Before I left Houston, I bragged that I could make twenty hours of ministry work look like forty. I figured that life would be simple and easy. I
thought I would find time to substitute to make more money and that I
would have time for all the leisure I could afford.
I
thank all of you who knew that to not be true, but allowed me to find
out on my own. There are days now where I feel like I am making fifty or
sixty hours of work look like twenty. But even more importantly, I am
learning that this job isn't about leisure or money or even the hours.
In the last seventeen weeks,
I have had to stop my car to allow quail, wild turkey, and the occasional bovine to cross the road.
I spoke at a local Christian Elementary Chapel.
I transported four car loads of 6th to 12th graders to an establishment known as John's Incredible Pizza (think of Chuck E. Cheese's for older kids or Dave & Busters for younger kids) and back without loosing anyone.
Attended volleyball and basketball games, as well as the occasional school play
Found Target, Trader Joe's, and In-N-Out
Sold fundraising tickets outside of the local grocery store
Witness to the adoption of a child into his new home
Set-up and tear-down for the church's clothing give away ministry
Participated in the church's food pantry ministry
Found respite at a local coffee shop (that serves amazing deli sandwiches) and even made it to the movies on occasion
Countless games of Uno
Helped repaint and redecorate the nursery space
Participated in two Easter Services and an Easter Potluck Brunch
Found two Bible studies (one where I am the oldest and one where I am the youngest)
Attended the world famous Calaveras County Jumping Frog Jubilee
Planned and executed weekly Elementary School Outreach, Sunday School, Junior High, and High School Ministry, as well as getting to preach twice
What I have found through all of this, is that ministry isn't even about the doing. It is about being.
What I have been is teacher, chaperone, local sports fan, witness, cheerleader, supporter, encourager, creator of space and a servant to set the table, testifier, preacher, and participant.
I am grateful each of these opportunities and anticipate what the ones that lie ahead.
--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau
Some pics of the doing/being
Sunday, May 21, 2017
Monday, May 8, 2017
Two Years Ago
The fact that when we view things from a new location it causes us to see things differently fascinates me. The relocation caused by time is one of the most poignant ways this occurs (at least in my own life).
Time creates such a new perspective.
Sometimes nostalgia clouds reality.
Other times the distance of time gives one the space to see things clearly.
And then there is the work of reinterpretation. Last time I wrote about how one particular day was understood differently once time had added new experiences into the equation. A day that started in sharp pain and ended in faint hope has become a day of clear hope and distant pain. This shift of perspective was sparked by the "On This Day" feature of Facebook.
Once again, Facebook has brought me memories whose meanings have been refracted through the funhouse mirror lens of time. Two years ago I lived in Chicago. It was less than two weeks from graduation. I had zero idea of what the future held.
I did not know where my journey would take me after walking across the stage to receive my diploma. I was doing my best to remain present. To take in all the things that I would encounter in those last weeks in Chicago. I began to post on Facebook a list of the things that I would miss the most.
On April 27th, 2015 my Facebook status read, "I'm gonna miss doing something two years in a row and calling it a tradition. #ThingsIllMiss #NPTS #13days" The initial meaning of that sentiment dealt with where I ate Thanksgiving Dinner or attending Great America's Fright Fest. It referenced who I spent time with after church on Easter Sunday, and most importantly what film was viewed later that day.
The idea was that my journey through seminary was limited from the very start. I entered into that season knowing that it was going to end and it was going to end soon. There would be only four Thanksgivings that would be celebrated in that community. Only four Easter Sundays. The tradition of attending Fright Fest didn't begin until my second year at North Park. It only happened three times.
I turn 40 this September. Being born in the fall, I have already celebrated forty Thanksgiving meals and forty Easter celebrations. How could a mere ten percent of those ever truly be called traditions? But that was the fun of labeling any repeated annual activity a tradition. Knowing that time was limited and calling anything a tradition was a way to mark that our time was fleeting. It was a way to lament that this community would not last. And it was a way to celebrate the fact that while we were still together we could find celebrations and rhythms to call our own.
