Sabbatical Reflections
Preparations Part I

My last post was in April of this year, just as I embarked on a 16-week sabbatical, which included several weeks of vacation and three months of actual sabbatical time away from church-life. I was in search of coffee at the time. I was only a week away from my first trip overseas.

Preparations for sabbatical began about two years earlier. I knew the church I serve had a policy that granted the pastor a 3 month sabbatical every 6 years of service. February 14, 2018, marked my 6th anniversary with the church. However, I wasn’t sure I would be able to get my plans together in time for a summer 2018 sabbatical. So, I looked to 2019.

One thing to keep in mind is that the term “sabbatical” is drawn from the ancient Hebrew tradition of sabbath (or Shabbat, שַׁבָּת‎, pronounced: sha’bat). It is a day at the end of a long week set aside to take a break from one’s labors, in keeping with the first creation story in the Book of Genesis. God creates the heavens and the earth in six days, and on the seventh day ceases (shabbat)from work, blesses the seventh day, and declares it holy. Shabbat is a day of rest and renewal, remembering the gift of creation itself, and reconnecting with both God and community.

Unlike academic sabbaticals, which include taking a break from the rigors of teaching in order to focus on writing papers or books (that, by the way, help promote the institution as well as the author), a pastoral sabbatical is meant for taking a break from the rigors of pastoring a congregation in order to truly rest, renew, and re-connect. A pastoral sabbatical is about creating space for prayer and reflection about one’s personal relationship with God, spending time with family, and the spiritual aspects of life.

It’s easy for a pastor to fall into the trap of the “work” of pastoring, and lose track of the “why” of pastoring. As we go about our work, focusing on the daily tasks and rhythms of congregational life, performing the tasks of head of staff, and oftentimes serving, in a way, as the executive director of a local congregation, it is easy to get caught up in the business aspects of what we do and lose track of the pastoral and spiritual aspects of what we are called to do.

I don’t ever forget that it’s all about people. It’s the people who make the Church. I love my congregation. The people are so amazing, and each has such a story to tell; each has such gifts to share. I found myself holding the faces of the people and all those stories in my heart throughout my sabbatical. At different times, different people would pop into my mind. Some of my experiences made me wonder how some folks would respond or might appreciate what I was seeing. It was like the congregation was with me.

This sabbatical reminded me of why I became a pastor: to serve God by serving God’s people, by celebrating God’s people. That does not mean always doing as people expect or want. In fact, following in the way of Jesus, sometimes serving as a pastor means going against the social grain of a community and inviting people to look critically at themselves (that doesn’t always mean negatively, by the way—critical is neutral, and just means to take a deep and honest look). This is the most difficult and, to be honest, dangerous part of what we are called to do. It can sometimes cause the most pain, frustration, and even anger.

As I contemplated what I would do to refresh my soul during sabbatical, I realized I needed to get back in touch with that counter-cultural and sometimes even counter-intuitive character of the Church and serving as a pastor. So, I decided to do a few things that would help me immerse myself in the roots of our protestant and Reformed heritage. I would spend two weeks following the path of what became the Scottish Reformation in the 16th century, starting at what many have called the birthplace of the Protestant Reformation: Wittenberg, Germany, through the work of Fr. Martin Luther. I would spend time soaking up the Luther vibes, as well as the vibes of his philosopher colleague and close friend Philip Melanchthon. I didn’t know a lot about Melanchthon, so it would be interesting to be in their shared space and explore more of his thoughts.

Of course, the rumblings of what became the Protestant Reformation began well before Martin Luther ever put pen to paper to outline his grievances against the Roman Catholic Church. In 312 C.E., Roman Emperor Flavius Valerius Aurelius Constantinus Augustus, or, for short, Constantine I, had a dream of going into battle with a Christian symbol and winning the battle. In a time when the Roman Empire was fracturing amid civil wars, he followed his vision’s lead, had his soldiers paint the symbol on their shields, won the battle, and shortly thereafter stopped the persecution of Christians as enemies of the Empire, legalized Christianity, and adopted the faith as the official religion of the empire. In a very short time, the Church was dragged from the shadows as an enemy of the state to the very centers of power, wealth, and prestige. For a faith that was born in protest to the abuses of power and the subjugation of the poor, it was a jarring experience from which I believe the Church has never fully recovered. In a short time, the Church became an institution of entitlement. Lord Acton, writing to Bishop Creighton in 1887, was right: “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

By the time Martin Luther and his friend, Philip Melanchthon, began questioning the latest abuses by Church leadership, the Church had battled against the powers of the world and embroiled in battles with its own power within. The Church had splintered and splintered again. Today in the West, this inner battle continues through hundreds, if not thousands, of splintered denominations and groups, fights over theology and biblical interpretations, and scrambling for seats at the tables of influence. By the 16th century, the concentration of power and wealth made the environment ripe for yet another explosion that would yet again and forever splinter Christ’s Church.

Every Church I have served has a history of small and big explosions that have splintered the community, causing at least some to leave. Every community has those moments in their history that mark significant changes in the makeup of how the community functions and who is at the center of the decision making. There are always those little squabbles within a community, much of it just normal human anxiety bubbling to the surface. But when those little flames of discontent merge and become larger fires, they grow and become increasingly difficult to diagnose and resolve. If they get big enough, people get singed, or worse, burned, whether or not they were at the heart of the original flames that gave birth to the blaze.

This sabbatical gave me an opportunity to step away from all the internal and external squabbles, to connect more deeply with the divisions of the past, and remember that this cycle of burning ourselves is, sadly, an aspect of human development that has repeated itself millions of times over the course of history.