Rising from the rubble

Last month I took the trip of a lifetime – at least for me.  As a 50th birthday present my husband gifted me with a Lutheran Church nerd’s dream – a “footsteps of Martin Luther” tour.

What surprised me though was that of all the things I saw and places I went, what moved me the most had really no direct connection to Martin Luther at all.  It was in the city of Dresden –  specifically, the Frauenkirche (Church of our Lady). The Frauenkirche had been one of the focal points of the city until it, and much of the Dresden, was destroyed in the allied firebombing of February of 1945 during World War II.  Only two small sections of the building remained upright.  And while some of the city was rebuilt after the war, the East German government which had control over Dresden decided to let the church remain in ruins as a memorial against war.  Here is how the church looked for FORTY FIVE years.

Frauenkirche ruins, 1967. photographer unknown

translation: The biggest puzzle in the world. photo: Penny Davis

Before the Berlin Wall came down and Germany was unified, there was talk of rebuilding the church, but after the Wall came down, plans moved forward rapidly.  The people wanted the Frauenkirche back!  And not only did they want to rebuild it – they wanted it rebuilt exactly the way it was – and they decided to use as many of the original stones as possible.  In the square around the church, each stone was examined to find out if it was still structurally sound, and then marked so it could be determined the place it once held in the building. In the picture on the right, our guide was showing us a magazine cover story from the time that illustrated just how complicated a process it was.  Can you imagine the effort put forth to do this?  I was amazed.  More than amazed.  I was utterly moved by the determination and devotion of the people involved in this massive project.   It is a testament to the people’s faith and persistence that this building would rise from the ashes and rubble to proclaim God’s glory.  A literal resurrection.  I was speechless before I ever walked in.  The picture below is what the Frauenkirche looks like today.

Because the church was made of sandstone, which darkens as it ages, you can easily tell the original stones that survived the bombing.  The dark stones are original, put back in the places they once occupied before the bombing, while all the lighter stones are new.  In a few hundred years we won’t be able to tell the difference, which is at once joyous and sad, in my opinion.  The healing of wounds is a wondrous achievement and gift, but to stand tall with scars is a testament to strength and faith.  I’m glad that the church has a museum which tells the story of its destruction and rebuilding as well as a monument in the worship space itself, which will continue to tell its story, long after the war torn stones and those crafted afterwards are indistinguishable.

The inside of the church was also rebuilt exactly as it had been, or as close to “exact” as humanely possible.  While its Baroque style wouldn’t usually move me, it was impossible for me NOT to be moved by the incredible attention to detail, the bright pastel colors, and the stunning dome.  I entered, like most of the tourists, and took picture upon picture.  I AM that tourist.  But I am also a person of faith.  So after walking around respectfully and quietly (as did all those present, we were in a church after all) – after taking it all in, I sat in a pew to pray.

I prayed in almost every church I visited on this trip, except when we were ushered through quickly by tour guides. But the Frauenkirche was the end point of the tour that day.  There was nowhere I had to go.  So I sat – and prayed – and sobbed.

I sobbed for the thousands who died in the firebombing.  I sobbed for the horror of war and the lessons stubborn humanity has yet to learn.  I sobbed for 45 years of ruins and rubble.  I sobbed for the struggle and perseverance of the people under the East German government.  I sobbed for the sheer tenacity of the people determined, not just to rebuild, but to rebuild it as it was.  I sobbed for those who did not live to see this house of God rise again.  And I sobbed for my own life’s pains, that in comparison seemed so small.  Yet I also sobbed for the backbreaking work I have done (and continue to do) with God’s grace as my strength, to rise from the rubble and stand.

the Frauenkirche’s original spire

In that sobbing moment, the Frauenkirche became a symbol for me, a symbol of the resurrection.  Of course the resurrection of Christ is God’s power pure and unaided, while the Frauenkirche’s resurrection was the work of the people – but it was work inspired and empowered by God.  Indeed, I felt God ALL around me in that place, in a way difficult to explain, and in a way I have felt in very few other places in my life.  It’s as if the space embraced ALL the pain and joy of human life simultaneously.  I honestly did not want to leave, and I didn’t for a long time.

Near the church’s exit is the monument I alluded to a few paragraphs above.  It is the original spire which adorned the top of the steeple.  It’s a twisted mass of metal, melted and crushed by the heat and debris of those February days in 1945.  At its base, people leave candles which say “peace be with you.”  There can be no more profound sentiment with which to leave this sacred space than peace; a deep well of God’s peace despite all the horror that happened there.  In addition to this peace of God, I also left the Frauenkirche with a new commitment to “worldly” peace – a resolve to bring an end to rubble and ruin, to the evil we humans are capable of inflicting upon one another.  For both the peace of God and worldly peace will never condone evil – indeed, the hope of peace inspires us to work for peace.

The Frauenkirche has changed me, profoundly.  I believe I’ll be figuring out the “how” of that change for the rest of my days…

What’s an “UNCO?”

I recently attended a very different kind of professional conference.  Normally when I go to these kinds of things I go to hear someone speak, almost like taking a class at school.  An organization pays someone (or a group) to share their expertise on a certain topic or topics, so I attend with the expectation of listening and taking lots of notes.

At the conference I attended last week, called an “UN”Conference – or UNCO – the model is the opposite.  At this “unconference” the agenda is not known ahead of time (although there is a group of conveners who set a schedule and guide the participants in keeping to it (more or less) but grows organically from the people who are gathered.  I showed up with a completely open mind, not knowing how I would participate or what I would learn, but I had been told by many people that it was a fantastic experience both professionally and personally.  I trusted their word and opened my mind.  Here’s how it went…

PART I

lots of topic ideas! How to break them down?

On the first afternoon/night of the UNCO, attendees are invited to share topics and/or struggles they’re interested in or wondering about. No topic is too “boring” or too “wild.”  At the UNCO I attended there was a HUGE poster in the front of our large gathering room where people could write their ideas for topics.  We had all afternoon and evening to do it.  Once this is done, the conveners try to discern which of these topics they can “lump together” and which “have legs” (a popular phrase at this UNCO), because it’s hoped at the end that a few of these topics will “have legs” and lead to further online discussion or even a tangible resource that can be shared.

