Deb
Originally ordained in the Lutheran Church (ELCA)in 1988, Deb has had experience in a small rural congregation, a large congregation in a mid-size city, a small congregation in a large city. and a new church start in the suburbs. She has also served in hospital chaplaincy, campus ministry, outdoor ministry, and currently works as a hospice chaplain. She has also worked in a group home for the mentally ill, was director of Prism Ministries (a lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender outreach ministry), and worked for the Ohio Council of Churches.
In 2006 she was granted standing in the United Church of Christ. She has served as a hospice chaplain since 2000.
In the symbolic language of the Hebrew, dalet is an entrance, a doorway; beyt is the floor plan of a home; resh is the shape of a human head, signifying the first born, leadership, or priority. It is a name of transitions, sacred space, and matriarchy.
Taking a Break
I suppose I had said or thought, “I need a break!” enough
times that Spirit not only heard me, but took me seriously. It was not a grand
event: I stopped to help two young boys who had flipped their 4-wheeler on a
wild ride through nearby fields, pinning one’s leg underneath. Even when I heard the “pop” in my back and
felt the pain, I simply assumed I had put something ‘out.’ It turns out I have a compression fracture which is enough to stop
pretty much any plans I thought I had for the next several months!
Neither grand heroic event nor dramatic injury—nothing that
might feed an ego trip. Just enough to
slow me down, to make me take a break from the busyness of my life—no work, no
church activities, no yardwork, no household projects, not even simple chores
to keep me occupied. Anyone who knows me will vouch for how contrary that is to
my normal way of life!
Instead my time is spent in the sacredness of healing
naps—small Sabbaths in each day; in healing touch—reiki and acupuncture to help
the medications ease the pain; in creativity—making jewelry and, when able to
sit for a bit, writing. Time is spent
connecting with those who brought food and shared conversation, some of whom I
hadn’t seen in quite a while (Thank you, all!).
And time is spent with my spouse, who has stayed home to care for me
some days, driven me to appointments, and carried all the chores I cannot now
do (Thank you, baby!)
Time has also been spent with neighborhood children who have
come help with those tasks I couldn’t do for myself: watering plants, and
picking vegetables, mowing the yard and pruning branches. One little girl even came over to get a pan
out from a bottom drawer so I could reheat some food which had been left for
me!
Of course, this was the same child I overheard comment to
her brother, “If I can help an old lady with a broken back, I’m glad to do
it.” There’s a reality check! Yet I had to chuckle, for she made me realize
the gift of receiving and the perspective of time. Later we spent some time out in the "she shed"—the kids playing and I lying on the futon, soaking up their joie de vivre.
I guess we really do have to be careful what we ask
for. Sacred Spirit can have a sense of
humor--not that the Holy One broke my back to ‘teach me a lesson.’ Rather, in my over-doing, I broke my back;
and in the breaking, I found the lessons of taking a break.
Yes, the pain can be exhausting; the impatience to DO again,
frustrating; but, in the slowing down, sometimes I can see the blessings I too
often miss. Or sometimes I don’t miss,
but fail to fully appreciate. Or I
appreciate, but forget to express that appreciation. In the pausing, relationships can connect,
creativity can express, and body and spirit can both heal.
Hopefully, these are lessons I can hold onto. Realistically,
I know my humanness. But maybe from now
on, I can take a break before being given one. 10/13/2015
Dechurched
My passion in ministry is for the dechurched -- those folks who are wounded by the Church. Maybe they've lost their sense of faith, maybe they've walked out and slammed the door behind them, maybe they're still sitting in the pew trying to sort it all out. Whatever 'it' may be, though, gets in the way of an openness to faith, to the Sacred, to community and stifles the person's spirit.
Much of my ministry has put me in non-parish settings which has brought me in touch with people who wouldn't ordinarily walk into a church. I have listened to their stories, their pain, their frustrations and in so doing I have been challenged to re-evaluate my theological language and imagery and even my theology itself. I have been the object of people's anger because I represent The Church/God/Christianity. I have been the ambassador making amends for the sins of my people. I have sought to be a voice of hope and reconciliation in the face of toxicity.
