What is a preacher to do when he cannot preach?

"It was impossible for me to say to others: speak louder; shout! for I am deaf. Ah! was it possible for me to proclaim a deficiency in that one sense which in my case ought to have been more perfect than in all others, which I had once possessed in greatest perfection, to a degree of perfection, indeed, which few of my profession have ever enjoyed?"

Ludwig von Beethoven, Heiligenstadt Testament, 1802

I cannot speak.

Now, that is not entirely accurate; I have not been struck dumb or rendered mute. There was this pain in my neck, which turned out to be not just some colorful metaphor, but a degenerating disc, serious enough to require Fusion Surgery, which is almost as painful to contemplate as Fusion Cuisine.

Southwestern Eggrolls? REALLY?

How is that even a thing?

During such a procedure, it is necessary to move all one's neck goodies - windpipe, esophagus, and whatnot - out of the way so they can remove the disc, insert the zombie bone, screw a plate to the whole thing and call it a day. But in my case, when they put it all back, one vocal cord didn't work. So now my voice is a ragged, breathy whisper; think Kathleen Turner in Body Heat, only...

Actually, scratch that. Thank about that screaming goat, only not screaming.

Yeah that's much better.

I guess they told me this might happen; I seem to recall one of the interns reciting something that sounded like the end of a Viagra ad - something about a possible side effect being death, and so on. Nonetheless, I was really unprepared for my surgeon to say, 'Yeah, that happens some times,' as he discharged me.

After a week with no change, it was off to the ENT. "It's a stretched nerve," Dr. Treebeard says. "Wait a month or two," he says. "It could take six months - maybe a year," he says. "It may never come back," he says.

"You've got to be kidding me," I say. Only I don't, because I cannot speak.

Get it? Kidding? KID? Goat?       

 I still crack myself up. 

It has been more than three weeks now, and still my voice is a ragged breathy whisper - a voice wholly unsuitable to the things I do best: preaching, teaching, pontificating, prevaricating, guffawing, bellowing. 

I am bereft.

Being a theologically minded person, I have reviewed several subscription options, many of which are offered by well meaning friends and acquaintances.

First, there are the arguments based somehow on the will of the Almighty:

This is part of God's inscrutable plan.

God has done this to punish my many and varied sins.

And, behold, thou shalt be dumb, and not able to speak,

until the day that these things shall be performed,

because thou believest not my words,

which shall be fulfilled in their season. Luke 1

God has done this for no reason, or out of spite.

For the record, I don't buy any of these.

Then there are what are technically referred to the $#@! Happens arguments:

There is no God. Random chance has simply caught up with me.

We are here because one odd group of fishes had a peculiar fin anatomy that could transform into legs for terrestrial creatures; because the earth never froze entirely during an ice age; because a small and tenuous species, arising in Africa a quarter of a million years ago, has managed, so far, to survive by hook and by crook. We may yearn for a ‘higher answer’– but none exists.  

- Stephen Jay Gould, famous scientist and dead person

        

It's Karma.

        

The world is just...broken.

Our sin broke the world. God cares, but can't do anything about it.

In the end, I prefer to believe our sin broke the world, 

but God is right here, with us, in the midst of the brokenness, 

putting it back together through us.

The Incarnation is the ultimate reason why the service of God 

cannot be divorced from the service of man. 

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Theologian and generally heroic guy

Through you.

What is a preacher to do when he cannot preach? I don't know, and frankly, that scares me. There are a lot of practical concerns, about how I go about doing my job when I can't do my job - and I'm more scared every day. But your warm thoughts and prayers, your love and support show me every day that I am not alone. And that's something.

        

Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Autumn has long been my favorite season. Long before I had read The Great Gatsby or attended a high school football game, I was captivated by piles of falling leaves in brilliant shades of red and yellow, by the buckeyes we collected in the nearby cemetery, by the crisp aroma of coal fires, the damp mustiness of the earth, the chill in the morning and evening air. Later, Fall meant the exciting trepidation of a new school year: new opportunities to succeed and fail; to learn, both in and out of class; to make friends (and perhaps an enemy or two).

