The Revised Common Lectionary is used so much in our churches that it’s easy to forget it’s a relatively recent development. Attending seminary in the 1970’s I heard nothing about the Lectionary, except in references to liturgical churches in books on preaching. The sermon planning style recommended to me was the so-called lectio continuo: preach through a book of the Bible.
So that’s what I did for the first couple of years, though it didn’t take long for me to realize that I had to pick and choose. There are after all 16 chapters in the shortest Gospel, Mark; to preach through every word and do it any kind of justice would take at least half a year, and that wouldn’t fit into the celebrations of Christmas and Easter. (I know that wouldn’t bother John Calvin, but it bothered me) I also realized, with a shock, that in my picking and choosing I was unconsciously ignoring certain themes. I was truly abashed to realize that in working my way through one of the Gospels I had omitted all the healing stories. It wasn’t because I disbelieved in healing. It was evidently because I subconsciously preferred not to talk about it. Sigmund Freud would have a field day with me.
So I turned to the Lectionary, and I found another benefit: I got involved in a Lectionary study group. If you’ve never been part of one of these, I can’t recommend the practice too highly. It forces you to look at the texts further away than a few days; it lets you bounce your ideas off other preachers and hear what they have to say; it may even make you argue your position on a particular text or compel you to change your mind. Besides, every Lectionary group I’ve been part of has turned into a support group, and goodness knows we can all use a little support.
No, the Lectionary isn’t perfect, and there are times when I depart from it to work through a shorter book or follow a theme. But week after week, I find the discipline of Lectionary preaching the best way to feed a congregation, and nourish my own spiritual life as well.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Calvin on the Church
It hence follows, that they egregiously mistake who form an opinion of the Church according to their own perceptions. And surely if that celebrated Prophet, who was endued with so enlightened a mind, was so deceived, when he attempted by his own judgment to form an estimate of God’s people, what shall be the case with us, whose highest perspicuity, when compared with his, is mere dullness? Let us not then determine any thing rashly on this point; but rather let this truth remain fixed in our hearts — that the Church, though it may not appear to our eyes, is sustained by the secret providence of God. Let it also be remembered by us, that they are foolish and presumptuous who calculate the number of the elect according to the extent of their own perception: for God has a way, easy to himself, hidden from us, by which he wonderfully preserves his elect, even when all things seem to us past all remedy...
Since then the grace of God prevails so much in an extreme state of things, let us not lightly give over to the devil all those whose piety does not openly appear to us. It also ought to be fully imprinted on our minds, — that however impiety may everywhere prevail, and dreadful confusion spread on every side, yet the salvation of many remains secured under the seal of God. f338 But that no one may under this error indulge his own sloth, as many seek hiding-places for their vices in the hidden providences of God, it is right to observe again, — that they only are said to be saved who continue sound and unpolluted in the faith of God. This circumstance in the case ought also to be noticed, — that those only remained safe who did not prostitute their body, no, not even by an external act of dissimulation, to the worship of idols; for he not only ascribes to them a purity of mind, but that they had also kept their body from being polluted by any filthiness of superstition.- John Calvin, commenting on Romans 11:2
Since then the grace of God prevails so much in an extreme state of things, let us not lightly give over to the devil all those whose piety does not openly appear to us. It also ought to be fully imprinted on our minds, — that however impiety may everywhere prevail, and dreadful confusion spread on every side, yet the salvation of many remains secured under the seal of God. f338 But that no one may under this error indulge his own sloth, as many seek hiding-places for their vices in the hidden providences of God, it is right to observe again, — that they only are said to be saved who continue sound and unpolluted in the faith of God. This circumstance in the case ought also to be noticed, — that those only remained safe who did not prostitute their body, no, not even by an external act of dissimulation, to the worship of idols; for he not only ascribes to them a purity of mind, but that they had also kept their body from being polluted by any filthiness of superstition.- John Calvin, commenting on Romans 11:2
Monday, January 18, 2010
Cleaning Day
Today is the day I clean up my study. A friend reports that he was asked in an interview, “Are you a filer or a piler?” and if those are the choices, I have to describe myself as a piler. Every available horizontal surface is covered with stacks of paper, books, and miscellaneous objects. The upside is that it makes dusting easy. It’s probably a good thing that I have a small desk or it, too, would be piled with stuff. (See picture)
Those of you with neat work spaces will tell me how much easier it is to clean up as you go. Everything I’ve ever read about it has the same advice: every piece of paper should be handled once: filed, discarded, or passed on. Books, once read or consulted, should be returned to the shelf. Miscellaneous objects should be put in place or eliminated. It all makes perfect sense. But after working the other way for so long I have just about come to the conclusion that there’s no hope for me. I will always be a piler.
