Book Review: Call and Response: Litanies for Congregational Prayer, by Fran Pratt

Call and Response: Litanies for Congregational Prayer, by Fran Pratt (Outpost Press © 2018)

Reviewed by Kerry Greenhill

Fran Pratt’s Call and Response: Litanies for Congregational Prayer is a meaningful addition to any pastor or worship leader’s bookshelf of resources. She brings the passion of a convert to liturgical worship, with energy and fresh, contemporary language to lead a congregation in coming into God’s presence with new awareness.

The introduction (“Or, How Liturgy Saved My Life”) beautifully summarizes the power of written corporate liturgy for spiritual formation and stimulating the prayer lives of individuals and the church as a whole. Pratt’s litanies cover a range of spiritual needs, social issues, and liturgical seasons, from Litanies for Looking Inward, Looking Outward, and Coping, to Church Rituals, Communal Worship, Advent, and Lent.

 Theologically, the liturgies will speak to a wide range of Christian traditions, as many include scripture woven into the prayers. The author offers a mix of God’s transcendence and immanence, and social issues include attention to racism (in the US context), and victims of sexual violence, where Jesus accepting “all genders” is as close as the author comes to affirming LGBTQ+ people.

A minor distraction for me was seeing the vocative “O” (as in, “we pray to you, O God”) rendered as the interjection “Oh.” I can’t tell whether this was an intentional attempt to update seemingly archaic language, or an editorial oversight.

Over all, the content is powerful, authentic, poetic prayer that works for both individual and communal use, and I highly recommend it to anyone planning worship.

+++

Disclaimer: I received this book free from the author and/or publisher through the Speakeasy blogging book review network. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR,Part 255.

Link Love:

Call and Response on Amazon
Fran Pratt’s Website
Fran Pratt on Instagram
Fran Pratt on Facebook
Fran Pratt on Twitter

#CallAndResponse 

When You Stop Walking on Water

For those stepping out of parish ministry

The rhythms are different
this side of the pulpit.
Like walking ashore
after hours
or weeks
on rocking waves,
your sea legs may persist awhile,
unsteadying your gait
and haunting your dreams
with the sensation of motion
in the midst of unmoving crowds.

You will look up at the night sky
and forget you do not have to plot a course
between the rocks and the reef,
charting seasons and casting stories
by force of longstanding habit.

You may not miss the grueling hours
or the demands of captaining your crew,
the churn of stomach in stormy waters
or the constant vigilance for dangers hidden
just below the surface,
but at times you will look out upon the shining, shifting ocean
and find yourself unmoored by dazzling splendor
or grim eternity,
the tides that keep on changing
while you are standing still.

There are blessings in this landlubber's life,
as all the throngs who never went to sea
can easily testify.
But have patience with yourself
as you relearn how to walk on solid ground.
For you have seen beyond the horizon
and you yet carry with you
the knowledge of winds and weather,
rising and falling,
harnessing the elements
to move through time and space.

Here, too, is Sabbath
and starlight
and soaring toward mystery,
even in stillness.
Even on land.

© 2014 Kerry Greenhill

A Blessing for Those Beginning a New Ministry Appointment

to be read with the tongue positioned gently in the cheek

May your car start easily and your keys turn smoothly to open the church doors;
may your accompanist arrive early and your liturgist be on time.
May you accurately gauge the height of chancel steps and the length of your robe,
and may your microphone amplify your voice without ear-splitting feedback.
May your sermon notes remain in order and your mouth not get too dry;
may your insights find a landing place in ears and hearts and minds.
May your congregation welcome you with grace and hospitality,
and wait until you’ve learned their names before triangulating you in their drama.
May your preaching be genuine and your own heart be fully present,
and may the Holy Mystery surround and fill and meet you in this new place,
today and each day that you are here.

© 2014 Kerry Greenhill

Discerning Calling: Coaches, companions, and conversation partners

This post is a reflection on "Who influenced you in discerning your Call to Ministry?" as part of the Exploration 2013 Blog Day. If you are a young adult between 18-26 and are wondering whether God might be calling you to ordained ministry, consider attending Exploration 2013, this November in Denver, Colorado - learn more at ExploreCalling.org.

Who and where I am today

I am an Ordained Deacon in The United Methodist Church. I believe I am called to this role to live out the ministry of a deacon, which includes bridging the gap that too often exists between the life of the local congregation and the needs of the world. I have been affirmed and set apart by colleagues in the New England Conference as having the gifts, grace, and fruits suitable for a lifetime ministry of Word and Service.