 

PART II

UNCO breakout sessions

The next morning the ideas are discussed by everyone and broken down into a manageable number of categories that become small group “breakout sessions.” People are then free to choose which sessions to attend depending on their interest.  The UNCO I attended had 15 (1 empty slot) sessions across an afternoon, 4 sessions meeting at a time.  There is a facilitator at each session – someone to take notes, keep the conversation going, and to make sure that no one person dominates the discussion.  Each of these breakout sessions are an hour(ish) long, with space built into the schedule if people feel like they need more time.  At this UNCO there was free time built into the schedule in the late afternoon before dinner.  People were free to nap, have informal conversation, explore the retreat center (including a wonderful labyrinth), or gather to continue any discussions from earlier in the day.

 

PART III

15 groups, down to 4

On day three we began once more gathered as a whole.  A very brief summary of each breakout session was given by those who were part of the discussion, and answered the question, “does this have legs?”  Sometimes the answer was, “We had a wonderful discussion and shared a lot of thoughts/ideas, but that’s about it.”  Other times the answer was, “We came up with some ideas on how to take this topic farther, so YES!”  Out of the 15 breakout sessions at my UNCO, there were four groups that felt their topic might have legs.  After we whittled the 15 down to four, we had one more breakout session – with each of us having the chance to chose one of those four groups to attend, in which we would figure out how to give the topic legs.

The question, “does this have legs?” is crucial to the whole UNCO idea.  The purpose of the gathering is not just for people to sit around and talk – it’s for people to talk, but then figure out what they can DO.  The idea is to leave UNCO with homework, both individually and as a group.  The idea is for something to come out of the time that has been spent together.

PART IV

After this final breakout session, and after lunch, the whole group meets again to discuss the “legs” – the ideas for how to carry the topics into the future in concrete ways.  The UNCO group is pretty organized online, and much of the “concrete way” is a continued conversation, gathering of resources and SHARING resources online since most of the participants are coming from different parts of the county (at the UNCO I attended outside of New York City, people came from as far away as Minnesota and Texas!).  One of the ideas at the UNCO I attended has already taken shape, and that is a support network for clergy. The other will be a resource for rituals of transition for different parts of life, a way for the Church to acknowledge “secular” personal life events of people within the community of faith – events like the first cell phone, getting a drivers’ license, relinquishing a drivers’ license, moving to assisted living etc…

At the UNCO I attended worship always began our work together – at the first gathering and welcome and in the next two mornings before our work began.   Worship was also born organically from the participants.  At registration we indicated if we’d be willing to help with worship, and once there we brought whatever instruments we could play and planned worship with one another.  My UNCO had wonderful people who played piano, guitar, ukulele, clarinet and saxophone, as well as a professional gospel singer!  But worship also concluded our time together – prayer for the work accomplished, the work still before us, for the new friendships made and for safe travels as we departed.

IMPRESSIONS

It really was a wonderful experience.  I met a lot of new colleagues in ministry, almost ALL of whom were from different denominations than mine.  It was good to support, share and learn with colleagues from the United Methodist, Presbyterian, UCC and Baptist traditions, as well as meeting a fellow Lutheran from Minnesota!  It was profound to cross these boundaries, share common joys and fears, and work together.

This model of conference (or “UNconference”), while respecting each person’s right NOT to talk, does a good job at opening up even pretty strong introverts, so that people don’t spend three days with their heads down, pen to paper – but looking up and talking and listening as other participants share.  The UNCO assumes that we all have knowledge and expertise to share with one another, and that from interacting with each other we can come up with ideas for specific situations we’re concerned about or in which we find ourselves.  The free time built in the schedule is helpful for continuing conversation, but also for making new friends as we bond around our love for Jesus and our desire to serve.  Well worth the time and effort.  I hope to be back next year!

Click here if you would like more information about UNCO.  They hold two gatherings a year – one on the east coast and one on the west…

 

a scare and the word I needed to hear

So a funny thing happened as I was getting my mammogram.  Well actually it wasn’t very funny.  At all.

I had gotten the standard x-rays and been sent to my cubicle to get dressed.  The technician would come get me after the doctor gave me the all-clear and I’d be able to go on my way.  Except that’s not how it happened.  The technician returned to me and said that the doctor wanted two more pictures.  At first I was annoyed because I thought the technician had somehow screwed up the initial series, but when I stepped into her room I noticed the machine was set up for an angle she hadn’t used before.  She took THAT picture then changed the plastic piece to a very small square one,  concentrating on one area of my right breast.  I got concerned.  When she was done, she told me she wanted me to stay in the x-ray room, keep the gown on, and wait for her to come back after she had shown these additional pictures to the doctor.  Now I was nervous.  “Keep the gown on.”  “Wait here.”  Neither of those things sounded good to me.

She returned to the room, and said as sweetly as she could that the doctor had seen something, probably nothing, and that he wanted me to go down the hall to have an ultrasound of the breast.  Annoyed to nervous to terrified.  As I waited for the ultrasound I had time to text my husband – one of the weirdest texts I’ve ever sent.  I hated to tell him like that, but with little time and no access to a phone it was the best I could do.

The ultrasound technician came and introduced herself with a sweet smile – trying to be reassuring.  I wondered how many times in a day they go through this routine with some unsuspecting woman.  I didn’t feel reassured.  I was wishing someone else was with me – my husband, a friend – someone to hold my hand and steady me.  As the technician escorted me down the hall to the ultrasound room I grew more and more anxious, beside myself even.  I felt myself shaking.  I didn’t want to cry in front of these strangers, but I could feel the tears welling.  Suddenly time started moving very slowly.  Our walk down the hall seemed to take forever.

I lay on the exam table as she maneuvered the wand over my right breast, pushing, pausing, moving etc…  I thought I might have a panic attack right there.  I knew I needed to calm myself, so I started some self-talk.

• “If there is or isn’t something there, it’s already there, this panic isn’t going to change anything so calm down.”
• “You just got a gyn exam three weeks ago.  Dr. W. examined your breasts and didn’t feel anything.  If something IS there it must be very small – and small is good.”

