Soft Knees
by Peggy Haymes, Pinnacle Associate
I was talking with our high school students about calling. Since our church was voting that morning to call a new pastor, it seemed like a good time to talk with them about why we spoke of calling new ministers, not hiring them. One of the things I mentioned was that when we call a pastor, we cannot tell them exactly what they will face and what they will have to do.
“Some of you weren’t here when we called our last pastor,” I said, “and if you were, you were very, very young. But when we called him, we could not say, ’By the way, about halfway through your pastorate we’re going to have a global pandemic and the church won’t be able to gather in person for a long time. You’re going to have to radically rethink how you do ministry.’ ”
Who knows what will come our way over the course of a ministry? Who knows what will come our way today?
In talking with people about grief, I often use the image of having soft knees. As I think about it, I believe it works for the life of ministry as well.
Growing up I had the opportunity to go sailing, whether it was every summer on my uncle’s boat as a kid, nearly every weekend on my dad’s boat when I was a a teenager or a memorable trip with my dad on the Chesapeake Bay as a college student. One of the first lessons in sailing is that moving about on the boat requires soft knees.
The water beneath us is ever changing and the wind around us can blow up a sudden gust. If we try to plant our feet firmly and walk with determined steps as if we’re on a solid floor, we’re likely to wind up overboard. Instead, our knees have to function like shock absorbers, giving and adjusting to the ever changing deck beneath us. We need soft knees.
One day on the Chesapeake my father and I were battling particularly fierce winds. (Only later did we discover we’d spent the day sailing through a small craft advisory in our 28’ boat.) Fierce winds called for thoughtful movement. When my father needed to go to the mast or up front to the bow, he tied a line from his wast to the mast so he wouldn’t be separated from the boat if he was knocked overboard. Each step we took, whether up top on the deck or down in the cabin, was thoughtful and intentional, and often came with a pause. As the deck shifted beneath our feet, after each step we paused for a moment to adjust and gather our balance again.
Ministry and congregational life can bring fierce winds. Our instinct may be to firmly plant our feet to plow determinedly ahead. But sometimes we are called to heed these sailing lessons:
As the ground shifts, walk with soft knees.
Give ourselves moments of pause to re-center.
Most of all, tie a line of connection to the One who will keep us from being swept too far away.
If you need navigational support, Pinnacle has a number of resources to help you chart a new course or sail in a fierce wind. Let us know how we might be of help to you.
