In exactly 15 days, I will check out of my office and walk into the doorway of sabbatical. Four months. No sermon writing. No staff meetings. No evening meetings. No hospital calls. No funerals. No newsletter articles. No proofing the bulletin. No teaching bible classes three times a week. Four months.

I’m not sure what to do.

Twenty-six years ago in June, I was ordained into pastoral ministry at St. John’s Lutheran Church in Arnold, Missouri. I had been training both academically and practically for four years; pastoral ministry was something I had been looking forward to even longer than that. I was ready.

Yet I remember feeling anxiety about the unknown. I was supposed to know what to do, but would I? Would I be any good at it? Would there be a sense of joy about this vocation? It was going to be so different than school, and I had been in school for so long. I remember that last semester of seminary being so busy — not only finishing classes, but all the paperwork and arrangements that had to be made with regard to graduation and ordination and receiving that first call. And then, boom. I was a pastor. Feeling like an imposter.

In these last busy day before my sabbatical — days filled with long to-do lists —  I’m experiencing some of the same feelings. I have been looking forward to this for so long. Along with my own preparations, the staff and leadership and whole congregation has been preparing for me to be away for four months.

On the one hand, I am ready.  I’m excited so about it. I’m looking forward so much to being able to step away from the routine, to read and study, to write, to pray, to spend time in the created world. And honestly, I’m really looking forward to four months without any meetings in the evening. (Did I mention that already?) I have been planning for more than three years, and the things I plan to do will, I think, bring a great sense of refreshment and renewal.

Yet, I am also anxious. Similar to that anxiety of my first call, I’m also experiencing a little of the anxiety of the unknown. Because I have never taken a sabbatical, I don’t know what to expect. Is there a right and wrong way to do it? Will I be any good at it? Will I experience that sense of joy and refreshment that I am so longing for?

A colleague who not only has taken several sabbaticals, but has written the manual for sabbaticals used in many Christian denominations, recommended that I pick up Wayne Muller’s book, Sabbath, and read one of the short chapters each day for the first 30 days just to get myself conditioned to the whole notion of sabbath. I plan to take that advice. (Thank you, Dick Bruesehoff.)

When I was on my internship, my supervisor told me, “Remember, Jim. Pastoral ministry is a marathon, not a sprint.” It was his way of saying, “Pace yourself. Don’t spend all that youthful energy in the first few years only to get burned out and have to quit the race.”

When I run marathons, I have learned that one of the most important keys to finishing the race is to plan strategically short intervals of walking. At each aid station, I usually grab a cup of water, run for another 50 yards or so, and then just walk for a minute or so while I sip that cup of water. It’s amazing how one can feel replenished in such a short time.

This sabbatical feels a little like that in the long marathon of a pastoral career. I will be 53 this summer; I observe 26 years of ministry in June. I have probably somewhere in the neighborhood of 15 years of ministry left, deo volente. I see this as an important interlude of refreshment and recharge for the next 10 years. I’ve learned over the years that one of the important pieces of preventing burnout is to find new things to be excited and energized about. I expect that also to happen during this time. There are several things that I want to explore about the church, pastoral ministry, and integrating spirituality into my own life as a pastor and into the life of a congregation. I will read and I will write, and I will have the time and the space to reflect.

At this point, I am trying not to be very rigid in terms of expectations. I am going to try simply to experience things as they come, and trust the Spirit to lead me to paths of refreshment, renewal, and visions for ministry that will bring new life to ministry when I return.

In these few days leading up to the Feast of Pentecost, my prayer takes on new meaning. Come, Holy Spirit, Come.

Two confessions: First, I love Joan Chittister. Anything she’s written. I love. She could write about NASCAR and I would love it. (Ok. Maybe not NASCAR.)

Second, I’ve come lately to acknowledging the value of wisdom received through other religious traditions. I grew up in a very conservative Lutheran tradition that taught me that all religion outside a narrowly defined orthodox Christianity was not only misguided but was mistaken. With horrible eternal consequences. In that economy, what value could there be in poring over the sacred texts of other religions in an attempt to learn from them and to gain from the accumulated wisdom?

The migration out of my own narrow box has been slow and gradual. After 9/11, I realized that I knew so very little about Islam. So I read Karen Armstrong’s little volume, The History of Islam. Almost 10 years into my ministry, as a member of the ministerial association in Naples, Florida, I got to know the local rabbi; believe it or not that was my first encounter with Judaism (unless you count the New Testament!). Somewhere in there came a conversation with a friend who had spent years in Hong Kong; she thought I might enjoy Jesus and Buddha, by Thich Nhat Hanh, so I read that one and a couple others of his. In my work with community organizing, I’ve developed relationships with several Muslim congregations and their leaders, but I’ve never spent much time talking theology with them or about the wisdom that flows from their tradition. Hindus? I haven’t a clue.

So, over the years, I’ve come very gradually to appreciate the authenticity and truth in other religions and have established some good relationships with faithful people who live out their lives as God’s children in a different way. Still, delving into the unique wisdom that flows from the various religious streams has never been a passion for me. Mildly interesting, but not a passion. I have a hard enough time incorporating into my life the wisdom of my own tradition, much less that of others.

Enter Joan Chittister. (Did I mention that I love Joan Chittister?) Several years ago, I picked up what at that time was her relatively new book, Welcome to the Wisdom of the World. The subtitle reads, universal spiritual insights distilled from five religious traditions. That it sat on my shelf for a few years before I actually got around to reading it reinforces what I’ve already said, delving into what other religions have to say has not been a passion for me.

Last month I finally read it. Am I ever glad I did.

The premise of the book is to let the wisdom of five traditions — Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam —  speak to the fundamental questions and challenges of human life. She doesn’t deal with the wisdom of the religious traditions in a theoretical fashion, rattling off the main points of each tradition. Instead, she accumulates a long list of life’s persistent questions, and then lets a particular tradition speak to a particular question.

Each chapter deals with a single question, and each chapter follows a standard format. Open with a story from someone whom Chittister has known in her long years of ministry; fashion some commentary that lets that real life story speak to the reader; tell a story from the sacred text or the oral tradition of that religion; make some comments anc come to a conclusion. The story and Chittister’s subsequent commentary on the story is where the real pay-off comes. That’s where the wisdom gets appropriated and opens up possibilities for how it might work for the reader.

For instance, over the last couple of months, I’ve been faced with some pretty big decisions. I’m not sure I do that well with big decisions, and I seem to spend too much time wondering if I did the right thing. In this case, she lets the Buddhist tradition speak to the question, “How do I know the right thing to do?” The wisdom hit home for me; there is no such thing as making the right decision. There is only the truth that I cannot be anything other than who I am. And when I make these big decision, I am making them as who I am. I can do no other. Since nothing in life is permanent, I can give up the need to label decisions right or wrong. “What is right is only that which must be done at the present moment, even when we are not sure exactly what that is. It is about living the best we can in circumstances that demand more than what we have at the ready.”

I have a hunch that this little volume will not be collecting dust. FIve religions; five chapters devoted to each religion, each dealing with a different question, and then five chapters of conclusion, summarizing the wisdom of each tradition. Feels a little like an introduction to world religion, except that the classroom turned out to be my own life.