And then, I was reminded of my very own words in my sermon this past Sunday – “God comes to us in the midst of our FEAR and speaks PEACE.  ‘PEACE be with you.'”  In the midst of our fear Jesus speaks peace.  I was certainly afraid.  Very afraid.  Could I say those words to myself?  In the midst of this real fear could I accept Jesus’ words of peace for me?  Or was it just an empty platitude?  Very seldom had I ever had to put my own words (AND Jesus’ words) to the test in such a very serious way.

I said just two days ago that peace would not change the circumstances around us, but that peace could change us.  “Peace be with you,” Jesus was speaking to me.  I repeated it like a mantra – “peace be with you” – over and over and over as I lay on that table, eyes closed, while that wand pushed, paused and moved.  Then the self-talk changed, ever so slightly, but really quite substantially.

• “God is with me, no matter what’s in my breast.”
• “God is with me no matter what happens today.”
• “I have peace through Jesus whether I walk out of here healthy or not.”
• “Peace be with you.  Peace be with you.  Peace be with you.  Peace be with ME.”

And my breathing slowed.  And the tears dried.  And I was still scared, but it wasn’t like panic.  Even when the technician paused the ultrasound and went to get the doctor, and the doctor came in person to do his own pushing, pausing and moving.  I didn’t know a lot, but I knew I had Jesus and his peace.

Then the doctor told me I was fine.  I WAS FINE.

What he had seen on the x-rays and ultrasound was simply very dense tissue.  To say I was (and am) relieved is an understatement.  I felt physically lighter.  I felt like dancing.  I could’ve hugged the man, but he left the room before I sat up.  Before he left, he said to me, what I say to all of you women – and those who have women in your lives – “Remember, it’s important to get checked EVERY year.”  Amen.

Never in my 20+ years of preaching have I had the words loom so large over me.  There was FEAR, and there was PEACE.  After I calmed down a bit I was amazed really, and can only chalk it up to the work of the Holy Spirit.  Days after preaching about fear, even fear for our own health, I was confronted with exactly that, and was able to find Jesus’ words, Jesus’ peace, to calm me – to center me.  And I was/am SO thankful.

So – a few hours removed I’m still a little shaky, still reliving most of the morning, trying to allow the experience to find whatever more permanent place it will have in my life.  A scare like this can be a good thing – keep us on our toes, remind us to be grateful, remind us what is really important (and what is NOT), remind us that life is precious and that we are never (despite how we may feel) alone.

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Women – if you’re over a certain age – get your mammograms.  Those of you who LOVE women over a certain age – make sure they get them.

law and gospel

As I shared in a post last week, for part of my Lenten discipline this year I’m taking time for personal devotional reading each day.  Specifically I’m focusing on  Daily Readings from Luther’s Writings, selected and edited by Barbara Owen, published by Augsburg (Minneapolis) in 1993.  As I was reading this morning, I came across the following entry and was instantly drawn in (it’s found on p. 98).

“The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.”  John 1:17

“It is proper that the Law and God’s Commandments provide me with the correct directives for life; they supply me with abundant information about righteousness and eternal life.  The Law is a sermon which points me to life, and it is essential to remember this instruction.  But it must be borne in mind that the Law does not give me life.  It resembles a hand which directs me to the right road… Thus the Law serves to indicate the will of God, and it leads us to a realization that we cannot keep it.  It also acquaints us with human nature, with its capabilities, and with its limitations.  The Law was given to us for the revelation of sin; but it does not have the power to save us from sin and rid us of it.” Luther’s Works, Sermons on the Gospel of St. John (1537-40) LW 22, 143-44

We talk a lot about “Law and Gospel” especially in the Lutheran branch of Christianity.  It’s an eye-opening way to look at Scripture, a profound way to orient our thinking and believing, and it is the foundation of my preaching. Clergy use the phrase frequently, but I wonder how good we are at actually explaining it to people.  As I read the above passage from Luther slowly and quietly this morning, it struck me that a lot of the chaos that exists in our culture and in our lives is there because we have lost sight of the distinction between law and gospel – because we think one can give us the other.  

Basically, VERY basically, the Law is that which convicts us, while the Gospel is that which saves us. The Law is the rules, the Gospel is the love.  Some incorrectly reach the conclusion that the Law is the Old Testament, while the Gospel is the New Testament (to be clear, there’s plenty of gospel in the Old, and a boat load of law in the New).

It’s a huge part of our cultural psyche that we’re self-sufficient and independent.  We pull ourselves up by our boot straps. We’re told that we’re rewarded justly for the effort we put into something.  Behave, play by the rules, work hard – and we’ll get what we deserve.  This thinking filters down to our lives as individuals as well.  We worship at the altar of “merit.”  We work hard to “deserve,” “earn” and “justify” the benefits of our hard work.  It seems natural then, that we apply this cultural worship with our religious faith.  Now, there are many faiths which DO focus on how our actions impact both our earthly and eternal fates – but Christianity is NOT one of them.

Christianity tells us that there is nothing we can do to earn our salvation; our salvation comes through Christ’s sacrifice only.  And that can be hard to swallow.  There is a huge chasm between the “do it yourself” culture and Christian faith which says, “you can’t.”  Many have tried to bridge this chasm by blurring the distinction between law and gospel, believing that somehow our actions DO impact on our salvation.  Others live with a certain contradiction – saying “Jesus saves,” while also saying that if a person behaves a certain way they aren’t saved.  Luther’s quote above is very helpful, because it doesn’t negate the power of the Law.  But it puts the power of the Law in its proper place.  I want to highlight a few key words (at least key for me):

The Law is a sermon which points me to life, and it is essential to remember this instruction.  But it must be borne in mind that the Law does not give me life… The Law was given to us for the revelation of sin; but it does not have the power to save us from sin and rid us of it.

We NEED the Law; the law holds a very important place for us because it guides us in life and faith.  It holds up the ideal to us of community and individual life.  As Luther described, the Law is the hand which directs us.  And because the Law is the ideal, its function is to show us where/when/how/who we have failed.

The Law does not give me life – it does not have the power to save me from sin.

