Holy Smokes

I have been curious about celebrating New Year’s.  It’s not like we are commemorating anything on the day.  It was not the result of an act of congress.  They would not be able to agree on it anyway.  But there is a human urge to sweep out the old and ring in the new.  More than a holiday surrounded by parades and bowl games, New Year’s Day essentially is a rite of passage.

Maybe it’s from undergraduate days of theoretical communication or theological training after that but I am a firm believer in the need for ritual.  That may be why I gravitated toward a liturgical church and probably thought by some as “high church.”  We need rituals in our life.  If we don’t have established rituals we invent rituals.  Think of children who start their “secret club” and create a password and secret handshake.

We have family rituals for birthdays.  We have family rituals for weddings.  We have family rituals how presents are to be opened at Christmas.  Those are special and joyful rituals that we pass from generation to generation. There are the designated family members who are the keepers of the tradition.  Families without rituals and traditions probably have the sociopathic family member who creates his or her own macabre rituals.

Institutions pride themselves with their rituals:  high school homecoming; junior prom; college fraternity initiation; volunteer fire departments’ water fights; 4-H county fair, etc.  Social and fraternal organizations in the community have a multitude of rituals.  They may wear special costumes and headgear to signify their ritual.

One of my crazy notions is to open franchises across the nation called “Passages.”  As a pastor I figure if you can’t win them, join them.  It would be a simple pavilion where secular people could gather to celebrate various passages, light candles, and play some special song on the sound system.  People could celebrate the end of orthodontia appointments, getting a driver’s license, receiving a lottery check, finalization of a divorce, retirement of a mortgage, honoring the memory Grandpa.  (If you have the start-up money, let’s talk.)

Meanwhile, I will celebrate the milestones of the faith as we walk the journey of the baptized.  We may light the baptismal candle on the anniversary of our children’s baptisms.  We honor their entrance in Sunday school. We make the sign of the cross in remembrance of our baptism.  Our children join us at Holy Communion for their first time.  They affirm their baptism in Confirmation.  Two baptized people come together in Holy Matrimony to walk their journey together. Being installed as a council member is even a declaration of our baptism.  Then, one day, a white pall is spread across our casket like our baptismal garment.  It states that our baptismal journey has come full circle.

Here’s the point:  Embrace the rituals, both secular and sacred.  Maybe it means wearing a goofy hat and sharing giggles.  Maybe it is somber and serious.  Regardless, there are those events and passages that mark the rhythm and drumbeat of life.

Hey there, you with the noisemaker in your mouth and confetti on your shoulder—Happy New Year!

Happy Christmas Birthday

Christmas Eve Day has had special memories for me.  Today would have been my mother’s 90^th birthday.  Nowadays, many people live well into their 90’s. But, Ruth Lorraine Lindsay Schaub passed away twelve years ago and at least a decade before her death she lived with the glacial erosion of Alzheimer’s.

Mom made it very, very clear that her birthday and Christmas were two separate events.  As a child she was told many years, “this is a combination of your birthday and Christmas presents.”  As an adult she was not going to let that be repeated.  Neither did she appreciate pretty cards with poinsettias and holly that read, “As you celebrate your Christmas Birthday. . .” A rude, comical contemporary birthday card was always preferred.

Birthday celebrations on December 24^th always took place at breakfast time.  Mom would open her cards and presents and enjoy the attention.  Sadly, I do not remember my mother ever having a birthday cake.  She passed on the cake saying there were enough sweets in the house already.  After breakfast, it was time to prepare for Christmas dinner because living on the family farm presumed that the Christmas gathering would move to the other house on the farm after my grandmother was gone.

Shortly after we were married we began noticing signs of memory loss.  It was more than what someone in her early 60’s would experience. By the age of 69 Mom was in skilled care because of classic Alzheimer’s.  Ruth never got to really enjoy her grandchildren.  We think of the things the kids said as children and how she would have gotten a kick out of them, but she didn’t.  We think how she would have made batches and batches of cookies for her grandchildren had she been able. We think how being a consummate dog-lover she would have loved our dogs and their antics.  We think how she would have used her beautiful soprano voice to sing songs of faith or sing little ditties with her grandchildren but they never heard her voice.

