Uniformly

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Yesterday (9/14) was the second anniversary of my ordination. It’s hard to believe it’s been two years since all those hands and prayers pressed down on me. I remember other pastors talking about how heavy that felt on their ordination. It didn’t to me at the time, but I suspect the weight increases over time.

I had particular reason (and time) to reflect on my own vocation yesterday as I sat in an Anchorage courtroom and waited out a jury selection. Despite having a relatively low draft number (so to speak), I was not selected. I did not try to get out of service. I try to fulfill the duties of citizenship, since I do enjoy its privileges. A few people asked if I was going to wear my collar and I said I wouldn’t. I didn’t because I don’t wear it on a day to day basis. It’s not really part of my wardrobe and not totally expected from my community.
However, there was another collar in the jury pool. A late-middle-aged man wore a black shirt with the little white tab shining prominently at his throat. He looked like a priest out of a book a picture book. In one of the toddler books of opposites around my house, a picture of this man would have been “a priest” and a picture of me would be “young upstart”.
Of course, that’s not really the way I see myself, but sometimes… This gentleman made to questioning where he revealed that he was an Orthodox priest, had been for many years and felt he would be an excellent juror because he’s used to listening to people and thinking things through. When asked about wearing his collar, the prosecuting attorney gestured to an airman in the room and said, “It’s like your uniform?” The priest said, “It’s what I put on every day.” The attorneys referred to him as “Father” and he was seated on the jury, wherein I’m sure he’ll do an excellent job. His only concern was that people might find it difficult to disagree with him and he wanted people to see him as a regular person.
As I listened to him, his thoughts about his collar and how the lawyers spoke to him with care, I reflected on my own thoughts about my collar. In general, the shirts for women aren’t very comfortable. The cotton ones bind and the microfiber ones are pricy and not easily replaced, which doesn’t translate well to picking up toddlers or any number of things I do on a daily basis.
My experience, though, tells me it’s not the collar that makes a pastor. It’s not even the ordination, though that helps. It’s the time. The time you spend in prayer and reflection. The time you spend listening. The time you spend sitting. The waiting time. The talking time. The travel time.
I wear a collar to early morning hospital visits and to “official” events. I wear one for most church services and for some house calls. There are also people, in the church, for whom the collar is a barrier to communication. I don’t wear it when I thin raspberry bushes, when I take a walk, when I stop by after work.
I did promise to wear my collar every day for a week at once point and I need to uphold my end of the bargain. I feel eyes go right to it when I do wear it, but maybe I need to feel that. And maybe people need to see a wider variety of people in collars these days.
I keep thinking of the priest saying, “It’s what I put on in the morning.” If that was a question, (What do you put on the morning), I would answer, “Christ.”
That’s the most important part. The remaining question is, am I willing to let everyone see that?

Koinonia

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I recently finished reading the ELCA’s Draft Social Statement on Genetics (found here). It’s broad document, like most social statements, that seeks to provide a biblical and ethical framework for discussions around the topic of genetics. When people hear the term genetics, they may believe the conversation is linked to heritability within human or animal populations, but the conversations around genetic research stretch into farming, global communication, insurance, social service programs, cloning, artificial reproductive technology, food distribution, medicine… and on and on.

As with most of the ELCA’s social statements, the draft social statement on genetics offers a few strongly worded passages on the church’s stands and, also, much acknowledgement of the reality of sin in the world and in our lives.
At the conclusion of the statement (p. 35) is this passage:
Since the earliest days, Christians have claimed to be part of a koinonia. They have understood this Greek word to carry dynamic and layered meanings of “mutuality,” “fellowship,” “community” and “union.” Together these meanings suggest a fundamental commitment to shared participation and a “holding in common.”

Christian mutuality (koinonia) is not a goal or an end in itself but the means and evidence of being held as one in Christ while sharing in God’s love for each other. Such mutuality is grounded in God’s love for each other. Such mutuality is grounded in God’s grace to each member, even though all fall short of deserving it. God’s love is the basis, model, source and motivation for mutuality in the Christian church (John 13:31-35).
Of everything that I read in this statement, these are the paragraphs that will stick with me, especially the difference between community as means and community as an end.
I often hear of calls to make church like it used to be. I realize this comes out of people’s longing for a time they felt they understood, with less change, with more familiarity. We frequently try to envision a future for a congregation that looks much like our not-too-distant past without really considering the way the world and we have changed between now and then. Through that kind of goal-setting, our hope is achieving the community we once knew or thought we did.
However, if we recognize koinonia, or Christian community, as our means, rather than our end goal, it changes how we look at our church life. If we understand that we are called together to support one another, in certainty and uncertainty, with our eyes toward the fulfillment of our faith as the end goal. The existence of our community of faith is evidence of the continued work of the Holy Spirit, granting and stirring up faith, and we discover and celebrate that evidence together.
This sharing in community is what keeps us going. It is what’s kept the church going for, lo, these 1980 years or so as we await the return of Christ, in whom is our beginning and our end.
Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love. That tie is koinonia and it lasts and keeps us going, through all kinds of changes, until the end comes.

