't slept more than four hours in three days. We had just driven for six hours across the South African veld. There were lots of people out milling in the streets relaxing after work. And we stopped on a hill.

We stopped on a hill. For anyone who has learned to drive a stick shift, they know how my heart dropped. I lifted the clutch as slowly as I could but we started rolling backward and there was a car behind us. I killed it. I killed it again. And again. People outside were starting to stare. My passengers were starting to laugh. I was starting to curse. It was not a fun experience. After perhaps 12 tries I managed to get that van over the hill and to our lodging for the night.

Moral of the story: Take patient friends with you when you travel. Thank God for Arianna, Dave, Crystal, Kathy, and Amanda for enduring my curses, tirades and frustration at my own mechanical ineptitude. My manhood was threatened by my seeming inability to drive a stick shift. But they kept reassuring me. They never complained to my face. We all laughed about my minor mishaps and everyone made it back to the States uninjured.

As with many endeavors, getting started is the hardest task. Patience and persistence is the key, along with a little laugher, especially when you're in clutch situations.

The Anticipation is Killing Me!

There are only a few days left until graduating MDiv seniors who are going through assignment and first call find out our regional assignments! The big day is on Tuesday, February 20th and I simply can't wait. It's on all of our brains--everytime I speak with a classmate who is at the same stage as I am, the first question asked is usually, "So, what regions did you request?"

For those of you who are not in the middle of candidacy, it might seem odd that so many of us are fixated on our regional assignments--I mean after all, each of the ELCA regions do take up rather large geographical areas. It is not like we are going to find out the name of a town or a congregation, or anything that specific. But I do think that regional assignment represents something bigger than just where in the country we might be living in a few months.

It seems that opening up the envelope on Tuesday represents the first step in a great leap of faith which we are all taking together. In going through first call, we, along with our families, are asked to trust that the Holy Spirit will guide the process and help us to end up in the place where we will begin our vocation of pastor--carrying along with us the message of the gospel (or maybe it would be more apt to say "letting the message of the gospel carry us along"). Naturally, many of my classmates can feel the sting of skepticism from time to time. It is our lives and our livelihood that are on the line here. And let's face it, there are not a lot of careers outside of the ministry in which a person lets someone else decide where they are going to be living for the next few, if not several, years. It's not easy to let go of that choice.

I know I feel that anxiety on a regular basis. Every once in while Kevin and I play the ever so frustrating game of, "What if..." Like, "What if there isn't a church for me right away and our student loan bills come due and we end up broke and I have to get a job doing something I don't like until something comes up?" Or "What if I end up with a good match but you can't find a job in the field that you want and end up having to do something that you don't like or can't find a job at all?" or "What if I get a call to a church only to find out when I get that it is not what I thought it was going to be, then what do I do?" It might be somewhat cathartic to play this game for a few minutes, but ultimately I'm not really sure it is all that helpful. It can be quite powerful to name our fears, but there is a fine line between naming our fears and letting our fears get the best of us.

So until then I guess I will just sit tight and wait--wait for the wild ride of the next few months to begin with the opening of a little white envelope, which will contain a little number, which will have a huge impact on my future.

Winter Sports in a Winter Wonderland

My husband woke me this morning proclaiming, "Sarah, you have to get up, it's beautiful outside!" Beautiful is a relative term of course, because it was 15 degrees outside. It felt beautiful compared to the deep freeze that Minnesota has been under for the last couple of weeks- 15 degrees is downright balmy! "It's going to get to a high of 23," he then said, like a kid on Christmas morning. We both agreed that it would be a good idea to take advantage of the heat wave and partake in some winter sports.

Originally we were going to have another round of sledding, which is always a good time, but instead we chose to pull our cross country skis out of the back of our storage unit and hit the tiny slopes at Como Park. Kevin and I both own our own cross-country skiing equipment but, as it turns out, we are both horrible at it! It doesn't look hard, necessarily, but cross-country skiing takes a ridiculous amount of coordination. Neither of us consider ourselves athletes in any traditional sense of the word. (Though, when I was in the 2nd grade my soccer team "The Butterflies" did take the state championship in 1989--I still have the medal.) We always try to go skiing at least once each winter, if not more, but we never seem to get any better. Let me paint the picture for you--flailing limbs, snow covered butts, crossed skis-- not a pretty sight! However, we decided that today might very well be the day that everything clicks and we become skiing masters.

It started out alright, I didn't fall when I went down the first little hill, nor did anyone get their eyes poked out by the pointy poles. Then for some reason as I was going down a little hill about 30 minutes later I fell over and I couldn't get back up. At first I was giggling, but after several failed attempts at standing up, I was laughing hysterically. I felt like the lady in the old commercial who said, "I've fallen and I can't get up!" Eventually Kevin had to ski over and physically pull me up out of the snow. By this time were both feeling sore and tired, and it was then and only then that we seemed to finally get the hang of it! Why does it always work that way? At any rate, Minnesota is the perfect place to try out winter sports because there are parks everywhere and plenty of snow. Even though I'm sure that I'll be walking funny tomorrow because of my sore muscles, I definitely want to give cross-country skiing at least one more chance. If anyone has any tips, let me know!

