"You're So Gracious"

My former congregation had a generous policy about funerals.  There were a lot of people who were connected with us, in some way or another, and we could usually find some way to work it out if someone wanted to have their funeral in our sanctuary.  But, we have always had two or more pastors, so it was relatively easy to work that into someone's schedule.  If it didn't work out for any of the pastors, on one or two occasions we authorized another pastor to come and lead the funeral service.

So it was that one Monday our receptionist got a phone call from a family that desperately wanted their mother's funeral in our sanctuary, even though she had transferred to another congregation many years ago.  They also wanted one of the former pastors at their current congregation to preside at the service.

That sounded like a slightly strange request, but it was a funeral, and I am sympathetic with grieving people.  We said that one of the pastors of our congregation (probably me) would work with them, along with the pastor that they wanted.

The family said that this makes sense.  "After all, it's your church," they said.

We set a time for the family to meet with both pastors.  I found out the name of the other pastor.  I did not know him, but I did know one thing about him:  he came from a faith tradition which does not ordain women as pastors.  I had his number and tried to get in touch with him.  Finally I left to make another home visit.

When I returned the pastor and the other family were waiting.  I sat down with them and took out note paper and a hymnal, so that we could write down hymns and scripture readings.   We talked about the policy of the church, and how we serve the lunch.

Then the other pastor said, "I am sorry to say this, but I am not allowed to serve in public worship with you.  This is the policy of my denomination.  My hands are tired."

I was sitting there with this pastor and a grieving family.  They knew what I had told them before.

I swallowed hard, and said, "All right then.  I will help you plan the service.  I will put you in touch with the musician from our congregation.  I will help your with the luncheon.  I will make sure that the building is prepared for you.  I will pray for you."

"You're so gracious," the family said.

"You're so gracious," the other pastor said.

Is that what it was?  I had a grieving family with nowhere else to go.  I could not pull the rug out from under them now.  The most important thing was the proclamation of the resurrection that would take place at this funeral.  I knew that it was not about me.  I am not the only one who can comfort and proclaim the good news of Jesus' life.

And yet, it sort of felt like it was about me.  "You are unacceptable." That's what they were saying.  And I stood there and I took it, knowing in my heart of hearts that I was not unacceptable, but feeling slimed nonetheless.

"You're so gracious," they said.

Sometimes, grace is hard.  Really hard.

On that Friday I was not allowed to enter the sanctuary of the church where I had been called as pastor.  Other people thought it was so wonderful that we showed hospitality to a grieving family.  I am glad that we showed this hospitality to a grieving family.

And yet….

Recently I met with a young woman who wants to have her wedding here.  She is not a member of my congregation.  She is from another faith tradition, one I am only slightly familiar with.  I told her the policy of our congregation is that if the wedding is here, I need to be involved in the ceremony with that.  "Are you sure your pastor is all right with that?" I asked.

She was sure her pastor was all right with that.

I called him.  He is not sure that he is all right with that.

Sometimes, being gracious is hard.   Really hard.

"Can You Hear Me?"

The other day, I couldn't help thinking back to the little country church I served, the one where there were no microphones.

This small church had the most beautiful oak altar and pulpit  The pump organ played from up in the balcony.  The cemetery was right next door.  You could walk right out to the cemetery after a funeral, and have the committal service right away, the way it ought to be.

I often dreamed of having Easter Sunrise service at this little church, beginning the service out in the darkness of the cemetery and processing into the church for festival worship.  But it never happened,  The facilities weren't adequate for the after-sunrise-service Easter breakfast hosted by the youth.

This church also did not have a microphone.  My other two churches had cordless mikes, which I wore attached to my alb or lapel.  My current congregation has cordless microphones which we wear around our ears.

There is something I hate about those ear microphones.

There is something I loved about the church without a microphone.  It was one less thing to fiddle with, to test, to make sure that I had at the exact right spot when I came into church.  I didn't have to worry about the occasional interference (before one Holy Week Service, we inexplicably were able to listen in a one half of a cell phone conversation).

There is something I loved about the church without a microphone.  I felt that somehow I was offering them:  myself, unadorned, unamplified.  I was proud of my speaking ability.  After all,  the first time my grandmother heard me preach (via cassette tape), her one comment was, "I heard every word!"  I felt confident in my ability. I spoke clearly and loudly.  There was nothing between me and them, not even a set of speakers.

