Working in the wilderness of the concrete jungle

I work at a church.
I work in Manhattan.
I work at a church in Manhattan.

Holy freaking crap, what have I gotten myself into?

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As of Friday when we had our first meeting together, I am officially a Community Minister (CM) at Judson Memorial Church. Or as of July when I got the paperwork. Or as of June when I talked to one of the full-time ministers about my position. Or as of April when I had my initial meeting to discuss my interest and entrance into the internship program. Regardless of my official start time, I will be paid over the course of the next year to work at Judson in this "concrete jungle where dreams are made of."

When I entered Judson for the first time in April, I was given some free time in the sanctuary. I love exploring churches and discovering their history.

I realized today that I have never been paid for official ministry roles. All of my experience in ministry positions has been volunteer-basis, and my paid work with youth in a secular setting (which I see as my service in ministry as a mentor) was always minimally-funded. In some ways, it was easier to be paid little to nothing because I guess I could bow out at any point and blame the money. I never did bow out until I completely resigned from all of my positions to attend theological school, but now that I'm getting paid and recognized for my skill level and experience, it's a new set of commitments.

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During my first service this morning as a CM, I was asked to share during the announcements time about the upcoming middle school cohort that I am a part of creating and forming. I will be leading this cohort, and it is expected to kick off in two weeks. I felt like I was completely thrown in on my first day as the fourth speaker of the morning when none of my fellow CMs (Judson operates with an internship cohort) spoke alongside me. It was just me. And I tried to be funny and witty and compelling, but I also tried to be genuine in hopes that families will trust my work and youth will join and this will be more of a community and less of a program.

I wish I could remember what I said or how the congregation reacted, but it was a blur in front of the mic until I got back to my seat. And then, all of the CMs were asked to stand for an informal introduction - because our formal introduction will happen in three weeks - and my memory comes back. Afterward, I was pleasantly calmed when parents and community members introduced themselves and told me about their children, their work with youth, their hopes, and their struggles. In that moment, I remembered my work and hopes for these students who I am looking forward to meeting.

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Before church today, I was reading Daring Greatly by Brene Brown for Supervised Ministry, my class that connects to my internship year. In chapter four, Brene writes about "foreboding joy," or the act of being joyous but having a sense of dread of what could come. I couldn't think of any relation upon reading the text, but it hit me afterward: What if everything goes wrong? What if the kids don't like me? What if the parents don't trust me? What if it all fails? And yet - people volunteered, people shared stories, people trusted. What if it all goes correctly? It's conflicting.

I think part of my worry in this context is wondering if it is all real.
Is it possible that a place exists that values art and justice like it says, puts these ideals into practice with songs such as Day by Day from Godspell and Being Alive from Company, and shares joys and concerns from Kavanaugh's confirmation hearings to Serena Williams' loss in the US Open?
Is it possible that I was sitting in church today along with my gender non-binary friends and my Jewish friend in the cohort, a set of Christian pastors, and a congregation of people who I have yet gotten to know?
Is it possible that we can all gather to worship God with wonderment and amazement?
Is it possible that these things we do and say and ritualize are sacred?
Is it possible that this southern Illinoisan at heart is commuting for work into New York City multiple times each week from her home in New Jersey?
Is it possible that this is a real place and not a magical unicorn across the street from Washington Square Park?
Is this a piece of hope among the despair?

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As minister Donna Schaper preached today on wilderness, my mind instantly shifted to Sarah Bessey's book, Out of Sorts, and this faith journey that I have been on for years. I told a new friend who is a fellow CM that I identify with the message and with the connection to Exodus 16:13-15 when the Israelites are written to speak about seeing manna on the ground for the first time and to ask, "What is it?" What even is this ministry work, and why do I do it?

We had a couple of rounds of questions at our first CM meeting this past Friday, and it became known that none of us are directly interested in traditional parish ministry. When I was asked specifically about my thoughts toward working with the local church vs. parachurch ministries, I said, "I don't feel like it's my calling, but I don't know. God keeps pulling me in, and I keep resisting, and then I'm pulled in again."

Because God won't quit gently pulling me back in. When I resist, it takes on many forms. I resist this calling or whatever it is that I'm doing on the reg. I "resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves," and God reminds me that I am inspired to do this social justice work for the kin-dom to bring peace. I resist sleep and dairy and nuts because my body doesn't function like an average body. I resist, and I resist, and I resist. And then I rest in the moments when I trust God and the people around me and my life experiences and the things in which I find passion and joy.

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This wilderness is scary. My mind has been so boggled that I haven't written for fun or with excitement since June, yet here I am today on the blog where I have found my created space to be creatively brave. Maybe I'm changing in this season where I'll want to write more, but maybe I'm in this season which calls my focus and my creativity elsewhere. Maybe I'll follow toward the source of giving life that compels me to do this work.

For now, I dream of a church. And this dream, it seems, is actually coming true in real life.

"I dream of a church where everyone is welcome.
I dream of a church we all can call home.
I dream of a world where justice is flowing,
With hope and peace growing,
Where God's will is done.

Make it so."

I Dream of a Church, Mark Miller

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From the "modern testimony" in today's service: A "Halo of safe space for creativity and authenticity." For whatever this is and whatever may come of it, make it so.