As a newly converted atheist, my study of Christianity began at Westminster Seminary in Philadelphia. Westminster was an outgrowth of J. Gresham Machen's separation from mainline Presbyterianism. It was, and still is, a bastion of Reformed orthodoxy.
Westminster's great strength was its stress on the authority of Scripture as the ultimate norm of faith and practice. Classes on the Old and New Testament were invigorating and faith-inspiring, carefully, though often critically, related to current scholarship. Theology courses had a polemic flavor, but immersed students in the worldview of the Westminster Confession. Historian Paul Wooley -- the only Democrat on the faculty -- exposed us to important primary sources, including Soren Kierkegaard and Jonathan Edwards.
Confusion reigns.
As a former member of the Theological Task Force on Peace, Unity, and Purity of the Church (TTF), I have been distressed to see so many Presbyterian friends troubled, perplexed, and even angered by the actions taken by the 217th Birmingham General Assembly in response to the Task Force's recommendations.
Some of that confusion has been generated by inconsistent legal interpretations issued by the Office of the General Assembly (OGA) and by other "constitutional experts."
Added confusion has resulted from the difficulty of shifting from the polarizing political rhetoric used pre-GA--in the hope of defeating the proposals--to a more pastorally soothing rhetoric of reassurance we usually utilize after the home team loses or, as in this case, after our agenda fails to get the votes. Having spent nine months radicalizing the meaning of the recommendations, warning about unintended consequences, projecting worst-case scenarios, and expounding on any and all flaws, some opponents were too enraged by the action or, perhaps in a few cases, are too addicted to the fight to make that shift. The rhetoric of contempt has quieted in some places but continues unabated in others.
Editor's Note: This sermon was preached at the recent General Assembly Council-Middle Governing Bodies Conference in Louisville, Ky.
Scripture: Jeremiah 32:6-15
In 1931, Karen Blixen lost her farm.
She had come to East Africa in 1914 from her home in Denmark, just as the Great War was breaking out in Europe. She had come to meet her husband and her future, far away from Europe's decay. Together, the Baron and Baroness von Blixen purchased some land in the mountains of Kenya to build a coffee plantation.
Their European friends told them it was a mistake; that the land was too high to grow coffee, that the market was too unstable, and that the enterprise would consume them. They were right. Coffee trees and marriages make for hard work, and offer few rewards, and the Baron grew impatient with his investment in both. In the end, he left both farm and wife and lived the life of the idle rich until his money ran out and he died penniless, of syphilis.
For several years I have had some unforgettable acquaintances. Of course, I have not known them personally. We never hung out together. After all, they did live in Egypt some sixteen centuries ago.
They could also have been a little hard to understand. They seemed to have been a peculiarly solemn lot. Completely clueless when it came to small talk, off the chart introverts, they nevertheless had something we often lack. As I read through their interactions with one another again and again, I can sense a deeper stillness than we normally know. They had a very low, unprovokable center of gravity.
I have spent so much time reading through The Sayings of the Desert Fathers (London: Mowbrays, 1975) that I feel that I actually do know them in some mysterious way. In fact, as odd as it sounds, I know them so well that in their most personal moments I can feel their tears falling through their prayers.
We Presbyterians are searching frantically to preserve the unity of our denomination, anything to keep the church from splitting. Let's try this way, that way, a third way. There must be some way we can find! But maybe what we need is to give up our ways and concentrate on what God in Christ has done. We Reformed souls are not very big on liturgy, but that's where our unity lodges and is celebrated -- in our liturgy.
Our utopian visions of harmonious love for each other quickly dissipate when we are confronted with the gritty everydayness of our life together in Christ, whether we are talking about the church down the street, our own Presbyterian denomination, or the larger church. Left to ourselves, our attempts at loving each other fall apart quickly and spectacularly. We try this love thing Jesus was talking about, but when we inevitably fail, which is bound to happen in the hands of sinners, we retreat into more familiar communities of the like-minded.
Perhaps that is the ultimate question hanging over our intramural disagreements and divisions in the Presbyterian church. Deep down, will our American Protestant proclivity for separation and schism continue to lead us into smaller and smaller enclaves of the like-minded, or can we move in a different direction? Can we be led to recover our catholic roots? Is the church, with all its faults and blemishes, still the church we have been given that summons us to live with our enemies and to share a common faith and life with them, even bearing with them in love and forbearance around the Lord's table?
