Holy Faces!

I like my icons—not the ones on my computer desktop but the ones on my wall and on my shelves.  My collection of religious icons is nothing valuable but I like the variety and remembering that some of them have been gifts.

Icons are more than religious art but have been devotional items over centuries of time.  Icons originate from the Eastern Orthodox tradition and reflect Byzantine, Greek, and Russian influences.  Typically, icons pay special attention to the eyes because it is said that icons are painted in a reverse image as if the believer is looking into heaven. Art history lessons point out the s-shaped form of those adoring Christ. The position of the hands and fingers becomes a message.  Often in the other hand there is a message describing the figure in the icon.  Traditionally, icon artists are in a period of prayer and fasting as they paint the images to match the spiritual journey of those who venerate the icon.

I have traditional icons within my collection, Mother and Child, the Holy Trinity, and Jesus the Liberator.  I have a Russian icon that a former confirmand brought me from his trip to Russia.  I have another icon that a friend decoupaged from a greeting card.  But then, I discovered a place in Vermont that not only does traditional icons but sponsor artists who do more contemporary icons.  So, I have an African Jesus, a Hispanic Angel Gabriel, an Apache Jesus, and a Navaho Madonna.  I have Bishop Oscar Romero, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Johann Sebastian Bach from that source.  I was especially excited to purchase the Bach icon since he was a devoted Lutheran—not typical choices for icons.  I wrote to inquire if they anticipated an icon of Martin Luther.  They replied that would not be in their plans.  I tried.

Here’s the point:  worship needs to appeal to all the senses.  We tend to be very verbal and worship time is filled with talk, talk, talk.  There are some folks in the pews who are more visual than they are audio.  They may best worship the Almighty by focusing on a simple worship accoutrement.  They are the ones who might best benefit by an icon on a stand with a candle lit indicating a holy place.  The devotion from gazing into the eyes of an icon is just as precious to God as the pious prattle that comes from human lips. 

Hey, whatever it takes to jack up worship.

Gemischte Pickles

Talk about “gemischte pickles.” This is the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity.  Over the years I have participated in various worship services to recognize that unity.  Those services have been okay but they usually become a tribute to American Civil Religion.  There have been some pastors who equate “unity” with making us all look alike, or more specifically, look like them.  That is not the way I see Christian unity taking shape.

When traveling to a new city I like to look in the Yellow Pages (so old school) of the possible places to eat.  I look at all the ethnic restaurants in the area.  I love German cuisine but my kids don’t.  We all like Korean food.  Sometimes I like Italian fare but it all depends on the time of day. Mexican food is fun but at my age I have to be selective.  There are other cuisines that I enjoy and some I would like to try and others I have no intention of sampling.  If we were all “meat and potatoes” kind of people we would be pretty boring.

It is the same with the Christian church.  All hail the difference!  The people of God have as wide a variety of experiences as they have preferences.  Sometimes people express their faith the way their ancestors did in the land they came from.  Other times, people worshiped in the style that was most convenient to their settlement. In this consumer society, there are many households that shop around for churches like they are shopping for jeans.  Christianity is a smorgasbord to select from. Denominations date back to the Church of Rome, Eastern Orthodox, and Coptic.  There are the churches of the Reformation period:  Lutherans, Anglicans, and Moravians.  The Reformed tradition includes Presbyterians and what we now know as the UCC and the RCA.  There are Evangelicals which cover a broad number of church bodies.  Pentecostals and Holiness movements add to the wide menu.  A few other denominations are difficult to categorize.

It is hard to lump Christians together.  Christians are liberal and conservative; Christians are liturgical or low-key; Christians sing at the top of their lungs or mumble a monotone mantra.  No way can somebody expect me to be just like them. Sort of like ethnic cuisine:  I like the flavor of some but not everything. You may have different tastes.  I’m not going to be a cookie cutter Christian and I’m not going to expect that of you.

I’ve been around.  I grew up in the Methodist Church and “crossed the aisle” to the Lutheran tradition.  In college I attended a Bible study with Dutch Reformed, a Baptist and a Roman Catholic. My senior year of seminary I lived at the Roman Catholic seminary and would have supper with a Dominican priest or a Presbyterian student.  I have been at the Moravian world center in Herrnhut, Germany.  I would love to attend an Eastern or Russian Orthodox worship.

Here’s the point:  we have Christian unity when we can respect our traditions and are willing to learn how we compare and contrast.  The kind of unity we pray for this week is the kind where we will celebrate our differences and rejoice in the gospel message that we have in common.  We are one big dish of “gemischte pickles.”

