Unknown's avatar

Posts by Michael

I am a husband, father, minister, and writer.

Interview with Lisa Takeuchi Cullen, Author of Pastors’ Wives

Lisa Takeuchi Cullen

Lisa Takeuchi Cullen

Before getting into things with your book, tell us who else you are.  A bit about you.  I used to be a journalist…now I make things up. I was a longtime staff writer at TIME magazine, where I wrote an article about pastors’ wives that led to this book (more on that below). I left TIME in 2009 to write fiction. “Pastors’ Wives” is my second book and first novel; my first book was called “Remember Me,” about the year I spent crashing weird and wonderful funerals (HarperCollins). To put food on my family’s table, I write TV pilots.

Your novel has an interesting origin.  How did Pastors’ Wives begin?  I was assigned to write a feature about pastors’ wives. Growing up Catholic, I knew nothing about the pastor’s wife, except that our pastor wasn’t allowed to have one. But whatever preconceptions I had about them were blown out of the water when I began meeting and interviewing these women. They were smart, funny, and not at all okay with being just the woman behind the man behind the pulpit. The article published in 2007, and the women somehow stayed in my mind. I first pitched it as a TV series, but when that ended in disaster my agent told me to just write it as a novel already.

You say that you prevailed upon many pastors’ wives in researching for this book.  What did you learn in your prevailing?  So much from each and every one. I learned what it’s like to be married to a man who’s already married to God. I learned about their faith and about my own. Something I learned from the lovely Becky Hunter of Northland Church in Florida became a mantra in my marriage: “Be nice to your husband on purpose.”

There is marriage and friendship and fear and a host of other relationship realities in your novel.  In what ways are the lives of pastors’ wives different from the wives of non-clergy?  The scrutiny they endure from the congregation, for one. Imagine your every choice picked apart by people who barely know you: your style of hair; your musical skills; your husband’s make of car. For another, these women have to accept—not always happily, mind you—that the church and God often come first for their husbands.

Pastors' Wives

Pastors’ Wives

You wrote about women married to clergy, women who had ministries of their own.  What does that mean for how you tell others about the book?  Do people assume it is Christian Fiction, which it isn’t?  Do they assume things about the story itself?  What should readers know going into their reading of Pastors’ Wives?  “Pastors’ Wives” is women’s commercial fiction—a page-turning story about marriage, faith, and what we do for love. Though it is set in a church and revolves around Christian characters, it is not strictly Christian fiction. Its publisher, Penguin/Plume, is secular, as am I. But I hope I told this story with the respect I felt so deeply for these women. I’m delighted to report that the vast majority of the many Christian reviews I received embraced the book. I’ve noticed that some Christian reviewers point out the use of some language, a bedroom scene (between a husband and wife), and the sordid history of one repentant character—so reader, beware!

Can you talk about the uniqueness of your novel’s development from an article to a book?  What did the “revisioning” and “reviewing” of your earliest conceptions do to you as a writer?  This is my first novel, but I spent almost 20 years as a journalist, interviewing people both ordinary and famous. So I found I relied a lot on my reporting skills to come up with dialogue and story lines. It’s really hard to make stuff up!

The stories of characters in the novel were interrelated.  Talk about why or how you chose to write the book that way.  It added a richness and a social engagement that could have been absent had it been written differently.  Thank you so much. I started out with two voices in my head, that of Ruthie, the reluctant and doubting pastor’s wife, and Candace, the ruthless, brilliant senior pastor’s wife. Then I started to hear Ginger, a more typical PW…except, of course, for her secret past. I wanted to give them equal weight, but this turned out to be difficult. I hope I did them each justice, as I loved them equally.

If your characters gathered at your home for dinner, who would bring what and why?  Ha! That’s a great question. I’m sure Candace would bring something elegant and absolutely perfect, like a beautiful cake and gifts for my children. Ruthie would bring wine. Ginger would bring homemade cookies that are burned but still delicious.

What are you reading these days or what good books would you recommend to new friends?  I read a lot for my other work as a writer of TV pilots. I’m always on the hunt for books to adapt into a drama. So I’ll ask your readers instead: if you’ve read any books you think would make for a great TV drama, please post it on my Facebook page!

