Living word by word

Christ made known

The gospel of Luke has two very distinctive resurrection appearance stories, and the second one is our gospel for Sunday. I’m happy to be preaching on the second one because it seems like the Emmaus story gets more than its share of air-time in Lutheran circles.

Most of the time the Emmaus story gets preached something like this: Jesus appears on the road with two disciples, opens the Scriptures to them, and then is known in the breaking of the bread. The disciples spontaneously dash back to Jerusalem to tell others what they have seen. And so we follow the same pattern in our liturgical worship – word and table, recognizing Christ’s presence when we break bread in communion. It’s all very tidy and – if preached well – moving. But I’m a little weary of it, perhaps because of its neatness. In recent years I’ve been more interested as to why these two disciples – Cleopas and someone Luke doesn’t bother to name – get to be the first witnesses to his risen presence. And why were they leaving town to begin with?

The second appearance story takes on a different pattern, and I think it’s important for us not to lose sight of this one. You could make a case that the second story follows more a nondenominational pattern of worship instead of a liturgical one. Jesus shows up, surprising everyone, and only after he has assured them of that physical presence does he mention the scriptures, and then he commissions them to go and tell. Now, eating does not play much of a part in many evangelical services, but the typical pattern of starting with half an hour of praise music certainly counts as a physical endeavor (I would make a case that 4-part harmony is MORE physical, but there’s no denying that singing with others is a full-body experience), and this “worship time” is designed to be basking in the presence of Christ. Only after that does a preacher stand up and offer a message. And the commission to go and tell others is definitely articulated in these congregations far more than in our Lutheran circles (not that it has to be that way, it just is).

It’s not exactly a biblical question to ask, “Well, which kind of appearance is more effective”? – but I can’t help but make comparisons. On the road to Emmaus hearts are opened and burn within them. The disciples definitely are excited by what they have experienced and repent -- literally turn around and head back to Jerusalem. But there’s no lengthy basking in the presence of Jesus. Once they know him, he’s gone.

In the second story Jesus seems to be at pains to set them at ease, saying “Do not be afraid,” pointing out his wounds, asking for food instead of waiting for an invitation. But it’s clear that the disciples are disbelieving as well as joyful, confused by this visit.  If Jesus can’t set them at ease, who can? And then there’s this “commission,” which compared to Matthew’s is very indirect. There is no command here except that they wait for the Holy Spirit. Jesus is clear that repentance and forgiveness of sins will be proclaimed to all nations, but there is no GO. Only “You are witnesses of these things.” It’s simply a statement of fact. The message will be proclaimed, and the witnesses are those who are there.

What does this mean? Perhaps only that no matter how you experience Christ’s presence, no matter whether you put Scripture’s witness or first hand spiritual encounters first, you are witnesses. Repentance and forgiveness happen. God is known, even in the midst of doubts and fears and confusion and, yes, joy. Christ is risen, and our attempts to order our faith lives won’t change that.

we're off

Tomorrow morning at 0 dark-hundred I depart with 2 girlfriends for Calvin's Festival of Faith and Writing. I can't say there's any one author I'm dying to hear, but I just know there will be good food for thought there.

I'm reminded of an article by Carol Zaleski a few months ago in Christian Century about maternal fatigue. I'm very tired still from Holy Week, but also excited about this trip. Zaleski argued that at a conference she attended the mother-writiers/ scholars didn't get into the usual posturing that often accompanies such events because they were all, well, too tired. I can relate. I don't go to these things to really say anything or be seen anyway -- I just want to soak up good words and learn from good writers. Some year perhaps I'll go with the hope of ptiching a manuscript of something truly my own there. . .but for now, I just hope I can stay awake to listen.

resurrection good-byes

It seems I'm reaching that stage in life when mentors and teachers begin to join the communion of saints in greater numbers. In the past few years several wonderful teachers who I've encountered -- Tim Lull, Don Juel, Howard Harrod -- have died. And just this Lent two more -- Robert H. Smith of PLTS and William Sloane Coffin, who was a visiting prof when I was at Vanderbilt, have also died. You can read far better obits at the links above than anything I could write. In fact, I can't count any of the men listed above as mentors per se -- I had at most one class with each of them. . and yet their minds and spirits were bright enough that I feel blessed to have known them and real loss at the news they are no longer in the land of the living. 

The burden of having learned from someone now gone is that you feel some obligation to carry something of what you gained from them forward. . . I hope I will.

Diary

I used to love the feature on slate.com known as diary. For a week people of varying professions would be asked to journal about their daily work and schedule. But this was pre-blogs, and, come to think of it, largely pre- reality TV. As far as I can tell there is no longer such a feature, even though the vast majority of blogs (including this one) are nothing like a journal in which, say, a fashion editor writes about what they DO, instead of just what they think.