I fondly remember my mother’s birthday every Christmas Eve. There was something magical about celebrating a birthday amid all the festivities of Christmas.  It is a little strange when a tradition is suddenly absent.  So, we hold on to the witticisms of Ruth; we repeat the crude jokes she loved; we raise a glass in her Memory of sweet white wine that she tippled; we have a cookie (or three) made from the vast repository of her cookie recipes; and we try to remember that those with Christmas-time birthdays have two separate events.

A Design for Needlepointing

The best portion of a good man’s life is his little nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love.

 (William Wordsworth)

The nation is still reeling from the senseless killings at Sandy Hook Elementary School.  The massacre will continue to disturb us and trouble us collectively and individually.  Universally, in a ten-minute span of time innocence was destroyed, personal security has been threatened, and esteemed institutions were violated. We have been changed forever.

Since that tragic morning arguments from various sides of the Second Amendments have arisen.  I’m not really sure how I feel about it and this will not be the forum to influence me.  Meanwhile, there are also numerous discussions about mental illness.  There are horrible generalities linking the autism spectrum with sociopathic behavior.  That is just uncivil. Sociopathic behavior is witnessed in all sectors of the population.  Primary teachers see such behavior in early grades and know where it will lead but are they are helpless in redirecting that behavior.

Pastorally speaking, the core concern at hand is that evil exists in the world.  Despite how rosy some folks will try to make it look, this is a broken humanity.  Thinking we are isolated individuals is denial.  We are part of a creation that was broken by Sin.  (Note that “Sin” is a power and “sins” are the stinkin' behaviors that are the result of the power of Sin.)

So, we coexist with evil in this world. What are we going to do about it?  Here’s the point:  we overcome evil with good.  Sure, that sounds simplistic but evil is a fundamental problem that is dealt with fundamental responses.   The light must shine in the darkness.  People of faith may have to take leadership in this.  We fill those broken moments of history with actions of peace and reconciliation.  We replace  words of negativity with words that are positive and encouraging.  We model a lifestyle of redemption and grace.

The Prophet Micah recalls the questions of the people of what the Lord requires:  burnt offerings, animal offerings, oil offerings, even human offerings?   Nope. Micah replies, “God told you, o mortal, what the Lord requires of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God”  (Micah 6:8)

The Interim Geezer now tells you to needlepoint that and hang it above your bathroom mirror.

Happy Solstice!

Some conservative Christians might call me pagan but I can’t wait for the Winter Solstice.  The older I get the harder it is for me to handle living midway between the equator and the North Pole.  I make December 21 a goal to reach knowing that from that date the days will lengthen.

I don’t believe I suffer from Seasonal Affect Disorder but I certainly can sympathize with those who do.  Experts in the field tell us we should especially spend time outdoors during December’s daylight hours as if we are some sort of human solar panel absorbing the sun.  Those experts seem to forget, however, that we also have some pretty gloomy days during the month.  Our human panels do not absorb too much solar energy.

A hundred years ago when I was in college, I spent a semester in Germany.  At the end of the semester we spent a long weekend in Berlin at 52^o latitude where the days are even shorter.  Back in the days of the Cold War and where there is little difference between dawn and dusk, the gray days only contributed to the eeriness of a divided city.

It was no accident that the church fathers settled on December 25^th to celebrate the birth of Jesus. (I had one church member once who was adamant that the true birthday of Jesus was 12/25/0000, even if a lunar calendar was followed in Bethlehem at the time.)  The church fathers introduced Christian celebrations to coincide with pagan observances.  The Nativity was then scheduled to occur about the same time as Saturnalia, a celebration of the solstice.  Aha!  It would be something special and positive to celebrate in an otherwise depressing time of year.

Christmas becomes such a fantastic, living metaphor for the season’s darkness. St. John wrote:  The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.  (John 1:5).  But then, I realize our Christmas language is all focused on the northern hemisphere.  I wonder how my kinfolk in Australia speak of the holiday during the peak of the summer season.  I would be happy to do the research if I have enough sponsors.

Here’s the point:  If we don’t have the light, then we will have to be the light.  We are just going to have to pull off that bushel basket that has been hiding our light and let our light so shine.  Maybe it’s a light of beauty and creativity for a drab and lackluster world.  Maybe it’s a light of compassion and generosity for a world that has grown cold and selfish.  Maybe it’s a light of healing and peace for a world that knows brokenness and hurt.

In one shape or form, let there be light!

