Joy returns

Perseverance through pain

Today is the tenth anniversary of my ordination as a pastor. And Wednesday was the 20th anniversary of the death of my paternal grandfather, Luke J.* Shank, who was ordained as a Mennonite pastor in 1946.

My Grandpa Shank was one of the foremost role models of my life, a person who balanced an open mind with strong principles. We became especially close in the final years of his life. When I was 21, he was diagnosed with acute leukemia and chose hospice care. My father and his siblings allowed me to take part in the bedside vigil in my grandfather’s final days—an incredible gift for which I’m still grateful. That experience set in motion my path to considering pastoral ministry.

Initially I imagined that would only be health-care chaplaincy, the role I had when I was ordained. The pastor and family friend whom I asked to preach at my ordination knew my Grandpa Shank well. In his sermon, he spoke of me taking up my grandfather’s mantle. I still aspire to live up to that description.

There have so many times when I wished I could talk with my grandfather about ministry, especially being a bivocational pastor as he was. (He was also a chemistry teacher and later employed in business.) My father believed he would have been delighted that I became a pastor, which he told me as one of his many ways of offering his own support.

Five years after my ordination, I surprised myself by branching out from chaplaincy and becoming an associate pastor. That was December 2019.

At my ordination ten years ago, I had a fair amount of knowledge of the challenges of hospital chaplaincy and accompanying people at the end of their lives and their loved ones’ lives. But I don’t know that I could have imagined the pain that being a congregational pastor would bring to my life. I’m not suggesting it is this way for everyone, though I also know that I’m not alone. There are many like me who thought frequently about leaving pastoral ministry during the past few years. And some did leave.

I understand now as never before why so many people have left church altogether. I could have been satisfied with my career in writing and editing for faith-based publications. I’d still be making good use of my master of divinity degree. Yet even after many months of painful questions, I still felt called to pastoral ministry. Having my own will to continue reach such a low point, I see it as the Holy Spirit helping me persevere. Reading St. Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians this week for a writing assignment, I found deep resonance with these words: “Therefore, since it is by God’s mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, we do not lose heart” (2 Cor. 4:1).

In the current season with my new faith community, I’m grateful that ministry holds as many delights as challenges. This Sunday—Gaudete Sunday, meaning “rejoice”—I look forward to the joy of ministering alongside the extraordinary people who are part of Moveable Feast.

In preparation for seeing the musical Les Miserables in early January as a gift to my older niece and my mother-in-law, I’ve been listening to the soundtrack again. I know so many of the lyrics by heart, and yet my reaction sometimes still surprises me. This week my eyes brimmed with tears at Jean Valjean’s line, God “gave me hope when hope was gone” / God “gave me strength to journey on.”

Book update

Hey, I hear my book could be the perfect gift for someone in your life who likes biographies. Get it from Bookshop and choose a bricks-and-mortar store to receive a portion of your purchase. Here are some nice things other people said about What You Sow Is a Bare Seed:

“Celeste Kennel-Shank tells this story with such hope and grace that in the process of reading, I could feel that hope and grace extend to us.” —Carol Howard, author of Healing Spiritual Wounds

“As a pastor attentive to practical wisdom, a journalist skilled at storytelling, and a former member of this remarkable community, Kennel-Shank reminds us that what they experienced, we may experience too.” —Jennifer M. McBride, author of Radical Discipleship

Reading and listening

The album After the Longest Night by Steve Thorngate, a local musician and friend, has lovely original and traditional songs for the Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany seasons.

I’ve also been listening to more Rhiannon Giddens after reading this beautiful review by Josina Guess. She reminds us that “hard times can make us tap into our creativity and resilience. No powers above or below the earth can take those capacities from us.”

For those who will be preaching or leading scripture studies in January and February, check out the lectionary columns I wrote for Sojourners magazine:

“There Is Always a Way Out: January reflections on scripture from the Revised Common Lectionary, Cycle C.”

THE PROPHETS ARE not the first biblical voices I turn to when hope is in short supply. Rather, reading them, I often think: Here we are again. … Yet, when I dug into the passages from the prophet Isaiah in this month’s readings, I found hope. If all were already lost, there would be no point to the prophet’s work. Instead, Isaiah proclaims that individual and social change are and continue to be possible.

“How Is God Calling You Now? February reflections on scripture from the Revised Common Lectionary, Cycle C.”

​​Jeremiah encourages people not to be anxious in a time of drought. How do I interpret that when applied to climate anxiety and dangerous political upheaval?

*The J didn’t stand for anything; it was just an initial. I find it both perplexing and hilarious that my great-grandparents did not choose any name to give their son as a middle name. They were keeping it simple as plain Mennonites, I guess.