Chapter 20 - The Twin Imposters

Ages ago the prophet Elijah came face-to-face with one of the biggest challenges of “faith work” – that it doesn’t lend itself to empirical verification.

Think about it: in the biggest showdown of his career – the contest with Jezebel’s prophets of Ba’al – he’d put them to shame.  After taunting them over their inability to evoke a response from their oh-so tangible gods, he’d drenched his sacrifice with water and stood back so Yahweh could send down a fire that not only consumed the sacrifice per se, but licked up the water and atomized the stone altar upon which it had all been arrayed.

You’d think this would suffice for validation of one’s ministry, wouldn’t you?  But it didn’t.  Elijah retreated to the wilderness where he struggled with a depressive episode of epic proportions.  I can only imagine what he might have thought had occurred out there in field with those Ba’alian prophets.  Perhaps it went something like this:  “Yeah…there’s nothing to their gods, but how do I know there’s anything to mine?  Maybe I just got lucky.  It was probably nothing more than a random bolt of lightning.”

The point is this:  there’s nothing about faith that’s empirically verifiable – whether in the affirmative OR in the negative – you can neither prove, nor disprove religion. 

This isn’t news, of course, but it’s important.  Consider this little gem, “God called me to ministry.”  Is it true?  Perhaps….   The fact is, lots of claims have been made in the name of God, and I’d vouchsafe that not all of them make God proud.  Still, nearly every clergyperson I know (including yours truly) claims to be have been called by God into pastoral work.  Does that claim make it so?

In chapter 20 of TO&WC Martin Copenhaver takes on the oh-so-common problem of approval craving in the pastoral office. 

My suspicion runs something like this – we crave approval because we aren’t so sure what we’re about.  We cover our insecurities with pious assertions (“This is God’s work I’m about [and nuts to anyone who takes issue with me]), or else we leave God entirely out of the equation and seek all our validation from those we are ostensibly called to lead.

This sword (the lack of objective criteria by which to surely measure our alignment with God’s will) cuts two ways, and both cuts can be bad:  those who boldly assert having their own private and certain Word from God make themselves unaccountable to other individuals and communities – certainly a perilous state.  But it is equally possible to despair of any certitude in this work and succumb to either depression, or else to a servile devotion to whatever the people want.  In that case, the pastor becomes either a “quivering mass of availability” or else a craven manipulator of the parish in which their affirmation becomes god (and all sense of appropriate boundaries gets lost).

Is it hopeless?  Is there no way by which to helpfully assess one’s faithfulness?  If it is not right either to arrogantly and single-handedly claim access to the infallible mind of God, but neither appropriate to grant the parish total right to assess one’s faithfulness – what is one to do?

Ah….the challenge of living in the tension between the poles of seductive extreme! 

The fact is (it seems to me) we need both.  We need a relationship with God that gives us focus and direction for the living of each day, but we also need to hear the voice of the community and its word of critique and correction.  Either one in the absence of the other is likely to lead to error.  Only as we hold both in faithful tension are we able to maximize the possibility for effective ministerial leadership.

“I believe.  Help me in my unbelief.”

Rich Pleva

Chapters 18 & 19

Ask ten people what the ritual practice, “laying on of hands” is and I bet you get ten different answers. Martin B. Copenhaver, in Chapter 18 of This Odd and Wondrous Calling enumerates a few of the ways in which we understand this practice in the Judeo-Christian tradition: Jesus laid hands on people in need of healing; Temple priests laid hands on animals about to be sacrificed; in the early church, hands were laid upon people who were assuming ministries.

The most significant of these understandings of this rite for me is the latter. Particularly as a clergy person in the United Church of Christ, you come into contact with the laying on of hands when you and colleagues are ordained into the Christian ministry. As Copenhaver points out, what actually happens in this moment is up for debate. Is there really some fundamental change that happens to the person on whom hands are being laid? Some would say yes; some no.

The moment is incredibly powerful regardless of what you believe happens. At UCC ordinations, clergy are invited to come forward and lay hands on the ordinand. As someone who has both had hands laid upon her and as someone who has laid hands upon many of my colleagues, the Holy Spirit palpably infects this moment. It’s almost like I can feel connected, through the working of the Spirit, to all those who have gone before me and all who will go after me in the call to Christian ministry.

One of the things that most ordination candidates now do is invite not only clergy, but all members of the congregation to lay on hands in some way –either by physically coming forward and joining the “blob” of people who are touching someone, who is touching someone who is touching the ordinand; or by extending their own hand forward to “spiritually” connect to the people doing the physical laying on of hands.