Audacious Advent, To All

Back in the 1980’s we hosted an exchange student from Germany.  We vividly remember how offended he was by the American pre-Christmas antics.  As secular as he was, he protested, “This isn’t Christmas, it is Advent!”  I must concur with Oliver and say, “Ja, wohl!”  It is Advent.

I could expound on the commercialization of the season but who doesn’t do that already?  Advent might be difficult to get our head around.  In a season that is just four weeks, or really, just four Sundays long, there are a number of themes that assail our wassail through this journey.  It begins with the theme of hope when Christ shall come again and the kingdom will be fulfilled.  Then, we have a theme of John the Baptist’s call for repentance and straightening our pathways.  The third Sunday tells of the Coming One who is our cause of rejoicing.  Finally, the fourth week is a dialectic between the cradle and the cross; we can’t have one without the other.  Holy Evergreen Boughs, Batman, that’s a lot!

In the face of all the cultural hoopla, how can we make this wondrous faith journey of Advent practical and personal?  Other than candles being lit catch-as-catch-can as the family snarfs down food, what other rituals might there be?  Wearing sackcloth and ashes during the Second Week of Advent may not be too practical and could get chilly in Wisconsin.

Here’s the point:  Maybe Advent is on the agenda of December’s darkness but really it should become integrated into our faith and life.  As Christians we embody the values and principles of Advent.  We don’t tick off the particular tenets on some sort of To-Do list, but rather we learn how to wait, we learn how to repent, we learn how to rejoice and we learn how to stand in the presence of holiness.  Here’s the really Good News—you don’t have to get it all done this week.

Have an Audacious Advent

The Interim Geezer

Postscript:  Personally, Interim Pastors hold John the Baptist as our unofficial Patron Saint who first fielded the question asked of every Interim, “Are you the One or shall we look for another?”

Blessed be the Goofy and the Whacky!

A verse from Isaiah especially sustains me as a preacher, “so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty.  (Is 55:11a)

The best example I have from my years of ministry was when I was just a baby pastor and teaching confirmation class in my first years.  Jason was a cute kid with red hair and freckles with a short attention span and a tendency for trouble-making.  We were studying a unit on Holy Baptism and I was telling them about making the sign of the cross on the head of the baptized.

I went on to tell the class that there is nothing “un-Lutheran” about making the sign of the cross nor is it the property of any church.  Rather, tracing the cross upon ourselves is done in remembrance of our baptism.  I told the kids that one way to start the practice is when they are standing all alone in the shower while they let the water rain upon them to say, “I am baptized” and make the sign of the cross.  I wondered if the suggestion was a little more pious than what 12 and 13 year olds were ready for.  Jason, of course, was squirreling around during the moment of instruction.

The following week, in good teaching style, we started with a quick review of the previous week.  Jason blurted out, “You know that thing you said about doing the cross in the shower?  Well, I tried it.”  There was a pause and then, “It was kind of neat.”

Hallelujah!  So much for the short attention span and pestering others in class, something made its way into this kid’s noggin.  I do not know if Jason grew up to be a participating adult of the congregation and unashamedly makes the signs of the cross within worship or not, but the word took some kind of root.

Here’s the point—or two points:  First, to all the Geezer’s Lutheran readers, there is nothing “too catholic” about making the sign of the cross.  Don’t forget that it says in Luther’s Small Catechism at the beginning of instruction for Morning Prayer and Evening Prayer, “make the sign of the cross in remembrance of your baptism.”  It adds a tactile dimension to both our worship and prayer.

 The second point tells us never to think our words of grace and hope are just going to fall on empty ears so why bother.  The Holy Spirit has a real goofy way and a whacky timetable of how and when those words connect.  Blessed be the goofy and the whacky!

Over the River and Through the Woods

Thanksgiving for my 60 years has been associated with traveling.  As a youngster we would usually travel the 70 miles in our ’52 Studebaker to my grandmother’s house in Manawa.  After she passed away we had a few years of a small Thanksgiving at home.  One year when we had mild weather like this fall, I remember baling third-crop hay Thanksgiving afternoon.

Some years later, my father’s side of the family started the tradition gathering on the Saturday after Thanksgiving at his sister’s house.  My aunt will never be confused with Martha Stewart.  The family would gather in the “lower level” of the house.  (My dad called it “the cellar.”)  There we would dine around the pool table covered with plywood.  A table cloth would cover the table.  We still laugh about the year she bought a “Battlestar Galactica” tablecloth presumably by mistake.

