Listen to Sister Jane!

It was August 1978, the day before I was to be ordained.  Among all the other cards I received congratulating me and wishing me well was a modest envelope holding a notecard from Sister Jane, a Dominican nun whom I came to know my last year of seminary.  She started with kind words in the note and concluded in big letters, “Preach to convert!”

Nearly thirty-five years later, author Douglas John Hall is telling the church that the world is waiting for the gospel.  That used to be a pious phrase that would punctuate this preacher’s banter.  Now a theological professor writes puts it in print and we stand up and take notice.  He has the sociological statistics to back up what Sister Jane exhorted me to do three and a half decades ago.

Golly, a feller’ would think by now that we don’t have the luxury to be splitting hairs when it comes to letting those who have never heard that there is hope and forgiveness.  There is peace and freedom for those who have been burdened by who-knows-what.

But then, we hear this irritating story.  A new, young pastor in Newtown, Connecticut, took part in a community prayer gathering following December’s tragic shootings at Sandyhook Elementary School.  His picture appeared in national publications.  This new, young pastor is a member of the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod.  Once his activity was public, he received a phone call from the president of the Missouri Synod reprimanding the young pastor for participating in an event that was contrary to the church’s policy. The Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod prohibits pastors from praying with others from outside the denomination.  The new, young pastor whose community was reeling from that horrific tragedy was forced to apologize for praying with other Christians and Jews.

That story grieves me without end.  It does not matter whether I am Lutheran, Presbyterian, or Holy Roller.  (Maybe it does bother me more because I am Lutheran and the world lumps us all together despite the alphabet soup of synods) When there is a world waiting for the gospel; when there are people hurting and in need of somebody representing God; when a community aches to gather for prayer together, they are waiting for the gospel.  The world wants words that tell them God loves them.  The world wants the Good News embodied in somebody who manifests God’s love for its people.  The world wants the simplest cross to cling to so that they know they are not alone but that God is with them.

That is why even as a Geezer, I am interested in what we call the emerging church.  Maybe the old model doesn’t always work for us.  There are new voices that have actually heard the world saying that it longs to hear the Good News.  Once again, my colleagues do not have the luxury of always following the same paradigm as every generation before.  Turn up that hearing aid and listen to where the Good News is needed!

Sister Jane was on to something.  She very well knew that “Preach to convert” did not mean strong-arming the unrepentant scoundrel. Rather, it is preaching to make a difference—a difference of hope and renewal, a difference of love and forgiveness, a difference of justice and freedom.

Here’s the question for the week:  where in your world is the good news waiting to be told?  Talk among yourselves…

Sing with me: Tradition, Tradition!

Once upon a time I played Lazar Wolf in “Fiddler on the Roof.”  One of those evocative songs is “Tradition.”  It sets the theme for the musical that all of the village’s routines are based upon tradition.  It is funny how our lives are dictated by tradition.  Sometimes, tradition is healthy and provides a solid foundation to build upon.  Other times, tradition bifurcates our view on reality.

The new bride surprised her groom with a ham dinner.  Being a modern man, the husband knew his way around the kitchen.  Oh, he complimented his wife profusely because it was delicious.  He did ask her, however, why she cut the ham in half before placing it in the roaster.  She didn’t know why but said that is what her mother always did. 

The next time they visited her parents his mother-in-law also prepared a ham adorned with pineapple slices and cherries.  It was wonderful. But, the ham was also sliced in half.  Daughter asked mother why she cut the ham in half.  With great confidence she replied, “That’s what you always need to do with a ham, Dear.”

At Easter, the whole family was invited to Grandma’s house.  Grandma served her customary baked ham and when she brought the platter to the table the ham was already cut in half.  Granddaughter sweetly asked Grannie why she cuts the ham in half.  “Does it improve the flavor?”  “Piffle,” Grandma chuckled. “The only roasting pan I have isn’t big enough for a whole ham so I have the butcher cut it in half.”

Ah, that which we hold as sacred began from necessity.

In Wisconsin, we participate in the weekly ritual of Friday night fish.  It comes from the area’s large Roman Catholic population, which in pre-Vatican II days anxiously refrained from meat on Friday.  The Weiner Lady doing a weekend store promotion was seen by some as an offense to their piety. Friday fish carried an element of penitence.  But where did that tradition come from?

In former times before refrigerators or ice boxes or even smoke houses, peasants couldn’t preserve meats. Heck, as peasants there weren’t many animals.  Winter months were harsh on food supply and there was no animal protein.  A benevolent prince concerned for his people encouraged the church to tell the people to fish for food and have it on Friday in honor of the salvation won for the people on that Good Friday long ago.  Friday became that day when peasants could look forward to a protein source to help them survive and stave off starvation.  Somewhere, that tradition evolved into adding an over-sized baked potato with sour cream, cole slaw, and rye bread served by a saucy waitress competing with the din of Happy Hour.  A tradition born out of survival has become a tradition of conviviality.

You have to love tradition.  Traditions are what hold families and cultures together.  Traditions are the actions that dramatize our story as a culture.  Traditions that are negative are unhealthy and should be avoided.  But those traditions that allow us to celebrate and give pride and strengthen a community are rituals to preserve and pass along to coming generations.

Be a George!

Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away, I remember sitting in church as a youth.  The Sunday was an occasion to have a supply preacher.  In those days I didn’t pay much attention whether the fellow was a lay preacher or if he was ordained.  Regardless, bless his heart for the ministry he did.  However, the fellow was blessed with a voice that had the nasality of a foghorn. It’s funny and maybe a bit tragic that we have those “tapes” that loop through our minds.  There are times I would like to run my head across a demagnetizer to erase some of those tapes.  Anyway, the preacher selected a passage about Christian service.  In crafting his sermon he drove home the point with the oft-repeated phrase, “let George do it.”  When he said the word “George,” ore boats on Lake Superior steered clear of rocky shoals.  Mean little kid that I was I thought it was hilarious.  Now, a hundred years later, the guy had a point.

Not just churches but every sort of organization consists of either leaders or followers.  The leaders grumble about the followers and the followers grumble about the leaders.  Leader types cannot understand why followers hold back and let reticence restrain them.  Followers are offended about those leaders who are always so “pushy” and always have to be so “showy” (their words).  But, when followers are asked to be involved or to volunteer for something simple they respond with (say it with me, now) “let George do it!”

I am sure it is a scenario from the Myers-Briggs Personality Inventory of introverts (I) and extroverts (E).  It is also an example of Family Systems Theory and the conflict within systems, formal or informal. It could also be fodder for Garrison Keillor’s next installment of “News from Lake Wobegon” where Minnesotans do not take kindly to people who take the splashy initiative to get things done.  But, there is a nation-wide malaise to recite that refrain along with you, Dear Reader, “let George do it!”

I am one of those introverts (I) who has seen the light. Hallelujah! If that supply preacher would have had an altar call I would be among the first ones (actually second or third in line because I wouldn’t want to appear pushy) to say, “Let me be George.”  I’m the one who sees a herd of people pressing through one door of a double set of doors and I open the second door.  I’m the one who sees a stack of programs not being handed out at the school concert so get up and make sure people receive them.

Here’s the point:  be a George!  People who might have their hands full at the moment appreciate the George who steps up to the plate to do the task at hand.  Don’t worry that people will fall at your feet in gratitude and admiration; it’s not that big of a deal.  You won’t be asked to make an acceptance speech for a trophy; there is none.  Cowboy up, world; it ain’t going to kill you.  Instead of letting George do (I heard you say it that way), be a George!