Mini or Maxi?

I have been posting a series on Facebook, Twelve Marks How Christianity Looks.  It is based upon the book, “Common Prayer:  A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals,” by Shane Claiborne.  It was supplemented by notes taken at his presentation I heard last October. Call me an aging hippie but I am increasingly intrigued with conversations about the “emerging church.”  The best way I might describe the emerging church is that it ain’t your granny’s church.  There is nothing definitive about the emerging church other than it requires a deliberate community.

One of the Marks that I posted was about intentional formation which concluded saying there is a trend moving from the mega-church to the micro-church.  That gave me cause for cogitation.  Both terms raise red flags for me.  I am relieved to learn the trend is moving away from the mega-church.  Mega-churches have always made me uncomfortable.  It’s always a guy thing about having the biggest.  Church, that is.  As impressive as it might be to have a big choir and a big organ and a big pulpit the mega church does not provide the personal touch.  The result is just as many people go out the back door as came in the front door.  Mega-churches with lasting power have a sophisticated plan for small group ministry plugging newcomers into a small group right away so that have a sense of belonging.  However, those can become artificial and fake.  One of the questions I ask when I hear about mega-churches that worship thousands and thousands each weekend is, “what kind of funeral would I have there?”

Now, micro-churches are a little more nebulous and ill-defined.  I am curious about Claiborne’s community in Philadelphia which he classifies as new monasticism.  It is a semi-communal group gathered daily for prayer and sharing their resources with the community.  That would be one version of the micro-church.  They are now modeling their community to other urban settings. (look up:  The Simple Way)

I have also heard about home churches which raises a wary, hairy eyebrow.  I have the image of a home church being led by a disgruntled church member who has a political agenda under the guise of religion.  The theology may be sketchy.  The values may not be grace-filled. Maybe I should not be so judgmental.  After all, when our ancestors came to this country they first met for worship in their homes until a congregation was established.  I will just say I am cautious.

Meanwhile, current church administration talks about forming tribal churches within our present congregations. It recommends focusing on the generations within the congregation and develops programming for the respective generational group.  In other words, an average-sized congregation would have programming for the elders, the worker bees, and the younger’s (their terminology). I think it has possibilities and might well fit the idea of micro-church which especially appeals to the younger’s and worker bees.  It might require an air traffic controller to organize it, however.

Somehow all this discussion of mega-church and micro-church makes me think about the choices Goldilocks faced.  For the time-being, I’m partial to the things belonging to Baby Bear.  I’m going to opt for that which is comfortable because I also find them to be, “just right.”

Good to Go. . .

Today I am gathering my information and exegesis for the Baptism of Our Lord this weekend.  As I am printing and stapling I again saw my framed baptismal certificate on the bookcase along with other certificates and diplomas (or is it “diplomi?”).  The certificate is the only memento I have of my baptism.  Back then, we didn’t have daguerreotypes archiving a child’s every moment like today’s parents’ ever-present iPhone. I don’t know if I had a special baptismal gown or if there was a towel or a candle or other souvenir that was given to my parents.  All I have is a certificate that I accidentally came across with a big ink blotch that the framer creatively covered with matting when I had it framed.

I keep that certificate dear to me and display it at each of my interim sites.  I have documents that announce that I have a Masters of Divinity and a certificate from The American Lutheran Church of yore that states I’m certified for ministry. My ordination certificate bears the signatures of a couple people who influenced my ministry. There is another paper that indicates that I officially became a geezer on the 25^th anniversary of ordination ten years ago.  But the motley baptismal certificate with information typed with a manual typewriter is at the center.

It is from my baptism that everything else has been built upon.  Because of that baptism I can remember my first Sunday school teacher, Winifred Jacobson.  I went to Vacation Bible School at the Lutheran Church.  I suspect they initiated a re-programming at that time (ha ha).  I sang in Jr. Choir directed by my Great Aunt Bess. I was confirmed.  I went to youth group and a whole bunch more things.  I am not sure that those who were involved at spent much time thinking that they were accompanying my baptismal journey.  Sadly, too many of them thought baptism was simply a heavenly insurance marker on the kid.

But every passage I enter is another step along my baptismal journey.  I make the sign of the cross in remembrance of my baptism.  I do not need much more.  That shabby sheet of paper in a black frame says that on September 29, 1952, I was set apart as a child of God forever and ever.  I’m good to go. . .