Rev Miller: One Year Later
To be honest, I forgot. It was one of the most momentous days of my life, right behind our wedding and the birth of my son. But today, I forgot. It wasn't until I got a message from my mom that it clicked: I've been an ordained pastor for a year. So, as this day comes to a close, I want to take a few moments and reflect on this past year, I want to think about where we've been, and where we are going.
After my ordination: (L-R) my mother, me, my father, and my childhood pastor.
A year ago today, as I sat waiting for everyone to arrive for the service, my mind was racing in a thousand different directions. The one big fear (other than forgetting the words of institution for communion) that was pinging around in my head was that I wasn't good enough to be a pastor. I was terrified that I wouldn't be enough; I wouldn't be smart enough, caring enough, patient enough, spiritual enough. As the service began and I listened to the liturgy and the prayers and the music, that fear was pushed to the back of my mind by the pure joy of the moment. And it was a joyful service! I was amazed at the number of people who came: friends and family, former teacher buddies and students, other pastors and church members. The joy rang out in the voice of the choir, in the laying on of hands, and in the celebration of Communion. My family and I were truly blessed by the amazing outpouring of love we received on that day.
It was such a joyful day that those fears stayed pushed back in the deep part of my mind for several weeks. As Mary Erin and I directed at camp and made our final preparations to come to Northern Ireland I was still going strong on the energy from that service. I felt joy and hope and possibility. While we had no idea what life was going to bring once we arrived in Groomsport, I trusted that it would be good.
The last few days at home seemed to rush by in a flurry of preparations and packing; before we knew it we were saying goodbye to family and making our way through security at the Kansas City airport to begin this crazy adventure of living and doing ministry in Northern Ireland. After two flights with a really long layover between, the little map on the seat-back screen let us know we were beginning our approach to Belfast International. Maybe it was the jet-lag or the countless hours of travel, or maybe it was just all the emotions of the day catching up with me, but when I saw the Northern Irish countryside for the first time from the window of our flight, all those fears that had been pushed back came rushing forward. This time they were accompanied by a host of "what-if" questions: what if the congregation doesn't like me, what if I don't get along with the other pastor, what if this was the wrong decision to come here in the first place!?!?
First view of our new home.
Thankfully, the excitement of arriving in Belfast helped push the fears and questions back once again, and we started to figure out life in our new home. Over the coming months Mary Erin and I would become naturals at driving on the other side of the road, finding local equivalents to products from back home, and we even started to understand some of the local phrases. In the fall we made three trips to mainland Europe (Belgium, Rome, and Germany) plus lots of short day trips around Northern Ireland. We really were starting to feel, at least a little bit, at home.
It was also in the fall that we shared news that we were pregnant, with the baby due in March. We received amazing care from our doctor and the whole NHS team (and still do!), which made the prospect of having our first child born internationally a bit easier, as did the loving care and attention provided by our congregation. It was a joyful, if challenging, time. However, for me, this added another level of fear and anxiety as well. No longer was I simply worried about if I was good enough to be a pastor, but now I had the added worry of if I would be good enough to be a dad. If you have been playing along from home these past months, you will have already seen the many posts about the Little Panda, but if not (or you want a refresher) you can see them all in the previous posts in the Journal section. I won't go through all of those details here, but needless to say it has made for a rollercoaster ride of a last few months! The spring and summer of 2016 saw the birth of our Little Panda, a short trip back to New Jersey to perform a wedding, and the start of a host of visitors to our little corner of the world.
When I think about the last 12 months it seems amazing just how much has happened and how different our lives are today than they were on that hot, humid Sunday in Missouri. As I write this, there are notes on my desk for two funerals, plus the order of service from the one last Saturday. My son is downstairs letting mom know that he doesn't enjoy teething. I am watching the sun start to set over the ships going in and out of Belfast Harbour. And as I write this, I am thinking about all those fears, doubts, and questions that I have wrestled with this past year.
On one level, my fears were right. On my own, I am not enough. I don't always have the right answer, I don't always know what to do, I sometimes lose my patience or forget things or make mistakes. If it were left up to me, I would not have enough energy, creativity, intelligence, or any of a whole list of other things to be a good pastor, father, or husband.
But there is where my fears get it wrong. If I have learned anything in this last year it is this: it isn't just up to me. As a pastor it isn't my job to be a saviour; Jesus already has that job sorted. I don't have to have every answer; that is why we live and work in community where different people have different gifts. As a father I am so blessed to have an amazing, beautiful, intelligent, patient woman by my side as we raise our son. I will make mistakes, that is for sure; but God promises grace. I don't have to be right all the time, I don't have to be enough all on my own.
The laying on of hands; I'm in the middle somewhere!
Part of the ordination service is the laying on of hands. The person being ordained kneels down, and then every person at the service who is ordained comes forward and lays their hands on you. Usually there are so many people that not everyone can reach, so chains of hands are formed. Then a prayer is said over the person being ordained. I don't remember the prayer; what I do remember is the weight of the hands, the closeness of the people. All I could think is, "all these people are here for me, they all care."
As I enter my second year as Rev. Miller, I don't know what the future will hold for me or my family. What I do know is that we are approaching it with hope, because we know we are not alone. Thanks be to God.