I was 22 when I asked my then-senior pastor about attending
my first Annual Conference. I was dreading it, but he responded with
enthusiasm. “It’s a great time,” he said. “My wife and I take an RV and make a
vacation of it every year.” Mentally, I rolled
my eyes. Take an RV to Annual
Conference? Have fun while you’re stuck at in days of meetings with a bunch of
preachers? I vowed that I would never,
ever have a life where Annual Conference was the high point of my calendar.
It’s funny how things can change over 30 years. No, I have not
bought an RV, but everything else looks entirely different. I’m starting to
feel the familiar tingle of anticipation that I get each year. Conference will
be here soon- yippee! What in the world has happened to me?
What has happened to me is exactly what I imagine John
Wesley thought would happen to his preachers. You see, when we are sent to a
church as a pastor, we do not join the church. Our families might join the
church, but our clergy membership is in the Annual
Conference, not the local church. While
this detail may seem like a technicality, it reflects the reality I experience.
When we gather as an Annual Conference, it’s like a family
reunion. I see clergy colleagues and laity from around the state that I have
been blessed to know. We share in traditions, such as beginning each Conference
by singing “And Are We Yet Alive.”
Thirty years ago, I never would have imagined that singing this song
would make my eyes well up, but it does.
I remember feeling like I was surrounded by strangers my
first couple of years. The only pastor I did know was notorious for picking up
his name badge, attending the first session, and then disappearing for the rest
of Conference. In those days before cell phones, I sat alone in my room a lot
those years, unable to communicate with anyone I knew. Thirty years later, I
look forward to seeing and playing with dear friends from across the state.
Sometimes we debate and argue, although we do those things a
lot less frequently these days. Even the debates have a familiar ring and feel
like “us,” kind of like when families slip into familiar patterns of the mom
complaining about it being too cold and the kids asking if we’re there yet. We
make motions and vote, and, even when the outcome is not what I had hoped, it
still feels like a family decision. Thirty years ago, I never expected to find
such easy familiarity with parliamentary wrangling.
When I first started attending Conference, I dreaded the
retirement and memorial services in particular. There were long speeches to
hear and lists of strangers’ names to read, and the services seemed
interminable. Thirty years later, I listen intently to the retirement speeches,
appreciating humor and gleaning wisdom. The names at the memorial service now are
often the names of friends and colleagues. And I know that one day, it is be my
name that will be read.
After thirty years, there are not many new experiences left
for me at Annual Conference, but this year I will have a particularly precious one.
My daughter Vera will be there, receiving her first appointment as a supply
pastor to Maple Grove UMC. She has never
been to Conference before, although she did attend one Minister’s School in
1993 when she was just a few months old and still nursing. I am so excited for
her! I’ve already tried to impart some wisdom from my experiences, such as
dressing warmly for the frigid convention center and wearing comfortable shoes.
There’s so much more I want to tell her, but she’ll mostly figure it out for herself.
She’s pretty brilliant that way. As I type these words, I realize. . .
I haven’t told her to buy an RV yet. But I just might, one
of these days.