The Law guides my life, shows me where/when/how/who I’ve sinned, but can’t save me from it.  That function belongs the the GOSPEL.  The Gospel proclaims God’s love for us even while we sin.  The Gospel tells us that through Jesus sin and death have no power over us.  The Gospel tell us that precisely because of our inability to keep the Law, Jesus died and rose again for us.  The Gospel proclaims God’s love and grace in both the Old and New Testaments.  The Gospel is also the very person of Jesus Christ. Without the Law, the Gospel means nothing – we have no need of it.  Without the Gospel, we are utterly condemned by the Law.  They each have their place in our lives, but it’s dangerous to confuse them. When we do we can become selfish, not caring about our actions, thinking “anything goes” – or we shut doors on people, hurting them with our judgments; also hurting ourselves, when we’re left wondering if we’re good enough, if we’ve done enough, if we’ve believed enough for God to save us.

The Law is certainly an indispensable part of the word of God, but the Gospel has the LAST word.

what I’m doing for Lent

As I shared in my sermon a few days ago, my attitude has been negative lately.  There has been some stress at home and at church.  The political situation in the United States has been very upsetting to me and I’ve been posting and sharing a lot of links on Facebook and Twitter, especially regarding Donald Trump and Ted Cruz.  I could go on and on about it, but I won’t – because I decided that my Lenten focus this year will be on allowing God to transfigure my attitude.

I could’ve picked something easier, like giving up chocolate or staying away from fast food.  It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be easier.  Because controlling an outward physical thing you put in your mouth is A LOT easier than controlling what you allow in your mind and heart and what comes out of your mouth. (ref. Matthew 15: 11)

But that’s more what the spirit of Lent is about.  Reflecting, taking stock, looking in the mirror behind the pretty face to the bits of ugliness we’ve allowed into our souls.  Cleaning house.  Sorting through what keeps us from a fuller relationship with God and our neighbor and getting rid of it – hopefully not just for the 40+ days of Lent.  The ideal is to start a practice during Lent and have it for the rest of our lives. Really, what would be the point of setting a goal to be kinder for Lent, only to return to being mean once Easter arrives?

So here are the guidelines I’m working on for myself for Lent this year.  It’s not perfect or complete, but it’s a work in progress just like me.

• I will read a little bit every day for personal devotional time.  I’ve gotten out of the practice of personal devotional time and that is not helpful.  This reading will be separate and apart from sermon preparation, because sermon preparation is neither personal or devotional since it has the intentional focus of something that will become quite public.  I’m going to be using Daily Readings from Luther’s Writings, selected and edited by Barbara Owen, published by Augsburg Fortress in 1993.  It’s been gathering dust on my bookshelf, so I’ve dusted it off and hope to find new meaning in it.

• I will monitor how I consume and share social media.  This will be HARD.  My Facebook and Twitter timelines are FILLED with memes and links to articles, some of which are informative and important, especially in the current political season.  But they also make me angry and suspicious. Hatred of diversity is rampant.  Those who say they follow Christ aren’t acting like Christ.  Hypocrisy is more blatant than ever.  The political dialog isn’t dialog at all, just “talking at” people.  I could go on and on – which is part of my problem. There is a need to stand up to those who misrepresent Jesus. There is a need to call out hatred and injustice that masks as leadership or a desire to “protect” people.  I cannot sit by silent when part of my call as a baptized child of God is to serve, value and lift up the “least of these.”  But in the process of standing up for others I can’t allow myself to be dragged down in the mud and become like those I protest against.  Sinking to their level is not an option that is healthy for me (or for anyone else I think).  I can’t stop reading the news or sharing it, but I have to be stricter about monitoring my sources and the amount.  Perhaps just a handful of sources that are more bipartisan and only checking the news a few times a day instead of  throughout the day which social media makes so easy.  This will be a balancing act for sure – but balance is good.  Without it we fall.

• I will be more conscious of the joy that is around me.  Too many times we think we have to “find” something to make us happy, or that “thing” that will bring us joy.  We search and search and many times the things we’re searching for are right in front of us, we just haven’t paid attention.  It’s there. We just have to see it better.  To use a Glennon Melton word, I have to better use my “perspectacles” (get it?  perspective & spectacles).  My husband and I had a wonderful talk this morning.  We shared what we were each going to do with our Lent.  He asked how he could support me.  Joy.  He told he made a thoughtless comment about me to someone the other day and asked for my forgiveness. Joy. My son gave me the biggest hug this morning when he woke up.  Joy.  I have food in my fridge. Joy.  I have a God who loves me.  Joy.

Many consider Lent to be a depressing time.  It’s actually one of my favorite seasons of the Church year. Why? Because self-examination is good for us.  Not just to “do whatever feels good,” but to think about what is really good for us.  And realizing through this self-examination that everything isn’t just “about” us either.  Our thoughts and actions have real consequences that ripple out to others.  And Lent also prepares us to receive with even greater joy the ultimate gift of Easter – when love conquered sin and death.  Plus, our culture hasn’t figured out a way to “sell” Lent yet, so it’s generally free of the consumerism that surrounds Christmas and Easter.

So blessed Lent to all of you who observe – and prayers for you on however you plan to take this journey.

Soli Deo Gloria.

Amanda

This post is part of my reflecting on the 20th anniversary of my ordination this year…

Part of seminary education in my denomination (ELCA) is called CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education). Usually this is a summer spent working as a hospital chaplain.  CPE is intense.  You are being a hospital chaplain, but you are also part of a group of others doing their CPE along with you and you meet constantly to debrief your experiences.  In a hospital setting you’re confronted left and right with life and death decisions, with life-altering and devastating illnesses and accidents, and there is grief and pain mixed with joy and relief all around. It’s good to examine your own stuff while you’re confronting other’s stuff – so that you don’t confuse your stuff with theirs (or at least learn to recognize it when you do!).

Most of my day-to-day chaplaincy work was done on general medical floors.  Every once in a while we would help cover for each other if one of us had to be out, and we ALL took turns being on-call since this hospital had a chaplain available to patients 24 hours a day, seven days a week.  We had an on-call room to sleep in just like doctors – and we all prayed when it was our turn that it would be a quiet night.  It never was for me.  Not only that, but every single time I was on-call I was paged to be with the one “set” of patients I dreaded the most – the children.  Every single time. Without fail.  It’s never good when the chaplain (or any other care provider) is paged at 2am.  But when I would look at the number paging me and realize it was from one of pediatric units (Peds, NICU or PICU) I would just feel sick to my stomach.