Yesterday, I attended a meeting of volunteer parents to plan a Fun Day at the local elementary school. Bounce Houses, Photo Booths, and Organized Games were all discussed. We spent several minutes discussing what worked in the past and what we should replace. We discussed the idea that the kids might be bored with the craft that has been done the last two years. The counter to that was that because we have already done it two years in a row the kids might be expecting it (i.e. it had become a tradition).
At North Park the idea of two annual events marking a full blown tradition was encased by the idea that these rituals would not last. The concept itself was marked by irony.
Now the idea of two annual events marking a full blown tradition is encased in expectations and marked by the reality of this new community.
As I read Facebook this morning, I was struck by the fact that two years ago I viewed time and tradition as fleeting. I didn't know what would happen next. I couldn't even really imagine a time and place grounded and enduring. And now?
Now, I have entered a season where time and tradition are the bedrock of my community. They are the foundations of the ministry I find myself a part of.
--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau
(The preceding blog was written on 4/27/17, and published on 5/8/17)
Time creates such a new perspective.
Sometimes nostalgia clouds reality.
Other times the distance of time gives one the space to see things clearly.
And then there is the work of reinterpretation. Last time I wrote about how one particular day was understood differently once time had added new experiences into the equation. A day that started in sharp pain and ended in faint hope has become a day of clear hope and distant pain. This shift of perspective was sparked by the "On This Day" feature of Facebook.
Once again, Facebook has brought me memories whose meanings have been refracted through the funhouse mirror lens of time. Two years ago I lived in Chicago. It was less than two weeks from graduation. I had zero idea of what the future held.
I did not know where my journey would take me after walking across the stage to receive my diploma. I was doing my best to remain present. To take in all the things that I would encounter in those last weeks in Chicago. I began to post on Facebook a list of the things that I would miss the most.
On April 27th, 2015 my Facebook status read, "I'm gonna miss doing something two years in a row and calling it a tradition. #ThingsIllMiss #NPTS #13days" The initial meaning of that sentiment dealt with where I ate Thanksgiving Dinner or attending Great America's Fright Fest. It referenced who I spent time with after church on Easter Sunday, and most importantly what film was viewed later that day.
The idea was that my journey through seminary was limited from the very start. I entered into that season knowing that it was going to end and it was going to end soon. There would be only four Thanksgivings that would be celebrated in that community. Only four Easter Sundays. The tradition of attending Fright Fest didn't begin until my second year at North Park. It only happened three times.
I turn 40 this September. Being born in the fall, I have already celebrated forty Thanksgiving meals and forty Easter celebrations. How could a mere ten percent of those ever truly be called traditions? But that was the fun of labeling any repeated annual activity a tradition. Knowing that time was limited and calling anything a tradition was a way to mark that our time was fleeting. It was a way to lament that this community would not last. And it was a way to celebrate the fact that while we were still together we could find celebrations and rhythms to call our own.
Yesterday, I attended a meeting of volunteer parents to plan a Fun Day at the local elementary school. Bounce Houses, Photo Booths, and Organized Games were all discussed. We spent several minutes discussing what worked in the past and what we should replace. We discussed the idea that the kids might be bored with the craft that has been done the last two years. The counter to that was that because we have already done it two years in a row the kids might be expecting it (i.e. it had become a tradition).
At North Park the idea of two annual events marking a full blown tradition was encased by the idea that these rituals would not last. The concept itself was marked by irony.
Now the idea of two annual events marking a full blown tradition is encased in expectations and marked by the reality of this new community.
As I read Facebook this morning, I was struck by the fact that two years ago I viewed time and tradition as fleeting. I didn't know what would happen next. I couldn't even really imagine a time and place grounded and enduring. And now?
Now, I have entered a season where time and tradition are the bedrock of my community. They are the foundations of the ministry I find myself a part of.
--Serving Him alongside all of you, just from further away
--Jesse Letourneau
(The preceding blog was written on 4/27/17, and published on 5/8/17)
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