Sometime in the next couple of weeks, I will probably have changed residences. We think the parsonage, the house where the pastor lives, has sold and we are planning to purcahse another one. So, it is time to pack up and move.

For a United Methodist pastor, the act of moving is not unusual. We have a strong heritage of itinerant ministry, where the pastors go where and when most needed for the good of the larger connection. John Wesley, that great and visionary man of God, began this practice in order to make sure that rapidly growing churches had pastors. These were churches full of people who had discovered that the observance of certain methods (it is from these “methods” that the word “Methodist” emerged) of spiritual discipline and practice brought them to a much greater experience of the transformational love of God and a willingness to bring that transformation to the world around them. Pastors serving under John Wesley's leadership moved frequently, and did so willingly in order to most effectively serve God and the community of Christians.

Because my husband and I are both United Methodist clergy, we've been particularly prone to moves, and have become pretty good at the packing/unpacking process. Nonetheless, the same issues surface with each move. Simply put, here is the oft-repeated scenario:

Christy: “My beloved, since we are moving again, don't you think this would be a good time to sort out some of your stuff and get rid of things you don't want or use any more?”

The Beloved Spouse: “No.”

Christy: “But my sweet one, this is such a good time to go through your things, and toss out all those unnecessary things.”

The Beloved Spouse: “What unnecessary things?”

Christy: “Oh my adorable one, you know—all that junk that you have—the papers and stray nails and odd tools and old magazines and all those empty boxes you collect.”

The Beloved Spouse: “And your junk?”

Christy: “What junk?”

The Beloved Spouse: “Your books and your paintings and all those pots you save just in case you need one for another plant . . .”

Christy, (interrupting): “My precious one, please, wait just a minute—those things aren't junk—those are beautiful and valuable.”

The Beloved Spouse: “My stuff is beautiful and valuable to me.”

Christy: “C'mon—it's just junk.”

The Beloved Spouse: “Not to me.”

OK, by this point in the conversation, I'm beginning again to catch the picture. The two of us have very different opinions as to what constitutes “junk.” It's all in the point of view—my things are treasures, his things are junk. Except they aren't junk to him. Nor do my things look like treasures to him.

So, as I often do, I must return to the basic command in the Bible about how to relate to other people: “love your neighbor as you love yourself.” I suspect that “husband” and “wife” are included in the term, “neighbor.” Love my husband as I love myself. Love my wife as I love myself. Since I want to make room for my treasures, that means I need to make sure there is room for my husband's junk . . . sorry, for my husband's treasures.

This is about living the Christian life in the trenches. While I love the luminous moments of inspiring worship and connection with God, those moments must be informed by the day-to-day interactions of generous, open-handed living. Those are the things that bring us into the space known as “the kingdom of heaven.” Jesus often told his followers, “the kingdom of heaven is all about you.” We find it when we really do love our neighbors as ourselves.

Time to go pack my husband's junk . . . I mean “treasures!”