52 Churches

I think preachers, like most teachers, have somewhere between 1-3 good sermons in them (teachers have 1-3 really good lessons). In the grander scheme of possible sermons, “The Kingdom of God is Here” ranks pretty high in my book, right along with “Love God,” “Love Others” (sometimes combined), and far outpace anything that involves the words “Brimstone” (usually in conjunction with “Hellfire”), “Abortion” (conjoined with voting suggestions) or “Fags” (preceded by “God Hates“).*

This week’s lectionary selections included:

• Genesis 22:1-14: The attempted sacrifice of Isaac.
• Psalm Response: Psalm 13 — A Psalm of lament.
• Matthew 10:40-42: Rules for Mission, Part II: Last week — expect resistance on many fronts, but keep to the mission. This week — expect, look for, and bless those who will offer welcome.

Although many of the Episcopal priests I know generally always give a homily/sermon on the Gospel reading, they are by no means tied to doing so, but I was surprised when he went for the passage from Genesis instead of Matthew. Fr. Paul often does what he calls “popcorning ideas” where he solicits discussion from those in attendance. He asked what we might take from the story of Abraham taking his son out to sacrifice him. One of the men in the congregation was really quite dismayed that God would even suggest such an horrific act (and, sure, you can say, “Well, it was the times” . . . but it’s such a hollow answer).

If I’d ever caught his eye, I was tempted to say that Abraham‘s kind of a wanker who doesn’t really trust God . . . sure, he gets up and leaves Ur early on in the story (hey! that’ll look familiar, as it was the text from Valley Open Bible not quite a month ago), but the guy can’t manage to believe anything the Lord says to him (everytime you turn around, he’s whoring his wife out, saying she’s his sister, hoping to save his own skin, doesn’t even believe this son, Isaac, will be born, so he takes on a concubine . . . the guy really is kind of a wanker) . . . but he was bouncing back and forth too quickly between the folks on the sides, carefully avoiding eye contact with the four of us . . . so there you have it . . . I didn’t mention it.

The service took place outside, under trees in the courtyard, with about 2/3 of the congregation facing into the setting sun, which was, frankly, rather unpleasant. There have been a number of changes to the evening service since I last attended, including the congregation aging (my friend Cheri and I were about the youngest folks there — all the 20-somethings were gone — I know a few are working out at Camp Cross this summer, but I don’t imagine they all were); a more “standard” BCP service with little innovation or deviation from the liturgy, and none of the tactile sorts of rituals HT used to practice; and a very awkward communion where the servers scooted between the rows to deliver the bread and the wine.

The one innovative addition to the liturgy at this particular service was the use of the first line of the Ubi Caritas sung after every third call and response in the Prayers of the People, which was from the Prayer of Thanksgiving from Zipsqueal’s Youth Ministry Service.

Farmergirl asked to be excused from attending Holy Trinity this evening. Originally, she’d asked if she would be able to acolyte, but then she decided she wouldn’t be able to take the heartache, and asked to be excused. Her dance recital was this afternoon, late, so she needed a driver to be able to return home, so Michael, who hasn’t managed to get his D-6 up and running jumped at the chance to jump ship, too. We were attending, in part, to accompany E—–, who needed to retrieve some CDs and didn’t want to attend alone. So Our Gra (with teeth gritted), Cheri (out of town friend along for the ride), E—–, and I all went. If you’ve followed the history of the 52 Churches, you’ll probably figure that I’m a sucker for punishment, or at least recognize that I didn’t figure this would be much of a “homecoming.” I don’t know that the priest is ever going to make it past cooly civil, and that just kind of makes me sad.

Recently a friend of mine had a weird situation where her brother-in-law is now dating an old friend from college. She hasn’t really seen Old Friend in the intervening 20 years, and isn’t sure her bil is someone she’d recommend getting involved with, so the whole family gathering was awkward and culminated in the bil asking why my friend wasn’t all buddy-buddy with her old friend. I suggested that because Old Friend has been dating the bil for two+ years, that perhaps she (Old Friend) feels an intimacy with my friend and her family that my friend didn’t share, because of the bil reporting family happenings from this end of the state. Whether or not my theory is applicable in the case of my friend and her Old Friend, it certainly seems applicable to my relationship to Holy Trinity. That is, I still feel a connection with the people and the place that’s beyond civil (which makes me Old Friend in the analogy above).

