Working Preacher

Rejoice with me, for I have found the sheep that was lost!

We were up and having breakfast by 7:00am. Wil, Al, and I sat around the table enjoying dulce de leche en pan, palta, y cafe con leche. We had to leave in thirty minutes but time does not disrupt meal time. "The trip to La Plata is going to be around two hours" Wil tells me. The night before I asked to go to church with her as she was filling in for another pastor, a potential graduate from the local seminary completing his thesis. I have been at the house for a week now and have yet to see Wil have a day off. Every single day has been either heading heading to the office, having conference calls on the phone, or visiting a congregation. For the working preacher, there is no rest even on the Sabbath.

We all piled into the two door car. It was a red Chevy hatchback. All the cars were the same style here regardless of the brand. Al drove Wil and me about twenty five minutes to the aeroparque, a major bus terminal in the city. "This is the government house. It's like the white house but it's pink" she said. She continued to point out different landmarks and museums during the drive. We got out and walked through the terminal into a lot far in the back. She mentioned the station was dirty and many of the disenfranchised people of Buenos Aires stayed here. I am in an entirely different country but somehow bus stations always look the same. It was no different than Port Authority in New York City or as a greyhound station in Richmond Virginia, Atlanta Georgia, Charlotte North Carolina, Los Angeles or San Diego California. A bus station is a bus station is a bus station. We spoke more about poverty and social injustices in our homelands as we waited to board this large white coach bus with pink and red flowers on the sides. The bus doors opened and we shuffled into a row; me by the window and Wil on the isle. She took off her jacket and relaxed. I was too cold to remove any layers. The bus took off and we were on our way to La Plata.

It was a little after 8:00am and Wil was playing a bit with her phone, most likely updating everyone on her status. She is very efficient like that. I asked more about the congregation and her self care methods. "When do you take a day off?" I said. She is scheduled to have Mondays off but she still works in the morning. There is just too much work to do to not work on Mondays. "Tu te loca!" I tell her, "you're crazy." I asked about her preaching style and if it was common to use a manuscript here. "How do you prepare for a sermon?" I inquired. In the IELU it seems to be more common to meditate on the scripture and jot down key points or themes rather. On Sundays they preach without a manuscript much like in the Black Church context but with much different mannerisms. She says "I like the work of a pastor more than administration." It's quite obvious too. Wil speaks in the tone of a pastor most of the time. She has a comforting presence that makes you feel like you can confide in her. Her theology reflects an inclusive God that cares for the poor and marginalized. All in all she is the shepherd we as church always needed.

The bus finally stops in another terminal. We have arrived in La Plata. Wil and I hop into a taxi to head over to Iglesia de San Timoteo. On our way we are barricaded by a marathon. The driver works diligently to find a way around but he is not having any luck. He sees another taxi with the same problem so the two begin to follow each other around like two fish escaping the mouth of a gator. Wil begins to get anxious as she continuously looks at the time yet her tone does not change when speaking to the driver. I on the other hand have my head mounted on the glass gazing at this very distinct barrio. La Plata has murals and street art that Belgrano lacks. There are more trees and this beautiful Catholic church in the center of the plaza. In fact it is the tallest Catholic Church in Latin America. In the midst of minor chaos Wil points out this orange tree growing on the sidewalk. In the midle of winter fresh oranges still grow here. How beautiful. I am in awe. $180 pesos later (roughly $12.00) we arrive to the corner of San Timoteo.

We are greeted by a parishioner who is quite familiar with Wil. We walk through the freezing church and step behind a wall leading to a small room with a table and a few chairs. There is a very small heater that kills the chill in the air. Wil places her purse on the table and pulls at her alb and stole. What felt like 5 minutes turned out to be much longer because church was about to begin. "How many people usually attend?" I asked. "5. . sometimes 10, sometimes 3" she replied. We walked out to the sanctuary only to find two other people present. There was an older gentleman of Italian descent and a younger homeless man. It was a very odd combination but very much church. Wil stood in the center of room and the original parishioner sat across from us. There was not an organist nor was there a choir. It was just the 5 of us sitting in the sanctuary praising the Lord.

I had never been to a worship so small where the pastor could turn the pages of the bible for congregants. Here Wil was, conversing with the two men in her soft and supportive voice. Together we sang "Cuandos Los Pobres" and "La Paz del Senor" out of tune, songs I had maybe sang once before. Then Wil began to preach. It was wonderful. She preached right from the center of the sanctuary with a bible in her hand and the word of God in her heart. She created space to ask the congregation questions and allowed them time to reflect. Wil spoke with conviction of what we are called to do as church and reflected our conversation earlier about the marginalized people in society. It was powerful. This was a regular sunday sermon, a reminder that we are called to care for and to love our neighbor as ourselves, and that is the word of the Lord.