Burn Out

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A couple weeks ago the New York Times published this article on clergy burnout. Among other things, it mentions, “Members of the clergy now suffer from obesity, hypertension and depression at rates higher than most Americans. In the last decade, their use of antidepressants has risen, while their life expectancy has fallen. Many would change jobs if they could.”


In response to the article, a minister in the United Church of Christ offered his thoughts on the issue in an op-ed piece, saying: “In this transformation, clergy have seen their job descriptions rewritten. They’re no longer expected to offer moral counsel in pastoral care sessions or to deliver sermons that make the comfortable uneasy. Church leaders who continue such ministerial traditions pay dearly. A few years ago, thousands of parishioners quit Woodland Hills Church in St. Paul, Minn., and Community Church of Joy in Glendale, Ariz., when their respective preachers refused to bless the congregations’ preferred political agendas and consumerist lifestyles.

I have faced similar pressures myself. In the early 2000s, the advisory committee of my small congregation in Massachusetts told me to keep my sermons to 10 minutes, tell funny stories and leave people feeling great about themselves. The unspoken message in such instructions is clear: give us the comforting, amusing fare we want or we’ll get our spiritual leadership from someone else.”

I’ve thought about both pieces since they came out and wondered how to respond. I’ve had many people comment in my short career as a minister that they don’t want to see me get burned out and that I should conserve my energy. At the same time, I love my job and holding back (on anything) isn’t in my nature. I think ministerial burnout comes from two directions.

The first is something that I can prevent. I’m supposed to be in 16-mile mountain race/walk/hike in two days. I’m marginally trained, but looking forward to the effort and to feeling that my body is my own after 9 months of pregnancy and 12 of breast-feeding. However, my one-year-old has had a stomach bug (now clearing up) this week and I stayed home for 3 days with him. My husband’s truck went into the shop this morning and I just heard that we should weigh our options between getting a new (to us) vehicle and repairing this one. And an hour ago, I received a call about a congregation member in the hospital- nothing major, but still at 90…

I could easily say that it just doesn’t seem like I should go on Saturday. I shouldn’t spend the night away from home. I should stick around in case I’m needed. But I’ll always be needed. There will always be something. And if I yield to the somethings every time, then I will never do things I want to do for myself. I will never get rest from a job that doesn’t quit. I’ll never refresh my mind, body and spirit. I’ll push the wax of my energy until the wick sputters out and then I’ll sit in darkness, wondering how I got there.

In this sense, I have the power to prevent burnout and I have to claim that power.

The other way to prevent clergy burnout is for laity to realize their role and part in ministry. Often we can lose sight of the fact that the pastor is supposed to be working alongside the faithful for the good of God’s creation. In particular, pastors are to hold out the example and offer guidance, assurance and consolation as people of faith move forward in their vocations and avocations, in imitation of Christ.

If the pastor does all the work, the congregation can become like children, believing that it will all be done for them, or they make become angry, because they are never allowed to enter fully into the covenant with God through their own actions. Burnout can be prevented by clergy stepping back and allowing the laity to step forward and do some of the work of the church. Faithful people can help their pastors by doing that work.

And it’s not simply the work of visitation or occasionally helping with worship. It’s the work of praying for the ministry of the church, of making bold decisions for missional direction, of welcoming people, of stopping gossip and criticism, of engaging in Biblical work and outreach.

Clergy must find joy in their ordination vows and realize the God-given limitations of their human nature. Laity must realize the joy of their baptismal promises and the growth that comes in working toward fulfilling them.

Only you can prevent forest fires. And burnout.

Spiritual, but Not Religious

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A few weeks ago, I read this definition of a new acronymn: SBNR. SBNR stands for “spiritual, but not religious”. I was asked to comment on this notion and I’ve been thinking about it for several weeks. I think there’s no way for me to do this without being very judgmental, but maybe the SBNR folks need a little push. (As do the RBNS- Religious, but not Spiritual- people.)