The encounter that has stayed with me the most all these years is with a baby named Amanda.  Amanda was almost six months old but had never left the NICU.  She was born quite premature and had multiple problems.  Her mother and father, maybe in their mid-twenties, had just gotten the bad news that Amanda had yet another brain bleed and they wanted to talk to somebody.  The nurses explained to me that Amanda’s prognosis for survival was extremely poor, and that the parents were trying to process the information.****

I shook in my shoes.  Before I could be present with them I had some serious praying to do for myself. Obviously there was nothing I could say that would make this better.  Their little girl was dying, and they were trying to process this news.  What was there to say?

I went over to them and introduced myself.  I let them share with me what they were able to process to that point (sometimes it takes a while for news that tragic to sink in.  That’s another thing pastors do – journey with people as they unpack the realities of life and death).  I understood more than they were able to what was happening, but you can’t push people.  I met them where they were, just as God meets US where WE are.  I told them I was sorry for what they were going through, with what Amanda had gone through in her short life.  I looked at their little girl, obviously very sick, but still so beautiful, and told them that God was with them no matter what.  I told them that God had been with them all along, and that God would continue to be with them in the uncertain future.  They were not alone, even if they felt that way.  That it was okay to question, be angry, be weak, to cry, to scream – God would never leave.  My prayer with them was that they would feel God’s love embrace them and their daughter even in their pain.  We sat together for a long time, touching Amanda, touching each other, with a lot of silence.

Some people call this kind of ministry the ministry of presence.  Meaning, there isn’t anything concrete “to do.” You’re “just there.”  It’s hard to just sit with that kind of intensity.  It’s frustrating for a pastoral person who naturally wants to do something.  You feel helpless and useless, like you’re doing nothing.  In reality, nothing could be farther from the truth.  I don’t know what happened to Amanda or her parents. But I know how I have felt when on their end of grief and sorrow.  I know what it’s like to feel alone, to grieve, to doubt, to be sitting in the patient’s or family’s seat in the hospital – and I know it’s NOT nothing to have another human being sitting beside you.  It can be a huge comfort.  Having a physical pastoral presence to represent God’s presence with us is NOT nothing.

Amanda was my first serious experience as a future pastor with the ministry of presence.  It’s still not easy even all these years later.  It’s not supposed to be.  But it’s important to remember that it’s NOT nothing.  Thank you Amanda.  You helped this person be a better pastor.

it’s not nothing

---

****This is where ministry takes place.  This is when you want people to realize that sending their money to some televangelist so he can buy a new jet is just GARBAGE.  This is when you want people to realize that buying the best-seller of a preacher living in a mansion is just GARBAGE.  Amanda and her parents are ministry.  THIS is what regular everyday pastors are called to do day in and day out.  We brave the 300 pound gorilla in the room, which is death.  We sit with people as they mourn and doubt, as they question their own worth, struggle with addictions, sickness, anger, depression.  We hold hands with those who bury their children and lose their homes and can’t put food on the table.  Next time you think about sending a check to a “mega-ministry” half across the country, think of the church down the street whose pastor probably makes pennies, but whose doors are always open when you need a hand to hold.  Just my two cents…

 

suicide in the family

September 10th is World Suicide Prevention Day.

For me, suicide isn’t just a horrible thing that has happened to other people in other families (although that is most certainly true).  For me, suicide is PERSONAL.  My Uncle, my father’s older brother, took his own life, violently, after years of battling with depression.

the pastel my uncle drew of me, around 1980

My Uncle would have years of living a relatively stable life.  He could hold a job (although nothing too mentally taxing or otherwise demanding), he could be a productive, tax-paying member of society.  He was an artist. I’d say he was an amazing artist considering that he was stricken with a form of encephalitis as an adult which resulted in the right side of his body being very weak – SO weak that he needed to switch his writing and DRAWING hand from right to left.  On the left is a pastel he drew of me when I was twelve.

But other times he would become not just dysfunctional, but NON-functional.  He would disappear.  He would become completely dependent on family (which led to family burn-out).  I’m not quite sure how many times he was hospitalized because his psychiatric history began in my childhood – and it’s not the kind of thing that my family talked about.  People in general didn’t talk about “such matters” in the 1970’s or 80’s.

In the summer of 1990 he was hospitalized yet again.  The “older” adults in the family (my aunt, my father, and grandparents – another aunt lived far away) were tired.  Even my father, who had a VERY close relationship with my uncle, was emotionally exhausted in dealing with him.  I was a young working woman at the time, with a social work degree (thank goodness), and my uncle started calling me, asking if he could live with me when he was released from the hospital.  I knew it was more than I could handle, but I also knew how to steer him into systems that would give him more long-term support.  I knew I could say “no” to him while he was still inpatient – that he was being watched and cared for, and that we had time to put a plan together.

He was doing well.  So well in fact that the doctors and nurses (and whoever else) on his unit decided that he could be trusted with a little freedom.  He got a day pass.  What they didn’t know is that he was acting. Suicidal people can do that.  They muster up the energy to fool those around them so they can carry out their plan.  My uncle got his day pass, got a gun somewhere (we’ll never know), got a friend to drive him to a local park, walked a bit, sat down on the grass and shot himself in the head.  His friend heard the shot from the car, found him quickly and called for help. Surprisingly he wasn’t dead.  Not right away.

He was brought to the emergency room and was hooked up to every machine conceivable.  But to no avail.  He was brain dead.  They’d managed to keep his body going, but he was gone.  I visited with him, stroked his hair, grieved over his handsome face so purple and sad, begged his forgiveness on behalf of everyone who let him down (including myself), on behalf of the system that let him down, and said goodbye.

We had a simple graveside service – no funeral home or church service (the Roman Catholic Church, to which he belonged, kind of frowns on suicide), although a priest who knew him and his history said prayers with us – and the obituary said nothing about suicide.

I share his story because I want people to understand a few things, one of which is personal/political and if that offends you than I’m sorry/not sorry.