I suspect that the priest feels (well, beyond suspect, he’s said both of these things at least once) that we left because we don’t prefer incense, and that we were unwilling to try his “hypoallergenic” incense (because, I think he believes that the quality of the particulate in the air will somehow change the asthma attack that particulate in the air provokes. Asthma isn’t an allergic reaction or a preference (well, I would certainly prefer not to have it . . . but that’s a separate issue), and, truthfully, I was unwilling to have another avoidable asthma attack, or give Farmergirl one.

And — and here might be the rub — and I don’t think it’s a choice I should have to make. I think it is wrong to take a place that should be life-giving to all and to make it life-threatening. I don’t think there’s enough wine in this bottle for me to tell this story. I don’t think I can drink enough wine to tell it. My best and most generous explanation is that it’s too soon in his life, too soon in his career, too soon in his tenure as a priest for him to come to a more reflective, inclusive, life-affirming decision. Michael argues that he’s not appreciably younger than we are — which is true — but I don’t know what his life experience has been . . . we were both thrown into leadership roles in our early twenties, and have been managing (in my case, professor-ing) folks decades older than us for the whole intervening time. I look back at some of the decisions I made, and I see the folly of my own youth and lack of experience.

* God also hates bags, figs, and shrimp.

Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox is about the prettiest church we’ve been to this year. This is due, at least in part, to the stained glass, the dome, and the icons in the sanctuary. Farmergirl was a little weirded out by the icons, not because they were icons, but because she felt they were all grumpy and glaring. Sally explained, over brunch, that there were certain rules about the creation of icons, and that the facial expressions were part of those rules. She further explained that the icons are “looking out” from heaven at the worshipper.

If we thought we were fish out of water with the Roman Catholic mass or the Jehovah’s Witness Memorial Meal, we were really strangers in a strange land this morning with the 9am Orthros service. According to their website, the Orthros is “A morning prayer service of psalms and hymns to celebrate the Resurrection of Christ,” which is good to know, because it goes so fast and furious, slips in and out of English (we’re not 100% on what the other language was–maybe Greek, but even Michael, who’s studied the language, wasn’t sure), and there’s no prayer book to follow along with. It was liturgical, and the cantors (at first two, then three) and the priest were pretty obviously following a liturgy, but if it was available in the pews, we didn’t find it. One of the extraordinary things about the service was the rapidity with which the cantors and the priest spoke, and the speed at which they sang. We finally (think) we “got” the rhythm of when to stand or not: it seemed to be anytime the priest came out from behind the iconstasis to do something in front of the altar.

It was good that we’d read Frederica Mathewes-Green’s My First Visit to an Orthodox Church: 12 Things I Wish I Had Known. In particular, there were two things of note: first, we were the only ones there when the service started, and, as it progressed, several more people came and wandered around the sanctuary, kissing icons, lighting candles, saying prayers, and bowing at the altar. Had she not mentioned this particular practice, we would have been really confused. Michael said it was like “Montessori Church” — where there were lots of things you were permitted to do, all going on at the same time. One woman came in, bowed and kissed the icons that were on the altar rail, just in front of the front row, lit the two candles she brought with her, and then took her seat. One man bowed, kissed, and prayed in front of all the icons in front, plus most of the ones on the iconstasis, and, at some point, took what appeared to be a folded towel and a rosary from a decon who popped out from behind the iconstasis. (This guy surprised me, since I had no idea he was back there. I knew the priest was back there, but I thought he was alone). Another woman prayed in front of each of the windows all the way around the church, lighting the short red votives on each sill. Another man seemed to kind of be wandering, didn’t seem to be doing much praying, but crossed himself a lot. This bears a little explanation, as the tradition seems to involve more crossing than any other we’ve encountered — but this particular man seemed to do it more often still.

