PART I: Never Say “Maybe” to a Nominating Committee

 

September, 2000​

 

“I don’t feel that I can make a move until we hear from Doug Donley.” These words, spoken by a member of our pastoral search committee, ended up changing the whole course of our quest. We were more than a year into the venture. But before we get to that point, some background is needed.​

 

April, 1999

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All of us started off a bit reluctantly: some taking on yet another big deal in an already busy schedule, some (like me) wondering why anyone would think we were qualified for such a pursuit. One night in the early spring, I got a phone call from a member of the nominating committee (the name at the time for what we now call the Time and Talent Team).

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“Would you consider being on the pastoral search committee?” I put the phone to my ear while I propped myself up in bed. Pastor Nadean Bishop had just announced her retirement. Truth be told, I was thinking about my toothache. No, I mused to myself while trying to listen to the nominating committee member. I should definitely not be able to count my pulse from my 

tooth. “I’m sorry. I can’t make a decision tonight,” I begged off. “I’m getting a root canal in the morning.”

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She would not be deterred. “Well, how about I call you tomorrow night?” I had been on this same committee some years before. We, too, had to put together a pastoral search team when Lee Freeman announced his retirement. I knew the pressure.

 

“Okay.” I knew it as soon as I said it. To a nominating committee member, anything other than a flat-out “no” comes down to “yes.” She had checked off a box, and now my fate was sealed.

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Soon our committee convened: Don Dresser, congregation president, was on there as “ex officio” – by the nature of his title. Others were Harriet Johnson, Howard Johnson, John Medeiros, Nancy Myers, and Denise Roy. We pondered the onerous task ahead of us: Hire an interim pastor, ponder pastoral candidates, and call someone. All in the midst of preparing for the church’s sesquicentennial (150th) celebration. Some members were even clamoring for a fast process, so that we could have a new pastor called and installed as part of these festivities. Some were wondering if we could afford a fulltime pastor. Others, speaking for the “Burnout Committee,” wanted a strong leader to take the helm. It seemed that we couldn’t make a move without disappointing someone.

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As if all that weren’t enough, we got word that serving on a pastoral search committee was itself a burnout experience. Five years from now, we were cautioned, half of us would no longer be members of UBC. We pondered that warning as if it were the Gospel.

 

Our committee had an initial meeting with our denominational support: Diane Ehr, our area minister representing churches in the Twin Cities, and Gary Grogan, our regional minister (our region consisted of Iowa and Minnesota at the time). Diane lived in town, and Gary drove up from the headquarters in Des Moines. He was on the verge of retirement, but wanted to protect “welcoming and affirming” congregations like ours from those who thought we were the anti-Christ. Diane and Gary presented us with the materials we needed from Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, which is kind of like Vatican City to American Baptists. It was like personal ads, except no one was expressing any interest in walks on the beach and wine before a fire. These were the files of ordained ABC ministers who had indicated that they were in the job market – what their strengths were, and what they were looking for.

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Our denominational support ministers helped us to understand that congregational survey findings were only one way to understand the needs of our people. We needed to consider the survey results in the context of what we knew. For example, responses may indicate a desire for a pastor who delegates, but those responses are coming from a church with a “burnout committee.”

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We were also cautioned against the pressure to find and install a new pastor quickly. We needed to decide whether we should do our search process quickly or do it right, and that we may not be able to do both. A particular concern was the idea of calling the new pastor right in time for the sesquicentennial. This may be difficult for the new pastor, who would be just getting to know the congregation, and have to listen to everyone talking about how great all the pastors were in the past.

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Truth be told, that guidance was a relief. We could take our collective feet off the accelerator. All we had to do was sift through the files, let Diane know if we needed more prospects, rank them, interview them, and present a candidate. All…

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Once we got to the point of presenting a candidate, we were advised to only offer one. Proposing more than one in the spirit of democracy would confuse and divide the congregation. 

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Some of our members, like Howard, had extensive human resources experience. We were quickly seeing, though, that calling a pastor was not a hiring task. We were looking for the person who would be present with us in our collective and individual celebrations and griefs: someone who would dedicate our infants, marry us and our grown children, and walk in the dark with us when we said goodbye to loved ones, either by death or by divorce. “We need to be working hand in hand with the Holy Spirit,” someone said. Howard commented that we needed to pray every time we met, and to ask the congregation to pray for us, too. He may have had the secular experience, but he quickly discerned the difference.

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Nancy and Harriet had the history of being “PK’s” or “preacher’s kids.” They knew better than any among us the pressures that a pastor’s family faces and the support we would need to provide.

