Do's and Don't's

Do’s and Don’t’s

When I started this blog, over a year and a half ago, I made two lists to guide my writing.

One list reminded me to be biblically-grounded, historically-informed, socially-engaged, communally-nurtured, globally-connected, ecumenically-involved, and earth-friendly.

The other list warned against being preachy or churchy. No writing about my writing (which I’m doing now), or writing about my living relatives (which I’ve done, mostly to their amusement), or writing about my congregation (I couldn’t help it). Steer clear of Guidepost magazine types of articles, like, “How my dog saved my life again” or “My grandmother’s recipe for canine communion wafers.” Don’t be sectarian and talk down about a particular religion. And avoid insider-speak, which plagues most ministers.

I vowed to keep things personable but not get personal or bitter or whiney. Be professional in the true sense of that word: profess my convictions. Describe rather than judge.

There’s an adage among preachers to “comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” I aimed to fall on the side of comfort—but hopefully padded with integrity.

Even though I’m a die-hard Presbyterian, I wanted my words to be organic and any humor natural, all lending to a certain poignancy (one of my favorite words to say). There are other Presbyterian columnists in the world, each of whom measures differently on the “get-real” spectrum: Dave Barry (son and brother of Presbyterian clergy) is the one to emulate. Those who spin spiritual candy floss or wallow about whether puppies can cry—they can stay in their self-made hell-hole.

In everything I write I try to employ inclusive language and imagery rather than talk about inclusiveness, so I won’t talk about it now. Inclusiveness speaks for itself.

I enjoy playing with gender and stereotypes and upsetting assumptions. One of the reasons I went into ministry was to challenge patriarchal notions of what a minister is and does. Ministry is full of quotable quotes and cringe-worthy clichés. I happen to believe we are made of—and for—truer words.