The other thing Mathewes-Green mentions is that the Orthros segues into the Divine Liturgy (which is listed as the 10am service). We cut out when the priest came out with the thurible to cense the altar.

(Which means, as my mil is reading me snippets of an essay on the use of jargon to mentally bludgeon other people, that the priest came out with a big gold pot on chains that was burning incense in it, and started swinging it around in front of the altar to create a big cloud of smoke. According to the brochure we picked up called “Welcome to this Holy House,” they use Incense during services

to recall the cloud which covered the Israelites in the desert (Exodus 13), symbolizing the presence of God. As we see ourselves enveloped in the clouds of incense, we recall that we are in God’s presence.

Now you’re “in” on that particular jargon. Don’t you feel special? Probably not — I probably have 7 more, undefined jargon words in this piece).

If you’ve followed along since the beginning of the project, you know that we’ve got respiratory issues, so we were hoping that one of the following would be true with regard to the incense: that they didn’t use it at this particular service, or this particular congregation didn’t use it, or that, it being a large building, even if they had it, it wouldn’t be an issue for us. The Orthros service suited the former, and we cut out before the Divine Liturgy. We considered staying, as the Orthos service seemed to be the lead-in to the 10am service (rather than a replacement for) and it looked like there might be a book to follow the liturgy, but none of us had the heart to suffer the incense and watch another fenced communion. Sally said she thought some of the folks in the congregation glared at us when we left, but I said I thought they were just looking out at us.

Actually, we were planning to do the 10am service, but when we got up this morning, none of us had the heart to just be communion spectators. According to the Mathewes-Green essay

Orthodox believe that receiving communion is broader than me-and-Jesus; it acknowledges faith in historic Orthodox doctrine, obedience to a particular Orthodox bishop, and a commitment to a particular Orthodox worshipping community. There’s nothing exclusive about this; everyone is invited to make this commitment to the Orthodox Church. But the Eucharist is the Church’s treasure, and it is reserved for those who have united themselves with the Church. An analogy could be to reserving marital relations until after the wedding.

I’ve been pondering that final line for a few months, and I don’t know the Orthodox view on other traditions (ie: is the eastern church the “only” or “true” church? — which would make the marital analogy work well), so I don’t think I have much of an answer for myself. Holy Trinity does have a Q&A on the first Tuesday of the month, so we could certainly go and find out . . . if we do, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, I have the piffling feeling that “the Church,” as Mathewes-Green is using it is not “the Church” as I think of it: that is, the Body of Christ in its many manifestations, denominations, and individual congregations.

Or maybe I’m just a communion slut . . . .

“What musical is this from?” Elaine whispered to me, as we sang Let There Be Peace on Earth (And Let It Begin With Me) toward the end of today’s service.
Heck, I don’t know. I often misidentify songs from musicals I’ve actually seen. And while I know the song, I didn’t think I’d seen it sung in a musical — and a quick tour of musicals in my head led me to conclude it’s not in Oklahoma, My Fair Lady, West Side Story, Annie, Hairspray, Cats, Lil’Abner, Les Miserables, Phantom, Menopause, Pirates of Penzance . . . I was quickly concluding that it wasn’t in a musical, but I wasn’t sure.

So I called the lovely Mrs. Baldwini after the service and asked her because, if there’s someone who knows show tunes, it’s the Baldwinis.
She answered, “No, that’s not from a show. It *is* the closing hymn of the Unity church though. Hey–where’d you guys go today?” (Apparently, she went to a Unity church for a while some years ago over on the west side, where they also sang this as part of their weekly service). (I was kind of disappointed that the hymnal didn’t include John Lennon’s Imagine, but then Michael reminded me that that’s more Unitarian hymn).

The sermon this morning (called the Lesson) was from Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth, and was about the interplay of the ego with the world, the importance of being “present,” and becoming a parent to your own inner child as a method to taming the ego, practicing being present, and moving past the roles we play (parent/customer/shy person/criminal/et cetera).

