On our staff Zoom call the other day, we were remarking on the weirdness of time right now. It’s simultaneously stressful, boring, never-ending, and flies by. How is it possible that time can be all those conflicting things simultaneously? 

We continue to live under the oppressive shadow of COVID-19. 

I confess that I have felt like I have been spinning my wheels in sand. Early on—in March and April—there was a sense of urgency. Information to be distributed, guidance to be offered, congregations to be supported. But in more recent months, we’ve settled into what has become our new normal. Zoom or recorded worship. On-line committee and council and staff meetings. On-line bible study. Our computer and phone screens have become our access to the world as we use them to make contact with those who live outside our “COVID bubbles”.  And I’ve wondered: what comes next? Why are we working so hard? What are we paddling this canoe toward? Anything? 

Early on, we spoke of Easter…then Pentecost…then Summer…then Fall as the time when we would return to normal.  Now, I hear less of those sorts of hopeful comments. I hear more despair. More grief. More wondering when we will get to be back. Some denominations have cancelled in-person worship through 2021, believing that doing so will be the best thing to keep their leaders and their members safe. Before you panic and wonder if I’m going to do the same thing: rest assured that the ELCA does not have the constitutional ability to make that sort of decision for congregations. But if I did have that authority, I would have given serious consideration to doing so, and here’s why: because as much as we miss in-person worship, as much as on-line worship is an unsatisfactory replacement, it is still not safe to gather together in person. And yet I hear that some congregations are putting pressure on their pastors to “re-open” worship. 

I’m going to ask lay leadership to take an attitude of cooperation with their rostered leaders in this time. I know you miss worship. I miss it, too! I miss the sounds of singing, the wheeze of the organ, the glow of candles and the taste of bread and wine on my tongue and the words of forgiveness in my ears. I miss SEEING people with my own eyes, not through the medium of a computer or television screen. I miss the particular smell a Lutheran sanctuary has—books and dust and linen and funeral flowers and perfume and flame and a hint of bread and wine. And (to be honest) I REALLY miss having in-depth conversations with people that I’m not married to or parent of.  My family is amazing, and I love them beyond all expression, but…I’d like to have a few other folks to chat with over the course of a week, you know? For those of you who are thinking that your pastors and deacons are refusing to resume in-person worship due to laziness, let me assure you: they work FAR harder to get the recorded services to you every week than probably any “normal” week in the pre-COVID calendar—including Holy Week. They are working so hard, trying to care for you the very best they can, and to be met with criticism around this is deeply demoralizing. 

None of us are at our best right now. We’re under stress. We’re missing important touchstones in our lives, our days. We are living with ambiguity, and our nation seems to have lost its collective mind. It makes sense that we would want to get back to something familiar. Something that has been largely unchanged in our lives. Words that we know in our bones. Songs that our mothers used to sing us to sleep. Prayers that were some of the first language we ever learned. Missing this, wanting to get back to it makes so much sense! But it is not safe yet. It won’t be safe for a long time. So we shift to the language of “acceptable risk” and I’m not convinced that we’re at that point yet, either, regardless of what “phase” your county of residence happens to be at. Just because we CAN go to Walmart, Home Depot, the grocery store, or a restaurant doesn’t mean we SHOULD. And that is what I’m looking at when offering guidance around resuming in-person worship. Not what we CAN do, but what SHOULD we do? What should we do for the good of the entire congregation, not just a vocal few? What should we do for the good of our leaders, who bear the brunt of this stress? 

Coronatide has been incredibly hard on your deacons and pastors. I’m not going to sugarcoat it for you, because I’m not that kind of woman. Many of your leaders are barely hanging on. They aren’t sleeping. They aren’t exercising. They are worried about you, they are worried about family, they are worried about their children. Leading a congregation in this time feels like a never-ending marathon—they are working endlessly and often feeling as though it is never enough. The congregation members they hear from are those who have a complaint, because that’s when humans tend to talk—when they are unhappy. Your leaders aren’t hearing words of love, support, hope, gratitude. They need to. 

As congregations, you must take care of your leaders so they can take care of you. 

Pastors and deacons are not an infinite resource. 

Deacons and pastors are not an inexhaustible resource.

And many of them are probably giving some consideration to leaving the ministry because this work has gotten so hard. 

People of the Northwest Intermountain Synod: it is absolutely that grim for your leaders. For your beloved pastors and deacons who will sacrifice everything that feeds them to take care of you, and never say a word about it. 

As more and more school districts in the synod begin to announce their plans for the upcoming school year, many are choosing to go either 100% on line, or some sort of hybrid of in-person and on-line school—this will put incredible strains on your leaders—female OR male--with school-aged children at home.  

Many of our leaders live several hundred miles away from vulnerable parents, parents in nursing homes, parents who are ill—and cannot travel to see them, cannot offer the care they want to because COVID-19 has interrupted lives so completely. 

Many of our leaders serve in small communities, and have faced the loss of regular contact with colleagues—something that can make a huge difference in being able to shoulder the load of care that comes with this life of public ministry. 

Some of our leaders are single, sheltering in place all alone—cut off from human contact except through electronic means. No one to talk to. No one to share a meal with. No one to offer a hug on a bad day. 

Many of our leaders have pre-existing conditions that do no prevent them from doing wonderful ministry in “normal” times, but that make them incredibly vulnerable to the effects of COVID-19—and perhaps they don’t want to have to disclose those conditions to the congregation (which is their right).  How do they balance the demands of ministry while holding the knowledge that a visit could be a death sentence for them? Now some of you may be thinking, “Bishop! There are TONS of people who are facing all those same things!” and that’s precisely my point. Your deacons and pastors are facing all the same challenges as everyone else, as well as trying to take care of the spiritual and emotional needs of congregations full of understandably anxious, needy people. 

I’m focusing on rostered leaders (in pastoral AND specialized ministry) because they are often treated as employees, hired to fill needs and fulfill 100 individual expectations. They are the ones who often bear the brunt of unpopular decisions—and only rarely are they the ones who get to make the decision that is unpopular. More often than not, they are just the messengers. I cannot emphasize this enough: just ONE person expressing concern, gratitude, offering kindness, checking in, offering support, can change everything for your rostered leaders. ONE person saying “Thank you for the way you keep pulling these worship services together, even though none of us are happy about them—I know you don’t like it either, but you keep taking care of us. Thank you.” can have an absolutely transformational effect for your leaders. A card popped in the mail, a text, an email, offering to have pizza delivered to their house for dinner one night, a recognition of how much they are doing—for you—will make the difference between a pastor or deacon who begins to feel like they might just survive this time, and one who could very easily decide to leave the ministry for good. 

We can’t change the reality of life in these strange days. But we CAN make it better for one another. And that’s by doing something we seem to have gotten very bad at as a nation: putting the needs of others ahead of our own wants. Checking in with one another. Giving positive feedback. Extending grace and forgiveness, rather than holding grudges. Stop labeling something you disagree with as “political” and instead consider how you can set aside politics to be Children of God to one another. If we are part of the Family of God (and through our baptism: we are), the expectation is not that we always agree with one another. But we always care for one another. Always. 

Know that I have held the synod—pastors, deacons, everyone—in prayer in these days. They make no sense. So I lean hard into the “peace that passes all understanding” and pray that the same peace makes a place in your hearts and homes.

God be with you.

+Bishop Kristen Kuempel