Work becomes routine. No matter what you do or how you do it, you always develop patterns and procedures that can be repeated time after time. It helps to reduce the amount of energy involved in decisions and details. Pretty much every job I can think of tends towards the routine.
Even being a pastor. Ask anyone who has spent years preparing liturgies and sermons and they will tell you they have a process. Over the course of time every one comes up with something that is efficient for their own efforts. A pattern of study and reflection and writing will be honed until it is sharp enough to cut through a week of crises, committee meetings, and commitments. Most pastors study early in the week. Most pastors have a day on which they do the bulk of preparing a sermon. Most pastors remember past sermons and can glean gems from them for this week’s offering.
I’m guessing that everyone also has a routine for getting ready to work. For me as a pastor that meant making sure that the pulpit Bible was already bookmarked with the important passages for the day. I would also bookmark the hymnal in the same way. I would make sure that I had some water available because public speaking will dry out your vocal chords. I also did some warm ups of those chords so that they would be ready and relaxed when it came time to speak.
Week by week, month by month, year by year I would repeat the routine.
So what does one do when one retires?
This past Sunday was strange to me. I had retired the week prior. I had decided that we would participate in worship at the church where our daughter, the other Reverend Rust, would be preaching and presiding at the table. It was World Communion Sunday, so being somewhere for that was important. Being present for her 5th Ordination Anniversary was also a good reason to make the trip to Johnson City, Tennessee, for the morning’s service.
But I started to realize how strange this was. I wasn’t sure what to wear. For years I’ve worn dark suit pants, a long-sleeve clergy shirt, a stole, and sometimes an alb. Now that I was not going to be preaching I needed actually to think about what I would wear. I chose some khaki jeans and a short-sleeve button-up shirt. I wore some water sandals because I’m nursing a sore spot on my right ankle that hurts when it has something against it. I have to say that I felt ‘out of uniform’ for a change of pace. No one else may have noticed, but it felt strange to me.
When we got to the sanctuary I realized that I no longer had assigned seating. As the preacher I was always up front and in the seat nearest the pulpit. I never had to think about picking a pew and making sure that I didn’t ‘take someone’s place’ in the process. We asked our daughter Maggie about where to sit. This is a common thing for folks who are new to a congregation, but it was a radical request for someone who has spent the past few decades not even thinking about it. Finding a seat in a strange place was new to me.
Worship began. I sat and listened to the chiming of the hour. I listened as Maggie rose to welcome the congregation. I stumbled on the responsive reading. Wait! Weren’t those my lines?! No, not anymore! Now I needed to feel and follow the flow of the congregation. Now I was among those responding rather than leading. I didn’t need to set the pace or tone or volume. I just had to be one among the many. Again, it felt strange for a second.
Having Maggie being the one leading was also a moment of impact. I caught a little lump in my throat listening to her be one up front. She now has years of experience with this. She is very much competent and confident. Her voice was clear and articulate. I was not looking and reading and uttering the words. I was instead sitting and listening and following along. Again, an unusual experience that felt strange and out of place.
It felt strange but also wonderful. Listening to Maggie preach. Singing the hymns in the midst of the congregation. Watching others as they worshiped. Breathing in the moment without worrying about how it was all going or thinking about who would say what or hearing my inner critic’s voice tell me where all the faults were. In a powerful way I was able to just worship without worry. I was able to be led without expending the energy. I was just one of the faithful flock who had gathered on this Sunday.
There will be times in the future when I’m called upon to preach and teach and lead worship again. While I’m due a break, I also know that all the skills I’ve developed and the gifts I’ve been given will not go to waste. It may not be the same as a regular routine, but it will be somewhat familiar.
But there may be more times when I am simply one of the gathered and I can let others lead. I do not have a routine for that at this point. It all still feels odd. It feels like first faltering steps again. Right now it is strange and unsettling. Strange indeed!
Character in the Making 