The report of the Theological Task Force on the Peace, Unity, and Purity of the Church is a winner. I support it enthusiastically. Then again, my enthusiasm is influenced by the fact that -- as one mystified parishioner asserted months ago -- I have a high tolerance for chaos.
Years ago I played college basketball, although not well. When our team fell behind by 20 points, with little hope of recovery except some drastic measures be taken, the coach would look long and hard down the bench. I knew his meditation: Should I put Massey in the game and hope that the resulting confusion will lead to new scoring opportunities? Early in my playing career my teammates hated to see me enter the game; I couldn't remember the plays or I would follow them slavishly. At best my personal style could be described as unorthodox. More than once a teammate hit me in the back of the head with a passed ball, or I would return the favor. But over time these same teammates--as much anxiety as I caused them--began to appreciate the chaos I created. It proved even more disadvantageous to our opponents, who could not anticipate what they were about to experience. Out of chaos came creative play, and sometimes surprising victory.
Her smile filled her face and your heart. She grinned and everyone felt the need to sing. Small in stature with straight black hair, Lorna was born with the genetic disability known as Down Syndrome, which causes developmental disabilities and mental retardation. Though she was not a quiet person--jabbering, laughing and giggling--Lorna was the type of person you could lose in an emaciated minute.
Not that Lorna wandered away or was mischievously hiding, she simply seemed to evaporate into the walls. Lorna was a member of The Special Gathering choir and I was the fledgling director. Special Gathering is a ministry within the mentally challenged community. It is a community-based program involved in classic ministry: discipleship and evangelism. We have nine programs dotting the eastern coast of Florida and South Carolina.
100. 75. 50. Three great numbers. Three great celebrations of the ordination of women: as deacons, as elders, and as ministers of Word and Sacrament.
At 100 years, we would love to claim to have been the first, but the Cumberland Presbyterians ordained Louisa Woosley in 1889. Then again, we don't need to claim originality to celebrate our role in promoting gender equality. John Calvin didn't launch the Reformation, he just organized and systematized it. Similarly, we Presbyterians have contributed critical leadership that has theologically validated and organizationally formulated the practice of women's ordination. Hearing of the three anniversaries, 100, 75, 50, might we imagine that something important could have happened 25 years ago, too? Well, as a matter of fact, one big thing did happen. One of our ecumenical organizations, the National Council of Churches, directed its Bible translation team, led by Bruce Metzger, to update the Revised Standard Version of the Bible, with an eye toward making it more gender inclusive. Soon after publication in 1989, the New RSV was being read in most Presbyterian pulpits every Sunday.
Given that most growing mainline denominations began to shrink around 1964, what was it that made that year such an unhappy turning point? In the Outlook's "Just the Stats" issue (Sept. 11), columnist Tom Ehrlich says, "'What happened in 1964 ... was that post-war Baby Boomers began to graduate from high school.'"
What did they do after graduating from high school? One thing they did not do was to wake up before noon on Sundays. Some attended on-campus Bible studies that fit into the eyes-open hours on their body clocks. Like 10:30 p.m. Others squeezed a chapel service between classes in their church-related colleges. Way too many simply suffered spiritual starvation. Years later, when they felt a need to return to worship they found other, non-mainline, churches more to their liking.
The headline on the cover of a recent Time magazine asked, "Who Needs Harvard?" The featured article was about students finding the right college. Not the school with the highest SAT scores or the lowest acceptance rate, but the one where your daughter, son, grandchild, neighbor, Sunday school pupil, or youth group member is most likely to succeed. The place where he or she will come away not only with a diploma but with a purpose in life.
Too much to expect?
Not if you help that young person choose a college wisely.
During an orientation gathering, a parent of a first-year student raised the question: Is the school affiliated with a church? Pausing to formulate an answer, the complexities of the matter became much clearer to me. It brought into focus the question of how a college begun by a Presbyterian pastor and long (though loosely) associated with a Presbyterian congregation becomes an institution that now refers merely to its "religious heritage."
