Mentoring with Morgan. Karen Schlack
pages are warm, instructive, and perceptive. They illumine sacred lifeways that can have pronounced impact on our contemporary society and world. The wisdom shared throughout, while emanating from the ministerial life, translates to every vocation of compassion and care. There is a rhythm to this text, a musicality which flows from page to page, and a cadence not unlike the call and response of preaching that nourishes my own Black church tradition.
Reflecting the best of mentoring relationships, the scaffolding of this book wonderfully honors history, future, and vital practices of transformative exchange between two lives well and faithfully lived. The reader is engagingly drawn into this marvelous model of intergenerational witness and spiritual proclamation that is pivotal for the healing of disparate lives, divided lands, and anemic pulpits in our day and time. We cannot thank Karen and Morgan enough for sharing out of their faith and friendship. Their summons to joy is the music God hears. Thanks be to God!
Alton B. Pollard III
President and Professor of Religion and Culture
Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary
1. Thurman, “Sound of the Genuine,” 14–15.
Introduction
Morgan and I began our mentoring journey while I was as a student at Louisville Seminary and he was the Director of Field Education there. During my second and third years, we met each week to review sermons I prepared for my supply pastorate at a field education church. After we both departed Louisville, our mentoring relationship continued for all the rest of my years as a pastor of churches.
Ours has been a remarkable and life-changing journey that began when Morgan suggested I learn to preach without the presence of a manuscript. From there, our journey took us to many destinations in Scripture, theology, spirituality, and ministry experience. As you read and travel with us, ask yourself how mentoring could enrich your life or the lives of others. Our lives are all precious treasures of vast experiences; whether we are beginners or seasoned travelers. We can open those treasured lessons to others who are just beginning their journeys in ministry or other helping professions. Students and those new to their professions hunger for the wisdom of others who have faced the challenges they now face. A trusted mentor can provide encouragement and companionship throughout their ministries of service.
Morgan and I share our story because we want many more persons to put their toes into the water of this wonderful way of learning. We hope preachers, persons in the pew, and mentors from all disciplines will be encouraged in their journeys as they answer the call of God to give their lives in the service of others.
Chapter One
Prelude to a Journey
One winter afternoon, I found myself on the campus of Louisville Seminary attending the funeral of my beloved uncle, Don. After his funeral, we buried his ashes behind the chapel with a marker saying, “Courage that perseveres.” It had been more than twenty years since I had been in a church, but in that chapel, I felt something familiar. Something I hadn’t felt for a long time.
After leaving the chapel the day of the funeral, I experienced some of the most turbulent years of my life. In 1997, I lost my job of eighteen years while working at a large suburban hospital. During my time there, I served as Administrative Director of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry and opened two psychiatric units and a therapeutic day school. Later, after receiving my MBA from Northwestern University, I served as Director of Quality Management, bringing the hospital the distinction of being named one of the top 100 hospitals in the United States.
When the hospital abruptly eliminated my job, I found myself lost in a sea of despair at the middle of what seemed like a successful career. The stirrings and rumblings of God’s spirit, always present but generally hidden from my view, began to set in motion longings I had ignored in my pursuit of a successful career. I didn’t listen right away. I still had my nose pointed to the ground, determined to fulfill my career aspirations. With those aspirations firmly in hand, I took a position of manager in the healthcare practice of Ernst & Young.
When I took that position, the partner who interviewed me commented that she wasn’t sure I would fit into the culture of the firm. She observed that I had been a social worker and that my prior work was “helping people.”
“That’s not what we do here,” she said.
But I was determined to fit in.
I didn’t, but clients responded well to me, so I stuck with it. Then one night, I received some news that knocked me off my feet. I came back to the hotel after a long day at the client site. It was near midnight and I still hadn’t picked up my voicemail. I rang up the firm’s voicemail and was greeted with the words, “You have fifty-three unheard messages.” I paced back and forth as I listened to the minutia of mail the firm had sent. Then came message seven. It was a nurse at the hospital in my hometown of Chester, Illinois.
“Your father has died,” she said.
I collapsed on the floor, my head between my legs, sobbing.
The next day I left for Chester. When I drove into the small town of my youth, I walked into the funeral home, not knowing anything about what I needed to do. My parents were divorced, and my sister was estranged from Dad. I had never spoken to him about funeral arrangements. I was alone here, or so I thought.
As I walked into the funeral home, a woman from Dad’s church (the church where I grew up) greeted me. She was a deacon. Joan stayed with me every step of the way. We navigated decisions about cremation, the memorial service, contacting family members, and obtaining the will. She was there for the funeral. Dad’s funeral brought together family members who hadn’t spoken with one another for years.
On the day of his funeral service, I walked down the narrow stairs of the church where I grew up to the church basement and saw long tables of pies, fruit, chicken, and potatoes. The church had prepared a meal for all of us. Finally, I felt like I was home. Before I left, I gave the deacon who had helped me Dad’s car so she and her husband would have a reliable vehicle to drive while they did their deacon work. After that day, I was back to church for good.
I left Ernst & Young later that year to work for the Good Samaritan Society, a faith-based organization in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. While working there, I found myself surrounded by persons of faith who were putting their faith in action every day. Their work, which Lutherans refer to as vocation, was seamlessly woven into their faith. The word “vocation” comes from the word vocare, which means “to call.” In that sacred place, the word “call” became an urgent and personal experience for me. It was the place where I began to sense a call to ministry.
Sense of call is what church people call this urgent need to follow wherever God leads. We don’t presume to know that God called us. We only say we seem to sense that urging. My sense of call became so distracting that on one occasion I left my desk in the middle of the day, went back to my room in the central office building where I lived and fell on my knees in a tortured prayer where I finally said yes to God, but not without some fist shaking and a determined cry, “One day I will see you!”
Later that year, I was walking with my dear friend Cally on a forest preserve trail near my home in Chicago. In those days, I was a person who preferred to listen and enjoyed being with someone who could carry the conversation. Cally was a person who loved to talk. During a pause in our conversation, I gathered up my courage and said to her, “Cally, I believe God might be calling me to be a pastor.”
We kept walking in silence for almost twenty minutes. Finally, I broke the silence.
“Do you have any reaction to this?”
After a few more moments she said, “I think it sounds right. Look at your life so far. You have always wanted to serve others. This step makes sense based on who you are and how you have lived your life so far.”
Then I told her about a dream I had that week.