Since being married, Thanksgiving has been spent at my in-law’s home in Strum.  Because the guys in the family are deer hunting that has been a perennial arrangement.  As the number of grandchildren increased it was usually mayhem.  For several years, we would travel the “Wisconsin Triangle.” With small kids in the car it was not unlike the Bermuda Triangle.  From western Wisconsin we would travel to my home near Green Bay.  We would then be poised to take part in the Saturday gathering of the Schaub clan and guess what movie theme would bedeck the pool table.  From there we would hustle home to south-central Wisconsin to meet my Sunday morning duties.  The very memory of those days exhausts me.

Here’s the point:  family is a precious commodity.  There are jokes about dysfunctional families and the holidays and tragically there are some.  However, solid family units overlook the frailties and failings and rejoice in the blessings we bring to the family.  There will be the sacrifices of fatiguing travel; uncomfortable sleeper sofas; and nonexistent solitude.  But, such are the things memories are made of and how we establish the value of family for our children and grandchildren.

Happy Thanksgiving and Safe Travels!

Change? Over My Dead Body

How many Lutherans does it take to change a lightbulb?

Change?  Who says we need to change?

Change is one of the greatest threats to our sense of preservation.  Ironically, the political ads we endured this fall were filled with demands for change.  But when we talk about change within other institutions (i.e., the Church) it is met with resistance and defensiveness.

I’m not exactly sure why the human condition is so threatened by change within the church.  Maybe it is because we hold some things to be of the Truth and so revered that anything that might challenge a practice or procedure is a challenge to the Truth.

We have to stop and excavate the situation.  What lies beneath a defensive response?  

Pastor Kathy was at a two-point congregation in South Dakota.  One congregation still had a “back altar,” an altar up against the wall of the chancel so that the pastor would have his or her back facing the congregation.  Pastor Kathy naively asked if a free-standing altar could be constructed so that she would be facing the congregation.  Emmitt became enraged at such a suggestion.  “It’s been good enough for the last hundred years, it will be good enough for another hundred.”

Wisely, Pastor Kathy visited Emmitt at his ranch and calmly spoke to him, “The discussion about the altar brought out a lot of feelings.  Tell me the story about the altar.”

Emmitt told her how his mother used to tell him about how his grandfather worked side by side the craftsman who designed, carved and turned the intricacies of the altar.  Sometime later, his grandfather was killed in a farming accident when his mother was a little girl.

Aha, the altar had a significant emotional connection and thus, the protective feeling about it.  Pastor Kathy then came up with a simple plan and patiently educated Emmitt and the leadership how the back altar would be preserved and a simple free-standing altar would be in front.  After doing a simple thing like educating the people Pastor Kathy was able to introduce change for a positive modification.

In a healthy congregation change will be constant.  It is part of the growing pains we experience.  But without the pains of change growth will never occur.  So, the change agents who are wise will massage the pains of change with education and conversation.

I wish I could say that this is a sure-fire formula to institute change.  I can’t guarantee that.  But, it is amazing what a little excavation can uncover and deal with.

Why All The Meanness?

November 5, 2012

It is now an official term:  “Campaign Fatigue.”  It is a malady suffered by the American population, it is suffered by the media, and it has been suffered by the candidates themselves.  We are just darn tired of all the haranguing and the rhetoric.  Our privacy has been invaded.  Campaign ads have violated our television sets. Our ears are tired from hearing about poll numbers and the analyses of political pundits. We just want to put the pillow over our head and cry out, “Make it go away!”

Campaign Fatigue has sucked energy out of me.  I have known how I will vote for several months.  I have been offended by the amount of negativity that has taken place.  It seems like every election candidates seem to be asking, “How much more can I get by with?”  The ugly pictures of the other guy, the strident voices, the bombardment of propaganda only contribute to the agony and tragic erosion of the human spirit.

An executive from the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) issued a statement entitled, “Why All the Meanness?”  In his letter he grieves the way national elections just boil down to being mean.  He urges his people to simply not tolerate the mean-spirited theme that clouds America.

I have to agree.  As the people of God, we are better than that.  We should not have to stoop to such off-putting unconstructiveness that has permeated our culture.  I am not going to attempt to point to the sources but even after campaigns are over we witness and experience a growing incivility within our culture.  It may be the murmuring that goes on behind our back.  It may be the inappropriate language that we hear on the streets.  There are just some people who would kick the crutch out from under a cripple. We are a culture that has become malevolent and unrepentant.