 

So what would a pastor’s journal for Holy Monday look like? I know you’re all just dying to know. (Actually, at last count most of the 10 of you or so that actually read this blog ARE other clergy, so I’m sure you’ll find this eminently boring, but here goes anyway):

 

I had the morning routine all to myself today because Will was up til 3 a.m. (I do not exaggerate) finishing a proposal. So I fixed oatmeal, made coffee, kept up minimal conversation with the kiddos while I read Doonesbury and Baby Blues, and then finally locked the one year old in the bathroom with me for 4 minutes so I could get a shower. By the time I was out of the shower Katie had engrossed herself in a collection of papers I had lying around and had decided to start in on making a book -- i.e. cutting a gluing scraps of paper into a spiral bound notebook. Although I gave her fair warning before the babysitter arrived, when Peg walked in the door Katie was still unwilling to put on her shoes and get into the car for preschool – now that that weather is actually warm, and the dressing for the ride to school doesn’t actually take 15 minutes, now when it ought to be easy, it gets hard. After a few warnings I declared that I was leaving, ready or not. Usually this gets her moving. Not today. So rather than make an idle threat I left without her. She’s four. A day without preschool won’t kill her. And I was just to *$% irritated to wait any longer. It’s Holy Week, for God’s sake!

 

But then of course I felt badly all the way to work. It’s holy week, and a four year old does me in.

 

I was met at the door by two volunteers loading up a van full of our Lenten Minnesota Food Share donations. We’ve been nearly tripping over cans every week as we serve communion, people have brought so much food. I helped load a few boxes and ten headed in to the office. Mondays are generally quiet, since only a couple of us are in the office that day.

 

Our liturgies for the end of the week are almost done – but don’t tell our office manager that. She gets to interpret the editions of two pastors and a musician, working from last year’s bulletins. I spent a bit of time contemplating whether we shouldn’t be using more traditional Lenten hymns in our children’s Good Friday service instead of the With One Voice fare we almost always use the rest of the season. I’m making a plea for two old versions of the Agnus Dei, on the premise that they are repetitive and eminently singable. 

 

I also spent a bit of time – again for the sake of children we hope will attend – editing the texts for Easter Vigil. The trouble is that many of these old Hebrew texts – Genesis 1, the Noah story, the exodus, and the 3 men in the fiery furnace – are by their natures repetitive, rhythmic and, well, long. You can get the story line across faster, but much is lost. In the case of Genesis the repetition creates the sense of divine order being imposed upon chaos. In Daniel, the ridiculous lists of empire officials and instruments to be played is farcical; their repetition makes the wretched power of Nebuchadnezzar and all his kind laughable instead of terrible. I don’t want to lose that. . .

 

The rest of the morning was spent on people – visiting an 87 year old gentleman who marked the 1 year anniversary of his wife’s death yesterday, checking in with folks about to have surgery and recovering from surgery, passing on the news of pregnancies in the congregation and comforting a family dealing with miscarriage, and spreading word on our prayer chain that the 18 year old son of another member is in the hospital in Belize. And more. Oh yeah, I also de-briefed last night’s West Wing with a friend by email.

 

I had to come home by noon because our nanny was headed to a funeral this afternoon. . . so that was it for pastoring until this evening, when I made a few more phone calls to parishioners, and we learned that the 18 year old in Belize is being medivaced to the states because his heart is not doing so well. . . now we’re awaiting word on more.  Things like this have an uncanny way of happening during Holy Week.

I can see why nobody blogs like this regularly. . .who really cares? A weekly rotation of diaries like Slate's was more intriguing. But should anyone really want to know  more about what  a pastor does all week, write a comment. . . as you may have noticed, I'm not yet locked in to one mode of what this blog should be about. . 

true confessions part 2

On Holy Monday I wrote the following - - but it being holy week I didn’t get around to posting yet:

 

The cobbler’s children have no shoes. Or, you could say, the pastor’s children aren’t in church. Well, my children are in church – more regulary than most for sure. But what worries me is that our home reflects the classic split between liturgy as something we do at church and home as a place where more worldly concerns rule the day. The reason, in our case, is quite simple: in the “holiest” seasons of the year, I simply haven’t the time or energy to create a lot of home observance. We don’t serve a big Easter dinner and welcome friends and family. (Heck, we generally don’t have anyone over on ANY sabbath, though we do at least refrain from going to the mall.) My daughter will probably go to preschool this Good Friday because I am going to need the child care in order to get my sermons done and retain my sanity.

 

I grew up in a pastor’s family, and we were no holy rollers, but I do remember a sense of time being different. We were quiet on Good Friday. We had Sunday dinners. Yes, my mother DID work outside the home through a good part of my childhood. But she was not the pastor. My dad was. Maybe that’s the difference. Like it or not, the creation of family holidays – or even Sabbaths -- has traditionally been the work of women. And this women can’t do it for both a parish and a family at the same time. And my husband, no matter how good his intentions, has no gender-conditioned training in how to do such things. He just doesn’t think of it. He lives in guy time, which is basically “I’m either working or I’m not. And when I’m not I can play, and help out around the house. But I don’t plan.”