1. Depression is a real medical illness.  We’re not always sure how to treat it.  What works for some may not work for others.  The brain is a mysterious thing.  We haven’t even begun to unpack all its mysteries.  But when you suffer from clinical depression you can’t just “snap out of it.”
2. In a strictly dispassionate theological sense, suicide may be seen as selfish, and or murder.  In some circles suicide is such a BAD sin that it separates you from the Church.  But we are not dispassionate people. Theology is useless (and I would argue isn’t “theology” at ALL) if it doesn’t address our human condition. Some of us feel so worthless – to ourselves, our loved ones and God – that our mental illness fools us into thinking the world would be better without us.  Or it fools us into listening to the voice who says IT is God, telling us that if we jump off the bridge we’ll be able to fly.  In Romans, St. Paul tells us that NOTHING separates us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.  NOTHING.  I’m thankful for the priest that was at my uncle’s grave, who said prayers for him and my family.  There should be NOTHING to prevent my uncle (or any other victim of suicide) from being buried “from” the Church.   And if a church refuses?   We had church at the cemetery. Where two or three are gathered together, Christ is there.
3. You can’t just pray it away.  I firmly believe in the power of prayer.  If someone I know has cancer I pray fervently for them – but I also encourage them to see a DOCTOR.  God works through the medical profession. God works through the hands of surgeons.  God works through nurses and aides who care for patients in a hundred different ways throughout their day.  God also works through psychiatrists and therapists and MEDICATION.  God works through anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medications just as much as through blood pressure medication or insulin.
4. We need common sense GUN CONTROL.   (Yes, this is the personal/political thing.)  I grew up with guns in my house.  When I go visit my mother there are guns in the house.  I’ve fired a rifle (albeit aiming at a tree and my father keeping me from falling backwards!).  I’m not “anti-gun.”  And gun control laws may not have prevented my uncle from getting a gun. There will always be ways to break the law, but that doesn’t mean there shouldn’t be laws!  We have laws against stealing.  People steal.  This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have laws against stealing.  Does the reality of law-breaking mean we shouldn’t have laws?  That’s absurd.  So the argument that we shouldn’t have laws trying to keep guns out of the hands of people who shouldn’t have them because they’ll get them anyway doesn’t hold any water with me, and is just plain nonsense.  We should have gun control – keeping guns from those with mental illness, those who have restraining orders out on them, those who’ve been convicted of violent offenses, AND a waiting period between purchase and possession (to cool hot heads).

I also share his story because he never married, never had children, and there are too few people who remember him.  I do.  And just as we donated his organs so he could live on and help others, I tell his story, yes, this SAD BAD story, so that he might live on and help others in this way too – to end the stigma of mental illness, to end the shame of suicide and the weight that survivors and surviving loved ones feel.  There is meaning in his life AND his death if we can help others from going down the same dark road.

at the beach, 1979

hands and promises

This is another reflection to celebrate the 20th anniversary of my ordination.  This one is about the actual event of my ordination.  There are many things I remember about the day.

• The music!!!!  I was ordained in a Roman Catholic Cathedral.  I didn’t question how it could happen that a bunch of protestants (Lutherans no less!) could use a cathedral for worship (which included using the altar for communion), but our synod did so for a few years.  The building was understandably massive.  The space overwhelming.  Lutherans in the United States generally don’t have such spaces, so it was a bit of a shock to my system.  Not only that, but the building was made for the music.  I can’t tell you the specs of the organ, but it too was massive and the sound was massive and the sound moved through my whole body.  The one word to sum up the space and the music – MASSIVE.  (Enough to be repeated four times in one paragraph!)
• The congregation.  Lutherans have some big churches, but the vast majority are not “cathedral size.” The congregation gathered on this day filled the cathedral.  The love and support exhibited just by folks’ presence with us was enormous.  And to hear hundreds of people join together in prayer, praying the “Our Father” with that many people was just, well… utterly inspiring and uplifting.
• The juxtaposition of pride and humility.  I was so proud of getting to this point in my life.  Four years of hard classroom and practical work, plus the earlier years of discerning before seminary.  Searching in theological thought and in my own personal growth had led me to feel rightly proud to be receiving the Church’s blessing. YET… at the same time I was completely humbled by the experience of being blessed by the Church, frightened even.  Afraid that I wasn’t up to the tasks that lay ahead.  Afraid of letting people down.  Afraid of making mistakes.  Afraid of failure.  (All those things I was frightened of?  All of them have happened.  And both the Church, and I, have survived. Proof that the Church is more than me, and that God uses the flawed and sinful to share the gospel!)

But there are two things I remember the most.

The first were the promises that each candidate for ordination must make.  They are both wonderful and fierce, beginning with “Before almighty God, to whom you must give account…”  Gulp.  Humility again. All kinds of promises – promises having to do with Scripture, prayer, Creeds, and Confessions; but also promises about how to lead the people.  Promises about nourishing the people with the Word and Sacraments, how I would go about living my life as a public person, and being a witness to Christ in the world. Weighty promises.  Serious stuff.  Stuff I took (and still take) seriously.  Heavy for sure.  In those moments of promises I literally began to shake as I, along with each other candidate, individually had to respond out loud, “I will, and I ask God to help me.”  Yes Lord, please help me!

The second thing I remember the most vividly was the laying on of hands.  During the laying on of hands, the candidate is kneeling (and we were “free” kneeling with just a cushion for our knees – no kneelers for support), and the bishop along with several others (visiting bishops, assistant bishops, and the candidate’s sponsors) lay their hands on the candidates head for a blessing.  After the emotional weight of the promises, the physical weight of all those hands on my head was overpowering.  During the laying on of hands I came the closest I’ve ever come to being slain in the Spirit.  I felt weak, like I was going to fall over.  It wasn’t the same as fainting (I’ve done that before and know what that’s like).  This was really different, all my senses were heightened, but my strength was just gone. Luckily I didn’t make a scene and steadied myself.  But I have never forgotten how overcome I felt – kneeling, surrounded, weighed down and prayed for by that group of spiritual leaders.  There are no words really…

After the laying on of hands each candidate receives a stole as a sign of the pastoral office.  They stand and turn to face the congregation gathered.  The bishop then asks the people to acknowledge the new pastors and pray for them – at that point they are acclaimed to be pastors and there is thunderous applause!  I mean thunderous.  And all the new pastors can do is stand there and take it.  You can’t say, “No really, it’s ok, you can stop now,” or “Please, really, sit down and let’s get on with worship.”  But then you remember they’re not just clapping for you (although family and friends may beg to differ), they’re also clapping for the Church and its ministry, and for the proclamation of the gospel.