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At the time, I was working as a freelance journalist. I was remarkably unqualified to serve on any committee that had something to do with interviewing and hiring. Yet when no one stepped up to be chair, I said, “I will do it if you understand that I’ve never done this before and that I will do it imperfectly.” That was good enough for my committee members. Now there was no going back. I vowed to do everything to avoid burning ourselves out.

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Soon after this meeting, Denise announced that during her sabbatical, which started in the fall, she would be spending the first semester in Indonesia, primarily in Java, with frequent jaunts to Bali. We needed to figure out how to keep in touch. Fortunately, our “new” technology – email! – would both keep us from burning out from excessive meetings and keep Denise current.

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PART II: The Candidate and “Heather”​

 

September, 2000​

 

FAST FORWARD to that moment of truth I mentioned earlier. There we sat in Harriet’s living room, feeling that we were at a standstill. We had sifted through each prospect’s résumé. We had poured over the materials sent by those on the short list. We felt stalled out.

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We had heard back from all of the prospects we had contacted. Except one. Where was that preacher from San Francisco in all this? “I don’t feel that I can make a move until we hear from Doug Donley.” Those were Harriet’s game-changing words.

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“Neither can I,” said Nancy. This pastor of a small rebel church in San Francisco sounded interesting but had fallen off the grid. Maybe the prospect of a Minnesota winter was scaring him off?

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We had to find out for sure, so the committee asked me to call him. I figured the best time to do this was on a Sunday afternoon. And he was home!

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“Oh, I’m so glad you called.” This would be my first conversation with Doug, and he sounded a little sheepish. “My computer was infected by the Melissa Virus [the computer virus making its rounds back then].” Next he asked me to disregard the background noise of what sounded like a crime in progress. “My wife is out of town and I’m home with our daughters.” The sounds were refreshing. We had had two pastors in a row retire from the pulpit and one retiree filling in as interim. A young pastor with little kids? The idea was appealing.

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Doug then committed to sending the materials we were asking for. I don’t remember what they were, but we liked them enough to invite him up for a next step: an interview and preaching at a “neutral pulpit.” We also arranged for Denise, our Indonesia correspondent, to have phone time with Doug. John Medeiros navigated the logistics of a conference call across hemispheres during a trip to Washington, DC. The trick was to find a time when all three parties were awake. (I mean physically “awake.” The term “woke” for “progressive” was not yet in use.) Denise was many hours ahead and across the International Dateline, while Doug was two hours behind us in San Francisco. John was on Eastern time in DC. The call went well – it lasted over two hours. Denise supported our “next step.”

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Diane Ehr would arrange for another church to allow our prospect to serve as a guest preacher, and we would come to that church to hear him preach and to visit more afterward.​

 

November, 2000

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ON THE SATURDAY MORNING of our interview weekend, I picked up Doug and his wife Kim at a house in Vadnais Heights. It turned out that Doug’s brother lived in town, so a calling to the Twin Cities was seen as a plus to this pastor from California. We met at Nancy Myers’s home for bagels, coffee, and a time for us all to get to know each other. All was laughter and smiles.

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In a secular hiring process, the spouse would not be part of the interview. And we were quite clear that “pastor’s wife” was not a job at our church. But there were good reasons to have the spouse along. This was a 24/7 job. Did this prospect’s family life have sufficient “shock absorbers” to deal with weekend/dead-of-night pastoral care? They would both have to love us to put up with that.

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There was another reason. “Watch how this preacher treats his wife.” This sage advice came from Phyllis, the wife of the pastor I had had in high school. She spoke plain Oklahoma sense. “Is he ugly to his wife? That’s a problem, because that’s the person he should be the nicest to of all.” I didn’t know what I expected to see in this short weekend, but I saw no “ugliness.” We learned that they met because Kim, five years older, had been the babysitter for Doug and his three siblings after her older sister quit. Of course, they reconnected again years later as adults, but the origin story was priceless.

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After lunch, Kim left with her in-laws.

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The afternoon was time to drill down. Would Doug be able to stand us?

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Compatibility with our music program was an easy yes. Doug had minored in music in college and continued his interests; Kim was a music therapist and a classical composer. They would anticipate joining the choir, and maybe the handbell choir, too.

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Our congregation’s “welcoming and affirming” stance was Doug’s own. We found out that he had had to go through three ordination councils before getting approval. The first two refused him because he was asked if he considered homosexuality a sin, and each time he said no.

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And then we drilled even farther down.

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“How are you at conflict, Doug?” I was thinking of a few cantankerous souls among our congregation that had given Pastor Nadean no small amount of grief.