First there is no real definition for “spiritual, but not religious”. This tends to be offered as a self-definition when people are asked about their personal theological beliefs and they are not really connected in any way to a church, synagogue, mosque, prayer group, temple, fire circle, or whatever.
I’ve found that many people don’t want to be associated with church because it’s 1) oppressive, 2) antiquated, or 3) boring. So a nebulous claim of “spiritual” makes one sound a like a believer, without dipping a toe into in the discussions around agnosticism or atheism. In my opinion, however, “spiritual” used in this context means 1) undisciplined, 2) no desire for accountability about belief and 3) desire to maintain control without wrestling.
What’s the matter with church?
It’s oppressive. Read: The church causes societal divisions, keeps down women, homosexuals, science, reason, logic, children, societal advancement, killed Galileo, harbors sexual predators, tries to control people’s lives…
Sure, in the church’s history is the support of slavery, the Inquisition, the burning of the library at Alexandria, the Trail of Tears, the push to Prohibition, efforts against civil rights,… and the list goes on. However, the church and religious people are also behind public schools, private schools, hospitals, printing, world exploration, medical advances, historic preservation, disaster relief, book translation,… and the list goes on.
Many people who don’t want to be associated with the church imagine one monolithic institution. They extrapolate one bad experience with the whole body. They want to take all the bad history and ignore the contributions of church to society… even unto this day.
The Church, in all shapes and sizes, has done harm historically, but it has also helped. The Christian church, in its various forms, is how God has worked, in part, in the world for the past 2000-ish years. Most church folk try to accept that the cancerous DNA of our spiritual history does not define us. We work to eradicate it now. And the members of the body of Christ do not all have the same function, which means there is a house of God somewhere that would likely be a good fit for a “spiritual” person who wanted to join, but…
It’s antiquated. Who needs to join a church anymore? That whole priest at the top telling people what to think model is out-dated and insulting. People can interpret Scripture for themselves and they don’t need someone telling them what to do.
This image of church sets up a priest or pastor as a man or woman who thrives on bossing people around and tightening the screws on little people. If you think the pastor is in charge, you haven’t been to church recently. (Little joke there.) The majority of clergy of any denomination or faith do not live to crush. They live to explain. People have ALWAYS done their own Scriptural interpretation to the delight and horror of the clergy. The pastor or priest exists to help you with interpretation, to give you a sounding board for your understandings, to offer some direction, some historical background, a little textual criticism and to let you feel safe in wandering into heterodoxy and then bring you back (as best as possible) to orthodoxy.
No priest or pastor worth their tiny pay lives to crush individual study of Scripture. Keep in mind, however, that said clergy also do pastoral care, act as community leaders, and run non-profit facilities. (That’s right. The church IS a non-profit. No matter what you think.) Despite what is considered the antiquated model of the church, when people are grieving, angry, hurt, fearful, exhausted, or joyous… there exists an institution that is prepared to be with them in that time- for as long as it lasts.
I often read about people who wish society had a better way of marking grief or supporting social rest or a way of organizing. I know an institution that can do all of those things, but…
It’s boring. I know a pastor who points out that if churches put as much work into a Sunday in the middle of summer as they do at Christmas and Easter, then people might be more inclined to come throughout the year. This may well be true, but most people don’t know how much work goes into a Sunday in July because they don’t come.
Not all churches are going to have bands, screens and pyrotechnics. Some churches have small, barely tuneable pianos, old hymn boards (remember the black number slid into little slots) and hand-me-down hymnals. That “old time religion” isn’t about “how it was”, but that the old, old story is still new and still needed. Religious people struggle with the understanding that we are not in control and remain undeserving and yet it remains day after day, year after year, that the body of Christ was broken for you. Some people need to hear that through flash and some people need to hear it in a still, small way. There are enough kinds of churches that “boring” is not a good excuse.
Being a part of a religious community does take time. Sometimes people say (see Pascal) that you have nothing to lose if you believe in Christ and live your life that way and turn out to be wrong. You have plenty to lose. The thing is you can’t be a follower of Christ alone. Jesus specifically sent the disciples out together. The early church realized people needed the community of believers to grow, to learn, to keep one another accountable and to remain steadfast in faith. A person could calculate the time it takes to be a part of that kind of community, the cost of tithe, the struggles in relationships. It’s not true to say you have nothing to lose… if you decide to look at it that way.
On the other hand, you have everything to gain. You have people who will encourage and support your questions, your fears and the struggle of doubt. You have a community in which to base scriptural interpretation. You have people who will help you move, garden, grieve, eat, celebrate, bury, give birth, retreat, spend, save, explore, live and die. In addition, you have the faith of others to support you in doubt and your faith will feed them in their own times of struggle. The church is social, but not a social organization. People of faith are bound together beyond whether or not they like each other because of the bonds of Christ between them- from birth to death.
You see, SBNRs, you want to go it alone, but you’re missing much more than you think. No religious person thinks the church is perfect, but they’ve found a place that offers what they cannot get anywhere else. When people dismiss the institution of church or religion for whatever reason, they are dismissing the overwhelming good that can come from the body of believers.
When you say that you’ll let your children decide about church when they’re older, you’re telling them that faith doesn’t matter. When you say that the church is oppressive, antiquated or boring, you ignore the people who are being liberated by church today in new and ever-changing ways. When you say that you’re not a joiner, what I hear is that you don’t want to be held accountable for what you believe, which essentially means you don’t hold anything sacred.
Oh, wait… there are somethings that are sacred… then you ARE religious, you just have a problem with church. Why didn’t you say so?
There are many people who say that if religious institutions were to pass away, it would be a great leap forward for mankind. I hate to point out that the last great leap forward didn’t go so well.
Even if the institutions, the buildings, the structures, the organizations were to pass away… there would still be people who gather together, who carry on in faith, who believe not only in “something bigger”, but believe specifically in God who interacts with creation, who loves, who shapes and who saves. There will remain a group of people who will hold to these truths, religiously, and it will shape their lives.
SBNR is a tag for I’m not sure, I don’t know, and I don’t have a place. Speaking for the religiously spiritual people, I say: we have a place for you. More importantly, God’s place for you has room for your questions, your wrestlings, and your uncertainty. Might as well be with others who are in the same boat rather than drift alone.