How can readers support your work?  Please “like” my Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/LisaTakeuchiCullen)! My website is www.lisacullen.com, where I blog about the daily indignities of writing TV pilots and novels. You can read there about my crazy experience filming my CBS pilot “The Ordained” with Sam Neill, Hope Davis and Audra McDonald, right down to its rejection for series in fall 2013. I am also working on a second novel, a legal thriller set in Okinawa, Japan. Thank you so much for your interest!

A Prayer For Writers #5

I haven’t in a while, but I started writing and posting prayers for writers and for others.  These prayers come out of my writing life, out of my hopes for the writers among us, and out of my desire for this blog to sit at the intersections between faith and writing.  Pray them or a line from them, with and for the writers you read, know, and support.  This prayer is about rejection and persistence.  Join me, if you will.

Dear God,

When the anticipations which once gave hope have fallen away; when the dreams which decorated our imaginations have turned; when the efforts and energies which once swelled purpose have drowned in reality; when rejection has convinced us that the full space of received creativity is too crowded and the consistent whispers of friends is forgotten; when passion has been misplaced, misdirected, and misshaped; grant us the ever-increasing melody that will not go unheard, the rumble of an instrument underneath our feet, the blaring of an unseen horn, the striking of unseen strings.  Pull that music from every possible source and play it into us that the embers of persistence might churn and shift and renew us and every word that comes from you.  In the name of the One who wrote lost words in the sand, Amen.

Amen

My Father Didn’t Have a Twin

Last week I sat next to a man for one hour who looked so much like you I couldn’t turn to face him.  At first, I thought of Uncle Clarence but got convinced that it was you the guest speaker looked like.  I resisted the connection.  But I couldn’t avoid his glasses, his facial hair, the shape of his head, and the tone he took.  You could have been twins.  I almost cried when I asked him a question, as he answered me, because looking in his eyes made me think that you were in the room.  As long as I didn’t blink, you were there, one long breath away, sitting next to me, talking, explaining.  You weren’t gone.  You weren’t dead.  You were there, close enough for me to touch.

Try Great Things

One day the teacher, Frederick Wilkerson, asked me to read to him.  I was twenty-four, very erudite, very worldly.  He asked that I read from Lessons in Truth, a section which ended with these words: “God loves me.”  I read the piece and closed the book, and the teacher said, “Read it again.”  I pointedly opened the book, and I sarcastically read, “God loves me.”  He said, “Again.”  After about the seventh repetition I began to sense that there might be truth in the statement, that there was a possibility that God really did love me.  Me, Maya Angelou.  I suddenly began to cry at the grandness of it all.  I knew that if God loved me, then I could do wonderful things, I could try great things, learn anything, achieve anything.  For what could stand against me with God, since one person, any person with God, constitutes the majority?

That knowledge humbles me, melts my bones, closes my ears, and makes my teeth rock loosely in their gums.  And it also liberates me.  I am a big bird winging over high mountains, down into serene valleys.  I am ripples of waves on silvery seas.  I’m a spring leaf trembling in anticipation.

From Maya Angelous’s Wouldn’t Take Nothing For My Journey Now

Conversation with Eugene Peterson & Correctives to Pastoral Job Descriptions

One of my favorite people is Eugene Peterson.  He’s up there with Howard Thurman, Gardner C. Taylor, Gwendolyn Brooks, and Henry Nouwen in terms of heroes.  In this video he talks about being a pastor.  If this is meaningful to you, you should certainly read Peterson’s memoir, The Pastor.

Mums and None of the Expected Characteristics

I read Barbara Holmes’ book on contemplative practices in the Black Church the other month, and the book was as amazing as it was historically grounding and refreshing.  In it she says, “Some sacred spaces bear none of the expected characteristics.”

It is within the spirit of contemplation and the gift of sacred spaces that I offer this poetic piece which Nate shared with me.  You may enjoy it, but hopefully you won’t (in the best way).  There is language in this that you may not want to blast:

Parenting and the Divine Advantage

I think this quote can touch a lot of the places I’m walking through as a father.  It’s admittedly about a common prayer, the Lord’s Prayer, but it seems to relate to the giving and surrendering of the will, the offering of many little, hardly-noticed acts which are so common in parenting.  Can what a mother or father does be turned into the Divine’s advantage?  Can wiping a nose or a butt or a shoe be taken into the larger world of God’s stuff?  One would hope.