This act is a tangible reminder that ordinations are not only about a particular person’s call to ministry. It’s about ALL our calls to ministry. In the Protestant tradition in particular, we affirm, in one way or another, Luther’s notion of the “priesthood of all believers;” the understanding that God calls us all to “priestly” service. That doesn’t mean we’re all called to be the Sunday-morning type of minister. We might be called by God to live our faith by teaching, practicing law or medicine; by being a mechanic, an administrator, a cook or a parent.

God can use our many gifts in any variety of ways. It’s up to us to connect our life to the centuries-old Christian tradition that reminds us that God uses all kinds of people, with all their foibles and shortcomings, to serve God is extraordinary ways in this world.

Nicole Havelka

Recall Notice - Chapter 17

Is there really no “wrong” church? Perhaps Lillian Daniel is right in some sort of classical, universalist sense. But I’m not at all sure that a classical, universalist answer to that question is of any use to anyone. It reminds me of the old story that realtors (and others, too, I suppose) tell about lawyers.

A man sets off in a hot air balloon. Soon, a dense fog closes in and he starts to worry. As the fog gets thicker and darker, his sense of direction fails him. His location by now a complete unknown, with nothing visible except a blanket of fog, he panics. He begins to conjure up all kinds of balloonist horrors—large bodies of open water, trees, towers, mountains. Finally, the fog parts for the briefest of moments and the balloonist sees a person standing on the ground. He knows he has only an instant to find out where he is.  The balloonist shouts out, “Where am I?”  To the balloonist’s absolute horror, the person on the ground shouts back “You’re in a hot air balloon.” Just before the fog closes up for good, the balloonist thinks to himself “That must have been a lawyer. He gave me an answer that was precise, correct and…absolutely useless.”

I think Daniel’s answer is something like that given to the balloonist by the lawyer. It may be that no religion is “wrong”, but that is a far cry from the argument that every religion is “right”. I know. I’ve seen quite a few of them. I was raised a Catholic. I have worshiped with Southern Baptists, Reformed and Conservative Jews, Episcopalians. I work on a regular basis with my counterparts in the United Methodist, Presbyterian and ELCA faiths.  None of these traditions is wrong in any absolute sense. But, for me at least, there is only one that is right—the United Church of Christ.

Sure, we have our warts. But these warts are largely polity driven, not articles of faith. At times, it seems we worship Congregationalism even more than Christ. At times, moving us to consensus on any issue, much less a controversial one, can be like trying to herd cats. Through it all, however, our core values—a deep and abiding faith in Jesus, a commitment to social justice, an acknowledgement that ours is but one of many voices—outshine all the difficulties that our polity creates.

Is there no wrong faith? Perhaps. Is there a right faith? For sure.

Tony Stoik

Preachers' Kids - Chapter 16

     I’ve reflected on Martin Copenhaver’s pictures of life as a preacher’s kid from my own vantage point as a preacher’s kid’s mom. 

     It’s easy to count the blessings that came into Noah’s life because he grew up as a preacher’s kid.  He began as a child of the Olds congregation; prayed into this world by them, wrapped in blankets and quilts the women had made, bouncing in Charlie Messer’s cowboy boot during worship.   He grew up as a child of the Central City congregation, supported and nurtured by a wonderful village of moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas.   I am profoundly grateful to both congregations for their gifts of love in Noah’s life.

     Noah certainly grew up with a clear view of church from the inside.  He was very proud of being a helper at church and he was a fantastic help in hundreds of different ways.   I think it’s honest to say that I depended on his help and that the congregation grew to depend some on his help, too.  He certainly saw the darker sides of church life, too.  He saw my tears, and my anger, and my exhaustion.  Through it all, Noah has grown to manhood still on good speaking terms with God and still drawn to a life of faith lived in community.

     As I visit with the pastors on the east side of the Iowa Conference, I have another vantage point from which to reflect on preachers and their kids.  I listen to the struggles of pastors trying to balance the needs of their families with the needs of their congregations.  I listen to tough, tough choices pastors make when both a child and a parishioner need the same slice of the pastor’s time.  I listen to the frustrations about evenings full of meetings and family events postponed because of emergencies in the congregation.  I listen to the joys of being able, as Martin Copenhaver notes, to share our daily labor with our children. 

      This chapter prompts us as pastors to take a close look at how our children are both blessed and challenged by our odd and wondrous calling.  I hope the chapter also prompts the members of our congregations to think and pray carefully about how it is for the children of our pastors.

     I’ll watch for posts from the preachers’ kids in the Iowa Conference.  What was it like for you?  How are your experiences of church today shaped by your experience as a preacher’s kid?  Did you also discern a call to ministry?

     I’ll also watch for posts from those who have been both pastors and parents.  What was it like for you to be the parent of a preacher’s kid?  What were the delights and the challenges?  How can we help one another to care well for our children as we fulfill an odd and wondrous calling?

                                    Jonna Jensen, Associate Conference Minister for Eastern Iowa