The wounds come in many forms. Some are more obvious, like persons who have been physically, sexually, emotionally, or verbally abused by someone viewed by others as 'pillars of the church. (It's shocking how much abuse happens on Sunday morning before church!) Stories abound of alcoholic parents that presented a sober façade for church. And numerous women can attest to being 'commanded' to remain in abusive marriages.
Less acknowledged is the damage done to persons with mental illnesses who are, at best, ostracized from the potential support of a faith community and , at worst, are put through traumatizing exorcisms. Likewise, the pain caused to lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgendered persons who have been condemned to hell, often by the pastors and family members they turned to in the crisis of self-realization. I know of one person who, as a child hearing her parents condemned to hell for getting a divorce, decided she'd rather go to hell too so she would not be separated from them. Somewhere there's a pastor who would (hopefully) be shocked that his message that morning backfired!
Many wounds are more subtle. I think of the couple told they weren't a 'real family' because they didn't (couldn't) have children. 'Family' events in the church were painful and alienating, as they also can be for single parents, divorced families, and lgbtq+ families. I think of the myriad of good questions I have heard -- about faith, spirituality, bible, theology – which were squelched by church leaders who apparently felt those questions were a challenge to their authority or knowledge. Consequently people were unable to grow spiritually, denied the tools to help them wrestle with their faith, left with answers that were inadequate. So they give up, drift away, become 'inactive' on the church rolls. Or, if they stay, remain stuck on their spiritual journey.
And so I listen to their stories, cringe at the injustices, validate the pain, and then try to provide the tools to help them heal and rebuild. This is what I understand Jesus to have done --with the poor, the outcasts, the sinners, women, children, Gentiles -- reaching out, including them in the Divine Dominion, healing wounds that went beyond the physical. It is not an easy ministry, but it is such a necessary one! 4/27/2012
Ou(s)ting
"In 1997, lesbian pastor Deb Click was presented with a 'Sophie's Choice' ultimatum by her bishop: she could either abandon her partner and their children or resign her position as associate pastor of the St. Paul Lutheran Church in Newark, Ohio. After she chose to resign, an intruder broke into Click's office, leaving her confidential counseling files scattered all over her desk and her personal belongings packed up and left outside her office."
Christian de la Huerta, Coming Out Spiritually: The Next Step. Jeremy P. Tarcher/Putnam,1999; p.191.
Reverend?
I've
never been too thrilled with the title "Reverend." It's too formal,
too stuffy. Reverends were the old guys (and only guys in those days) who were
contemporaries of my grandparents and great-grandparents. They always dressed
in black clerical collars and were rather somber. However, the abbreviation of
Reverend works well with my name, so it didn't take long for the college
students to nickname me "Rev Deb" and it has stuck.
'Reverend'
comes from 'revere' and, quite honestly, that's more weight than I care to
bear. I have found that when people put you on a pedestal, it is too easy to
fall off. Sometimes people are disappointed when seminary training doesn't make
clergy 'holy.' That would be like expecting someone with a degree in finances
to be rich when they graduated or for someone with a medical degree to always
be healthy or for a mechanic's car to never break down. Training and education
help us in the journey but they are not magical answers.
Though it is good to be a role model, too often clergy
become something Other than everyone else, an Ideal to which people cannot
relate. I would rather be Real, to be honest about the ups and downs of trying
to live a life of faith in this world. I would rather share the struggles and
celebrate the growth with my faith community, than look down from a pedestal
and watch them flounder in the muck. Those who know the curves and potholes in
a road best are those who travel it.
So I am on the road with the rest of you and, like most
others, I can take a wrong turn, have a flat tire, or get distracted by the
scenery. Then I have to get myself back on track again in order to continue the
journey. Just as you do.
In my work with hospice, people have the right to decline
the chaplain's services and some do. I'm often disappointed, not because I
think I have some great wisdom to impart to them, but because we are both
enriched by traveling the journey together. I have studied the roadmap,
listened to the stories of other travelers, and have some insights of my own.
The other person, likewise, has maybe read the tour guide or been down this
stretch before. Together we navigate the journey in ways that benefit us both.
That's how I see pastoring --guiding, listening, teaching,
sharing -- being part of the journey with others -- inspiring, encouraging,
helping, and sometimes even being helped along the way. 2/26/2012
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