Give Them Ears to Hear

The assisting minister and I process into the church during the prelude every Sunday morning. Every Sunday when we get to the altar, we both do a little head bow, and I say the same little prayer: "Lord, give them ears to hear."

In other words, I've done my best to bring them your word, God. Now it's up to you to make sure that word doesn't return to you empty.

Apparently the Holy Spirit hasn't pulled the cotton out of everyone's ears just yet, my weekly prayer notwithstanding.

Yesterday I found out through the grapevine that two people in the congregation are upset with our current communion practices, because we commune young children. Way back in the day you couldn't receive communion until after you were confirmed. In the 1980s the standard practice lowered to around 5th grade, and in most places has been trending ever lower since (my home congregation now offers first communion instruction to first graders).

But I don't open communion to young ones to be trendy. I open it because I honestly believe in my heart of hearts that they are welcome at the table and I have no ground nor right to deny them. It's Jesus' party and he opens his arms to all.

Some folks would argue that children are not old enough to "understand" communion properly. Well, if that's the criteria, then I don't know that any of us are worthy to be standing at that altar, because I'm 31 and have been regularly participating in the Lord's Supper for the past 20 years, have an undergraduate degree in religion, and a Master of Divinity, and I still don't understand the full scope and mystery of what's happening as we commune, but new layers of understanding have certainly opened up to me over time.

So I don't believe it's so much about understanding, because that understanding will gradually grow as the kids grow, and will reveal itself through their praxis and ongoing conversation with the rest of the body of Christ. Given my druthers, I'd be communing every one of them, but I leave it to the parents' discretion (most seem to feel kindergarten is a good age to start), and when they feel the child is ready, I begin this lifelong discussion with some age-appropriate instruction, then set them free to participate and just relish the gift (because if anything, that gift, that unmerited grace, is so much of what communion is about).

But I digress. Back to having ears to hear. . .

It's not the criticism itself that I find discouraging, that I can handle (though it's always more helpful if it's constructively phrased).

What's discouraging is that this criticism once again came to me through the grapevine. This is a nasty and unhealthy habit of this congregation and I have tried many and various ways to break them of it. As this most recent episode proves, we've clearly got a long road still ahead of us on that score. Sigh.

What's discouraging is that the critics in question thought it appropriate to carry on a loud and bantering conversation about this (loud enough to disturb the worship of those around them) during communion. It's the grounds for a wickedly funny Python-esque sketch, having an inappropriate debate during communion about what's appropriate during communion, but in this case I'm not laughing.

What's discouraging is that the critics in question only just noticed we're communing kindergartners this past Sunday. We've been doing this for the last three years, and the children help distribute and collect cups during communion, so they commune at the end with the other helpers - that's every Sunday for three years of kids standing on an elevated platform in the front of the sanctuary when everyone else if finished and sitting down, and these folks just now realized the kids are receiving communion when they're up there. I mean, how willfully and consistently do you have to check out in order to not notice this? And what else are they not paying attention to? And who else is at this level of willed ignorance? Paging all chuggles!

What's discouraging is that, clearly, among the other things they are not paying attention to are my sermons, the newsletter, and the weekly Bible study, because I have tried to widen the conversation, to open up people's understanding of and thoughts about communion, in all of those places and formats over the past three years.

So, now I'm trying to think through how to communicate to these folks (and any others out there who have the same questions or concerns but haven't verbalized them yet) in a form they might actually hear, in a way that does not reward or affirm sending criticism through the grapevine.

Any suggestions? I'm all ears. . .

Peace,
C.

The Don Gets What The Don Wants

This week marks the 3 year anniversary of my installation. When I first moved here, people were constantly asking me why I moved here. Central PA is one of those places in the country with an extremely high percentage of "native" residents - people who were born here, live their whole lives here, and die here. It was consequently difficult for many of my parishioners to fathom why I would move away from the place where I was born and where most of my family still resides. "Because the church sent me here" or "Because you gave me a job" didn't seem to be a good enough reason in many of their minds.

Actually, there are two answers to the question of how I ended up in Central PA. In good Lutheran fashion, they are both equally and most certainly true:

The answer given in faith is that the Holy Spirit works in mysterious ways.

The answer cognizant of the realpolitik within the ELCA at the time of my assignment is that The Don gets what The Don wants.

The first answer is as mysteriously self-explanatory as it's ever going to get.

Below is Andy's explanation of the second answer, written and recorded in honor of The Don's retirement last year. It's pretty funny. Well, alright, it's probably more funny if you know the people involved, but it's not too shabby in and of itself. Enjoy!



PS - Regarding The Don's comment about moving into Luther territory - these Easterners just like to think they're gaining influence in the Midwest. In reality, it's us Midwesterners who are making our presence felt in the East. The proof is in this past weekend's Synod Assembly, where a remarkably high percentage of worship leaders and plenary presenters were St. Olaf College and/or Luther Seminary alums, though there are only about a dozen of us in this area. The Midwestern invasion of the East continues! :)

"I Have No Inner Monologue!"

Today was my turn to lead services at a couple area nursing homes.

These services tend to go one of two ways: either I'm facing down a bunch of catatonic stares for 45 minutes, or there is a boistrous running commentary going on (which may or may not pertain to the worship at hand).

