Will There Be Schism?

My Lutheran church, the ELCA, has its annual meeting next week in Minneapolis. Once again, we'll be returning to the question of sexuality. I'm hoping that by now we can all agree that we should be a welcoming church to everybody, regardless of orientation. One of our social statements proposes that we say such a thing outright.

The far more incendiary statement deals with pastors who are in committed, homosexual relationships. We voted on the statement during our Synod Assembly, and I failed to see how divisive it might be. It states that individual churches will decide the issue. So, we could have one church that decides not to call a person in a committed homosexual relationship, but at least rostered clergy wouldn't lose their ordination because of their love lives.

Notice that the statement specifies that the homosexual pastor, like the heterosexual pastor, must be in a committed relationship. Some people object because we tend to punish pastors who are living in committed, heterosexual, non-married relationships. I see that point. Yet, we're not giving homosexuals in most states the option of marriage, so I'm not sure how to work around the dilemma at this point.

I also see the problems inherent with letting each individual church judge the sexual nature of the potential pastor and requiring each church to judge whether or not the relationship qualifies as committed. I understand that a unified stance is more desirable in some lights.

But I really like that we've come to a point where we say, "We can agree to disagree. People of faith can come to radically different conclusions about a given social issue, and we've decided to honor that" (I'm paraphrasing the social statement that the whole church body will vote upon next week).

On the homosexuality issue, unlike with some other social justice issues, it's hard for me to see the side that's not mine, to understand where people are coming from. With abortion, although I tend to the pro-choice side, I understand the pro-life side. I've become increasingly queasy with the issue. But with homosexuality, I've always thought that what interests God is the quality of our relationships, not how the genital parts fit together. It's hard for me to see the other arguments, particularly the ones that pull Old Testament passages to support the arguments. Read the rest of Leviticus and tell me that you're going to live by all those laws. No, I didn't think so.

So, I will pray for the churchwide Assembly next week. So far, the ELCA has avoided the fireworks that our Episcopalian siblings are suffering, although I suspect that many churches have become Missouri Synod (the more conservative Lutherans in America, although not the most conservative), and depending on what happens next week, more may migrate. But that's O.K. Sometimes schism is necessary.

In future years, I'm sure that people will wonder what all this fuss was about. They'll shake their heads over the fact that some Episcopalians felt so strongly about the homosexuality issue that they'd pledge themselves to African missions rather than stay with the American Episcopate. They'll probably wonder why we spent so much time talking about this issue, while people died of very preventable diseases and the Congo became a cesspool of rape and violence and the divide between rich and poor became insurmountable. I have no answer for that, only sorrow.

Meditation on This Week and Next Week's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, August 16, 2009:

First Reading: Proverbs 9:1-6

First Reading (Semi-cont.): 1 Kings 2:10-12; 3:3-14

Psalm: Psalm 34:9-14

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 111

Second Reading: Ephesians 5:15-20

Gospel: John 6:51-58

The readings for Sunday, August 23, 2009:

First Reading: Joshua 24:1-2a, 14-18

Psalm: Psalm 34:15-22

Second Reading: Ephesians 6:10-20

Gospel: John 6:56-69

Since I am unsure of my computer access next week, I decided to combine my efforts into one mediation. Maybe I'm wimping out--maybe I'm running out of things to say about bread. There is a certain repetitiveness to these Gospels. It's rare that we're given a chance to fully explore one of the central images of our Christian faith: where would we be if we didn't have bread?

I work above the Culinary department at my school, and sometimes, I walk through the dining room and kitchens, just because it brings me joy to see people cook. I love to see the Baking and Pastry students at work. The sight of loaves of bread cooling on racks brings me great happiness. When I told the head chef of that department that I love to see the bread cooling, he said, "You should come by later. I'll give you a loaf to take home."

Who can resist that? So I did. I watched the student wrap up my bread in plastic wrap and resisted the urge to say, "Don't bother. I'm going to eat it on the way home." I kept it wrapped to share with my husband.