Two are better off than one, because together they can work more effectively. If one of them falls down, the other can help him up. But if someone is alone and falls, it’s just too bad, because there is no one to help him. If it is cold, two can sleep together and stay warm, but how can you keep warm by yourself? Two people can resist an attack that would defeat one person alone. A rope made of three cords is hard to break. (Ecclesiastes 4:9-12, Good News Translation)

Julia Reads

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I recently told my husband, “The world is coming to meet me.” I was doing errands in Anchorage and I saw two people sitting in their cars and reading, while eating their lunch. Once upon a time, I was a lonely reading girl with glasses- no other bibliophiles or -phages and no other glasses-wearers.

Now almost everyone my age uses some prescription lenses and everyone is in a book club or has a Kindle or is trying to read more.
It took me a long time to be okay as a public reader, but on this eve of my 29th birthday, I will say, “My name is Julia and I like to read.”
I like to read more than anything else. Forget the new car smell, if I could buy an air freshener in “Musty Book Store” or “Library of Congress”, I would.
I keep a book list. I’m not the only one who does this. It’s not uncommon. It’s just that for many people who know me, I’m the only person they know who does this.
Since 2002, I have had a goal of reading 100 new books each year. While I was in seminary, I didn’t count what I read for school. It had to be pleasure reading and that was it. I started this because of my tendency to read books that I love over and over. The book list spurred me forward into new territories. The book list helped me to grasp my reading habits and compelled me to try new genres and new authors.
For me, reading has been an escape, a balm, a teaching tool, a corrective, a mental sorbet, an anchor, an attractive nuisance, a diagnostic tool and much more.
I got glasses in kindergarten because I couldn’t see the school bus coming up the street. Still wearing glasses for distance vision correction today, I can spot a sign that says, “BOOKS” at a 1/2 mile.
In first grade, my family moved. My new teacher tested my reading and I plowed through the various first grade readers, second grade readers and after the third grade reader- I was encouraged to read the Little House books on my own during reading time. (I have no idea why I couldn’t fit in with others.)
At 10, I plowed through Gone With The Wind. It took me about five weeks. My parents rewarded me by renting the video of the movie, which caused me to rant (unto this day) about the discrepancies between the book and the movie. If I really like a book, I will not see the movie, with few exceptions.
In sixth grade, I wrote a lovely descriptive paper of my favorite room in the house: the bathroom- a place to read in peace.
When I was 13, I had a mystery lump that didn’t go away. The day that I didn’t want to go to the library, my mom called the doctor and said we were coming in right away. My hernia was diagnosed that evening.
Before it was fashionable to do so, I coveted the library Belle receives as a gift in the Disney movie “Beauty and the Beast”.
Yesterday, someone introduced me to a young girl and said to me of her, “She loves to read more than anything else.” I smiled, but I didn’t say everything I thought and I watched her eyes look at me, wondering if I was going to say what everyone else says to her. I’m sure adults praise her for reading. I’m sure she feels odd out among her peers.
But here’s what I say to her:
Read on. Use up the flashlight batteries. Ask always, “Can I take a book?” and don’t take it personally when told “No.” Make friends with librarians. Plow ahead through books that are interesting, but a little beyond you. You will come back to them. Read authors that famous and those that aren’t. Read the book before the movie. Read the book after the movie. Run around the house 10 times. Read a chapter. Run around 10 times in the other direction. Read a chapter. Base your purse purchases on whether or not a book will fit in there.
Reading will help you recognize correct English. Reading will make you a better writer. Reading will fill in the gaps of your education. (I learned very interesting things from Mary Stewart’s The Crystal Cave that I didn’t get in school until about 6 years after I read the book.) Reading will make you question what you believe to be true and force you to tease out what is important. Reading will help you create dreams for yourself and help you to realize when the brass ring is coming by.
I loved pioneers over princesses, Scarlet over Melanie, survival over being swept off my feet. When the time came, I chose going to Alaska over going England. There were many reasons, but the choice was heavily influenced by reading.
When my now-husband and I were doing the initial questioning game that precedes actual dating, his friend “J” offered the best testimonial he could based on what he’d heard about me, “Rob reads.” I remember being amused, “Good for him.” But his vocabulary convinced me that he did, indeed, read.
I’m in a book club now. It’s hard because I don’t know the people outside of the club, but I love them because they read. And we talk about reading books together.
So, young reader, read on, read on. And when you think no one else is reading, join a game, make a friend, but don’t pretend you’re not a reader. You are! Be proud!
And, someday, you’ll look around and realize everyone else has come to the land you’ve enjoyed for years. And you’ll hold out your book list and say, “Welcome! We’ve been waiting for you!”
P.S. Since 1992, I’ve read 920 new books. I’m to 28 for this year. I’m pretty sure a new baby means no more 100 a year. I’m striving for 60 now.