This is from Evelyn Underhill’s reflection on the phrase, “Thy Kingdom Come”:

Thus more and more we must expect our small action to be overruled and swallowed up in the vast Divine action; and be ready to offer it, whatever it may be, for the fulfillment of God’s purpose, however much this may differ from our purpose.  The Christian turns again and again from that bewildered contemplation of history in which God is so easily lost, to the prayer of filial trust in which He is always found; knowing here that those very things which seem to turn to man’s disadvantage, may yet work to the Divine advantage.

Countee Cullen’s “Dad”

His ways are circumspect and bound

With trite simplicities;

His is the grace of comforts found

In homely hearthside ease.

His words are sage and fall with care,

Because he loves me so;

And being his, he knows, I fear,

The dizzy path I go.

For he was once as young as I,

As prone to take the trail,

To find delight in the sea’s low cry,

And a lone wind’s lonely wail.

It is his eyes that tell me most

How full his life has been;

There lingers there the faintest ghost

Of some still sacred sin.

So I must quaff Life’s crazy wine,

And taste the gall and dregs;

And I must spend this wealth of mine,

Of vagrant wistful legs;

And I must follow, follow, follow

The lure of a silver horn,

That echoes from a leafy hollow,

Where the dreams of youth are born.

Then when the star has shed its gleam,

The rose its crimson coat;

When Beauty flees the hidden dream,

And Pan’s pipes blow no note;

When both my shoes are worn too thin,

My weight of fire to bear,

I’ll turn like dad, and like him win

The peace of a snug arm-chair.

Thurman on An Island of Peace

A beautiful and significant phrase, “Island of Peace within one’s own soul.”  The individual lives his life in the midst of a wide variety of stresses and strains.  There are many tasks in which he is engaged that are not meaningful to him even though they are important in secondary ways.  There are many responsibilities that are his by virtue of training, or family, or position.  Again and again, decisions must be made as to small and large matters; each one involves him in devious ways.

No one is ever free from the peculiar pressures of his own life.  Each one has to deal with the evil aspects of life, with injustices inflicted upon him and injustices which he wittingly or unwittingly inflicts upon others.  We are all of us deeply involved in the throes of our own weaknesses and strengths, expressed often in the profoundest conflicts within our own souls.

The only hope for surcease, the only possibility of stability for the person, is to establish an Island of Peace within one’s own soul.  Here one brings for review the purposes and dreams to which one’s life is tied.  This is the place where there is no pretense, no dishonesty, no adulteration.  What passes over the threshold is simon-pure.  What one really thinks and feels about one’s own life stands revealed; what one really thinks and feels about other people far and near is seen with every nuance honestly labeled: love is love, hate is hate, fear is fear.

Well within the island is the Temple where God dwells–not the God of the creed, the church, the family, but the God of one’s heart.  Into His Presence one comes with all of one’s problems and faces His scrutiny.  What a man is, what his plans are, what his authentic point is, where his life goes–all is available to him in the Presence.  How foolish it is, how terrible, if you have not found your Island of Peace within your own soul!  It means that you are living without the discovery of your true home.

From Howard Thurman’s “An Island of Peace Within One’s Soul” in Meditations of the Heart

Clinical Pastoral Education

The room of you, a small circle of goodness, lights in your faces that remind me of grace waiting, tentative scenes from your lives turning into a dozen gifts wrapped for us all.

The table cloaked with comfortable chairs, the package of cookies made by our leader’s friend and the ones Keebler made with dotted pecans, eaten and enjoyed.

The framed pictures of godly people, people who hopefully lived well, people who hopefully called upon others to do justice, love, and mercy, people whose ecclesiastical garments hopefully never blocked them from service.

The lightning, the thunder, the darkness from Ogden Avenue spilling over to us, framing our voices and reflections in the tones of divinity.  These were the images and sounds of our first meeting.  What a wonderful unit this will be!