The chef gave me instructions to freeze it after the first day. He said, "It's just made today, so it won't stay fresh as long as supermarket bread." He needn't have bothered. We ate most of the loaf that night.

As I walked to my car, with a loaf of bread that was bigger than a baby in my arms, I felt so cared for. I thought, I'll always have weight issues if I see food as love.

But food is love, in many ways. There's a reason why Jesus uses food imagery when he refers to himself. We can't go long without food. For most of us, if we miss a meal we become grumpy and irritable. Miss several meals, and we can scarcely think about anything else but food.

It's a shame that most of us don't have a similar approach to our spiritual lives. Imagine if we felt spiritually ravenous if we missed our daily prayer. Imagine if we were filled with longing and joy as we passed the churches and houses of worship on our way to work.

Again and again Jesus reminds us of the necessity of nourishing ourselves with him. Our ancestors ate manna, and they died. We can feast on the food that will bring us eternal life.

God calls us to do serious work. We must live as if the Kingdom of God has already taken over our world. To keep ourselves strong for that work we need to keep ourselves fed with good food: homemade bread and good wine, grilled fish, the words of the Bible, the words of writers who inspire us to transform both ourselves and the world, the images of people who inspire us to visions of a better world, music that can wind its way through our days, prayers that keep us connected to God, relationships that remind us that we are loved and cherished and worthy, and the sacrament of Holy Communion.

Intentional Communities, both Religious and Secular

Yesterday, I grabbed a quick bite to eat with one of my English major friends. Talk turned, as it often does, to the idea of intentional communities. I've often wondered if English majors talk about intentional communities because so much of our great literature comes from people who experimented with alternate lifestyles. Maybe people majoring in Engineering just don't have that history.

In any case, my friend had intentional communities on the brain because she'd just seen a repeat of the Oprah show where Oprah went to that Mormon community in Texas which briefly lost custody of their children earlier this year. I saw part of that show when it first aired, and while I found the exploration of their daily lives interesting, I just found it too creepy to watch these middle-aged men assert that they only wanted very young women for wives.

The question I always have is whether or not an intentional community can work for the long haul without some sort of religious framework. I don't even always mean religious in the traditional meaning of that word. My theory is that people who have some sort of higher reason for being together in community--whether that be scholarship, artistic creation, or worship of the Creator--have a better chance of staying together.

My friend was in a Hobbesian mood, where she didn't believe in the better natures of humans, so she saw dark motives in all intentional communities. Of course, she'd just watched that Oprah show, which would predispose one to a Hobbesian mood. I, the eternal optimist, countered that intentional communities could put in place a framework to support us in our quest to becoming the better people that we want to be.

I had to get back to work, so we didn't have time to fully explore these issues. And we didn't have time for me to offer one of my more controversial viewpoints. If I was a betting woman, I'd bet that religious communities have a better chance for lasting than other intentional communities.

Of course, a lot of intentional communities are based in impermanence, the most obvious example being colleges and universities. But for the ones that want to survive, do religious communities have more of a chance?

My brain tends to head towards monasteries and abbeys, religious communities which have lasted for centuries, many of them. I'm sure if we did an exhaustive search, we could find as many failed religious communities as we'd find failed artistic enclaves. Or would we?

Ah, to be younger, to have time to do that kind of research, perhaps to write a dissertation. Of course, my interest is much more practical. As one who daydreams about creating an intentional community, I wonder what would stack the deck in my favor. And can a religious community have some non-religious people in its midst without undercutting its purpose? That's the question I'd really like answered.

When Churches Become Real Estate Developers

I read this story in this morning's The Washington Post. It talks of several megachurches (all on the evangelical side of the spectrum, I'm guessing from the names) who have created real estate developments with a church as part of the plans. Often, they include low or moderate income housing and/or housing for the elderly too.