Currently, I live out my call through two (part-time) paid positions: as Field Coordinator for Imagine No Malaria in the Rocky Mountain Conference of The United Methodist Church, and as Communications Manager for Family Voices Colorado, a non-profit organization that advocates for improvements to health care for children and youth with special health care needs. Neither of these are exactly what I imagined when I first started on my journey to ordained ministry some 15 years ago--but they are not so far off, either.

Finding a faith home

I was raised in a church-going family, and had a sense of faith in God from a pretty early age. But throughout high school, I found more meaning in volunteering in the church nursery than attending worship services. When I went off to college, I intended to explore various different religious paths to see if there was one that felt like a better fit than the United Methodist church my family attended in New Hampshire. But my mom encouraged me to try out the Wesley Foundation, the Methodist campus ministry, just to see what it was like.

It turned out to be my home away from home for four years.

The campus minister, Rev. David Hindman, was a big part of creating the welcoming community I experienced there, as he made a point of learning everyone's name on first meeting, and greeting them by name the next time he saw them. He was goofy enough to put a self-conscious teenager at ease, and sincere enough to create a safe space for serious conversations. David was one of my first mentors in ministry, mainly because he was the first to suggest to me directly that I should consider the possibility of pursuing ordained ministry myself.

Spacious conversations

I was never sure whether I was cut out (created) for ordering the life of a congregation as a pastor; I am a strong introvert, feeling drained by overexposure to socializing with people in groups. And I was still developing my own theology, figuring out what I believed about God's love and judgment, about whether there was only one right choice in any situation, one right path in life for each person, or whether God left things a little more open-ended.

As I wrestled with these questions, David offered the wisdom and perspectives of different theologians and church leaders alongside his own experience as fodder for my consideration. As I remember it, there were some questions of belief he refused to answer directly, and others he was willing to be clear about his own views while still making space for those who saw things differently. He affirmed my gifts, and my self-knowledge regarding the challenges of a public role as an introvert. One time, he asked me what I thought the ideal kind of work for me would look like, and I answered, "I want to advocate for those who are vulnerable, especially women and children; I want to be able to write, and speak publicly, and teach."

"Sounds a lot like ministry to me," he replied.

I took part in a ministry discernment group with other students who were thinking along similar lines, leading a Covenant Discipleship Group and meeting with other small group leaders to begin the Ministry Inquiry Process (one of the first steps in the United Methodist ordination process). There were others in our group who were more certain about ministry; among a dozen Wesleyites in the class of '99, at least 5 of us have gone on to seminary at some point since, some straight out of college. A good friend of mine attended Exploration '96 and found it very helpful in confirming her sense of call. Today she is a campus minister (technically, university chaplain) in England.

Life experience as discernment

I was fortunate in the timing of my college experience, in that the UMC in 1996 shifted their understanding of ordained ministry, recognizing the Order of Deacon as a separate path to ordination for those called to ministries in or beyond the local church that exemplified service, compassion, and justice. Previously, those pursuing ordination were ordained first as a deacon, and then a couple years later, ordained again as an elder.* The new structure recognized more clearly the variety of ministries to which individuals might be called by God and affirmed by the church.

I didn't feel sure enough about my sense of call to apply to seminary right after college, and I wanted a few years to go out and work in the world before I went back to school anyway. So I spent a year doing volunteer work in Venezuela (arranged through the Student Christian Movement at a Presbyterian church in Caracas, which I got connected with through a summer trip the Wesley Foundation helped me participate in), then two years working full-time at a non-profit in the Boston area (Child Welfare League of America) and working part-time as Young Adult Coordinator and Contemporary Worship Leader for College Avenue United Methodist Church.

In Venezuela, I learned that while I believe in ministries of compassion, I am not well suited to direct social service. And I grew stronger in my progressive social and theological views in the face of encounters with those who held to a stricter, more conservative faith. In Boston, I found that I wanted to pursue work that allowed me to explicitly acknowledge and connect my faith to action on a daily basis. I applied to seminary with the intention of becoming a writer: I wanted to write about Christianity in a way that was accessible to those outside the church.

Discernment through Discipline

My first day at seminary, I decided to change degree programs, from the broadly academic Master of Theological Studies to the more practical-ministry-oriented Master of Divinity. Iliff School of Theology was gracious enough to extend my financial aid for the extra year of coursework. While I still didn't feel called to parish ministry, I recognized that there were other paths that interested me (like campus ministry) that would require the MDiv, and I wanted to keep my options open.

