Family, Food and Collapsing the Cake

Happy Thanksgiving!

As I write this, twenty-six of my relatives are gathered at Grandma Lois’ house. They’re eating chicken noodles & pumpkin pie and later will take over a few rows at Terre Haute’s cinema; my guess is they’ll pick Harry Potter. Stories and jokes will be retold and pictures will be taken. I figure tomorrow they’ll joyride on the “Mule” and cousin Billy’s ATV before starting their long drives back to Alabama, Michigan and the Carolinas. With the loss of Grandpa Jim this summer (our remaining patriarch on Mom’s side), it seems ever more important to keep the family traditions alive.

Since childhood, this is the day I’ve put out the antique Christmas village on Grandma’s dining room hutch. It’s a shabby looking old thing with its cardboard houses with beads glued on top; I doubt it would even sell at a yard sale. And yet, it is precious to us. Concerned that the hutch would be bare this year, Great-Aunt Marji suggested that I fulfill my duties via Skype. She’ll hold each piece up to the camera and I’ll direct her where it should go. You see, this will be my first Christmas not spent in Indiana (Stuart doesn’t get holiday leave this year), and it grieves me deeply. As hard as I try to create the illusion of being all places at once, Skype is a sad substitute at times.

Not having my matriarchs around this season, I have been thinking more about baking from scratch (i.e. me finally putting theory into practice). A good cook knows the importance of patience—that sometimes the best thing to do is step back and wait. If you stir or knead too much, you get mush or tough dough. If you keep opening the oven door to check progress, you can collapse the cake. [Do you see where this is going?] The same is true of ministry. If your goal is the development of individuals and the community, it is counterproductive to interfere too much. This wisdom can be hard to follow—especially when I am anxious for notable progress. Stepping back and doing nothing requires that recognition that there are times when our actions not only aren’t necessary, they would be detrimental to achieving the greater goal. [Frazzled pastors and helicopter parents: Do you hear me calling you out?] Mary Poppins, Pete’s Dragon and the old Circuit Riding Methodist Preacher system were onto something: when we make ourselves too necessary, we undermine people’s ability to do things themselves. We deprive people of pride of accomplishment, of building a sustainable system of problem solving (i.e. one that doesn’t require us).

This is one of the reasons why Friendly Planet Missiology is on the move. Dad divides his year between itinerating in Congo and Indiana. He gives time for the catalyst that he tossed into the mix to do its thing before passing through that community again. I take a “hands-off” approach to my ministry in Lusaka (much to the disappointment of those who wanted an old-school missionary to sweep in and ‘fix’ all their problems by throwing my American weight around). There’s no point in starting something here that would collapse without me. Even preaching in or simply visiting the congregations too often is risky business. Church attendance may increase with me around more often, but are those new members coming for healthy reasons, and how will their presence impact congregational power dynamics? And what about the mess I leave the appointed pastors (whose authority has been inadvertently undermined by my leadership) when I leave town next year? [Try explaining that to the Board of Ordained Ministry when they ask how many weddings, baptisms, funerals, etc. I performed this year]

So here’s my Thanksgiving and Advent advice to all the caregivers out there: Step back and enjoy the holidays. Appreciate the joy of breaking bread with those you love. Let the recipients of your care fend for themselves a bit more while you rest. It might feel uncomfortable at first, but remember: that soufflé must rise on its own.

Taylor