Some parts of that day have long faded from my memory, but these things stay with me, because they impact my call to Word and Sacrament ministry even now:  music, people, pride and humility, promises, touching and blessing. This is how we are Jesus, and how we do Jesus, and how we bring Jesus to the world.

Soli Deo Gloria.

Henry

In case you didn’t know, last month I celebrated the 20th anniversary of my ordination.  As part of my reflection on that singular event, I’ve been thinking a lot about the many events and people which have made up my calling to this point.  I hope in posts to come, to share some of these events/people with you.

One person is Henry (name changed to protect anonymity).  I wasn’t too long in ordained ministry before I got a call from Henry, or should I say, his wife.  She told me he was in the hospital and requested that I come visit him.  Since he hadn’t been to worship in the few months I had been at my new congregation, I asked some of my parishioners about him before I went to see him (the novice trying to be prepared).  They described him as a bit “off,” and that he never came to worship.  I didn’t have much to go on.  When I walked in the hospital room I met an older small and frail looking man.  He was awkward in conversation, but I quickly recognized that as shyness.  As an introvert myself, I’m generally pretty good at distinguishing shyness from aloofness.

The next time I visited with him I brought him communion, and the conversation came a bit easier.  I discovered what his fellow parishioners meant by “off.”  Conversation may have been easier, but it was definitely different. Henry was very focused on Scripture.  Most people I visit in the hospital even now aren’t as concerned about Bible passages as they are about prayer.  Some don’t want Scripture or prayer, they just want someone to listen to their concerns and “hold them,” almost as a confession.  But not Henry, he wanted to talk to me about Scripture.  We had a good conversation.

Then he was released from the hospital to home.  I set up a time to visit him there and arrived Bible in hand, prepared for questions and/or curiousities.  He lived in a very small house – older and a bit run down.  I introduced myself to his wife, who was not a member of the congregation – she too was like her husband and their home – small, older and a bit run down.  She showed me to their room, where Henry was sitting up in bed.  After some conversation, Henry stopped and said, “Pastor, I’d like to have communion now.”  This caught me by surprise – very much by surprise.

My first congregation was not what you would call “sacramental.”  They most certainly believed in the sacraments (for Lutherans that’s Baptism and Communion), but they didn’t feel especially tied to Holy Communion. My parish’s community was heavily Roman Catholic, and among older members there was a tangible “anti-Catholic” feeling.  I heard stories from these older folks about “anti-Protestant” bias when they were growing up.  One man had children in his neighborhood who were not allowed to play with him because he wasn’t Catholic. It stung.  So, as a result of the anti-Protestant bias, they developed an anti-Catholic bias.  I first started hearing these stories when I suggested we begin celebrating Holy Communion weekly, instead of the twice a month practice that was in place when I arrived.  The reaction was STRONG. Weekly communion was too Roman Catholic.  I thought this was outrageous, but at that time, even as a young, green pastor, I knew it was more important to listen than dictate.

Since I had communed Henry earlier in the week, and given the “congregational psyche” on the sacrament, the thought that he would desire communion again so soon was not remotely in my mind.  I was unprepared.  No communion kit.  I apologized profusely and felt quite embarrassed at being caught “off guard.”  But then I had a thought (I like to believe it was the Holy Spirit).  “Henry, do you have bread in the house?”  “How about wine?”  “No? Hmm… how about grape juice?”  So his wife and I gathered a slice of sandwich bread and a cup of grape juice from the kitchen, brought them to his room, and Henry and I had communion together.

Henry and I would visit several more times.  A few months after that first hospital visit he died.  But I still think of Henry often, and the lessons he taught me –

1. Just because a person doesn’t come to worship doesn’t mean they aren’t faithful.  Don’t get me wrong, worship is VERY important in our faith life, and people miss out immensely when they separate themselves from corporate worship.  As a pastor, it’s never ok with me when people just don’t feel like going to church, or say they don’t get anything out of it.  Those are lame excuses which would be a good topic for another post…  but… even though Henry didn’t come to worship he was still immersing himself in Scripture and spending considerable time in prayer.  I never got to discuss the reasons for his non-attendance at worship because he health declined so quickly.  I’m curious, even all these years later, what those could have been.
2. We don’t have to have the fancy “stuff” to celebrate the Lord’s Supper.  Yes, I knew this intellectually, but it was the first time I had to scrape together the elements needed (sliced white sandwich bread and Welch’s grape juice).  We don’t need fancy patens or wafers or chalices for the Lord to be present.  Those things are nice, because they show the level of respect and honor we hold for the sacrament, but they are not necessary.
3. ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS bring my communion kit, whenever I visit anyone.  I only forgot this ONCE in the 20 years since, and you know what happened?  Yep. She asked for communion.  I felt the same rush of shame as my face turned red in embarrassment, as I did with Henry.  UNLIKE Henry, she didn’t have bread or wine or grape juice in the house.  Thank goodness she lived two blocks from the church, so I ran out, then ran back, and we celebrated together.  You never know what a person needs when you walk in their hospital room or home. The communion kit may go untouched, but at least it’s there if needed.

 

pondering marriage equality, part 2

This post is part two of my thoughts regarding the recent Supreme Court decision to allow gay couples the right to marry.  In part one I shared my thoughts on the legal (logical and non-religious) aspects of marriage equality.  In this post I’ll walk through the theological minefield of same gender relationships. As always I share my ponderings as an individual.  My denomination (Evangelical Lutheran Church in America) has released several teaching documents and statements related to human sexuality which I invite you to research.  The views expressed here are entirely my own.  That being said:

As a Christian, I support the decision of the court.

However, I truly respect the beliefs of those who view same-sex relationships as contrary to God’s Will (although I disagree).  I respect those beliefs as long as they aren’t part of a larger conspiracy of hate and bigotry and religious persecution complexes that are bordering on hysteria.  I have NO patience for this kind of panic and fear/hate mongering.  There are those screaming that because the country is allowing consenting adults of the same gender to marry one another, our country is going to hell.  What I want to know is why THIS is the thing that’s pushing God over the edge?  Why not slavery and the MURDER of unknown numbers of African people forcibly brought here and USED and disposed of when they were no longer useful?  Why not the MASSACRE of unknown numbers of Native Americans when we STOLE their land, calling it our “destiny,” corralling them on reservations and making their lives a living hell?  Why marriage and not these horrors perpetrated knowingly and with malice toward others?  A God that would overlook such atrocities but strike us down over the legal union of loving consenting adults is to me the very definition of theological lunacy.  If that sounds harsh, well, yes.  Gay marriage pales in comparison to a LOT of really sinister things we’ve done, and are continuing to do, in this country.  We need to keep things in perspective.