This year is no different. With the Mission Study completed and awaiting approval by the Committee on Church Development, Autumn will see the next major step in your process of transition: the election of a Pastor Nominating Committee. These folks will undertake some difficult tasks:  interpreting Smyrna Church for prospective pastors; evaluating those candidates in light of your strengths and weaknesses, your gifts and your call; and discerning which woman or man is called to be your next pastor. This is an exciting job, but also a bit scary; it will require diligence, devotion and a trust that God's Spirit will strengthen, guide, and encourage each member of the PNC, and the committee as a whole.

Of course, with the election of a PNC, I begin to see the end of my time at Smyrna approaching.  Soon we will begin the housekeeping required to make the best impression on prospective candidates, and I will begin to consider what come next for me. This too is exciting, and a bit scary; I suspect it will require every bit of my diligence, devotion and trust in the Holy Spirit to strengthen me and guide me to the next place I can be of service.

I find it interesting in the end how Fitzgerald turned convention on its head by seeing rebirth, new life not in the Spring, where one expects it, but in the Fall. In Gatsby, Jordan Baker argues against the disappointing sameness of life as exemplified in a tense, sultry summer day, contrasting it with the refreshing movement of the days and seasons - each one providing an opportunity for something new and different, if only in a small way. I pray this autumn will be refreshing for us all, and that the new shoots of life we sow might continue to grow and deepen over the coming days and seasons.

Photo by rcmori, www.panoramio.com

Last Thursday, it rained in Minneapolis. Now, this is not unusual; Minneapolis experiences, on the average, 101 days of precipitation, and although most of them probably involve snow, rain is not necessarily a remarkable occurrence. But it had already rained on Wednesday, and the rain bands Thursday were even harder.

The Riverside Campus of the University of Minnesota Medical Center is just that; situated on a bluff by the west bank of the Mississippi, this teaching hospital enjoys a commanding view of the mighty river.

The earth absorbed all it could, and then some. But while the runoff was swelling the Mississippi River, some of that sodden earth was transformed from solid ground into something much more dynamic, much more dangerous. With a low roar, the hillside began to move like a wave, snapping branches and dragging trees on its way down to West River Parkway, where it came to rest. In an instant, the Medical Center was a lot closer to the edge.

                                                    Pioneer Press: John Autey

I feel a lot like that hospital.

In the aftermath of the 221st General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church USA, there is at the same time, much and little upon which to comment. There were decisions on marriage and divestment, guns and prisons, background checks and Confessions; whether these decisions were momentous or momentary, only time will tell. At the same time, there was little of the tension, passion and discord we have seen at previous assemblies, at least that's the way it seemed watching the live stream. When it worked. For the first time in a very long time, it seems the assembly's actions are making more waves out in society than they are within the denomination.

I'm not sure that's a good thing.

After decades of talk, discussion, dialogue; ad hominem attacks, changes of heart and hardening of positions; after years of half-hearted overtures for a 'third way,' it seems like we Presbyterians have turned a corner. From here on in, I suspect those advocating for a more inclusive, activist church will find the way much clearer, since so many of the most passionate voices opposing them have taken their theological balls and gone off to new homes. Which leaves those of us who once took perverse pride in being a part of the put upon middle, right out there on the edge.

Look at me - I am the new right wing of the PCUSA.

I am neither fish nor fowl. I am uncomfortable with where my denomination is, and where it is heading, but I find no comfort in the alternatives. For better or worse, I am a Presbyterian; this is the church to which God called me, and this is where I must stay. Of course, this means I will have to speak up, to speak truth to power, as my liberal friends are fond of saying. Most likely, it also means no one will listen much. But I'm used to that - I have children.

So, about those GA decisions:

The truth is, I don't much care whether or not the PCUSA maintains (relatively) miniscule holdings in those companies; it's clear from their historic lack of response the companies don't much care, either. Moreover, the policies governing divestment "ensure that the failure to own the security will not harm the financial soundness of the Plan;"¹ in other words, we only take the "bold action"² of divestment when the transaction won't lose us any money. In the end, I think the Assembly went to a lot of pointless fuss and bother again, and PCUSA got a lot of news coverage for what ends up being a very small symbolic gesture. I do think we have done a poor job of balancing pastoral concern for the Palestinians (who are seriously getting the shaft at the hands of Israel and could use the world's help), and pastoral concern about the American Presbyterians whose livelihood is derived from the companies we now say are directly connected to Human Rights violations.