So I grieved on the day the elders brought in the bright shiny new cordless mike they wanted me to wear from then on.  I grieved and I wondered if it was me, with my inadequate feminine voice, that had driven them to this innovation.  Until then, the unadorned voice had always been enough.  But now, I had to wear the contraption so that everyone could hear me.

Of course, it could just as well have been the fact that the congregation was aging.  It might also have been their desire to be just like the other two congregations where I served.  "We want a microphone!  Just like all of the other congregations!"  That might have been it as well.

Still, I grieved.  What was simple (or at least had seemed simple) now had gotten more complicated.  I was no longer enough for them.  I needed to be amplified.  From now on, the question would always be, in some way or another, "Can you hear me?"

I wonder what churches did before amplifiers and sound systems.  Did preachers just have better voices, or were ears trained to listen differently?  The technologies we use to help people hear us keep getting more and more sophisticated.  At the same time, I yearn to know that I am enough.

It's just me and the Holy Spirit, standing in front of that small congregation with its beautiful oak pulpit and altar.  It's just me and the Holy Spirit, saying, "You are enough.  God can hear you, unadorned and beautiful."

Out of the Mouths of Babes

So, I've been helping out with Vacation Bible School (Pre-school edition) this week.  I have peeked in on the song time, but mostly, I tell the story every day.

First, let me say that I am happy that I am not the leader of the Pre-school Vacation Bible School.  I admire our Children's Ministry Coordinator, who is so flexible and patient and yet firm with children, some of whom have not had much experience with any kind of school environment yet. 

It's sort of organized chaos. 

But it's great!  and it's fun to watch them learn the songs, and the stories and warm up to each other, too.  Wednesday, they learned the story of Jonah and Thursday we learned a story about Jesus.  Jonah and Jesus both start with the letter, "J", you know.

When I mentioned Jesus, they told me that they liked Jesus.

Today, on the last day, a grandma who has been helping with the program whispered in my ear. 

She brings her granddaughters to Vacation Bible School.  She's been bringing them for a few years now.  The oldest one is not a pre-schooler any more.  The two younger girls were in the class though.  They don't go to our church, but they're active participants in a Catholic Parish. 

So, she told me that her oldest grand-daughter informed her recently that she wants to be a priest when she grows up.  I said, "hmmm."

Sometime during the week, she let her grand-daughters know that I was their minister.

One of them replied, "When I grow up, I want to be a Lutheran."

Who knows?  Maybe she will be a Lutheran.  Or maybe she'll be one of the leaders who will change her own church.

You never know what will come out of Pre-School Vacation Bible School.

Half the Church: A book Review

This book was not written for me.  But, it could have been, once upon a time.

Let me explain.  When I was growing up, the Lutheran Church did not ordain woman.  As I approached young adulthood, that changed, but at the same time, I had begun to worship with a less Lutheran and more evangelical set.  So, even while women were opening doors in my denomination, I was struggling with whether I thought women should be ordained.

The book Half the Church is not written to address the subject of ordination of women.  Carolyn Curtis James addresses the issues of women's empowerment while side-stepping the issue of whether women can in fact be called to public ministry. 

Make no mistake, she is passionate about empowering women, having been convicted about the de-valuing of women and girls in many parts of the developing world.  Jumping off from the best-selling book, Half the Sky, by  Nicholas Kristoff and Sheryl WuDunn, she notes that the key to empowering communities is actually valuing women's contributions, and empowering women.  She also rightly recognizes that it is time for the church to understand that the call to do justice is part of the call to proclaim the gospel.

Ms. Curtis James persuasively argues that scripture is a resource for discovering models for strong women, leaders, crusaders for justice.    If you read this book, you will find some strong women here:  Eve, Ruth, Mary.  Her exegesis and stories are persuasive.  I also appreciated her appropriation of the "bride of Christ" metaphor as a strong church in partnership with Christ, to bring justice and healing to the world. 

However, as one who struggled with the issue of ordination as a young woman, I find myself disappointed in her refusal to take a stand on way or another.  She's passionate about women in leadership; just not willing to take a stand for women's voices in the pulpit.

Disclaimer:  I received this book from Zondervan to review, with no expectation that I would give a positive review.  I have another one to give away to anyone who would like one.