Authenticity and transparency: why I write

I just spent a week at a wonderful event that was, thankfully, required for first call pastors. I say thankfully because it is rather pricey and far away, and I probably wouldn't have gone if it had not been the expectation for all first call pastors (and other rostered leaders) in their first three years of ordained/commissioned ministry to attend. Whether or not the content of the event was any good (and it most certainly was), this is always a wonderful opportunity to catch up with my friends in other synods of Region 7 (the northeast), to sit around and chat with others in a similar place in life to my own, to learn and process together, to experience meaningful worship that I had no role in except simply to worship, and to enjoy the many offerings of the retreat center (the grounds, for example, have some quite lovely walking paths, which I enjoyed with one of my dearest friends from seminary - love you Tim!). The camaraderie alone makes it worth the trek.

This year's event was focused on adaptive leadership, with additional "tracks" we could choose in an area of interest (I chose preaching - other offerings were stewardship and conflict resolution). What is adaptive leadership? you may ask. Simply put: people and bodies (the church) prefer equilibrium, so if ever a challenge arises, our first instinct is to fix it. This is fine if it is a technical problem - for example, the heater needs fixing. But if the problem deals with people's values and convictions, a quick, technical fix is not the best thing. We learned an intense but extremely fruitful process for uncovering what the true issues might be, practicing it in small groups with case studies from our particular settings, and by the end, we were pros. :) My small group, the same as last year's, is made up of all the folks who are in some sort of atypical setting. It includes a longterm care facility chaplain, two campus chaplains, a mission developer, a part-time parish pastor also finishing a PhD in pastoral counseling, and three parish pastors - myself, with my covenanted congregations, another who is in a situation that may soon become something like mine, and one whose church is building a similar sort of partnership with a nearby campus ministry. So as you can imagine, the conversations with this wonderful group of people are varied and fruitful, but we were all brought together by a passion for ministry and a deep care for living and proclaiming God's love in the world. Pretty great!

In addition to the small group time, the tracks, worship, a bit of spiritual refreshment time (aka arts of crafts, yoga, walk, nap, or catch up on emails), we had an opportunity to talk with two bishops in the region. The first night, we ended up talking a lot about vulnerability and authenticity, and also about the difference between a pastor's role and a pastor's identity. And I couldn't help but think about my cancer experience, and about this blog. When I was first diagnosed, I had to make some decisions outside of my medical decisions. Whom would I tell about this? No one? Just my leadership? The whole congregation? The whole blogosphere? Obviously, you know what I chose, but maybe you didn't know why. The reasons are just what we talked about with the bishops.

I have, since I began this call, been trying to figure out who I am: who I am as Johanna, no longer a student but rather someone who lives alone, works full time, and tries to find a social network in a new city; who I am as Pastor Johanna in general; who I am as Pastor of two wonderful but very different churches; eventually, who I am as fiance, future wife and hopefully mother. At the same time, my churches are trying to figure out who they are: who they are as covenanted congregations, who they are as churches who no longer have a full time pastor all to themselves, who they are as parishioners of this same Pastor Johanna (still in some ways TBD!), who they are in 2011, 12, 13...

So when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, this threw a monkey wrench into this whole figuring out process. I knew it would affect who I am, both as Johanna and as Pastor Johanna. It would affect my outlook on things, my approach, my ability, my values, my perspective. It seemed a disservice to keep my congregations out of this loop. While my role as pastor and my identity as Johanna are not exactly the same, I knew the two would be too intertwined in this journey to authentically keep them separate.

And so I made the decision to be completely and utterly transparent, to my congregations and to the world, because a part of my identity is made up of relationships - and how could I keep this part of my journey separate from my relationships? So I went all the way - I started a blog. I gave out all the details. And I questioned this decision all along the way. Is this too much? Should a pastor be doing this? Should anyone be doing this? Do people even care? But the return has been so enormous, I can hardly question it anymore. People have told me in spades how much they appreciate my candid reflections, my willingness to share what is happening, and have even said that reading them has given them courage to do the same. People have said my writing has taken away some of the fears they feel for whatever reason in their own lives. These comments alone would have made the whole thing worth the effort.

In addition, the relationship I have with my congregations has deepened so beautifully. Someone said to me, "You forget sometimes that pastors have problems like this, too." Suddenly, I am more human, more aware of pain, more accessible. I mean, I personally feel that I am, but I also believe that I look it to other people. I have seen my congregation minister to me. I have felt like I am a member, too, requiring the same care as any member of the Body of Christ. I have had to humble myself enough to let people see me in sweats and unshowered after surgery, to admit, "I can't do that." I have had to let people ask how I am, and be honest with them: "You know, I'm not great today." It has been a beautiful thing.

And all this because of a willingness to be vulnerable, transparent, and authentic. It is its own sort of terrifying, but the payoff is well worth the fear, and I am eager to see where else it will lead my exploration of the various "who am I" and "who are we" questions in my life. Thank you for being a part of it.