When it comes to the redefinition of marriage, I find myself caught between the matrimonial Scylla and Charybdis: while I firmly believe that both state and federal statutes should be gender neutral when it comes to civil marriage, I am just as adamant that Christian marriage is between a man and a woman. So I disagreed with the action of this Assembly, just as I came to disagree with the Defense of Marriage Act passed by congress in 1996, and now favor the changing of Virginia law to allow gender-neutral marriage. What disappointed me, though, was the manner in which the decision was implemented. The Assembly passed an Authoritative Interpretation to the effect that pastors now have the leeway to perform same gender marriages where they are legal; but to do so they basically had to turn the language of the Constitution on its head.  This feat of linguistic legerdemain was recognized by the Assembly; thus the presbyteries are being asked to consider a change to the constitution which would make that interpretation tenable. But no matter the outcome of that vote, a precedent has been set. It now seems that, no matter how clear the language, or settled the understanding of a matter has been, it can be changed, even while we continue to consider whether it should be changed.

I just hope the rain stops.

                                                 Scylla & Charybdis by cdra617, courtesy of deviantart.com

  

¹ from General Assembly Item 04-08, Mission Responsibility Through Investment: Engagement with Corporations on Israel-Palestine Issues from 2004–2013--PMA

² from MRTI recommends PC(USA) divestment of three companies by Bethany Furkin,  Presbyterian News Service (http://www.pcusa.org/news/2011/9/12/mrti-                                    recommends-pcusa-divestment-caterpillar/)

Memorial Day has come and gone, and so the summer season has begun: out come the white shoes and purses, the shorts and sandals; off come the robes. The choir ditched theirs last week, and bowing to peer pressure, I did as well. As a matter of fact, for most of my career, I have unrobed (disrobed?!) for the summer. It's the heat, mostly. When you serve small country churches, air conditioning is a rarity, and even when it's there, it rarely cools the sanctuary enough to keep me comfortable in my Tropical Wool Bentley and Simon Clergy Robe - hold the velvet panels, please.

In my first church, the heat of the summer and age of the congregation prompted the Session to ask me to remove my jacket at the beginning of worship, and invite all the gentlemen to do so as well. They never did, which left me the only guy in shirtsleeves. They also stood up when I entered the sanctuary, but that's a story for another day...

So why do preachers wear robes in the first place? We have established they can be uncomfortable; they can also be dangerous (several times I have walked into my hem going up stairs), and they're expensive, so much so that I wore a...a...well, a deceased predecessor's robe for more than fifteen years. And it's not like there's a Presbyterian law that says I have to wear, well, anything, really. What's the deal with clergy robes?

The truth is, we religion specialists have worn distinctive clothing since prehistoric times: animal skins, amulets, feathers all served to set the shaman or priestess apart from the crowd. In the book of Exodus, one can read detailed descriptions of the garments to be worn whenever the priests were serving in the temple.

Of course, there were no priests in the early church; leaders simply wore their Sunday best, which in the Middle East were robes. But time marched on, and styles changed - it wasn't long until the barbarians brought pants to the civilized world! Of course, church leaders have never much liked change, so they continued wearing robes. Over the years, the robes became vestments, acquiring symbolic meanings and becoming more colorful and elaborate.

With the coming of the Reformation, pastoral attire really did change. Reformers, such as Calvin, were strong advocates of an educated clergy, and the black robe of the scholar came to demonstrate a pastor's academic qualifications; likewise, the tabbed collar showed a pastor had the approval of their church court to preach. 

Over time, the robe began to serve a more practical function. By covering the minister's street clothes, the robe was thought to direct the focus of the congregation away from the preacher and toward the preaching; the robe also helps emphasize the office and de-emphasize the individual. That's why I've worn a simple black robe since I started preaching.

Except, of course, when it's hot.