 

So the cobbler’s children have no shoes. Our children’s sense of sacred time is no better than that of any other family consumed by the daily demands of keeping the house reasonably safe (if not clean), food in the fridge and the parents reasonably sane. Maybe it will be easier when everyone in the house can feed and dress themselves. . . maybe.

 

NOW, on Good Friday, I’m re-thinking this confession. Maundy Thursday and Good Friday arrived all on their own at our house. Yesterday as Katie was playing with a neighbor girl, and since she was excited about going to an evening service with me (a privilege we can’t always grant due to bedtimes and her brother’s low tolerance level for anything after 6 p.m.), their first game was getting her magnetic dress-up dolls ready for church. Later as they were eating at the dining room table Katie pointed out her nativity set Jesus (Christmas is never over around here). “No!” Anneka replied “that’s God!”  and then, “God died.” There you have it – Trinitarian theology right at the dinner table.

 

Then the real fun began they decided it would be a fun game to “make Johann cry”. Though I repeatedly said in no uncertain terms that that was not an acceptable game, the high spirits of a 4 and 5-year-old (the older of whom is herself a youngest child and doesn’t get much chance to bully a younger child) are hard to dampen. Despite my best oversight an opportunity to push the little one down (he’s top-heavy, so it’s pretty easy) presented itself, and Katie took it. There were tears, first from the baby and then from Katie when I angrily reprimanded her and suggested it was a good time for her playmate to head home.

 

And then we went to church.

 

The thing is, I in my J-ness often assume that faith formation is going to happen by my plan, and if I don’t get around to making my plans, then it’s not happening. But of course moments like these speak far more about what our faith is about than what we will eat on Easter. Sure, it helps to be prepared, but children and life in general are not a virtual template I can impose my teaching moments on. The cobbler’s children will grow at their own pace, just like everyone else’s.

on a lighter note

On a lighter note, these are our own little "metro diary" provided by Will as he was working in our neighborhood coffeehouse:

(speaker is on her cell phone):"If I send it regular two-day, will it get there in a week?"

Indicators of the local demographics (again, overheard cell phone conversations):

"Yeah, we couldn't find a hotel near the L'ouvre, so we slept in the car."

"Yeah, they're all married and doctors in Minneapolis now."

holy week confessions part 1

Lent is nearly over and it’s time to come clean. I failed pretty miserably at my annual attempt at reducing consumerism during Lent. This practice started a few years ago when I realized that food restrictions did nothing for me spiritually – as a type A introvert I didn’t find that this kind of practice got me out of myself very much at all. So I decided to do something entirely different – I stopped buying books for Lent. If you have ever seen my house you know that this is no small thing. It was a helpful reminder to focus on what I already had, to stop looking over the horizon for the next idea, and it really saved me time browsing in bookstores and on line. (And no, it didn’t result in a book binge on Easter Monday – though going to the Calvin Festival of Faith & Writing every other year does seem to have that effect)

I liked the result so much that I expanded it the last few years to include other kinds of unnecessary spending – music, clothes, etc. Last year I threw away catalogs as soon as they arrived in the mail. This year, I imagined, I might actually call the companies and get off the lists permanently.

Well, that didn’t happen. And what I learned is that I’m very, very good at rationalizing behavior, and that I’m very very bad at getting “back on the wagon” once I’m off.

It was clothes that was the problem this year. And here’s my excuse: I’ve been either nursing or pregnant for the last 5 years, and I was finding that lots of my clothes don’t fit, or were hopelessly out of style. I honestly think I only had one pair of pants whose waistline didn’t go all the way up to my navel.

I started out thinking I would just clear out the old stuff – no need to buy new stuff right away. But the rush of clearing out the old got me so excited to fill the gaps that I went shopping one day – and then another day, and then another.

Now with 2 small children I can’t be in the mall very much. In fact, I hate malls so I only went there once. But a little bit of consumerism led to more. And then I was reading the catalogs again, and then I was actually paying attention to the fashion pages in the Star Tribune (why does a newspaper even need to cover fashion?). The low point came when I found myself not only perusing, but actually buying Lucky magazine at Walgreen’s. Why does a magazine entirely about shopping qualify as a magazine anyway? You’d think it would just be a big free ad circular. AND I PAID MONEY FOR IT!

So there you have it. I failed.

The point of Lenten disciplines is not to deprive oneself simply to remember Jesus’ misery and to feel bad. Nor is it to improve oneself in the classic American fashion. I think ideally Lent teaches us something about the state of our souls. By paying attention for a defined period of time we learn something that will hopefully carry over into the next season even when we’re not paying as much attention. Kind of like scales for a musician – you’d die of boredom if that’s all you ever played, or if you played them for hours a day. But by focusing for a period of time on the basic practice, you’re freed up to concentrate on the music when those same patterns appear in sonatas or nocturnes.

I haven’t done so well on the scales this year. But maybe I’ll be a little less dismissive of my fellow musicians when they are distracted by the latest shoe sale as well.

house of pestilence part 2

Add pneumonia and pinkeye to the list of ailments in our family this month. . .  honestly I don't know how any parent with standard daycare arrangements gets anything done.