After service we all sat together in the back for a few minutes as we sipped on coffee and tea. Wil and I were not quite done yet in La Plata. She had made plans to visit her son, Sebby, who lived in the barrio so we walked a few blocks to this small restaurant in the park. Sebby met us at the restaurant. We all sat down for lunch and ate Carne Asada. In the blink of an eye I watched Wil go from pastor to mother, shepherd to caretaker, and it was a heartfelt experience. Even with the language barrier she sounded like any other mother. Wil and Al's two children live quite far from each other. Sebby in La Plata and Carey lives in Montevideo. "Carey was born in Germany, and Sebby was born in Argentina so the family is predominately Argentine" she said. We all chuckled. Wil was also born in Argentina and Al was from Uruguay so two out of the four were Argentine nationals. After lunch we walked a few more blocks to stop for coffee. It was nice to spread the time out more for Wil and Sebby. Even though he was the closer child, with the schedules everyone had it was quite hard to get together often. Finally we parted ways and the two of us headed back to the terminal.

At this point it was after 3:00pm and we were running late for our final obligation. Wil still had to lead worship at her home congregation in Belgrano that evening.

In Argentina it is not uncommon to host evening worship instead of morning worship. Her church was one of the many with this alternative practice. "Are you tired?" she asked me. I nodded and she responded "me too." The two of us napped for a few minutes slightly exhausted by the week. When we got back to the Captial Federal, we hopped on another bus to go to church. We had an hour to kill before el culto so we decided to stop for more coffee. "What do you enjoy doing on your free time?" I asked. I was still curious of self care practices in the Latin American context. So far I had met a number of wonderful pastors and it seems like they all run non-stop. How does one have time for their family? What do you do when you're ready to quit? I could not help but think of how easy it is to burn out with a 7 day schedule that involves preaching in churches without heat and traveling hours for a congregational visit. It is clear the work is important and matters deeply to the IELU. It reminds me of the parable of the lost sheep.

Luke 15:1-7

15 Now the tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to hear him. 2 And the Pharisees and the scribes grumbled, saying, “This man receives sinners and eats with them.”

3 So he told them this parable: 4 “What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open country, and go after the one that is lost, until he finds it? 5 And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing. 6 And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and his neighbors, saying to them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.’7 Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.

This is not to say any of these congregations are lost. I see this more so as how important each and every person is to the shepherd, or the church. If there are only 26 pastors in a 30 church synod, then we need to care for the other 4 without a pastoral presence. Their inability to fund a pastor or our lack of resources does not reflect the value of the church and those in it. We are called to overcome that and continue to give all of our support in any way we can. For those here in the IELU that does then look like traveling 2 or sometimes 7 hours for a 9 person congregation.

We ended our day with one more worship with a more affluent Hungarian Lutheran congregation. Here Wil presides with a co-pastor Alan, an Argentine from a Danish English background. He speaks to me in spanish and British-english. This time around Alan preached. Though his style is unique to him, the overall theme was quite the same. Our worship ended with "A Mighty Fortress" in spanish. This congregation had an organist but everyone still sang slightly off tune. There was an assembly after worship that Wil had to stay for while the rest of the members engaged in fellowship over coffee and sandwiches. This was the first night that Wil did not cook dinner that week. Normally we would arrive home to a full dinner with salad. "Are you tired?" she asked me. Of course I was. "Are you tired?" I responded. We both agreed. On the walk home I told her how much I enjoyed her work as a pastor. It was late and she still had to get up tomorrow and work in the morning. She has to respond to emails, call a few churches, touch base with the president, and manage her congregation. But she loves it. 

It is amazing how much a job tends to not feel like a job when you enjoy what you do. That is my favorite part about church work. I feel like there are so many areas in ministry that are very life giving that you cannot help but want to dive all the way in 24 hours a day. Yet at the same time, even things that are life giving can later on be life taking. Wil did mention that she takes two weeks vacation a year. When she has time to herself she goes for walks, swims, or reads inside her house. There are elements of self care available and she is quite aware of how to love herself when push comes to shove. That sense of balance is important. My fear this year is trying to match my supervisor knowing that my self care practices are different. The worst thing to me is to be seen as the lazy intern or the incompetent intern because I make sure my day off is for me. I do not want to be seen as rude when I leave an event earlier than everyone else because Argentines celebrate very late. I know what I am capable of and I know I can run myself into the ground very well. I am quite exceptional at doing too much. Yet I am also aware best practices start now. It is a difficult line we walk as clergy trying to be everything for everyone else while also trying to be something to ourselves. I pray that this year I can strike the balance and meet the expectations of my IELU colleagues. 

#ReclaimMissionary