This is where I make a virtue of necessity: those who keep their workspace neat have no conception of the thrill of straightening up: of seeing the piles of paper disappear, of seeing the stacks of books back on the shelves, of seeing the knicknacks go in their proper places. The Indiana Jones-like excitement when a long-missing document is unearthed. The guilty pleasure of knowing you really should be doing something else but now have a perfect excuse not to do it: sorry, have to do this later, right now I’m cleaning up my study.
Finally I take comfort in the knowledge that nowhere does the Bible command us to be neat. “Cleanliness is next to godliness” comes, not from Scripture, but from John Wesley. When Paul says that all things should be done decently and in order, he’s talking about the community’s worship (1 Corinthians 14:40).
Now that that’s off my chest, it’s time to start straightening up.
Those of you with neat work spaces will tell me how much easier it is to clean up as you go. Everything I’ve ever read about it has the same advice: every piece of paper should be handled once: filed, discarded, or passed on. Books, once read or consulted, should be returned to the shelf. Miscellaneous objects should be put in place or eliminated. It all makes perfect sense. But after working the other way for so long I have just about come to the conclusion that there’s no hope for me. I will always be a piler.
This is where I make a virtue of necessity: those who keep their workspace neat have no conception of the thrill of straightening up: of seeing the piles of paper disappear, of seeing the stacks of books back on the shelves, of seeing the knicknacks go in their proper places. The Indiana Jones-like excitement when a long-missing document is unearthed. The guilty pleasure of knowing you really should be doing something else but now have a perfect excuse not to do it: sorry, have to do this later, right now I’m cleaning up my study.
Finally I take comfort in the knowledge that nowhere does the Bible command us to be neat. “Cleanliness is next to godliness” comes, not from Scripture, but from John Wesley. When Paul says that all things should be done decently and in order, he’s talking about the community’s worship (1 Corinthians 14:40).
Now that that’s off my chest, it’s time to start straightening up.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Funeral Meditations
Had one of those funerals yesterday that I would rather not have had to do: the deceased was a 33-year-old man, the same age as one of our sons, who left behind a wife and two children, not to mention a mother and three brothers. More than 700 people came to the visitation and 300 or more came to the funeral. I wrote a funeral sermon on Saturday, then after the visitation I tore it up, chose new Scriptures, and wrote a new sermon. Someone else might have done it differently, or done it better, but I was the one who was called on to do it, and I did what I hope was my best, under God. People told me it was helpful.
So while I would rather not have had to do that funeral, I was glad I was able to do it. If as the church we can’t offer something at a time like this, we probably ought to close up and sell the building. “If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.” (1 Corinthians 15:19 NRS)
Nevertheless, these are the times we feel most inadequate as preachers, which is probably good for us spiritually. After all, “we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.” (2 Corinthians 4:7 NRS) It brings out the paradox of everything we do, from preaching to counseling to administration: nothing happens that does not happen by the power of God, yet nothing happens that doesn’t involve work on our part as well. Somehow God takes what we do and uses it, often in ways we don’t even know about.
So today I am reflecting and looking ahead to Sunday and calling on a few people, believing that God is as much a part of my ordinary activities as he was of our extraordinary activities yesterday.
So while I would rather not have had to do that funeral, I was glad I was able to do it. If as the church we can’t offer something at a time like this, we probably ought to close up and sell the building. “If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.” (1 Corinthians 15:19 NRS)
Nevertheless, these are the times we feel most inadequate as preachers, which is probably good for us spiritually. After all, “we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.” (2 Corinthians 4:7 NRS) It brings out the paradox of everything we do, from preaching to counseling to administration: nothing happens that does not happen by the power of God, yet nothing happens that doesn’t involve work on our part as well. Somehow God takes what we do and uses it, often in ways we don’t even know about.