After my first year at Iliff, I decided to revisit the question of ordination, so I took United Methodist Doctrine as a summer intensive course: one week from start to finish, with an oral exam on Friday covering material we first encountered on Monday. I wanted to make sure that I could maintain my intellectual integrity if I did go through with what at that time was a seven-year process. And although there were elements of John Wesley's teaching and sections of the Book of Discipline with which I did not quite see eye to eye, still I found a lot to affirm, and there seemed room enough for disagreement within the covenant community, and a process by which to change official positions of the denomination.

So after passing the class, I chose a day for prayer and fasting - not a frequent part of my spiritual life, but one that has stood the test of time - to seek God's guidance about pursuing ordination. I read the sections of the Book of Discipline that describe the different orders of ministry. And I found that the section on the Ministry of the Deacon resonated powerfully within me, in a way that seemed to speak to my highest values and deepest convictions. And I believed that this was a way to serve God that would be life-giving for me and pleasing to God.

Companions on the journey

I first started thinking about ministry as a vocation in about 1997. I decided to resume my inquiry process in 2003, and was finally ordained as a Deacon in Full Connection in 2009. In those six years, I had the support and company of many gifted and gracious people. Classmates in seminary shared intellectual passions and learning experiences in a variety of ministry settings as we went through our field education placements together. Experienced ministers Rev. Linda Gertenbach and Rev. Linda Marshall, both deacons, served as mentors for different stages of my candidacy process; Rev. Betty Bradford, an elder, was my supervisor in a local church setting for nearly 10 years. I participated in the Residency in Ministry retreats for provisional ministers in the Rocky Mountain Conference, even though I was still a member in New England, because I felt I would benefit from the community of peers and opportunities for spiritual formation as a minister that the program offered.

Not done yet

With some surprise, I find that I am doing almost exactly what I thought I wanted to do fifteen years ago: I advocate for children in Africa dying of malaria, and for children with disabilities in Colorado whose families struggle to access quality health care. I write every week, on websites and blogs, for each of these roles, and I give presentations and sermons about how God in Jesus Christ offers abundant life and calls us to be part of that life-changing work for others' sake. Although working multiple jobs has been challenging at times (I've been doing it for most of the last 14 years), it has allowed me to feel that I am fulfilling the call of the Deacon to bridge the gap between the church and the needs of the world in a very real and concrete way.

And the journey continues, along with the need for ongoing discernment. Ordination was a major milestone on this ministry path, but not the end by any means. In the local church, United Methodist pastors are asked each year whether they believe they are still effective in that setting, or if it might be time for them to move on. Deacons who serve in or beyond the local church may have annual opportunities for that kind of reflection, may stay in one place for ten years, or may find themselves unexpectedly looking for work when church or organizational circumstances change.

It's not easy, always wanting to be intentional and faithful in one's vocational choices. But I am so thankful for all who have walked and talked with me along the way, helping me stay open to God's leading, suggesting possibilities I may have overlooked, comforting and challenging me by turn to stay true to who God has created and called me to be. May it be so for you as well.

+ + +

*Elders are charged with ministries of Word, Service, Order, and Sacrament; they are itinerant, which means they agree to go where the bishop sends them to serve; and they have security of appointment: as long as they remain in good standing - and agree to itinerancy - they are guaranteed work within the church. Deacons are charged with ministries of Word and Service; they are not itinerant, because so many deacons serve outside the local church and in different capacities than elders; and they do not have security of appointment: they have the freedom and the responsibility of finding their own work.

The incongruity of joy

For nearly 10 years, I have served in part-time, paid leadership roles at one small, progressive United Methodist Church in northwest Denver. For the last 5 years, I have had the title of Associate Pastor. Because of financial constraints, which mainly boil down to the congregation not being large enough or wealthy enough to support a second clergy person, even part-time, the church has eliminated my position, and this Sunday is my last day there.

As you might imagine, this has been a difficult time for me, as I have struggled to reconcile my joy and sense of giftedness in serving this congregation with the hard financial realities that are causing the end of my pastoral relationship there. I have been through all the stages of grief, several of them over and over, and I am pretty sure I'm not done with that roller coaster ride yet.

Today is my last day of 'office hours,' when I need to put Sunday's worship bulletin together and finish packing up my office. Saturday there is a farewell luncheon and celebration, and Sunday, I say goodbye, at least for now.