At one of these places, there is also a woman I've affectionately dubbed "The Belcher" because as long as she is awake, she will let loose a string of belches that would do any fifth grade boy proud. Every once in a while she'll interrupt herself to say "Ex-CUUUUSE me!" I've gotten used to it, but actually, it's kind of gross, and it totally freaked me out the first time I was at her residence because I thought she was going to be sick. The more seasoned colleague who was co-presiding that day leaned in and said "It's alright, that's typical. She'll do it until she falls back asleep." And she did!

But I digress. Today was a running commentary kind of day. The Belcher wasn't there, but a new resident made up for her absent distraction factor. This new woman has no inner monologue.

Seriously.

As I was setting up for the service, she said
"You have the most beautiful hair."
I looked up from what I was doing and responded, "Thank you."
Her eyes shot up and her head jerked back in surprise,
"You heard that?"
"Yes. . .you said it out loud."

That was only the beginning. Things either devolved or became absurdly funny after that, depending on your point of view. I'm a fan of the absurd, personally, so at least days like this keep the job interesting!

Travelblog: Riga

(The Swedish Gate, Riga)


The first week of vacation I went to Riga to visit the semi-misanthropic Latvian - though not my first time in Eastern Europe, it was the first time I'd been in a Baltic state. I have to say, Riga is a beautiful old city, and for as often as Latvia has been occupied by external forces, it's in remarkably good shape. I definitely recommend visiting if you get the chance.

Highlights of the week included a concert by the Berlin Philharmonic at the National Opera House, an interesting art exhibit showcasing Latvian art made under the censorship of the Soviet era, being there to celebrate May 4 (Latvian Independence Day), a 10 hour hike through the Gauja River Valley, and walking along the shore where the Daugava River enters into the Baltic Sea.

As much beautiful art, architecture, and nature as I saw there, what's most fascinating to me is always the socio-cultural dynamics of a place. I find Latvian culture very similar to Depression-era culture in the United States - nothing is wasted. For example - they've got a zillion different dairy products because they use milk and its byproducts at all stages of development. I'm sure this is in large part due to the austerity of life in Soviet times, and it's not a bad thing at all in terms of stewardship of resources, but I wonder if (or how long) it will hold out in the face of encroaching Americanization, especially among younger folks who have never known life as a Soviet state.

Along similar lines of not wasting - Latvian cemeteries are more organically landscaped than their well-manicured American counterparts. Maybe it's because they're a small country and need to make the most of their arable land, but instead of burying people in an open field that could be used for farming, they thin out a forest and bury people within it. Most folks plant real flowers around the gravestone, and many have benches for visitors. A very different and less sanitized approach than we take in America.

And speaking of sanitation - I am admittedly kinda OCD about proper food handling and storage, and as you might imagine, I had to just let a lot of that go on this trip (disproving Grandma Louise's theory that Christopher and I would've never survived the Depression or a freak soap-operatic detour in an abandoned fall-out shelter) . It's true that I never got sick from anything, even when I was nervous about how it was prepared or stored, so maybe there's a lesson in that for me, that I shouldn't worry about it so much.


(Hiking in the Gauja River Valley)

Another interesting cultural point is that Latvians are, well, kind of rude. I used to think this was an individual quirk of Aiva's personality, but now I'm realizing it's more of a cultural phenomena. I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt and assuming it's another held-over defense mechanism from Soviet times. But I always try to learn at least the words for common courtesies for wherever I'm traveling, so I learned "Thank you" (Paldies) right away. Then I asked Aiva how to say "You're welcome" and her answer was "It's not really a welcome like in America, it just means 'no problem' - it's not worth learning, it won't have the meaning you intend." Then I asked how to say "Excuse me/Pardon me" and her answer was "You don't." You just push past people or cut them off if they are in your way. (!)

And it's true - when we rode the bus to the Baltic, it was rush hour. At first there was all this space in the aisle in the middle of the bus, but no one would move to it. Even people who were riding for a long time wouldn't move in to make room for new people, so at each stop people would just keep shoving in, the space by the door getting tighter and tighter, without a word exchanged. Finally people had to move because there was just no possible way to cram another body in at the door. It was bizarre to watch - I mean, even in New York City, people riding for a while will generally move to the center of the subway car so that new people can get on the train!

The Independence Day celebration was also interesting. People were bringing flowers to lay at the base of the Independence Memorial, in front of which was a large floral display in the shape of Latvia. There were a lot of activities going on throughout town - folk dancing troupes dancing and popular folk groups and choirs singing at various stages. An artsy theater was running animated shorts and documentary films all night (we watched, among other things, a hilarious stop-action short that was an abbreviated history of Latvia). All these things we took part in were free of charge and free of merchandising. It wasn't chest-thumping patriotism, but it was the people coming together to celebrate their culture and heritage. And I thought it was a refreshing change from how 4th of July is often celebrated in America (where we seem to either celebrate our independence from each other by retreating to private vacation homes, or come together to celebrate our freedom to excessively and extravagantly consume).


(Hiking in the Gauja River Valley)

So, those are some impressions of Latvia. All in all it was a good week, and I'm glad to have visited. If you ever find yourself there, the aforementioned "paldies" (pal-dee-es) is a handy word to know. "Labe" (lah-beh), which means "good," will also serve you well in many situations. As in:

"How was the concert?" "Labe."
"How did you sleep?" "Labe."
"I think we should take the 10 am train." "Labe."
When a guest in someone's house, gesture toward the food and say "Labe." And, when you are stuffed and Aiva's mom is trying to put more food on your plate, put one hand over the plate, one hand on your stomach, smile, sigh, and say "Labe."

Helpful word, that labe!

That's all for now. Tune in next time to hear about Dresden!