This was the third or fourth service where we’ve blessed the children either headed off for the children’s program, or returning from it. We did so also at Temple Beth Shalom, St. Ann’s, and the Seventh Day Adventists. This was, by far, the most joyous of the blessings, as we sang a very peppy song (with clapping) as they entered, and then had a blessing for them as they were up front with the Reverend Clare Austen (and followed up with a blessing for ourselves–which the Reverend pointed out was a step toward self-parenting the inner child).

One thing that I haven’t seen too often since my time in chapels on military installations is a specific greeting to newcomers. The Unity service has a specific time to greet newcomers, and they offer a packet of information (which included a copy of July’s Daily Word, a brochure on Service Leadership (groups you can join and service opportunities), a Prayer Request form, a paper on the children’s programs, and a copy of the current (June 2008, Vol 14 Issue 6) Discoveries (which seems to be the church newsletter)), a carnation, as well as an invitation for a free latte from the Barista stand, and an audio tape of one of their Sunday services. The Guest Welcome was followed by the Congregational Greeting, which is similar to the “passing of the Peace” in liturgical traditions, or the “greet those around you” portion of many services. This time was sandwiched between the first and last verses of a song. That is, we sang the song, then there was the greeting (the pianist continued to play), and we came back to our seats as we sang the last verse of the song. (I have to say, this is remarkably better than the 10-second Peace at One* where they dropped the houselights after the ten seconds of greeting, and moved abruptly on to the next item. If you didn’t catch it in my original report, it was my least favourite peace).

One of the problems with the project — one that I hadn’t quite anticipated playing out as it has — is the “cult” question that invariably arises when you’re talking to (especially, but not limited to) conservative evangelicals. (Certainly not limited to, as I’ve got it from Episcopalians and Catholics, too.  Most recently, an Episcopalian of my acquaintance asked were we “attending cult churches, too?” but didn’t define which groups she considered as part of the definition).

There’s an uneasy truce between the evangelicals, the mainliners, and the catholics. For the most part, the catholics and mainliners agree that they’re both probably Christian (and define the evangelicals as Christian, too — though the question of who is or isn’t getting into heaven may still be up for grabs). And most moderate evangelicals agree that, though apostate on any issue of social justice, the mainliners are mostly Christian, and the catholics are probably okay. (There are factions of both catholics and protestant evangelicals that hold the other is definitely not Christian, and likely to burn for all of eternity because of it, but I’m going to set those aside for the moment).

Where all three groups tend to come together is when they unite against “cults.” Loosely defined, “cults” include anyone who claims tenets of a certain faith (in this case Christianity), but either doesn’t hold enough of the tenets or has too much variation on the specifics for the mainliners, evangelicals, or catholics to “count” as a denomination rather than a cult. (Because the definition of “cult” is both slippery and tends to be pejorative, many scholars are now using the term “NRM” or New Religious Movement — though these often include religions that were “new” in the 19th, or even 17th centuries).

Walter Martin, an early writer on the subject of cults, and author of The Kingdom of the Cults, defines them in this way in his The Rise of the Cults:

By cultism we mean the adherence to doctrines which are pointedly contradictory to orthodox Christianity and which yet claim the distinction of either tracing their origin to orthodox sources or of being in essential harmony with those sources. Cultism, in short, is any major deviation from orthodox Christianity relative to the cardinal doctrines of the Christian faith.

Some of the differences between Unity’s theology and, say, the Nicene Creed, include it’s stance on
the divinity of Jesus:

Unity teaches that the spirit of God dwelt in Jesus, just as it indwells every person; and that every person has the potential to express the perfection of Christ, as Jesus did, by being more Christ-like in everyday life.

the virgin birth:

Unity accepts the virgin birth as an experience in the spiritual unfoldment of each individual. Thus the virgin birth is a spiritually interpreted as the birth of the Christ consciousness (the awakening of the awareness of God’s Spirit within) in the purified soul.

the crucification and resurrection of Christ:

Unity teaches that the cross symbolized the crossing out of all false beliefs. Here again, emphasis is on life and living, through the resurrection rather than on the Crucifixion.