To turn this incivility around starts with people ready to say, “NO!”  Cry “foul,” when we witness these violations of humanity.  We implement the nonviolent philosophies of Gandhi and Martin Luther King.  The way we turn the other cheek is to create an alternate pattern of behavior that does not tolerate rudeness and the disrespect of our brothers and sisters.

As far as campaigns, who knows how to turn around the animosity and bitterness we have now endured?  The people who can do it best are trapped in the system they have created.  If I ever run for office I am just going to have pictures of me surrounded by puppies and kitties waving my hand saying, “I’m the Interim Geezer.”

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God’s Word is Our Great Heritage

October 29, 2012

I am not a life-long Lutheran.  My first 18 years of life were in another fine denomination.  Both my father and mother had a long family history within that denomination.  It was in that white clapboard church on Main Street that I was baptized and attended Sunday school (with three pins for perfect attendance).  I sang in children’s choir and my piano teacher took me to the organ loft to learn some fundamentals of the pipe organ.  However, I have concluded that my feet have dyslexia.  But the place was special and full of memories.

As a teenager I had a faith issue.  Who knows, that may have been the Holy Spirit’s nudging me towards ministry.  The minister assigned to the congregation was legalistic.  He was specific how a Christian was supposed to act according to his definition. That was not really the theology of the church but that’s how he interpreted it.  Meanwhile, worship was stuffy and unfocused. My parents were liturgical types and it made them uncomfortable.  Their unrest was projected.

During Lent, we decided to attend midweek services at Grace Lutheran because our church did not have a lenten service.  The following Sunday I came to breakfast and as a typical 16-year old asked, “Do I have to go to church?”  Surprised by the reply, “Well, you have to go somewhere.”  “Then I’ll go to Grace.”  "Just bring the car back in time for us."

I loved the Lutheran liturgy.  It was the story of salvation.  I appreciated following the regularity of a church year with special seasons and having a lectionary of biblical readings.  I had found a church home. Thus, my journey began.

Looking back, it's funny how teenagers can be more missional than adults.  I had a lot of friends at Grace and they were the ones who invited me to Sunday school.  My classmate, Paulette, was the one who asked me to come to choir.

At the end of my senior year Pastor Diemer asked if I’d be interested in the adult membership class. The day that I was received as a member my parents sat beside me in full support.  It was during those membership classes that Pastor Diemer said something that struck me and eventually affected my ministry.  “I don’t care what church you end up just that it be a place where the Word of God is central and grace is proclaimed.”

Here's the point:  Let me echo that message that I received a bunch of years ago from Hans Karl Diemer:  whatever worship assembly it is for you, whatever denomination,  for the sake of faith be sure the Word of God is centermost and that the grace of God is at the heart of the worship and preaching.

Thanks be to God

Monday, October 22, 2012

There are fewer and fewer posters on church bulletin boards advertising lutefisk dinners.  I think back to my first congregation many years ago and the human energy expended to produce one of the best lutefisk suppers in the area.  I apologize to any fans of lutefisk but I never acquired a taste for the gelatinous nordic seafood.  One of my favorites on the menu, however, was the rutabagas.

For years and years Petra was in charge of cooking the rutabagas.  Petra had her station in the back of the furnace room where she cooked those pungent "beggies."  Petra was a wiry, energetic nearly 90-year old lady of Norwegian stock.  Petra knew just how much butter and brown sugar to add to the beggies so that they would be served perfectly. There were a few years that a newcomer (meaning less than 20 years in the congregation) would volunteer to assist Petra with the rutabagas. Petra would kindly shoo them out of the furnace room because she could handle the job very well by herself.  Thank you.

One winter's evening long after the autumn's lutefisk supper and just shortly after the church was finally aired out Petra was at home ready to watch Wheel of Fortune.  Petra sat in her recliner, turned on the TV, closed her eyes and fell asleep in the bosom of Jesus.  At her funeral we remembered and gave thanks for the many years of Petra's rutabaga ministry.

The following year there was the frantic question of who would do the rutabagas.  A delegate was appointed but the beggies were not as good as Petra's.  It took a couple years before the rutabaga quality was considered to be up to snuff.

Here's the point:  within the church we must all take responsibility for raising up leadership.  That may mean we are in charge of finding our successor.  Whatever the task, we run this relay and we must be ready to pass the baton to the one we have been coaching.

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