Schools can teach us much that is worthwhile, but there are some experiences that are beyond the scope of academia. One of these is the experience of one's first day as an intern pastor. I liken being a ministerial intern to being a college freshman: both are filled with an uncertain false confidence and the misconception that one is prepared for what lies ahead.
As I carried my box of office paraphernalia to work with me that hot day in July 1995,1 was filled with excitement. This was a dream come true. I had worked long and hard for this day: tests, exams, term papers, practicums... I was ready! Yet, as I sat in my office unpacking my "stuff," a feeling of fear gripped me. "This is it. If I bungle my work there's no more being able to use the excuse, 'I'm only a student.'" With the moment of "arrival" came the realization that large expectations now lay right ahead and with them, the stark question, "Am I going to make it?"
I did overcome the overwhelming feeling of fear that day, but with it, the naivete that I was prepared for this work left me also. My professors trained me well. I learned much in the classroom setting. We participated in preaching and evangelism practicums, student chaplaincy training, discussions on which part of Paul's letters were prologues and which were the body. We even learned what Moses really meant by commanding the Israelites not to boil a goat in its mother's milk. But there's one class no school is equipped to teach: Life Practicum 101.
No one can prepare pastors for the day church members address them as "Pastor." The first time it happened, I was inclined to ask, "Who? Me?" It reminded me of when I got married and people called me "Mrs." "I'm too young for that! Mrs. Shields is Roy's mother!"
No one can prepare a pastor for the nominating committee. I thought the pas tor called church members and they all said, "I'm so glad you called. I would love to help you!" Instead, I began to wonder if the telephone on my ear was a permanent growth, a grotesque piece of anatomy on the side of my head necessary to ministry.
I became convinced, too, that committees are no-win situations. You're absent, and the committee assigns you work. You show up, and they make you chairperson. Then you have to follow What's-His-Name's Rules of Order: motion, second, addendum to the motion.... I've always gotten good results with Bonita's Rules of Order: "Does anyone have a problem with this? OK, let's move on!"
The experience that really set my Life Practicum in motion, however, began at the bedside of a dying woman.
A visit with Minnis
Steve, my fellow pastor, was out of town my first week-and-a-half in ministry, so I made some of his usual visits during that period. Minnis was one of those visits.
Her Alzheimer's had progressed to the point where she couldn't communicate with any one. So, during my visits, much of the time was spent talking with her daughter, Gloria, who told me about Minnis's life and family. I felt as if I really knew Minnis, though we could never really speak together.
During one of our visits, Gloria told me her mother loved to read Scripture and especially loved the Psalms. So, before I left that day, I read several psalms to her. In credibly, as I read to her, she riveted her body and attention on me and listened intently until I had spoken the last word. As soon as I finished, she pulled me toward her and hugged me tightly.
One evening as I was driving home, I drove past the nursing home. I had not planned to visit Minnis that day, but I felt compelled to visit. As I entered her room, I came face-to-face with Minnis's family: Gloria, her two brothers, and their spouses. Steve was there also. Minnis was nearing death. I sat amidst the family, not knowing what to say. What do you say to someone whose mother is dying? I didn't remember anything in my classes that dealt with this. So, I just sat and watched. And listened.
A little while later I said my goodbyes to the family and left. As I walked down the corridor of the nursing home, I realized I had not said Goodbye to Minnis. Not that she would know anything. But I would. I went back to her room, kissed her on the cheek, and left. Minnis died ten minutes later.
The memorial service was held a few days later. As the family and friends were arriving, I asked Steve, a pastor with a wealth of experience, "Do you have any words of wisdom for an intern at a memorial service?" His answer was direct. "No. They're all different." Again, I just sat and watched. And listened. Life Practicum 101 continues...
Facing the reality of death
My husband Roy and I went for a weekend visit to my parents' home. Mom needed some rest from taking care of Dad, so I decided to stay on for the week to help her. Dad was dying of cancer.
A crash awakened me that Monday morning on September 25,1995. I ran into my parents' bedroom to hear Mom asking, "Daddy, why didn't you call me to help you?" Daddy had fallen from the bed and landed against the night stand. I went over to help Mom lift him back onto the bed and suddenly comprehended the expression "dead weight." Daddy weighed only 145 pounds. He shouldn't be that difficult to pull up. Then the full force of the moment hit me: Daddy was dead. I sat on the floor, placed his head on my shoulder, and put my arms around him to hold up his lifeless body until the hospice nurse arrived.
After Daddy's body had been taken away and it was just Mom, my brother, and me in the house, I wept from the depths of my soul with groans of anguish that I had never before experienced or even knew I was capable of feeling. So this is what it feels like to lose someone you love.
Schools can teach us many worth while things, but there are some experiences in life that are beyond the scope of academia.
Life Practicum 101 continues...