Camp

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I was recently reading a back issue of The Lutheran and the cover article was about summer camp. Outdoor ministry is a big deal in the ELCA, but camp, in general, has probably been one of the top 3 spiritually formative forces in my life.

My mom and I went to a mother/daughter overnight at Camp Mundo Vista (World View) in Sophia, NC when I was in third grade. I went there with other GAs (Girls in Action) for a week in the summers 1991, 1992 and 1993. In the summers of 1996 and 1997, I was a counselor there, with my lips pinched shut about my age because of how close it was to some of the campers. Being a counselor meant a week or so of staff training and then eight weeks or so of campers.
For a dramatic and deeply faithful girl, CMV saved me from the cynicism of my fellow teens. CMW is sponsored by the Women’s Missionary Union of North Carolina (the women’s branch of the Southern Baptist Church- sort of). Since my family did not attend a Baptist church, I was asked not to mention the Episcopal Church that we attended.
As a counselor, I jumped in a pool with my last pair of clean clothes on for a fundraiser. I sang on trails. I timed showers. I ran races. I supervised camp chores. I sprinted for inhalers and skidded through gravel to smack out the flames on the head of girl whose hair caught on fire. I prayed alone. I prayed in groups. I prayed for groups. I heard my first tales of incest and reported them. I consoled. I carried.
In 2001 and 2002, I worked for Agape + Kure Beach ministries in Fuquay-Varina, NC. Two weeks of staff training, 9-10 weeks of day camp or campfirmation or servant events (teens going to do service projects). It was through AKB that I worked in NYC in the summer of 2002 for Lutheran Disaster Response leading day camps in churches with kids affected by 9/11/01.
Older at the time, AKB gave me the opportunity to sort out what I believed and to integrate by newly beloved Lutheran affiliation with my deeply rooted Baptist notions of the Great Commission.
Camp, specifically church camp, made a space for me to be creative in and with the Spirit of God. Through my camp life, I realized that not only is God not limited to the church building, but God is specifically not limited to buildings, Sunday morning or to the ordained.
In 3 years of campering and 4 years of counseling, I met: kids with parents in prison, kids whose parents were divorced, kids who were victims of domestic violence and incest, kids with scoliosis, kids from Russia affected by Cherynobl, kids who doubted, kids who were grieving, girls who got their first period at camp, people my age who had never been to a farm, people my age who had never done what I thought was normal, people my age who had done things that I thought was abnormal, kids who were in foster care, kids who were in children’s home and knew they probably would never be adopted, kids who asked about dinosaurs/virgin births/forgiveness/water into wine/resurrection/evolution without trepidation, and it goes on….
Camp smells like hairspray, perfume, bug spray, sweat, chlorine, kool-aid, canned gravy, sweet tea, iceberg lettuce, mold, dirt, pine needles, wet wood, grass, Pine-Sol, dust, chicken fingers, dandelions, fresh paint, plastic mattress covers and bodies.
Camp sounds like kids singing, shouting, slamming doors, running, laughing, splashing, and trying to sneak by with something.
Because of camp:
1) I have a much more relaxed attitude about worship.
2) I have a reduced sense of panic when things don’t go as planned.
3) I believe pastors should be connected to all ages in a church.
4) I am very aware that I am not in control.
5) I can entertain a large group of people on short notice with little fear.
6) I believe God holds all of creation in hope and love.
There is a great irony to the fact that Camp Mundo Vista was so formative to me and, yet, is part of an organization that would not recognize me as a pastor.
However, rather than see that as a mark against them, I see it as a sign of God’s work, openness and ability to transform us wherever we are and move us to where God wants us to be. Without even realizing it, I would say that a huge percentage of what I do is based on lessons that I learned at camp.
I would not be where I am today. I would not be the Christian I am today. I could not be the pastor I am today… without camp.