So today I am reflecting and looking ahead to Sunday and calling on a few people, believing that God is as much a part of my ordinary activities as he was of our extraordinary activities yesterday.
Monday, January 4, 2010
The Big Storm of '09
Last year I took both of the congregations I serve through a series of what we called “cottage meetings.” The people gathered by small groups in private homes for an evening of sharing around the following questions, which came to me from a long-forgotten source as “Quaker Questions:”
1.Where did you live between the ages of 8 and 13, and what were the winters like?
2.How was your home heated during that time?
3.What was the center of warmth in your home during that time? (It could be a place, person, or time of day)
4.When did God become a “warm person” to you, and how did it happen?
Over the years I’ve learned to expect both conventional and surprising results from those questions, and this year was no exception. One thing that kept coming up was that most of us remembered winters as being more severe when we were growing up than we have experienced lately.
Of course I found myself wondering how much of that was accurate and how much the effect of the passing of time, blizzards and snowdrifts increasing in our memory until they assume nearly mythical proportions. Dylan Thomas, in his beautiful memoir, A Child’s Christmas in Wales, writes, “I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.” After all, we only have snow at Christmas about half the time in Iowa, yet our memories all tend to be of white Christmases.
Well. This is turning out to be a real old-fashioned Iowa winter with two- and three-day blizzards, messing up travel plans, forcing churches to cancel services—this is the first time I can remember canceling Christmas Eve services in 30+ years of ministry—and straining the already-strained budgets of towns, counties, businesses and churches as we cope with finding places for all the snow.
Interestingly, all the people I’ve talked to, even the family who went without electricity for three days, seem to be taking it all in stride, finding things to celebrate and be thankful for in the middle of some mighty serious weather. We talked, we read, we huddled together for warmth, we shoveled and scraped and ran snowblowers, and in spite of everything, we enjoyed Christmas.
As pastors, this weather makes our jobs harder in some ways, but it may force us to spend a little more time reading, reflecting, and even planning. And I guess that brings me back to the point I was making a few weeks ago: learn to adapt to what’s happening in your world, and you might find that God is giving you an opportunity.
1.Where did you live between the ages of 8 and 13, and what were the winters like?
2.How was your home heated during that time?
3.What was the center of warmth in your home during that time? (It could be a place, person, or time of day)
4.When did God become a “warm person” to you, and how did it happen?
Over the years I’ve learned to expect both conventional and surprising results from those questions, and this year was no exception. One thing that kept coming up was that most of us remembered winters as being more severe when we were growing up than we have experienced lately.
Of course I found myself wondering how much of that was accurate and how much the effect of the passing of time, blizzards and snowdrifts increasing in our memory until they assume nearly mythical proportions. Dylan Thomas, in his beautiful memoir, A Child’s Christmas in Wales, writes, “I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.” After all, we only have snow at Christmas about half the time in Iowa, yet our memories all tend to be of white Christmases.
Well. This is turning out to be a real old-fashioned Iowa winter with two- and three-day blizzards, messing up travel plans, forcing churches to cancel services—this is the first time I can remember canceling Christmas Eve services in 30+ years of ministry—and straining the already-strained budgets of towns, counties, businesses and churches as we cope with finding places for all the snow.
Interestingly, all the people I’ve talked to, even the family who went without electricity for three days, seem to be taking it all in stride, finding things to celebrate and be thankful for in the middle of some mighty serious weather. We talked, we read, we huddled together for warmth, we shoveled and scraped and ran snowblowers, and in spite of everything, we enjoyed Christmas.
As pastors, this weather makes our jobs harder in some ways, but it may force us to spend a little more time reading, reflecting, and even planning. And I guess that brings me back to the point I was making a few weeks ago: learn to adapt to what’s happening in your world, and you might find that God is giving you an opportunity.
Monday, December 21, 2009
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