Service of Ordination and Installation of Mark Peters Ward

Charge to the Minister

The Reverend Dr. Michael Schuler (Supervisor of Mark’s internship)

First Unitarian Society of Madison

Madison, Wisconsin

It gave me great satisfaction to accept Mark Ward’s invitation to deliver the “Charge” to the minister on the occasion of his ordination into the Unitarian Universalist ministry and his settlement here in Asheville. I am gratified because Mark’s recent student internship in Madison was one of the most distinguished and memorable we’ve enjoyed, and because Mark and I have known and respected each other for seventeen years, or since my arrival in Wisconsin in 1988.

It is also a treat to be back in Western Carolina, by the way. For a number of years my in-laws owned a home a few miles outside of Boone, and I spent many summer and holiday Sundays in the pulpit of the Boone UU Fellowship. This is, however, the first chance I’ve had to visit Asheville.

When I reflect back upon Mark’s internship, one thing I remember is that he took an interest in a class I often teach that introduces participants to movement meditation, specifically to the ancient Chinese disciplines of Qi Gong and Ta’i Chi. Now, at a concrete, practical level, the practice of Ta’i Chi helps restore our equanimity and keeps us calm in the face of institutional stress and professional busy-ness. But the philosophy of Ta’i Chi reflects a more subtle wisdom that has even greater relevance to the ministerial calling. So although this was only a minor aspect of Mark’s experience with us, it is well worth reconsidering in the current context. Here, then, are four lessons for ministry drawn from the discipline of Ta’i Chi. First, never make a move without locating your center of gravity, establishing your “root” and slowly, deliberately shifting to a new position. In Tai Chi we learn that if you act too quickly and without making the necessary adjustments in your bodily alignment, you are going to wobble—you’ll be caught off balance. It may then take several more moves fully to recover.

The same principle applies to ministry. It isn’t uncommon for congregational leaders to act from impulse. We see an opportunity for improvement, and we lunge toward a new position. Or a problem presents itself and in order to reduce anxiety, we try to dispatch it as quickly as possible. According to Ta’i Chi, before acting to implement change, we must have a clear sense of the center of gravity of the congregation, know what we want and why we want it - become “rooted” in our position, in other words - and only then shift into the new position. By adopting this discipline, a congregation and a ministry are less likely to be thrown off balance and their basic stability isn’t as likely to be compromised.

A second lesson. As we practice the form, our ta’i chi teacher reminds us to visualize the strand of energy which runs unbroken and continuous through each and every movement and creates from this long series of separate postures a single, unified experience. The practice of Tai Chi is analogous to stringing beads and it feels most rewarding when we sense that the whole process is connected, seamless—when it all hangs together. And indeed, the form looks most beautiful to the casual, outside observer when this occurs.

Ministry is also a “form” comprised of many discrete activities: preaching, teaching, advocacy, institutional maintenance, committee work, staff and volunteer supervision, counseling, community service. Some of these “moves are easier than others; some feel more natural and comfortable. But doing parish ministry means practicing all of them, and the best ministers intuitively know—they are convinced at some deeper level—that the roles and functions of ministry are all connected in a single, integrated, flowing system. Ministers have a name for that string that runs through each and every element of their job description: we refer to it as vocation, a sense of “calling.” When we don’t have that, our ministries will begin to feel more like “jobs”—just a series of tasks uninformed by any greater sense of purpose, and thus lacking any real joy or genuine integrity.

Third, as the student advances in the study of Ta’i Chi, he or she realizes that it is a lot more complicated than it looks. It takes only about a year to memorize its basic elements, but mastery of this fifteen-minute sequence requires a life-time of steady, intentional application. A person can know the form well enough to do it in his sleep, but that doesn’t mean they understand it. Ta’i Chi is a humbling discipline, reminding us daily that there is always room for improvement in executing the moves we’ve done a thousand times before.

Ministry is considerably more complicated than Ta’i Chi, but I think many in our profession would do better—and feel a lot less frustrated—if they adopted a Ta’i Chi outlook. Training for the ministry doesn’t end with graduation from seminary. It doesn’t end after the internship, or the mentorship, or after one has been awarded final fellowship. In fact, our education as ministers ends only with retirement. Indeed, for me one of the most attractive features of the ministry is that there is always something to learn, always an opportunity to achieve greater insight and excellence. As in Ta’i Chi, there will be times when we really do feel awkward; when we seem to be making so many glaring mistakes that we despair of ever getting it right. We must learn, then, to be patient with ourselves and cultivate a long-term perspective. After all, ministry, like Ta’i Chi, is something we hope to be doing for a long, long time.

The fourth and final lesson is not to take any of this too seriously. Yes, Ta’i Chi is a physical and spiritual discipline. Yes, the ministry is a religious vocation entailing a great deal of responsibility. But when either one begins to feel “heavy”—more like ditch-digging than dancing—they cease to work either for us or for the people to whom we seek to minister.

Ta’i Chi is an ancient and venerable tradition. In one form or another, it has been taught and practiced for literally thousands of years. Yet Ta’i Chi has always been a dynamic spiritual art form. The object has never been to learn the form and repeat it, without variation, from one generation to the next. Ta’i Chi leaves room for the expression of one’s own free spirit; it is meant to reflect one’s own true nature. As we make the rules, the patterns and the energetic flow our own, our confidence increases and we begin to feel more creative. Suddenly, what we had worked so hard to master begins to feel a lot like play.

Good ministers also know the rules, but they aren’t slaves to them. They are serious, but not stubborn, and bring to their practice a certain lightness. They are both “yang” and “yin”—rooted, but also liberated and joyful.

Mark, I wish you a graceful and grateful ministry here in Asheville, and look forward to many years of collegiality as we each work to polish the “forms” of our work and worship.