If there's a T-shirt for it, I must be in the right place

Thirty years ago, probably almost to the day, my dad first sat down in a Lutheran Confessions class taught by Jim Nestingen, a young instructor whom none of the students at Northwestern Lutheran Theological Seminary knew anything about.

This morning, I sat down in a Northwestern Hall classroom flooded with around 100 students, most of whom displayed an energy atypical for an 8 a.m. class and many of whom were wearing a T-shirt custom-made for the occasion of this, Professor Nestingen's final course at Luther Seminary.

I had never been in a class like this. Ever. Many of the students, most of the ones wearing the T-shirts (the back of the shirt reads, "Er Lebt," German for, "He Lives"), had already taken the course and were just sitting in to experience Nestingen one last time. There were also an emeritus professor and a Ph.D. graduate who now teaches at Augsburg College, among other high-ranking fans. There was applause when Professor Steven Paulson turned the lecture over to the man of the hour. This was more like a farewell concert for a rock 'n' roll legend than a seminary class. And this was only the first day.

In short, it didn't take me long to realize that there was nothing unusual about my dad considering Nestingen his favorite professor. Having heard so much about him over the years, there was no small kick for me when Nestingen began to lecture, complete with his trademark Norwegian accent. Everyone was hanging on his every word, joke and personal anecdote as he provided an overview of the documents that define Lutheranism and of the crucial doctrine of Justification by Faith. He even threw in his trademark "crap detector," a phrase that my dad has used for as long as I can remember, though he apparently forgot where he got it from.

Although I came to Luther Seminary to follow the calling of my Heavenly Father, there is also always some joy in moments when I get the chance to follow in the footsteps of my dad — not to mention my mom. Many times when I walk through the lower level of Northwestern Hall, I consider in a bit of awe that this is where my mom, then a Master of Arts student studying Christian Education, first recalls meeting my dad, then a first-year Master of Divinity student on janitorial duty.

I apparently came to what's now Luther Seminary just in time to relive my dad's study under Nestingen. I realized just weeks ago that this would be not only Nestingen's only course this year but also his final course. I actually snagged the last of the 90 official seats for the class. I know there's some controversy with Nestingen's retirement, and he's apparently no stranger to controversy. My dad, as he told me just tonight, actually led his Confessions classmates in circulating a petition to confront rumors that the seminary might let Nestingen go at that time. My dad, for the record, was as excited as he has ever been over the phone tonight as I shared a couple quips from the lecture, and I promised to e-mail him my lecture notes throughout the semester.

Just as Professor Nestingen told us how thankful he was for one more opportunity to teach, I feel blessed for this opportunity to learn from this man from whom my dad learned so much. Certainly the one we're really celebrating is Jesus Christ, but it was certainly fun today to be a part of this little celebration for one of Luther's many legendary instructors.

I even bought a T-shirt. Now I just need to figure out whether I'm going to give it to my dad or keep it for myself.

The first of the lasts

Today was the first day of my last semester of classes at Luther--and maybe my last day of classes forever, who knows? It's both an exciting and confusing time in my life. First of all, I will find out 2 weeks from today what my regional assigment is in the assignment and first call process. (For those who are not familiar with the jargon, the ELCA divides the US into geographical regions, within which there are also smaller units called synods. To see how they do it visit the ELCA website.) A few weeks after that we will receive our synodical assignment as well and sometime after that churches for interviews. Kevin and I are hopeful and anxious to get a sense of where we will be living and what we will be doing after we graduate.

Second of all, I want to make the most out of my last semester of seminary. In a few months time I will (hopefully) be serving as an ordained pastor of a congregation. In many ways this will signify that my learning is only beginning, even though my formal education is coming to an end. And I have to admit that this is all unchartered territory for both Kevin and me. We both went straight to seminary after college. Neither of us have ever been through the experiences of interviewing for full-time jobs, or paying student loan bills, or finding an apartment. I'm much more used to the stress of going to class and doing assignments and making sure that I am meeting all of the requirements to graduate and finish candidacy. But that is almost all finished now and the end is in sight. Today feels in many ways like the first of the lasts. Soon I will also be experiencing my last papers and tests, chapel services, and seminary choir practices. I pray that I will be able to appreciate the amazing opportunity of studying at seminary and getting to know my future colleages in ministry, not to mention I pray for patience and joy as I begin the first call process and move into my future life as a pastor in the ELCA.