The simple answer points to the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching. Andrew Carnegie established the Foundation in 1905 to provide pensions for college teachers. The following year Coe College in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, keen to secure a pension for a retiring faculty member, turned to the Foundation. But there was a hitch. Sectarian schools were ineligible for Carnegie pensions, since they presumably received financial support in exchange for church control. Moreover, the Foundation discouraged sectarian education because of its supposed interference with the search for truth.
Much has happened in the area of "greening" since Kermit the Frog first sang the woes of blending in, with his 1970's hit It's Not Easy Being Green. The world has changed drastically since then, as has the meaning of "green." Scientists have come to agree on the effects of human consumption on global ecosystems ... and the data are frightening and not easily ignored. Nationally, environmentalism has lost its radical connotations and finally joined the mainstream consciousness. Even the church now seems comfortable discussing sustainability and the need for balance between economy and ecology.
2006-07 academic year underway
Colleges and universities related to the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) report on new programs, faculty members, and campus changes as they start academic year 2006-07.
Religion and science have had a testy relationship ever since Galileo was convicted of heresy and put under house arrest by the Catholic Church for daring to publish his beliefs that the earth circulated around the sun. But in the last 30 years or so, a sort of détente, and even appreciation, has occurred. Scientists (some of whom secretly practice their faith, but don't discuss it) and religious leaders (who vary all over the map in their own scientific training) have realized that these differences pale in contrast to their shared concern and values for the condition of the earth.
Collaborations are occurring from a new sense of urgency. Threats to the environment are no longer abstractions whose effects might be felt sometime in the future. We can see the damage occurring before our eyes. When glaciers are melting, deserts are spreading, and the Arctic ice is disappearing, we as people of faith see the degradation and changes occurring around us and we wonder not only what our faith has to say but also about how we are called to act. In order to respond, we will have to connect outside of the church culture into new collaborations.
Let's play the imagination game. Let's imagine that your maternal great-grandparents were charter members of the church you presently attend. In fact, your mom's folks were Sunday School friends, then high school sweethearts, then tied the knot--in this very sanctuary. Your dad first attended the church as a young adult, which led to your parents' courtship and wedding, and in time, to your baptism and confirmation, too.
Let's imagine that those four generations of family all have spent enormous energy building up the church. Many have served on the Session. Those so talented have sung in choir. Most have taught church school classes. Those great-grandparents and a couple grandparents were buried in the church graveyard just to the west side of the sanctuary.
c. 2006 Religion News Service
When Amanda Adams was growing up, she considered a number of professions: doctor, nurse, writer, teacher, psychologist and bareback rider.
She eventually became a Presbyterian minister because it includes all the things she wants. "Ministry," said Adams, 26, "is an extraordinary balancing act between what we do every day -- the mundane paperwork and meetings, sitting at people's beds when they're ill -- and personal time, time for our own devotions."
Adams and two other young ministers arrived at First Church in Ann Arbor, Mich., last September, committed to two-year residencies. They're part of the Transition-Into-Ministry Program funded by the Lilly Endowment.
I have been trying to show that, while Mark aims in his Gospel to call people into, and cultivate in them, mature discipleship -- that is, discipleship that faithfully joins the confession of one's life to the confession of one's lips -- it's the "little people" in his narrative, and not (ironically) the disciples, who model this trust in Jesus as the Son of God. The initial picture of such faith, up through the appearance of Bartimaeus in the narrative, is a steady stream of "little people" who stop at nothing to get themselves and beloved others into Jesus' presence. They ask of and expect from him the impossible, and prostrate themselves worshipfully before him. This picture changes, however, as the last of Mark's "little people" appear and disappear in the passion narrative concluding his Gospel.
A current television commercial shows two men fishing on a dock. One asks the other, "What are you going for?" The camera then pans back to show a vast array of fishing poles lining the dock as the other guy answers, "I want it all."* This thinking may well serve as an apt metaphor for the two sides in the debate over ordination standards within the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.).
Both sides seem dissatisfied because no one "got it all" at the last General Assembly. Even more ironic, by looking at the General Assembly's actions on most issues, it appears the more conservative side of the church gained considerable ground, yet now acts the most dissatisfied. The General Assembly strengthened its position opposing late-term abortion, back-peddled and apologized on divestment regarding Israel, only "received" the Trinity Report, and reaffirmed the "fidelity and chastity" clause. Yet, when one reads material from some of the more conservative groups within the church, one would think the liberal element really won the day.