The Time is Now

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When I was listening to the Sermon Brainwave podcast today, I heard Prof. Matt Skinner say that “ordinary time” was his favorite time of the church year. He went on, “Without ordinary time, the rest of the church year is just nostalgia.”


It’s true. Ordinary time is the space between Pentecost/Holy Trinity and Reformation/All Saints. Without this time, we would be caught up in the holiday cycle and constantly trying to outdo the year before or stuck in the “dazzle” of the festivals.

In Wuthering Heights, Catherine tells Nelly, “My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods; time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath–a source of little visible delight, but necessary.” Without getting into the plot of the book, I think of ordinary time like Heathcliff – it’s not always pretty, but it’s necessary. Our feelings about festivals can change because of the non-liturgical traditions that we attach to them. Ordinary time remains, year after year, to feed our faith, to expand our understanding of God, to challenge our notions of Jesus the Christ, to remind us of the presence of the Spirit. Ordinary time forms the bedrock of our faith.

I wrote about ordinary time here a couple years ago during my internship, but here’s an excerpt from that post:
In Ordinary Time, we receive the most challenging gospel texts. Not the stories about the life of Jesus, but the heart of his teachings- about money, faith, prayer, and neighbor love. We wrestle with the parables, rather than floating in the details of the baptism or the walk to Jerusalem before the crucifixion. We hear the confusing predictions about the end of time. Ordinary time does not provide liturgical holiday breaks and is only accented by baptisms or other special services that vary from year to year and in different congregations.

Yet ordinary time is no less miraculous than Easter or Christmas. In fact, I daresay, ordinary time is more miraculous. In those two big holidays, or even lesser commemorations, we are remembering the events of Christ’s life and what they mean for our faith. Christ’s coming, death and resurrection are part of the mysteries of our faith. Ordinary time offers, constantly, the miracles of our faith: that God promises to come to us in the sacraments of communion and baptism. That God always forgives our sins and, through Jesus, accepts us as children. That we are able to gather and worship without fear and hearing the good news in our own languages.

The celebrations of the liturgical year can seem more important because they are big, but we must remember that the greatest portion of the year is devoted to ordinary time and to the miracles that happen during any ordinary worship service.




God in Three Persons, Confusing Trinity

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Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31; Psalm 8; Romans 5:1-5; John 16:12-15