My support of same sex relationships, comes not from simply reading the Bible – but HOW I read the Bible – and this is the primary focus of this post, NOT individual texts.  I am not a literalist.  Indeed, I think no one truly can be, because even those who purport to take the Bible literally end up weighing certain passages as more important than others.  My Church of Christ grandmother was adamant in her church’s belief that since the New Testament made no mention of musical instruments in worship – that there should be NO musical instruments in worship.  All music is “a cappella.”  Now, there are plenty of mentions in the Old Testament of musical instruments in worship – so Church of Christ people (God love them) are making an interpretation that New is more important than Old.  Most Christians aren’t kosher.  Most Christians don’t celebrate Passover, which God declared to be a “perpetual” ordinance.  I don’t know ANY Christians in this day and age who think slavery is a good thing, although it was common and even blessed in both the Old AND New Testaments.  Indeed both the supporters of slavery AND abolitionists used Scripture to support their beliefs.  A few words from Paul about women has kept us out of leadership positions for EVER, and yet we have examples of Deborah the judge, Anna the prophet who blessed baby Jesus, Mary who was told by the risen Christ to announce the resurrection to the poor men who were hiding, and others who clearly held positions of leadership.  It’s impossible to follow the Bible without making decisions about differing passages.  THAT is interpretation, whether we like it or not.

Granted, it is a hard thing for us to read and love Scripture, and yet ponder and pray and discuss and debate and sometimes fight over meanings.  Which passages should be laws for ALL time (thou shall not murder), and which ones were meant to guide specific groups in a specific time and place (women should keep their heads covered)?  It is hard work.

• It is easy to look at a passage that seems to speak against homosexuality, and say “YES.  It’s an abomination  It can NEVER be ok!”
• It is hard to look at that same passage and ask, “Well, what was the writer really talking about?  Were they talking about consenting adults or something more sinister?”
• It’s easy to read a passage that says men can’t “spill seed,” and say “YES.  This is why men can’t have sex with men and why masturbation is evil.”
• It’s hard to ask, “Well, WHY?”

It is easy to take Scripture at its face value.  But in the end, that view doesn’t really respect the beauty and history and the blood, sweat and tears of the Bible and the story of the faith within it.  I would argue that wrestling with the history and context, and the arduous task of weighing the “perpetual” versus the “temporary” is the more respectful way to approach our beloved document of faith.  Martin Luther once said that the Bible was the cradle in which we find Christ.  The Bible is NOT Christ.  Truly truly I tell you, I love the Bible, but it is not the Bible that saves me.  That honor belongs to Christ alone.  I do not worship the Bible.  I worship Jesus Christ, my lord and savior.

There are two main reasons for the biblical prohibitions against homosexuality.  I warn you, it’s a bit graphic.  If you’d rather not, then skip the next two sections…

NUMBER ONE – The survival of the race was of paramount importance.  The whole purpose of marriage was to have LOTS OF BABIES.  This is understandable.  The nation was constantly at risk from war and disease (including infant mortality and maternal death).  Lots of babies also included LOTS OF WIVES to have the lots of babies.  The idea of a relationship (even between a man and a woman – husband and wife) that DIDN’T include procreation was anathema – hence women lending out their slaves to their husbands to have babies for them if they were “barren” (how nice – sanctioned RAPE so the man could have an heir).  The idea of marriage for procreation still exists in some ultra-orthodox Jewish circles.  I recently saw a movie about a woman who killed herself because she was childless after years of marriage.  Her husband loved her and wouldn’t divorce her despite intense family pressure to do so (because marriage ≠ love, marriage = procreation), so killing herself FREED him to remarry and have children.  There was no guarantee of that however, because they couldn’t discover the reason for their infertility due to the biblical prohibition against “spilling seed” (wasting sperm) – the other major biblical argument against homosexuality.

NUMBER TWO – Biblical biological knowledge was just plain WRONG.  WRONG.  According to the Bible, or I should say, “biblical thought,” the whole baby was contained in the sperm, and the woman’s womb was just the soil in which the seed was planted.  Our biblical ancestors knew nothing of eggs and conception.  So, spilling seed was killing babies.  Any man ejaculating babies into anything else besides a woman’s “soil” was killing those babies, which completely went against rule number one – to perpetuate the species.  We know now that’s not true. Spilling seed doesn’t kill babies.  That poor woman in the movie above KILLED HERSELF, when perhaps their whole problem was with her husband’s fertility – but he wouldn’t get tested because he could not “spill seed” into a cup to have his sperm count analyzed (even for medical purposes).

After the hard work of respecting and loving and digging deeply into Scripture, what I am left with is this:  Biblical prohibitions against same-sex relationships have absolutely nothing to do with who it’s acceptable to love, and everything to do with the importance of procreation.  Given the world we inhabit today, I believe that while the biblical injunctions against homosexuality may have been of primary importance for the people of that time and place – they are NOT for people of this time and place.   I am not the only one who has come to these conclusions.  And I did not simply accept the words of others – this issue has been important to me and an object of study for YEARS.  I hope this time and wrestling is seen as a sign of my deep love and respect for Scripture, and not as some would argue “just tossing OUT Scripture.” Ultimately, however, I have no control over what others think of these conclusions or of me – but that’s okay, I sleep well.

So as a Christian, I support the decision of the court.  Again, I respect those who disagree.  We can still hold hands and pray and sing and even worship together, as long as that respect remains on both our parts.  It can and does work, I promise you.  And if you can’t make space in your heart for respect and love of neighbor, if you can’t see your way to hold hands and pray and sing and worship with me because of this, then I will pray FOR you.

I realize as I finish that I haven’t made space to discuss how I will practically deal with this as a pastor.  Just quickly – at least for now it isn’t an issue in my congregation since my folks are well past the marrying years.  I haven’t officiated a wedding in YEARS.  However, if asked, I WILL cross that bridge – but that’s another post…

Shalom.  Peace.