Editor's Note: The author worked in Xela, Guatemala, from August 20 through September 3, volunteering with the Highland Support Project of Richmond, Va. The following thoughts stem from two separate interviews with a former guerrilla fighter and the president of a Presbyterian women's organization.
Before arriving in Guatemala, I knew that the country's recent history was horrific: over thirty-six years, a quarter of a million citizens lost their lives, including more than four hundred villages wiped off the face of existence in the "scorched earth" policy of ethnic cleansing. Over the previous semester, I had studied John Calvin's doctrine of total depravity at Union-PSCE; after a few minutes of testimony with a veteran guerilla, I had gained an education.
When I was a youngster, there was an ongoing argument about the "professionalization" of the Olympics. Americans carped that we sent amateurs to compete against professional athletes from Eastern Europe, whose full-time work was their athletic pursuit.
That complaint has largely died down, of course, now that Americans now send highly paid professionals to Olympic events. In popular usage, amateur often means "second rate" while professional means "excellent." Both, though, are superficial understandings of the words. "Amateur" comes from a Latin word that means doing something "for love."
Editor's Note: For the past few issues, the Outlook has highlighted the ministries of church pastors. Here Presbyterian pastors recall members' expressions of thanks. Also in this issue, we publish individual expressions of appreciation from churches to their pastors.
Unexpectedly a member stopped into my office a few weeks ago carrying a large, professionally framed photograph of a beach sunset. She said that the minute she saw it she thought of me. Looking at the photo of the beach scene, with a somewhat broken wind fence in the foreground and a rainbow in the background, I asked, "Why?" She replied, "Because you often break down barriers and think out of the box. Or, it could have something to do with mending fences. But for sure, the rainbow in the background is for God's Hope you remind us to remember." -- Lisa Rzepka, associate pastor, Providence Church, Fairfax, Va.
Editor's Note: For the past few issues, the Outlook has highlighted the ministries of church pastors. Here we publish individual expressions of appreciation from churches to their pastors. Also in this issue, Presbyterian pastors recall members' expressions of thanks.
Arkansas
We love you, Clare Kelley, and are so fortunate to be able to share you. First Presbyterian, Eureka springs and Holiday Island Presbyterian Churches, Ark.
California
The Rev. Sandy Tice: First Presbyterian of San Bernardino, Calif., loves you and looks forward to many years together.
Thank you, Interim Pastor Jeff Cheifetz, a skilled and dedicated pastor, a gifted peacemaker and caregiver. The Session and members of Old First Presbyterian Church, San Francisco.
I have been suggesting that, while Mark's Gospel aims to bring disciples into ever more full and mature faith -- to turn them into those who faithfully confess Jesus to be God's Son, both with their lips and with their lives -- the irony is that disciples do not model faith in his Gospel. It's "little people" who do. It's a "little person," in the form of an unnamed, Roman soldier presiding over his execution, who models the faithful confession of one's lips. Similarly, it's a whole string of "little people," making mostly cameo appearances in the narrative, who model the faithful confession of one's life.
In the Gospel accounts, some of these "little people" have names, but most remain nameless. Only two can be imagined moving among polite society. Quite a few are women. Their number could comprise all the human characters who are not Jesus and who are neither family, nor opponents, nor disciples of Jesus. At a minimum, they include a leper (1:40-45), friends of a paralytic (2:1-12), Jairus and a woman with a hemorrhage (5:21-43), a Syro-Phoenician mother (7:24-30), a half-believing father (9:14-29), blind Bartimaeus (10:46-52), a sympathetic scribe (12:28-34), a poor widow (12:41-44), Simon of Cyrene (15:22), and the women at the cross and tomb (15:40-41, 47; 16:1-8).
Both less and more than family and good friends,
still you belong there at the high moments and the low,
included in the laughter and the tears, all
the embraces,
words and gestures of delight and consolation,
across the years even participating in remembering,
noting the absences, the gaps among the circled chairs,
the ones who couldn't make it for whatever reason,
glad or sad.
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