The use of the word “Spirit” in the Unity literature is interesting, because it’s not usually preceded by a definite article (“Spirit” instead of “the Spirit”). For example, on Wednesday, there’s Meditation in the chapel from 6:30-6:50, and the invitation reads, Connect with Spirit! Likewise, in the announcement about the upcoming (August 16) Unity in the Community (a cultural and racial diversity celebration), participation also “opens consciousness in Spokane to our greater connection with spirit.” What I’m not sure of is if or not “S/spirit” is a personal pronoun (which would make sense with the capitalization and lack of article, but doesn’t make sense with the lowercase usage). This is perhaps something I ought to write in my letter (I’ve been slacking on project letters, but the Reverend Clare invited our inquiries when she met us at the door on the way out).

Unity’s emphasis is on the ecumenical similarities between denominations and religions, instead of the differences. This is the part that drives the doctrine-centric churches to distraction. But one of the things that Unity does well is to infuse the sacred back into all facets of life. They have a focus on prayer, meditation, and mindfulness, and see the sacred in everything and everyone.

In our readings on the Emergent/Emerging church movement, one of the things many of the author-pastors seek to do in their communities of faith is to integrate the spiritual back into the daily lives of their congregations, with or without a weekly church service or gathering for worship. This is one of the things that has the modernist Evangelicals up in arms over the postmodernist emergent movement: in bringing the sacred back into the secularized spheres, they (emergents) dabble too closely into ecumenical, universalist, spiritual practices that much of the doctrine-focused church has rejected as being everything from “un-Christian” to “unholy” to outright “anti-Christian”:

Any thoughtful consideration of the removal of the foundation and the boundaries for Christian faith must conclude that this postmodernization is fatal to biblical faith, stripping the term “faith” of any real meaning and opening the door to substantial change in fundamental beliefs. These changes can be found most prominently in the soteriology and eschatology of emergents. After they have undergone emergent accommodation to postmodernism, doctrines such as atonement and judgment no longer resemble the biblical teachings Evangelicals believe are non-negotiable….
The effect of the emergent movement’s presence in the body of Christ is equivalent to both an autoimmune disease (such as multiple sclerosis, in which the body attacks itself with harmful consequences) and an immunocompromising disease (such as AIDS, in which the body lowers its defenses to external pathogens). The Emerging Church movement acts like an autoimmune disease, stripping Christian terminology of its biblical meanings, and it acts like an immunocompromising disease, disarming the body’s defenses against foreign invasion. The result is that this movement represents a deadly influence within the Church which requires a decisive response from those who recognize it as such.

In his notes from the Unity Church of Truth this morning, Michael writes that, while much of the Emergent Church seems to be about Jesus without church, the Unity Church seems to be church without Jesus. This is not wholly accurate, as the denomination does have an emphasis on God (and even on Jesus), but it is not the same emphasis that evangelical, catholic, or mainline churches place on Jesus, as the son of God and savior.

One thing the Unity Church does, that is also a focus of the emergents, is meeting people in where they are. They’re warm, welcoming, and accepting. (If you just read those as positive attributes, please understand that the conservative traditions I mention above see “warm, welcome, and accepting” as hallmarks of cults, and with great suspicion.  If you read it as a list of negatives, please understand that I meant the list as positive attributes that I feel all ought to be true in all churches).   As many emergent writers have noted, there’s a cultural yearning for spirituality and expressions of faith, the question is if and how the church meet these needs in this time and place.

Postmoderns generally aren’t satisfied with pat answers to burning questions — journeying through the questions is more important than the final destination of the answers, and postmodern thought generally acknowledges the limitations of easy answers.   (Including the problems that arise within one’s faith community when questions are raised about these final answers — the stifling of which Michael calls “checking your brain at the door,” which is how we found ourselves in a tradition that’s based on creed rather than doctrine).

