By Christine Kaplunas, Guest author
It’s your car. You know how to drive it. You know where you are going. But for whatever reason, someone else is the driver, and you somehow ended up in the backseat.
What’s the first thing you notice? The backseat is kind of…dirty. And stuffy. And you bumped your head on the car just trying to get in. Then you notice how aggressively the driver takes the turns. “Could you turn on the a/c up there?” No one says anything. You lower your window, but the driver suddenly closes it, because it’s making a loud flapping noise. [Um…excuse me, but that’s my window.]
“I’m really hot back here. Can I have some air?” The front passenger turns on the air, but you still can’t feel it. “Would you turn the vents toward me?” Fumbling. Unsuccessfully.
“Oh, it was still on defrost. Sorry.” Finally, you won’t faint.
Does your kid usually have to deal with this when YOU are driving? Did you ever realize the back seat can actually be quite comfortable when the a/c is on? Did you ever notice that pretty blue house on the block? Wow, what a garden! Kids you’ve never seen are playing with a vaguely familiar dog at your neighbor’s house. “I guess I never see this when I’m watching the road.”
Congratulations! You have entered the experience of the “backseat rider.” Your perspective has shifted into solidarity with the people who usually ride in your backseat. Have you made sure the a/c was working when they needed it? Did you fuss at them when they opened the window? And similarly, have you spent any of the last 7 years noticing any of these wonderful things about your neighborhood? Did you notice the trees and the playful dogs and delightful children?
When I started interim pastoral ministry with my current congregation, we created (from scratch!) an after school strings program for 4th and 5th graders at the behest of the local principal. I did so much work to set up and run the program. I taught the students. I did the fundraising. I hired and trained the other program teachers. I spent hours on the phone with administrators. I built support in the denomination and community. I talked with parents and received important tidbits from school teachers. The program wasn’t universally embraced, and there were occasions I went to bat for it. A certain teacher worked quietly and jealousy to convince the school system to withdraw their support for it. It was difficult ascertaining quantitative progress markers. Money came with strings attached, but not the ones that vibrate.
On the other hand, I accepted a lot of help…from everyone. The school district gave us the space and the instruments. The local luthier made repairs. I had volunteers from across my congregation. They checked in students, gave them snacks, dried a few tears, cheer-led their progress from the sidelines, observed teachers (many of the volunteers were retired educators), developed tools for success at every step; the lead teachers and student teachers taught class, identified student progress, helped develop the curriculum, and nurtured the children themselves as they learned violin, viola, and cello. Congregation and community gave donations, memorials, a few bucks here, a $10,000 grant there.
So…long story short, COVID was a major setback. I conducted 14 funerals at my church in 2020 alone. Former volunteers became full time caregivers to family. School returned to session before there was much knowledge of COVID or access to a vaccine, and I was not willing to put my people’s health at risk. My own son spent 2020-2021 in an online-only classroom. I was busy with 100 new ways of being a pastor, and I found online music lessons an exercise in madness. We ended the strings program, but it took time to close it out. I was honestly burning out. I never wanted to be a YouTube pastor, hiding behind a mask like a bandit, editing videos for hours every day, but there I was.
Fast forward to 2023, and my son joined a 5th-8th grade string orchestra through the local Suzuki program. Part of me longed to teach an orchestra again. Part of me was still nursing the grief from before. What happened was weird though: I became a backseat rider.
The conductor was younger than me, still finishing a music education degree. He played percussion, with only the experience of string methods in his degree program. I was shocked when I remembered that, in normal school programs, one teacher alone conducts a whole classroom. My church can’t even get insurance coverage if we don’t keep 4 adults in the room with the children (yes, our insurance requires that 2 non-related adults walk a child to the bathroom).
My first impressions of this “different” string program led me to ask, “Should a parent be in the room as an ‘unrelated adult’ during rehearsal?” “What if a student needs their instrument tuned mid-rehearsal? There’s no one but the conductor if I don’t stay.” “What if a student has a question about bowings and fingerings? This is my specialty!”
At the root of this anxiety was: “Can I backseat-drive this class?” And…” how much can I say before I drive this poor conductor crazy?”
Slowly, I learned something valuable: I learned to just sit there, with all my thoughts and grief and insecurities, and OBSERVE. Out of this practice, I learned:
The conductor is very good at dealing with the ADHD-style disruptions. Why have I always demanded a strictly quiet classroom during rehearsal? He was patient, and the students never *needed* to be yelled at. Have I missed an important lesson for ALL these years?
There’s something important about learning alongside your students; the teaching is mutual. There’s a different sort of respect: the conductor is not an “authoritarian,” but a “authoritative partner” with the orchestra. I’m not sure I’ve ever really tried that when I was the conductor. Most of my own youth conductors were powerful and stern. I feared them, respected them, and learned never to play in the rests. But did my students actually improve when I was strict with them?
As an observational partner, I was welcomed to contribute when students needed a little of my help. But I tried never to make them feel like they couldn’t do something. Tuning strings…let’s do it together. Play through an excerpt…how can we improve this? Then I asked myself: Did I NEED to be needed as a teacher? Did I relish being a “fixer” for every problem? That’s a terrible idea in both teaching and pastoral ministry. Was I ready to learn this difficult lesson?
Could I begin and end a rehearsal with gratitude, rather than anxiety? Maybe we don’t learn everything as well as I’d like. Is it the end of the world though?
Ultimately, riding in the backseat of my own car shifted my perspective and offered me a chance to learn how I might do things differently in the future. Will I conduct another youth orchestra one day? Probably. (I’ve been sucked in many times before.) Will I bring new tools and ideas with me? Most definitely!
Will I occasionally put myself in the back seat in other aspects of my ministry and leadership? 100%.
Rev. Christine Kaplunas serves as the Pastor of Unity Presbyterian Church in Waterloo, Iowa. She plays violin in a string trio with her husband, Daniel, and 12-year-old son, Jacob. She loves new ideas, helping people heal, and Jesus.
Awakening Light 