In a way, I think that's brilliant. I remember during the 80's, that some downtown D.C. churches, including Luther Place, bought or developed row houses that were in the same block as the church. They turned them into places where people could get social services, as well as some housing for the oppressed. But that was small scale, compared to what the churches in the article are attempting.

Part of me loves the idea. I'd love to live in the same neighborhood as my church, and I think I'd like to have my church members be neighbors. It would be easier to pray together, to study together, to take nightly walks together. It would be easier to tend to the church property if it didn't involve getting in the car.

Part of me worries though. I know that the demands of church property often drives the church budget, which means that few resources are available for true ministry. When I was church council president, worries about how to tend to the property took an inordinate amount of time. I began to see the wisdom in keeping churches small--small enough to meet in people's living rooms. I began to see the wisdom in keeping the church mobile--Jesus sending out the earliest church, two by two, with very few possessions. The more possessions you must tend to, the less time/energy/money you have to tend to the lost sheep of the world.

It's an interesting idea, though. My mom and dad are looking at Lutheran retirement communities, and part of me feels a twinge of jealousy. For me, of course, it's out of the question: these places are too far away from any possible work I might do and they're way too expensive for normal working folks. But these experiments that I read about this morning? Those bear watching as a possible model for the rest of us. Something to ponder, something to dream about . . .

The Feast of the Transfiguration--and Hiroshima Day

Today, Orthodox churches celebrate the Feast of the Transfiguration, the day when Jesus went up the mountain with several disciples and becomes transfigured into a radiant being. Those of you who worship in Protestant churches may have celebrated this event just before Lent began, so you may not think of it as a summer kind of celebration. Pre-Reformation traditions often celebrated this day in conjunction with blessing the first harvest.

Those of us with any sense of history are likely also remembering today as the day when the first atomic bomb used in warfare was detonated at Hiroshima, thus launching us into this brave new world where we find ourselves.

I find it an interesting conjunction, and of course, I've written a poem about it. But since it hasn't been published, I hesitate to put the whole thing here; I'll put some of my favorite bits here. It begins with these 2 lines:

"We long to be transfigured in the Holy Flame,
to harness atoms to do our will."

and later in the poem:

"Like Peter, we long to harness Holiness,
to build booths, to charge admission.
Christ turned into Carnival."

(if these lines whet your appetite, you can e-mail me at kristinlba@aol.com, and I'll send you your very own copy).

And of course, with a story like that of the Transfiguration, I can't help but think about my own life. How would I like to be transfigured? Some days, the question is really, in what ways wouldn't I like to be transfigured?

But that question is really too me-focused, as the readings for today show us. The question is really how do each of us respond to the Transfigured Lord?

Today is a good time to spend with the texts for the day, to carve out some time for quiet contemplation. Go here for readings, complete with links, so that you can read online, if that's easier.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, August 9, 2009:

First Reading: 1 Kings 19:4-8

First Reading (Semi-cont.):

2 Samuel 18:5-9, 15, 31-33

Psalm: Psalm 34:1-8

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 130

Second Reading: Ephesians 4:25--5:2

Gospel: John 6:35, 41-51


The Gospel for this week has provoked controversy from the moment Jesus said it. Indeed, disagreements about the Eucharist have prompted schisms within denominations, and one might argue, wars have been fought over the issue of what Jesus meant, how literally we're to take his words. People today are no less mystified than they were when they heard it. Perhaps you've forgotten how strange it sounds, especially if you grew up in a church that had the Eucharist as a centerpiece of worship or held it as a serious sacrament. But take a minute and think about what it is you think is happening when we celebrate communion together.

Are we just remembering Christ's life? Is Communion like a Thanksgiving dinner, where we eat certain foods because they remind us of our ancestors and of our traditions as a family and as a nation?

Do you see Communion as a simple symbol? Or are you like Flannery O'Connor, one of the greatest short story writers of the twentieth century, a Catholic who said, "Well, if it’s just a symbol, all I can say is to hell with it.”