My husband and I keep stacks of snapshots around the house- some of Ivan and some of our son. Sometimes we flip through these stacks of Ivan at 3 months old, a roly-poly puppy and our son at 4, 5, 6 months old- a roly-poly baby. So cute, we say, look at that smile. I forgot this one, we coo, and point to the toy in the mouth, the ear flap, the food smeared from ear to ear. I suppose that I need to mention that we do this when they’re both awake, sometimes when they’re playing right in front of us.
We just flip through the snapshots. We love both of them, but the snapshots don’t make any noise. They don’t smell. They don’t spit up on us or leave hair everywhere. The snapshots are quiet and very well-behaved. Looking at the pictures is relaxing, but it’s not really a relationship. Of course, we’d trade all the pictures in the minutes for the two critters in them. But sometimes it’s nice to have that frozen moment in time to cherish, before we’re pulled back into the messy, noisy reality that we have with a dog and a baby.
On Holy Trinity Sunday, we’re confronted with the truth that it’s easier to deal snapshots of God, the Three in One, than it is to deal with the reality of a Trinity- God in three persons. One at a time, we look at God the loving creator, who send the Son. We have a picture of Jesus in our heads, maybe sitting with children or talking to the disciples, on the cross or after the resurrection, walking with friends to Emmaus. Then we think of the Holy Spirit- somewhat ineffable, a wind or breath, flowing to us and through us.
Snapshots of God give us comfort because they are static and we can get a handle on what’s in the picture. It looks just like this… whatever this is… in our minds. And what’s in my mind, the picture I have, might be different than what you have. So then we get into interpretation and the next thing you know we’re into art criticism instead of talking about God or worshipping God or even… serving God.
In my experience, the idea of the Trinity, that somehow our one God has three distinct persons (that’s persons, not personalities, not essences, but persons), that idea causes more heartburn for people who are struggling with the idea of faith and how to believe. They aren’t helped by people who say it’s just a mystery, which it is, or that you just have to believe it, which you do to the best of your ability with God’s help.
The reality is that we aren’t ever going to figure out the Trinity. It is a mystery. But it’s not just us who don’t get it. Did you pay attention to what Jesus said to the disciples at the beginning of today’s gospel reading? He says, “I still have many more things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.” He still has things he longs to reveal to them and to explain, but they are overwhelmed. Their ability to comprehend what he is telling them is full to capacity. So Jesus promises to send the Spirit to them, to help the disciples increase their understanding.
But the sending of the Spirit isn’t a guarantee to understanding, particularly understanding in this life. If it were, we wouldn’t need the powerful words of Paul in the letter to the Romans, “that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, character produces hope and hope does not disappoint us because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”
Hope does not disappoint us. That sounds great, doesn’t it? But consider this… we hope for things that are not certain. We hope in things we don’t totally understand. Hope, like faith, is the breath of life, but it is not fact. We hope for the sunrise tomorrow, the resolution of struggle in the world, for the life of the world to come.
And hope drives us beyond ourselves, when we realize that we cannot fix things on our own. We are pushed from our own need to find God waiting for us, to find that God has been waiting with us, to find that God has been hoping for us- all along.
And the reality of this dynamic God is overwhelming. We are given the Spirit, so that we might believe in the work of the Son, Jesus Christ. Christ’s work, a work of sacrifice, healing, love and forgiveness, reveals the Father to us.
Our hope and faith in the Trinity matters because it draws us beyond ourselves and beyond our world where almost everything is binary, with two choices, male or female, slave or free, rich or poor, red state or blue state, Jew or Greek, pro-life or pro-choice, regular or decaf. The relationship of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit to one another calls us to that same relationship with all the people around us, to a place of support, love and care, to a place of forgiveness, learning and reconciliation.
The love that the members of the Trinity have for one another poured out into creation and then is an example for us. We aren’t called to understand how the Trinity works as Three persons and One God. We aren’t called to understand why. But we are called to believe that God’s power and majesty and love cannot be limited to expressions that we fully understand. The One in Three God is not limited to our ability to explain or understand.
Nor is the work of God limited to our ability to respond. Out of God’s love for all of creation, God works as the Father, the Son and the Spirit to redeem all that is known and unknown and bring it to its fullest possible being.
And so we are called to this same work- to be co-creators, co-heirs, co-inviters with the Trinity in the work of the kingdom. But that kind of relationship, that working alongside, means setting down the snapshots we have, the freeze frames we’ve collected, pictures that reflect our certain knowledge of how God works in the world. We are called to release our certainty and to move forward in the hope we have been given.
With hope, we work with one another and all those people around us. With hope, we trust that the Spirit will grant us understanding sufficient for the living of each day. With hope, we believe the message of the empty tomb is for the salvation of the world.
A God who is Three in One is a little bit beyond our comprehension. But a God who loves us as children, who motivates and forgives us, who knows our innermost thoughts- that’s a little easier to grasp. And that’s what we hold onto as we step into the messiness and noisiness of a relationship with God and with one another. In our living, in our dying, we belong to God- the One in Three and Three in One, whether or not we totally understand how that works. We belong to God.
We hope.
And hope does not disappoint us.

Amen.

Faith in a Poem

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Sometimes, in the life of faith, someone else watches to keep your tent from blowing away. Sometimes, when you’re stronger, you watch for someone else. This is why we’re called to be the body of Christ. Faith is not for the faint of heart or for the individual. It’s for the community and the community is for the individual. I think this poem expresses our need for one another well.



Arc

by Amy M. Clark

My seatmate on the late-night flight
could have been my father. I held
a biography, but he wanted to talk.
The pages closed around my finger
on my spot, and as we inclined
into the sky, we went backwards
in his life, beginning with five hours
before, the funeral for his only brother,
a forgotten necktie in his haste
to catch this plane the other way
just yesterday, his wife at home
caring for a yellow Lab she’d found
along the road by the olive grove,
and the pretty places we had visited—
Ireland for me, Germany for him—
a village where he served his draft
during the Korean War, and would like
to see again to show his wife
how lucky he had been. He talked
to me and so we held
his only brother’s death at bay.
I turned off my reading light,
remembering another veteran
I met in a pine forest years ago
who helped me put my tent up
in the wind. What was I thinking
camping there alone? I was grateful
he kept watch across the way
and served coffee in a blue tin cup.
Like the makeshift shelter of a tent,
a plane is brought down,
but as we folded to the ground,
I had come to appreciate
even my seatmate’s breath, large
and defenseless, the breath of a man
who hadn’t had a good night’s rest.
I listened and kept the poles
from blowing down, and kept
a vigil from the dark to day.

“Arc” by Amy M. Clark, from Stray Home. © University of North Texas Press, 2010.