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The poor guy’s eyes bugged out, as if I had invited him to walk on live coals. “That’s not a thing I enjoy.” He said something like that. I remember the look more than the actual words. Then he discussed general Biblical principles: discourage gossip and “tattling” to the pastor, encourage direct resolution of the parties. There was nothing canned in that awkward but sincere response.

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We gave him a pass. I think someone said what I was thinking. “We wouldn’t want a pastor that likes conflict.” And then a laugh of relief. I found myself thinking that, in general, most people who felt called to parish ministry didn’t seek discord.

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We would meet again the next morning at the church donating the “neutral pulpit.”​

 

THE “NEUTRAL PULPIT,” we learned from Diane, had replaced the dreaded sight of a “pulpit committee” barging into a sanctuary in the middle of services. Total strangers, entering together but sitting separately, told a congregation that their pastor was looking for another job. Even so, she warned, the cat might start slipping out of the bag.

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The next morning, when we all drove up to the Church of the Neutral Pulpit, we were first struck by how much we coveted its parking lot. With Dinkytown parking at a premium, we were used to a vigorous quest for parking spots, but here we just drove up. Doug and Kim were there, along with Harriet Johnson.

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When the service started, I was seated by Doug and Kim. I remember that I sang alto and he sang tenor. And then came the opening prayer. “Dear Lord,” the pastor intoned, “Please be with Reverend Donley and University Baptist Church as they consider calling him to be their minster.” Well, so much for confidentiality, I thought. “And bless him and his wife Heather and give them travel mercies for their trip back to San Francisco.”

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Heather? I put a knuckle in my mouth to keep from giggling.

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The sermon came and went, and it was fine. That part is a bit of a blur. We were all aware that the host congregation had posters on its bulletin board that reflected a more conservative outlook, and Doug’s sermon was anything but that. Yet the congregants came up and shook his hand and wished him well.

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Our time with Doug and Kim ended with lunch at a nearby restaurant. The details of that meal escape me as well. I don’t know if it was pizza or sandwiches, or a regular restaurant with choices. And I don’t remember our goodbye.

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I do remember this: I was certain that I had found my pastor: not just someone who would deliver engaging sermons and be a good team player amongst all the players of our strong-willed congregants. I was also looking for that person I could trust to walk with me in the dark. When our committee reconvened, we who had been present were of one mind. We had found our pastoral candidate.

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Now there was another “next step”: find out what Denise was thinking.

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PART III: From Candidate to Pastor​

 

November, 2000

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WE EMAILED DENISE and set up a time that we could talk to her, which was the following Saturday night. In this pre-Zoom world, it had not been possible to include her in the interview weekend. We needed to know what she was thinking. In between the two meetings, I squeezed in my first cataract surgery and a phone call to Doug the night before to let him know our plans. When I mentioned my upcoming surgery, he immediately asked the right question: “Do you want me to pray for you?” I said yes, and he did so right there over the phone.

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A few days later, our committee met at Howard Johnson’s house. In this time before cell phones had become the norm, Howard’s house was the one place with enough jacks and phones for us all to gather around. We arranged ourselves throughout the rooms in his house and called Denise. After we convened with a prayer, we talked about where we were at. When we were ready, I asked for a motion to present Doug as our pastoral candidate. Denise sent her “I move” statement across the Pacific Ocean and Great Plains to us in the Twin Cities. Someone seconded, and the vote was unanimous.

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Now we had a new next step: to invite Doug and Kim back to the Twin Cities, along with their girls, for a “candidate weekend.” After I called him later that night, we set the date for January 6, Epiphany Sunday.

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I announced our decision in “Joys and Concerns” at church the next day. Because no decision had been made and because Doug was still a pastor at another church, we asked the congregation to keep the information confidential – a big ask for a whole church, I know.

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The weekend would start with a dinner and huddle with the search committee. Over the next few days, Doug would meet as many of the other church committees and groups as possible. The weekend would culminate with his preaching and a business meeting held during forum after services. After the forum, the congregation would vote on the call.​

 

January, 2001

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December flew by, and soon my husband and I were at the airport on the Thursday night before Candidate Weekend. In those days before 9/11 (actually just months before), we stood at the gate looking for this young family of four. The girls practically bounced out of the airplane. Two-year-old Becca insisted on pushing her own stroller through the concourse. We brought the family first to their hotel. Amanda ran immediately toward the nightstand and pulled out the Gideon Bible. “This is a great story!” she announced to Dan and me. Score one for teaching their children Biblical literacy!