We actually told several people at Unity, including the reverend, about the project, and enjoyed all-around positive response, and several shared stories about similar journeys others had taken. (Last week, Scott at Crosswalk dubbed the project a “Spiritual Roadtrip” — a moniker we’ve adopted, as we see ourselves “church hopping” but not “church shopping”.  And roadtrips nearly always take you back to where you began, but with a renewed sense of purpose, a new eye on the “old,” and a new appreciation for both the familiar and the unfamiliar.  In these respects, it’s a very apt metaphor).

Ahh, the places our meanderings take us.

Our ending up at Crosswalk Community Church this morning started with Farmergirl and I going to Kaleo without Michael (he was on the Cursillo weekend), and me poking around, looking at the “Emergent/Emerging” movement, then finding the Spokane Emergent Cohort, and finding Crosswalk from there. (We can’t really double back to Kaleo without going to another service somewhere, under the paradigm of the 52 Churches project, and we’re suffering from some pretty vicious headcolds — the kind your don’t wish even on your worst enemy, so it was off to Crosswalk this morning for us).

As it turns out, the Cohort page is run by Scott Ellis, the music leader at Crosswalk, who also writes some of the music they do, including a song Michael particularly liked, a copy of which Scott very generously gave him (and which, for the second or third time, he’s just emerged from the green room having played. I think he’s trying to solidify it in his mind before he leaves on yet another plane in the morning. Now he’s whistling in the loft, filing papers).

The service included a time of singing, prayer, more singing, the sermon, and a closing song and benediction. The service music and sermon title were projected on the screen in the front, so the half-page “bulletin” contents were the announcements (including that their service with communion isn’t until next week — which was kind of a bummer — we’re probably back into a lean time on that in the project, unless we become more purposeful in our choices of where to go). The sermon was the fourth part of a series on Galatians (Galatians 2:1-10, specifically). It was very polished, and we ended up wondering, at about the same point in the sermon, if or not it was original. I’ve concluded I can’t take the heartache of finding a sermon that isn’t, so we asked the pastor, Mike, after the service, if or not his sermon was original (it was). He told us a story about a church he’d previously served at, where he and another member of the leadership team had discovered the senior pastor was using unoriginal material, so they’d quote it at the staff meetings in the week leading up to the sermon. He indicated the pastor was vexed by this, but didn’t change his practice.  In the sermon this morning, though, there were several gems (which you’ll be able to read at the Crosswalk site in the near future), but I wanted to share this on in particular, as it was one both Michael and I scribbled in our notes:  “You’re free because Jesus says you are — and his words have spoken entire worlds into being.”

At the door, the person who greeted us asked how we’d found the church.  I mentioned the Cohort, and the music leader approached us and said, “Hey!  Don’t run off after the service — I’d like to talk to you.”  So we stayed and chatted with a few folks.  Michael was particularly animated in the conversation . . . I asked Michael why let he loose this morning. He was very talkative about the project, about where we’ve been, and where we might be headed, about life and the church and all sorts of theological things . . . he narrowed his eyebrows at me and said, “It seemed like they would get it.” And it certainly felt like they did.

I think this is the first church where we’ve told anyone that we’ve been writing about the project. It’s not a secret . . . we just haven’t really announced it anywhere we’ve gone. Teresa has bets on if or not we’ll end up on the vestry of some church before the year is out. I say that can’t possibly happen, as we haven’t been anywhere more than once (with the exception of ECOR, which our priest there is calling our “spiritual PO box”). So the chance that we’d accidentally end up in leadership is pretty slim. But I think we are missing the connections that consistently fellowshipping with a faith community brings, as evidenced, in part by Michael’s response to the folks from the congregation we talked with after the service, and his offer of labour and technology to help set up a computer lab for their budding afterschool program. I’m not ready to concede this as a win for Teresa, but I think it points to the kind of connection you feel when you find people of like mind.

On a completely different note: they had cookies and coffee and tea in the foyer, but during the announcements, the pastor said that no one had signed up for or brought cookies this morning. He said that a member of the congregation had foiled his plans by popping around the corner to Safeway to get the ones that were there, because he thought that, without cookies, there would be a riot in the congregation, and a stampede to sign up to bring cookies. So, he concluded, next week . . . riot time (but the sign up sheet was out on the bulletin board, should anyone want to forgo the ensuing cookie violence).