Because The United Methodist Church wishes to promote healthy boundaries and discourage unhealthy triangulation among congregations, departed pastors and new pastors, there is a covenant among clergy that an outgoing pastor will not contact members of the congregation for the first year after the pastoral relationship ends, and will refer any pastoral inquiries initiated by church members to the new pastor. The new pastor may invite the former pastor to take part in memorial services or other occasions, but this is at the discretion of the new pastor.

So these goodbyes are different from leaving most jobs, where I might reasonably expect to plan social gatherings with former coworkers and contacts on a regular basis. And because Highlands has been much more than a place of employment for me, serving as my primary faith community for almost the whole time I have lived in Denver, I am losing my spiritual home, as well as a significant part of my professional identity.

All this is to say that I have been sad a lot over the past 4-5 months. (Also angry, scared, depressed, defiant, and resentful at times, but I'm working through those as best I can.) And I am kind of tired of being a sad person so much of the time, even while I don't want to ignore or rush through my grief. So finding little things that bring light and joy to my heavy heart has become more important than usual.

Today, a vase of flowers sits in front of me on my dining table as I write this. They are some kind of daisy-like flower, dyed bright (dare I say gaudy?) shades of pink, blue, purple, orange, and yellow. Not the kind of thing I would ordinarily buy from the floral counter, and they certainly don't match the sage green, dark red, and ivory tones of the dining room. But they were brought to church as altar flowers on Sunday by a woman whose passions include gardening and art, and she asked if I wanted to take them home as a gift, since she won't be able to attend the farewells this weekend due to travel plans.

And they brighten the room, and my spirit, in spite of clashing with the decor and not matching my own personal sense of floral style. Or perhaps it is because they are so incongruous, so out of place in my carefully planned (though perpetually messy) home and life. They seem cheerful, and earnest, and optimistic: better than platitudes about God closing doors and opening windows; more sincere in their intentions to spread sunshine, however gaudy; not denying my pain but offering an alternative to focusing on it.

And sitting on the sill of the dining room window is a kalanchoe plant I bought years ago in full bloom, which has not bloomed since - until last month. I can hardly blame its reticence, since it's a tropical succulent stuck in Colorado, but I had begun to doubt it would ever flower again. And now, next to the pile of boxes of books I've brought home from my church office, it is growing eagerly toward the ceiling and opening dozens of bright pink blossoms to the morning light.

I am so grateful for these tangible reminders that new life continually unfolds, even in the midst of loss and grief. And I hope this week - and next, and next month and throughout this year - I can remember that just because I'm sad doesn't mean I can't also find joy and hope, however incongruous, however unexpected or unlikely it may seem. Thanks be to God, who makes all things new.

New job

Last month, I started a new job. For those of you playing along at home, that's 3 places of employment, which is my new excuse for not blogging (or doing much non-work-related writing) over the past few weeks. In addition to serving as Associate Pastor at Highlands UMC (the position that ends next week), and Communications Manager for Family Voices Colorado, I am now the Field Coordinator for Imagine No Malaria in the Rocky Mountain Conference of The United Methodist Church.

I'm excited to be part of Imagine No Malaria's extraordinary and historic work to end preventable deaths and suffering from malaria in Africa, where  a child dies from malaria every 60 seconds. That's far too many children who don't live to see adulthood, but the death rate is already half what it was just a few years ago.

The United Methodist Church is partnering with the UN Foundation, the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation, and the Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis, and Malaria in developing a comprehensive approach that includes the insecticide-treated bed nets that made Nothing But Nets such a successful campaign, and adds other prevention measures (draining standing water where the mosquitoes that spread malaria breed), plus treatment by stocking hospitals and clinics with rapid diagnostic kits and effective medications, education on how to use bed nets and the importance of seeking treatment quickly through trained community health workers, communication by radio and cell phone to raise public awareness, and advocacy for continued global health funding to fight these diseases of poverty.

As a denomination, we are working to raise $75 million by 2015. The Rocky Mountain Conference share of that is $1.2 million, which seems like a lot until you learn that it works out to just $20 for every member of every United Methodist Church in our region (Colorado, Utah, most of Wyoming). I am confident that we can achieve this goal, and it is my hope that we will surpass it with the enthusiasm of a people who believe that Jesus came so that all people might have abundant life in God's name (John 10:10).

If you're interested in learning more about this ministry of healing and saving lives, you can follow the campaign in Rocky Mountain at our blog, like the RMC Facebook page, or contact me at kerry [at] rmcumc [dot] com.

We now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

Deacons and Order: A Personal Journey

Posted at Deacons Hold the Bowl on September 22, 2012.

Within the sometimes ambiguous and occasionally mysterious world of the Ordained Deacon in Full Connection, I find myself straddling two camps in more ways than one.