People like Flannery O'Connor see the sacrament as so much more. In her book Girl Meets God, Lauren F. Winner argues for restoring an older term for the Eucharist: Viaticum: "Viaticum was a Roman term; it designated the food, clothes, and money that a Roman magistrate took with him when he traveled on state business, . . . the necessaries he needed to get him through his trip" (188). The term was first used with deathbed rites, but came to be used for any Eucharist. It's a term that reminds us how necessary the Eucharist should be to us. Winner quotes an unnamed minister who calls it "the sacrament of maintenance" (188). If you wonder why we dutifully offer Communion each and every Sunday, you might, in fact, fault the Church for not making it available on a daily basis.

Henri Nouwen spent much of his writing talking about Communion, trying to impress upon his readers how important it is. In Bread for the Journey: A Daybook of Wisdom and Faith, he says, "The Eucharist is the sacrament by which we become one body. . . . It is becoming the living Lord, visibly present in the world" (reading for Oct. 13). In the reading for the next day, he says, "We who receive the Body of Christ become the living Christ." Nouwen argues for a mystical--yet very real--transformation: the wine and bread transform themselves into blood and body which then transforms us from ordinary sinful human into Christ.

We are hungry for that transformation, but like those people who followed Christ from shore to shore, hoping for a free meal, we often don't know what we hunger for (perhaps this explains why so many of us shop compulsively, eat compulsively, drink compulsively, gulp down anti-anxiety medications and antidepressants). We want to do God's work in the world, but there's so much work to do, and we're so tired before we even get started.

Our Scriptures remind us in both the Old and New Testaments that God provides. God gives us both physical food and spiritual food. But we must be receptive. God won't open our mouths and chew for us.

Our ancestors would have seen the temptation to skip church and sleep in for what it was: the devil trying to lead us astray. We are in such desperate need of spiritual renewal. We think we need sleep, but we need communion (and I use that word on all sorts of levels).

We are in the dog days of summer, when it seems so long until we feel Fall's coolness. We may be in a bit of a spiritual funk, as well. I often find August a slow slog, spiritually. We're deep into that long, green season, but so far away from Advent. And now we hit week after week of bread Gospels.

But of course, the Gospels point the way out of my spiritual doldrums. Perhaps it is time to return to a bread baking regimen. I can watch the yeast work its magic and contemplate the work of the Holy Spirit in the world. I can share that bread with others and take a moment to catch up. I can end the day with a Psalm, a glass of wine, a prayer of thanks. In the morning, as I bathe, I can remember my baptism and pray, "Preserve me with your mighty power that I may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity; and in all I do direct me to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ my Lord" (found throughout the 3 volume set The Divine Hours by Phyllis Tickle). Then, fortified, I can do the work of the week before returning again to the sacraments of Sunday.

Garrison Keillor's Lutheran Show

I don't always listen to Garrison Keillor's A Prairie Home Companion, and when I do, I rarely listen to the whole show. Yesterday was an exception. Yesterday, the whole show was dedicated to the subject of what it means to be a Lutheran. I particularly love the ending clip about the Lutheran travel agency which guarantees you won't have too much fun, so you won't feel guilty about being on vacation.

I suspect that even if you didn't grow up Lutheran, if you've been part of a church at all (especially a mainstream Protestant type church), you'll find a lot of Keillor's material to feel familiar. Anyone who has been part of a church (or any social institution for that matter) knows that there's plenty of material for humor and satire here. And what I love about Keillor is that his satire never feels savage or brutal. You can feel the love that he has for the woman who doesn't want her clothes ripped off in a grand passion ("Can't I just wear old clothes that I don't mind having ripped?") or the choir directors who have to work with a wide range of talents.

He's got great musical guests on the show as well as wonderful skits and those fake commercials. What a great gift NPR gives us with all their eclectic programming.