Living word by word

an extraordinary day

Years ago, as I was just starting out in ministry, I read an article in which a veteran pastor suggested that one of the best practices to keep one’s sense of calling fresh was to attend the ordinations and installations of others. I think I was in the New Jersey Synod at the time, so that was an easy suggestion to follow – ordinations usually happened en masse at the Synod Assembly.

It’s still a good suggestion, but one that is harder to follow in this Midwestern church climate, where everything is much more congregational and, since Lutherans are so dense, one could spend an awful lot of weekends attending such services. I tend to go only to the services for people I know really well, and even then the demands of parenting often take precedence over an extra church obligation on a Saturday or Sunday.

Today was a reminder, though, of how true that pastor’s advice was. I suited up for an “extraordinary” ordination, meaning one that the ELCA roster will not recognize because the person in question is in a same-sex partnership. She is extraordinary in many other ways as well, particularly her commitment to mission and her grace under pressure. Unlike most Minnesota ordinations, which can feel very much like small family affairs, this one had pew after pew of clergy from many states attending, all of us decked out in albs and red stoles, including many people who are not connected to the daily life of this particular pastor or congregation. But we were there, because a sister’s ministry is being recognized by her congregation for what it is – Word and Sacrament for the sake of the world.

Since the first “extraordinary” ordination I attended about ten years ago, these services have become less unusual, which is, on the whole, a very good thing for the church. On the other hand, I think it is voices from ‘outside’ the sanctioned roads to ministry that are reminding those of us who are called how precious this calling is, and what joy it is to share in it. I hope that, one day, it will be “no big deal,” if a GLBT person is ordained to ministry; and yet I hope it will still be a very big deal because God has called, and they have answered, "send me."

Advent 1A --wake, awake

I’ve been thinking a lot about the role of the prophet lately. For one thing, it’s Advent, and we’re about to get our annual shout from John – the Baptist, the one to whom Lutherans don’t generally give a lot of airtime.

 

In the absence of credible Christian prophets these days, we have some thoroughly secular folk taking on the cause of waking us up. There’s the Reverend Billy and the Church of Stop Shopping  warning us of the Shopocalypse, and plenty of environmentalists telling us to wake up, and quick.

 

I am sympathetic to these messengers, and like to think that I am pretty awake myself, on my better days. But the pastoral side of me wonders about the long-term effects of fire and brimstone. I suspect that some people enjoy getting a good beating on a Sunday morning, feeling bad for awhile and thus being certain that they’ve done their emotional penance. Then they go back to sleep.

 

Or, there’s the effect Janisse Ray wrote about recently in Orion, in which the true believers gather, tsk tsk at all those who are deaf to the message, and then head home, ignoring any further changes they may personally need to make. What if “the choir” is not really doing that much better than middle America? If I know about global warming and believe in it, does that automatically make me more righteous than the doubters? Am I justified merely by my faith in the wrath to come?

 

Here’s the irony: many of these “prophets” have long since eschewed any semblance of religious faith. In fact, many of them assume that churchgoing Christians like me are the opposition rather than allies. If you asked them about matters of heaven and hell, personal righteousness or eternal judgment, they’d probably insist that they don’t believe in judgment. But they sure as heck use the language of guilt, sin, shame and, sometimes, fear – as well as and sometimes better than street corner prophets. Walter Brueggeman argued in Sojourners recently that Rev. Billy is most definitely using the methods of Old Testament prophecy (e.g. performance art) in his Starbucks tirades. These prophets believe firmly in the end of the world as we know it.  They just think God has no part in it.

 

I’m pretty sure that the end of the world as we know it will come about through human hands. We can create a shopocalypse, an end to oil, a global climate crisis without any intervention at all, thank you very much. But I’m also pretty sure that sustained, hopeful, joyous resistance to the status quo needs something more than my humanity – it needs my trust in a God more powerful than my own sleepy soul.

 

What wakes us up best – the screaming smoke alarm or the sounds of nature? I’m not sure either one works perfectly for everyone. For some the rude awakening just arouses anger at the source of the noise; others are just too darned exhausted to let anything wake them.

 

It’s been years since I needed an alarm in the morning. I have something much better now – my children. Their voices are insistent, piercing and still beautiful. And they need me, now more than ever, to wake up.

I love confirmation

I love confirmation. I never would have thought, back in seminary, that teaching middle schoolers would be a highlight of my week, but it is. We have 25 6-8 graders in the program this year, and they are bright, articulate, lively, and just plain fun to be around. And pretty well behaved too.

I love the adults who work with these kids as small group guides: articulate, passionate, caring.

And I love trying to figure out every week how to make something like the Creed or a commandment come alive for them, these mostly-protected kids who think deeply but also have limited access to the deepest dilemmas of life and faith right now.

This fall has been fun because this group really seems to love an ethical dilemma. Tonight we talked about the 7th commandment and invited two professional musicians from the congregation to engage them about the ethics of copying music. They did a fantastic, honest job of it, and you could just hear the wheels turning in kids' minds. It's a cliche to say they give me hope for the future. . . but they do.

Lutheran writers

In the wake of car accident chaos this weekend, I attended a nice little writers' conference at Luther College called Called to Create.  It was wonderful primarily because I didn't have to feed, clothe, buckle, or carry anyone else for 24 hours, and I got to spend some time with another pastor-mother-friend.

What to say about it?:

• It was, unfortunately, little. The auditorium felt pretty empty, and  I met with two students from my congregation for lunch, and they had no idea this event was happening on campus. This would never happen at Calvin's Festival of Faith and Writing.
• Gracia Grindal, quoting "a colleague" (she didn't say who), about the Lutheran tendency to preach "justification by coma." Ouch. But so true.
• Gracia commented that perhaps Lutherans have few famous authors in English because, well, as a group we haven't been speaking English that long. It takes a few generations for a mastery of the language to take hold. This seems counterintuitive when you consider how English is the ONLY language for many Lutheran Americans now, but I think she may be on to something. It reminds me of a Stanford professor who likes to poll her English classes about how far back the language has been spoken in the family. Generally speaking, the African-Americans in the class have the longest history of native speakers.
• I picked up a lovely collection by Jill Palez-Baugartner, which includes a series of poems based on the Lutheran funeral liturgy. It's found in My Father's Bones.
• I had the very odd experience of hearing someone whom I don't know say my name, and Minneapolis, and church, and something else. . .  I didn't know the person, they weren't talking to me, and, well, maybe they weren't talking about me, so I wasn't going to interrupt or eavesdrop at length. Needless to say, my ears were burning. If someone reading this blog happens to be that woman, hey, say hello! Who are you?