In the United Methodist Church, Deacons are, generally speaking, called to serve as a bridge between the church and the needs of the world. Deacons can be appointed to ministries within or beyond the local church; most Deacons can quickly tell you in which of those areas their primary appointment falls.  For the past five years, I have been appointed to both.

I serve as an associate pastor in a small, progressive, urban congregation in northwest Denver, and I also work part-time for a non-profit organization that advocates for improved access to and quality of health care for children with special needs.

Don’t you want your own church?
While I was going through the ordination process, a total of about six years, I was asked repeatedly – by the District Committee on Ministry, by the interview team on the Board of Ordained Ministry, by clergy colleagues and seminary classmates – if I was sure that I was called to be a Deacon. “Don’t you think someday you’ll want your own church?” one friend asked me on more than one occasion.

My answer, admittedly a bit of a hedge, was usually along the lines of, “I’m open to the possibility that God will call me to lead a church at some point, but that doesn’t feel like the right fit for me right now.  I just don’t feel called to order the life of the local congregation.”

I appreciate that many of these people asked the question out of a desire to affirm my gifts for leadership. And each time I was asked, I would again direct some time and energy into prayerful discernment, to figure out whether the question itself was God at work through those close to me. Pursuing the kind of ministry that everyone understands has its appeal, and there are advantages to being an Elder (even with the possible removal of security of appointment) that the ministry of a Deacon does not offer.

But over the years, I have come to believe that this question of Order is really the sticking-point in my sense of call. Yes, I can (and do) preach, and teach. I love the sacraments wholeheartedly and would treasure the opportunity to offer baptism and Communion directly to whomever asked, whether an Elder was present or not. I attend Finance Committee and SPRC meetings, and Trustees when time allows (I am part-time, after all); for five years, I have been privileged to have a very collegial relationship with the senior pastor and have been included in almost every major decision-making process and vision-setting discussion. I participate in the administration of the local church in varied and significant ways.

But I do not desire to be the person in charge.

Leadership vs. Order
This intuitive conviction was affirmed this summer, when the alignment of the planets – or God’s wicked sense of humor, if you prefer – meant that a pastoral transition at my church and an executive transition at the non-profit where I work took place at exactly the same time. And I was asked to fill the gap in the interim period in both places.  So for one month, I was both the Acting Lead Pastor (the title I came up with) and Interim Executive Director, both part-time.  Never mind that both of these are full-time roles, or that I hadn’t sought out either one. There was a need, and I was asked to serve as a bridge, connecting the past with the future.

I think I did fairly well. I received positive feedback from the congregation, and from my coworkers, about my efforts during that time. And I could not be more relieved that I am not in either of those roles any more.  There are people who relish being in charge, who have gifts and graces that equip them to discern a vision, make decisions, and guide the whole congregation toward a goal. I appreciate having opportunities to lead, and to have a voice in planning and decision-making, but I prefer to work with or for others most of the time.

The thing is, I don’t believe I need to be in charge of a congregation to be a leader. My sense of call is more about helping others connect their story with God’s story than it is about guiding the people of God toward a goal. My leadership comes through writing, teaching, and preaching, developing personal relationships, planning and leading worship, coordinating the work of committees and teams in the church, and directing the choir. I am striving to live out the Deacon’s call to ministry as a set-aside servant leader, one who embodies the service to which all Christians are called, and invites the followers of Jesus into their own ministries of compassion and justice.

Christ has no body now but yours
Sometimes God calls us to work for which we don’t feel qualified, but we find in stepping up that we are capable of more than we realized. Sometimes doors close and windows open in unexpected ways. But I was moved and persuaded by Parker Palmer when I read Let Your Life Speak in seminary, that how God calls us is generally in harmony with how God has created us.

And – at least right now – I don’t believe I am created for, or called to, ordering the life of the church.

But I believe the church needs Deacons – and Elders, committed laypeople, local pastors, certified lay ministers, and all the other names we give to the ways in which people intentionally choose to serve God – to support and strengthening the functioning of the Body of Christ in important ways.  The head is of course important, with eyes for vision and mouth for communication, but so are the hands and feet and heart of the Body, reaching out to touch those in need, being stirred by compassion and courage to guide the work of the whole. Together, we serve God in the world through many ministries, with many gifts, but guided by one Spirit. May it be so for you and for me.

Rev. Kerry Greenhill is Associate Pastor at Highlands UMC in Denver and Communications Manager at Family Voices Colorado. You can follow her on Twitter.