Ministry Lessons

There are many things that seminary does not teach. My husband would say that he felt very equipped when it came to languages, preaching, and theology in general, but there are certain lessons that seminary simply cannot cover. Certain situations, such as conducting a session meeting, forming a weekly schedule, managing staff, handling hospital visits, all have to be learned through experience.

A few of our "experiences" in the pastorate have been nothing short of memorable through the years. Whether good or bad, we've learned to tuck what we've learned under our belts, should we ever need to fall back on past lessons learned.

Two years ago, we found my son on a Sunday morning in a very inconspicuous place: standing in front of the fire alarm at our church. Chris found him just before the service began. Jrod had his hand up on the alarm and, as if in slow motion, Chris ran to him yelling, "No!" Jrod quickly put his hand down, and Chris took the next several minutes to explain to my son the seriousness of pulling one of those alarms.

When it comes to my son, I have to admit I understand his problems. Jrod is too much like me. We both have demented minds, according to my husband.

Our family purchased a trampoline a few years ago, and it was placed right below our deck. As soon as it was set up, my first thought was how much fun it would be to jump from the deck to the trampoline. No one else in our family understands these kinds of thoughts, except for my son.

So, after hearing about the alarm incident, it was as if I could feel the burning in my own hand, just as I'm sure my son did in his. And it was as if I could hear the questions going through his little mind while starring up at the daunting red thing on the wall: "What would it do? What would it be like? Could it possibly have enough force and sound to lift me up in the sky?" I suppose I can't argue too much with my husband's demented mind comment.

The following Sunday was Easter Sunday. A glorious day, as usual. The service concluded beautifully, and it wasn't until we were greeting our church family afterward that it happened. One of the most unnerving sounds on the planet - the fire alarm.

My husband and I looked at each other and in a simultaneous yell, we called out our sons full name. The only other time this has occurred was the day Jonathan Rodney Polski was born. We ran up the stairs and found him standing in front of the red alarm.

In a moment like this, the relation between a mother and her son and a father and his son is very distinctly defined. While starring at the boy, my husband saw the devil himself. I, however, saw tiny innocence - surely his friend pulled it.

Walking down the stairs, making his way though the loud confusion, my husband carried our son outside and placed him on a bench. I personally think Chris' exhortation to his son was quite good, considering. Really, considering the fact that he had sternly been over why not to pull the fire alarm the week before, and considering the fact that this was Easter Sunday and we had to bother the headmaster and other leaders at the school where our church meets because the Fire Men couldn't figure out how to turn the alarm off, and considering the fact that we even had Fire Men at church on Easter Sunday on account of my son, I think he held it together pretty well.

An hour later, the chaos was over. We got in the car, not uttering a word about the events of the morning. Ella finally broke the silence: "Mom, Dad, is it OK if I tell my friends about this tomorrow? They would totally think it's hilarious."

This was a learning experience. Chris now knows how to handle one of his children pulling the fire alarm on an Easter Sunday, should this ever occur again.

And then a few weeks ago, we celebrated Easter again. Another glorious day. We were excited to celebrate with our church family. My grandparents were visiting from Pennsylvania, the same ones who experienced last Easter's fire truck "experience." The service was moving along as planned, that is until my grandfather became ill in the middle of Chris' sermon.

Now it's important to explain a little bit about my family. Being a seventh generation pastor's wife, I have learned that there are few circumstances that would stop a pastor in our family from not finishing a sermon. Other than facing death itself, the worship service must always go on.

In fact, when my mother was young, my grandfather was watching her misbehave from the platform at the church he pastored. As a pastor's daughter myself, I know how "free" you can feel when both of your parents are involved in the intricacies of the service. I'm sure my mother had the same thought I did: "What can they do?"

Now that I'm a parent of devious pastor's kids myself, I know "they" can do something. The worship service will not be interrupted, but something will be done. When the time was appropriate, my grandfather stepped down from the stage, took my mom out, spanked her, and returned, settling comfortably into the pulpit in order to complete his sermon without being distracted by a misbehaving daughter.

So, when my grandfather came close to fainting on this Easter Sunday, my grandmother's response was not surprising in the least: she did not move. She explained later that she figured the less she moved, the less my grandfather's situation would distract the worship service.

But then there were others watching the event unfold, including my husband. Standing in the pulpit, nearing the end of his second of three points, he noticed the situation with my grandfather.

There is one place and one place alone that my husband can do more than one thing at once - in the pulpit. He described later the simultaneous thoughts that were running through his mind:

1. The passage and sermon itself (one of those minor focuses a pastor has to consider when preaching)
2. It looks like Grandpa's OK.
3. Should I stop? If I do, I'll disrupt the worship service and Grandma and Grandpa "B" wouldn't want that. If I don't, people might take that as insensitive toward my family. Good grief.
4. They're going to call an ambulance to make sure he's OK (at the sight of one of our friends walking outside on his cell phone)
4. I have about five minutes to finish up point number three before the ambulance arrives. That way, the paramedics can come in during the closing hymn instead of the middle of the sermon.
5. What can I cut out? I need to wrap it up.

My husband is remarkable, to say the least. As the concluding hymn began, the ambulance arrived and the paramedics came in to care for my grandfather, who was fine and needed no additional assistance.

Another learning experience. Chris now knows what to do if a family member appears ill during a worship service, should that ever happen again.

But then, a few weeks ago, there was yet another pastoral "situation." This one, like the others had no past experience to draw from. Chris was asked to participate in the youth auction where the kids were trying to raise money for their trip to Jamaica. When he turned down the "give a lot of money and you cant throw a pie in Chris' face" idea, he knew he would have to come up with something else.

My husband has had a plethora of opportunities, and I purposefully call them that, to be a good sport through the years. Again, there is no seminary education that can prepare you for the various "favors" people seem to ask of you in the ministry - especially when you are the "youth guy." Chris has been asked to play the burly "Hans Bronson" in a children's musical, he has played a nerdy professor for Vacation Bible School, and has even worn tights when asked to play the part of a lizard.

When he moved into a Senior Pastor position, I'm sure a part of him had hoped that perhaps he was phasing out of these types of "roles." Not only did this phase not pass, but somehow, as a couple, we attained various roles... together. Chris and I have fit all too comfortably into roles such as Popeye and Olive Oil, but nothing could compare to what we did together last weekend for the youth auction.

In the name of raising money for something good, Chris and I sang and we danced. This did not occur in the privacy of our own home, where my children have been known to cry over our voices, rather this occurred in front of our church congregation. We re-wrote the words to the song "Wind Beneath my Wings," and we did the unthinkable: we sang together... out loud. But it did not end there. We danced a choreographed routine. A true out of body experience, I must say.

Another learning experience. Chris now knows how to dance in front of his congregation one night and preach in front of them the next morning. Chris is not, however, tucking this learned lesson under his belt. As fun as it was, folks, this, quite frankly, is one learned experience that we won't be drawing from again.

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