Pronouns and Pronouncements

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Contemplation of the Trinity often leads to discussion about language. Can we refer to the Spirit as “She”? What about God? Do we have to say “Father”? The following is a reflection around some nuances of that discussion.

Whenever I consider the changes to worship, theology or language, I think first about Luther’s understanding of the first commandment. Luther said, “Anything on which your heart relies and depends… that is really your God.”[1] It is too easy for change for change’s sake to be made into an idol and, conversely, it is too easy to remain unchanged because of the idol of tradition. When we are seeking alternatives to what we have, we must first explore the why before the what. Is our change meant to correct “years of wrong” by substituting one set-in stone decision for another? Are we looking for how the Spirit may lead us to a deeper understanding of God in our midst or are we looking for a more tightly defined orthodoxy? The unexamined life may not be worth living, but unexamined faith is worth even less; it has the potential to harm the image of God for our neighbors.

Revisiting Paul Tillich’s thoughts on Trinitarian symbolism, the signs and names we attribute to the Holy, Holy, Holy help us comprehend how God is in community with us. Without that variety, the symbols lose their potency and, with that loss, their effectiveness in answering our ultimate concerns. Rosemary Radford Ruether argues once Christianity becomes the dominant cultural voice, the more the nuanced language of the New Testament loses its tension and, correspondingly, the more we need to look for the deeper metaphors that are present in our biblical tradition. Ruether specifically points to feminine imagery in the gospel of Luke and the comparisons of God to a woman adding yeast to flour (creating) or searching for a lost coin (redeeming). For Ruether, the rise of Christian belief and, thus, organization led to the weakening in understanding of the Father God, whom Jesus called, “Abba.”[2]

Yet, does simply stirring in new God-as-mother imagery really solve the problem that is, at its root, a creation of God our in our image, instead of considering in Whose image we were made? In order to address my ultimate concerns (Tillich), God must be different from me. “Why am I here and what will happen to me after here?” are not questions that I can satisfactorily answer from within myself, for myself. I need to look at the communion of the Trinity and the community around me to have those questions answered. Abrupt changes due to cultural alterations disrupt my understanding and re-stir the anxiety of those questions within me.

Simply alternating pronouns for God creates a binary trap, away from which even Paul tries to move believers. Galatians 3:28: “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” (NRSV) When there is no longer male and female, it is God’s undoing of what humans set in place in the Garden of Eden. The separation from one another that also separated us from God is undone through the righteousness and power of Jesus Christ. Our redemption and unity in creation must be considered anew daily, along with our baptisms, as a way of recognizing the death of the old Adam (and Eve).

The figures of the Trinity release us, through faith, from the binary trap of our world of sin. In loving relationship to one another, the one God reminds and shows us how to move together and how we think of the Three affects our ability to understand that reminder. If only “female” part of the Trinity is the Spirit, sent out from the first two members with a pat on the head, we risk projecting our cultural experiences onto the Spirit. That perspective risks the understanding the Spirit as not quite on the same level as the other Two Persons, just as women are somewhat perceived to be not on the same level as men. If the Mothering God is the one who suffers with us and is present in our pain, this is a subliminal way of portraying the lot of women as suffering. Finally, naming Jesus as a “Daughter” in an ultra-feminist Trinitarian formula runs up against the heresy of not recognizing the fully human, historical person of Jesus who, in human form, was a man.

To come back to my original thoughts, caution is needed in alternative Trinitarian formulas, but avoiding them or uncritically embracing them makes an idol of words and masks the depth of God in three persons. The variety of symbols for the Father, Son and Holy Spirit expresses some of the richness of God’s ability to exceed our needs, desires and expectations. We know we cannot save ourselves, but it is interesting that many of our attempts at linguistic change are approached from the idea of “redeeming” the history of the church.

If I refer to God as “She” when I preach, I do not undo the Crusades. I do not make God more palatable for someone who struggles with the word “Father” because of past experience. I do not make up for clergy abuse or undo hypocrisy on the church council. And if I think I do anything of those or similar things, I am making an idol of myself. However, if I listen to the Word with an open heart and believe that it is alive among us, the Spirit can guide me, and others, to new ways to express God, Three in One.

The first commandment is the easiest to break because we are always looking to affirm what we know to be true. If we ponder more deeply what we believe to be true, we may be still enough to look for how God, Living Word, Water and Wind, is graciously working in, through and for us and expanding our understanding and our faith.

[1] Kolb, Robert and Wengert, Timothy J. The Book of Concord: The Confessions of the Evangelical Lutheran Church. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2000. p. 386.2

[2] Ruether, Rosemary Radford. Sexism and God-Talk. Boston, MA: Beacon Press,1993. 65ff.