this is no longer my blog

My dream job is open. Well, one of my many dream jobs... I seem to have quite a few. But this one might be close to the top of the list.
What is this job, you ask?
Just the Village Pastor at Holden Village.
Actually, right now, they're just looking for an interim pastor, that would serve 10-12 months. I want to write them and ask if they'd be willing to take a seminarian on internship. I could tranfer right now!
But, alas, that just will not happen, I'm afraid.
For those of you who do not know much about Holden Village, I encourage you to go to the website and check it out. It's rooted in the Lutheran Tradition, but it is an ecumenical retreat/renewal center in the Cascade Mountains of Washington State. I was fortunate enough to be able to spend a week out there this last summer, and it has kind of creeped into my veins. Much like heroin. Although I have no idea what using heroin is like.... Honestly....
But I've been figuring out the math in my head. They ask that a Village Pastor put in two, preferably three years, at the village. If I wait through the pastor that comes next, and then the pastor after that one, that gives me a year to finish up seminary and then about five years in the parish. I think I would totally be ready to go be the Village Pastor at that point.
Of course, now that I've made those plans God will screw them all up. Just because God can. And that seems to be the way that God most consistently operates in my life. I'll have things planned out. I'll feel like I actually know what's going on, where I'm headed, what my life is going to look like, and then God says, "Ummmm... Not so much." And then things get altered. Sometimes drastically. Always, at least in hindsight, for the better.

In other news, I wanted to make sure that I knew where I was driving tonight for the evening Lenten service. It's to an even more podunk town than the one I live in, or the one I preached in last time - when I was straight out of Compton. So I left work a little early and drove to the church. It's on the edge of one of those "blink and you miss it" towns. I even hate to call it a town, really. More like a small collection of houses. Then there's a curve in the road and there's the church. It took me about a half an hour to get there. And I made it there and back very easily. Of course the sun was out then. Things always look different in the dark. And I can get lost in my house if the lights are off. So we'll have to see what happens this evening.

[editor's note: Just so you know, I in NO WAY consider "podunk" to be a derogatory term. In fact, I consider myself to be "podunk" spending a LARGE part of my formative years in a township of 300 people, followed by a small town of 3,000... in fact, the largest town I lived in growing up was 13,000 people. So, while there might be some negative connotations with the word, I feel that being a podunk person from podunk towns gives me the right to use the term. Now if you live in Chicago or New York City or large cities like that, and use the term "podunk" then you're just being plain nasty.]