Churches, perhaps more than any other institution or group, say “goodbye” poorly. It’s difficult to leave a church if you’re not also leaving town, because there’s inevitably feelings of betrayal* and rejection. It’s difficult to make transitions in personnel. It’s difficult to take a hiatus. Churches just don’t do “goodbye” well.

It is my sincerely held belief that the church needs to be as gracious in its partings as it is in its greetings.

I have, as friends do, been following the saga of my friend’s possible out-of-state employment, simultaneously hoping for the best for their family, and selfishly hoping they’d stay in town, because I enjoy the company of his family and will miss them. A few weeks ago, he was offered the job, then accepted it, then started working down south in Arizona part time. Because I’ve been watching this, and because his wife, also my friend, is the music director at ECOR, I’ve been pestering the priest there about when we’d do a celebration of her music ministry there, and asking who I might call to help out with said celebration. When I was in for the Fiber Arts group last Tuesday, he told me that both the choir director and the organist were leaving, and that we’d have a joint celebration of their service to the congregation on Sunday the 1st.

It was announced as a potluck, and there was a great outpouring of love and participation. ECOR is not a particularly supping church — there are a few special dinners through the calendar year, but it does not, for example, have a consistent Oneg Shabbat (which is, among others, one of the things that attracts me to Judaism). But there was a great bounty, which reflected, in part, the long, hard, winter** we’re slowly emerging from, and a great deal of time and love on the part of those who prepared it.

So many churches struggle with farewells, and simply leave partings to fade on their own. It was heartening to see so many come to show their appreciation for these women and their ministry in music, and to give thanks for that.

Sounds so nice and tidy, doesn’t it? The perfect parting . . . the right side bookend to a good greeting. Church life isn’t any less messy than the rest of life, however perfect we might wrongly think it ought to be. The organist didn’t show, which cast a bit of a pall on the celebration, as those gathered wished to give thanks and show their appreciation for her years of faithful service to the church.

There were many who did not attend, among them, many who’d worshiped alongside the organist as she served the church that was to combine and become ECOR. It is my dearest wish that their absence, with hers, points to a second, more intimate, celebration — I hope they went out for a spectacular luncheon, and that she felt appreciated by the congregation, knowing there were two celebrations of her music ministry that day.

That sounds so neat and tidy, too, doesn’t it?
But it’s not the movies, with a resolution and a perfect ending . . . it’s the stretching and growing and politics of a church, which are never neat and tidy and happily resolved for everyone. Most days, I think the best we can hope for from church is something like Juno or Little Miss Sunshine: a cast of screwball characters — flawed, broken people — each doing his or her best to make it through a difficult time.
But I often wonder if even that’s too much to hope for.
It doesn’t seem that it should be . . . it seems that it should be the essence of church life, not the cherry on top.

___

* Some years ago, we were part of a small church plant who’d recently attracted one young couple with children, who brought several of their friends and neighbors (other couples with young children) to the church. That summer, we (Michael, Farmergirl, and I) spent the summer in Spokane on a managerial-trading program, to see if we’d like to move out here. While we were gone, the four families moved on to other churches. The congregation and the leadership took it hard. So hard that at least one of them looked at me and said, “You know what that’s called, don’t you? A cult!” So hard that, when I ran into the mom from the original couple a year later at gymnastics, she said, hurt, “You know, Jen, when I ran into the priest at the store, he gave me the cold shoulder.”

Goodbyes shouldn’t be this hard at a church. In this particular situation, the families lived in the same neighborhood, the dads worked together, the kids were on the same ball teams, the moms had coffee together. When they outgrew the church plant, it made sense they did it together, and they left as they’d come: the one couple found something they liked, and shared it with the others.

**The dominate theme of the potluck turned out to be salad. California is blooming again with greens, and we’ve been starved of them through the long winter. There were crisp lettuce salads and creamy pasta salads, and even the hot dishes were full of vegetable-ly goodness. Following the same un-orchestrated theme, one of the cakes was a carrot cake, and the other was lemon with lemon curd.