The Trouble with Grapevines (and: The Rumors of "B's" Death are Greatly Exaggerated)

Today we had a perfect illustration of how quickly incomplete information can go "viral."

Parishioner A works with a nephew of Parishioner B. Nephew mentions at work Friday that his aunt died. He does not say which aunt, and Parishioner A does not think to ask, and doesn't think too much of it until this morning when Parishioner B's husband is not in worship (B herself is homebound). Now Parishioner A wonders if Parishioner B was the one who died, and innocently makes inquiries of other members of the congregation to see if they've heard anything to this effect.

Parishioner A also asks me, during the sharing of the peace, if this is true. I look and notice Parishioner B's husband is not present, and though I have heard nothing in regards to his wife's death, I realize with a sinking feeling in my stomach that I was not home for most of yesterday and I forgot to check my voicemail when I did get home, so it's entirely possible Parishioner B did die and I just haven't picked up the message yet. So now I'm worrying that the husband is grieving and has left me messages and I'm the schmucky pastor who hasn't gotten back to him.

By the end of worship, probably a dozen people are fluttering around wondering whether Parishioner B is alive or not. Some of them have heard this rumor from someone other than Parishioner A, which tightens the knot in my stomach, thinking multiple sources mean greater likelihood the rumor is true. But then I talked to the "other" sources and asked them where they got their information - it all tracked back to Parishioner A's inquiries.

I went to Parishioner C, a neighbor of the Bs, to see if they could shed light on the truth. They had heard nothing to the effect of B dying, and thankfully made some phone calls while I was teaching confirmation, and found out that B is, in fact, still with us.

A few observations:

1. I'm amazed at how quickly and exponentially the incomplete information spread - and we are just a microcosm of the wider world. Gives me new appreciation for how widely and rapidly information (accurate, inaccurate, and incomplete) can reach people, especially when aided by mass media tools like television or the internet.

2. I'm wondering if the correct and complete information will spread as rapidly. I've already received one phone call, from Parishioner D, to tell me that they also made some calls after worship and discovered B is still alive. I'm wondering how many more of those kind of calls I'm going to get, and how many more calls the church office is going to get wondering if B died, and how many calls the Bs themselves are going to get from well-intentioned folks trying to track down the truth and/or offer their condolences.

3. In this case the whole situation was very innocent and well-meaning - people genuinely wanting to reach out in support to a brother who may be in grief. Even so, I think our experience this morning clearly illustrates just how dangerous a communication tool the grapevine can be, and I shudder to think of the damage that could be done by someone with malicious intent who is purposely dispersing blatantly false information.

4. McCain's presidential campaign currently manifests my worst fears from observation 3. He has apparently decided he likes living in Bush's "Opposite Land" (a place where you name things the opposite of what they actually do, like calling rollbacks on air pollution and air quality standards the "Clear Skies Initiative"). And he and Palin have adopted the Bush/Cheney/Rove strategy of just repeating lies often enough and through enough different sources until people believe they must be true (and they're doing it with both smears about Obama and lies about their own records - like McCain being such a "maverick" when in truth he votes with Bush 90% of the time, or Palin rejecting the "Bridge to Nowhere" and fighting pork barrel spending, when in truth, she was all for the bridge until it was politically expedient not to be, and she kept the money from the federal government anyway, sans bridge!). I hope - I pray - the American public is smart enough not to fall for this strategy again, and resourceful enough to research the truth for themselves.

But I also fear the power of the grapevine, especially when it's under the power of the dark side of the force.

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.

A Vast Hymn Sing Conspiracy

So I was talking to a friend the other day, who happened to have spent Christmas with people rather well-placed in the music department at St. Olaf. And these good folks mentioned over dinner that Olaf had received some complaints about the Christmas Festival this year. These complainers were all folks who had watched the Festival on TV (so, likely have no other affiliation to or knowledge of the college), and they made it clear that the music was fantastic, but they didn't think it was appropriate for the choirs to be decked in red, white, and blue - that is a violation of the separation of church and state.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that the current administration is blurring the lines between church and state in many instances, AND that there are a number of private, church-affiliated institutions of higher learning that would intentionally paint themselves patriotic for an event like that. So, there is good reason to be sensitive to and vigilant about abuses of the First Amendment.

But Olaf is not such a place. And anybody with an inkling of knowledge about the school would know that. If nothing else, you'd think the big PURPLE mass of the St. Olaf Choir right up front would cause the complainers to second-guess their theory. Yes, other choirs involved have red (actually, cranberry) and white or blue and white robes (Cantorei's can be green and white, but they set their reversible stole to blue because that is the liturgically appropriate color for Advent) - but not to give some wink-wink, nudge-nudge nod to patriotism - those have been the colors and styles of robe for those choirs for as long as I can remember, long before the "you're either with us or against us" mentality took hold of the nation, long before color-coded threat levels made us all wary of our neighbors.

I mean, I get it - there's a lot of subtle meaning-making and symbolism that goes on in the world, and some of the most subtle and unquestioned stuff is what entrenches some of our worst systemic evils. So I don't begrudge folks for raising the issue and asking the questions.

I do get annoyed, however, when people presume that their worldview is 100% correct and untainted, and all they are really interested in is letting people they disagree with know why and how, exactly, they are wrong. Such folks tend to lob reactionary judgments and then run away, refusing to engage in actual dialogue that might lead to better understanding on all sides.

Because sometimes, a robe is just a robe.

But you won't know that if you presume to know what the wearing of robes and their various colors mean. You won't know that if you don't bother to talk with the robe-wearer, but instead choose to talk at them, only telling them why they are wrong to wear the color of robe that they do.

The whole situation reminds me of a few years ago, when I was verbally accosted by a man at the corner of Hendon and Fulham (the heart of Luther Seminary's campus). He was a middle-aged white man, presumably a resident of the neighborhood. He asked me if I was a student at Luther, and when I said yes, launched into this tirade against us for being anti-Islamic. He came to this conclusion thanks to the banners for the new "Called and Sent" development campaign, which depicted a stylized triptych of fire, a cross inside a heart, and a hand. In his mind, these images were clearly invoking the crusades (he saw the heart and cross as a shield, and the hand as a reference to Islamic law allowing the chopping off of a hand for punishment), and the banners slyly indicating we were called and sent to destroy Islam.

Again, if he'd had an inkling of knowledge about the school, he would've known Luther offers a Master of Arts in Islamic Studies, and even has a few Islamic students enrolled. As it was, I patiently tried to explain to him that the campaign was about calling and sending ministers out into a needy world - that fire is a symbol of Pentecost, of being called and anointed by the Holy Spirit, that the "shield" was actually a heart, meant to be an intense close-up of Luther's seal, the symbolism of which was sin redeemed by love, and that the hand represented service to the world.

But he would hear none of it, just kept going on and on about the crusades and the whole institution and every individual associated therewith being anti-Islamic. Exasperated, I finally suggested he provide this feedback to the development office and pointed him in the right direction, but of course, he didn't have time for that. He was satisfied to have told me what for, having assumed he knew all about me and my worldview based on his interpretation of a banner hanging on my school's property.

You know, that old adage about what happens when one assumes is an old adage for a reason. And right here you've got two cases that prove it.


And now for something completely different: how cool is it that over 300,000 people turned out to caucus in Iowa last night? That's not just show up to a poll and cast a ballot - that's democracy in action, that's 300,000 people engaging each other, discussing and discerning who will best lead us through the next four years. Oh, be still my populist heart!

Peace,
Catrina