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We then proceeded to dinner at John’s house. Dan watched the girls while our committee huddled with Doug and Kim. At dinner we learned that they were coping with a cosmetic drama concerning their four-year-old, Amanda. For complicated reasons, she had been in the middle of a do-it-herself haircut before she was caught. She had whacked off a hunk of hair center-front. Try as she might, Kim had not found a solution, nor had her hairdresser. We on the committee sympathized. The haircut was a glimpse into their lives, a family with boisterous young children.

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For the following two days, Doug’s schedule was packed pretty tightly, from earnest committees to the homes of elderly ladies serving tea. I was his ride for part of Saturday. I noticed that he had quickly adopted the Minnesota custom of taking his shoes off at the door.

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I SERVED AS THE WORSHIP LEADER the next day. As Doug and I perched ourselves up front for the prelude, our attention was drawn to the balcony, where the choir sat at that time in our church life. Just over the railing, a little blond head with a spiked hairdo peered down at the sanctuary. Amanda had found the “catbird seat,” and was taking it all in. Close at hand was Megan Dahlberg. (Megan is a renowned professor of early child development at the University of Minnesota, and also has a magic touch with young children.) She had volunteered to help with the Donley kids during the service.

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There are few things I remember about Doug’s sermon that day, except for this one thing. He talked about visiting his family home in Cleveland Heights, years after his parents’ divorce. As if he had shown us a photo, I can still see that backyard. It was a fragile picture, one with cracks. A broken swing set comes to mind, but I could be mistaken. With that picture, Doug showed us that he was fragile, too.

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When communion time came, there was some hesitation, some unattended logistics. Jan Curtis appeared, quietly and unobtrusively, and set things right.

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Next came forum, with questions upon questions. Although the focus was on Doug, the congregation also wanted to know something about Kim. They learned about her professional background, and Doug talked about her being his best friend, the first person he went to for advice.

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And now it was time for the business meeting, a discussion, and the time to vote on the call. Doug and Kim gathered up the girls. This California family went out into the cold and headed for the Pizza Hut across the street. Diane Ehr and her husband Alan joined them.

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Our church members peppered our committee with still more questions. Did he have enough experience? Could his family withstand the 24/7 life? Would he work well with our committees?

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“Look, he will be new to us, and we will be new to him,” Bill Allen said. “He will make mistakes, and so will we. At some point, we will have to trust a new pastor, whether it’s Doug or someone else.”

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Once all the questions on the table were answered, Don as president asked for a motion, which I had prepared. “I move that University Baptist Church call Reverend Doug Donley to be our pastor.” Someone quickly seconded the motion. Then there was a kerfuffle about how the vote should ensue. To make sure that no one felt pressured, we decided on a secret ballot. People were to vote the motion up with a “yes,” down with a “no,” or “abstain.” Two volunteers then collected and counted the ballots.

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The result was unanimous: 97 voted “yes.” No one voted “no,” and there were no abstentions.

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Without even putting on a coat on this January day in Minnesota, I trotted across the street to Pizza Hut, as fast as my high heels would allow. The Donleys were in the back with the Ehrs.

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“Doug, University Baptist Church, in a secret ballot, has unanimously called you to be our pastor,” I announced to him in as official a tone as I could. “Do you accept our call?”

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Without hesitation, Doug said, “Yes, I do.” We all then rushed back to the fellowship hall, where the voters were waiting. “Doug has accepted our call,” I announced. “This is our new pastor.” Everyone clapped, and he stepped into that role immediately. At Doug’s suggestion, we joined hands and sang the first verse of “Blessed Be the Tie.”

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Epilogue​

 

March, 2026​

 

AND SO BEGAN OUR 25-year walk with Reverend Douglas McLeish Donley. Speaking for myself, he has married both of my sons and supported me after the deaths of my parents and during a divorce. He has prayed for me at every surgery I have had. I know he has seen many of us through these milestones and more: baby dedications, baptisms, and funerals. He has been with our church for events involving our congregation, our metropolitan area, our nation, and our world, most recently during the ICE Out protests.

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He has shepherded UBC while living his own life, too. The rambunctious preschoolers have grown into poised women with advanced degrees. The choir has sung several of Kim’s compositions, and she is often at the keyboards or other instruments. They both sing in the choir, and Doug is also in the handbell choir. He frequently bursts into song in the middle or at the end of a sermon, or both. The whole Donley family, in various roles, saw us through the early days of COVID with online services.

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Throughout it all, Pastor Doug has been steady at the helm – as the old hymn says, “in our joys and in our sorrows, days of toil and hours of ease.” We started out separately, as a congregation and a candidate presented by a committee. The transformation started quickly, as soon as Doug accepted our call. It continued through the years that followed. Using “the ties that bind,” God stitched us into a family.