2000 July - Dec.

Memo to Ann Landers: Yes, I Still Do Weddings

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: Genesis 2:18-24

 

Several years ago, Ann Landers….who I almost never read….rendered an opinion on the proper way to hang a roll of toilet paper. I don’t remember whether she said that the squares should come out from under, or down from over. But the argument raged for weeks, with readers taking sides as to whether she was right or whether she was wrong.

Which was the biggest “brouhaha” Ann’s column ever caused, until a Catholic bishop wrote and told her (in no uncertain terms) why he hated to perform weddings. His diatribe was like dynamite under a dam. Suddenly, letters flooded in from clergy of all shapes and sizes, saying that they hated weddings, too. And telling her why. There were tales of intoxicated groomsmen, overbearing mothers, erotic wedding kisses, Broadway musical selections, and sanctuaries filled with guests who didn’t look like they had the faintest idea where they were….nor did they care.

There was the story of the best man who dropped his trousers at the head of the recessional, the bride who wanted her dog to walk her down the aisle (no, she wasn’t blind), and the groom who announced to all within earshot: “Here comes the preacher who shows up anytime there is free food.” But the prize for tastelessness went to the semi-sloshed father of the bride who, in answer to the preacher’s question, “Who gives this woman to be married to this man,” responded: “Your wife and I do.”

All of which seemed to interest you more than me. You clipped the columns and dropped them on my desk, literally begging for comment. So here it is.

Clearly, Ann struck a nerve. Many clergy do not like to do weddings and figure out ways to minimize their number. Peek behind rules that churches establish (as to who can stand at the altar and who can’t) and you will often find pastors who would just as soon spend their Saturday afternoons elsewhere. In part, their reluctance is a matter of timing. If more weddings took place at 11:00 on Tuesday or 1:30 on Thursday, you might find fewer pastoral scruples against performing them. With clergy weekends already sliced-and-diced-every-which-way-from-Sunday (by all that happens on Sunday), you can see what Friday night rehearsals and Saturday weddings do to what remains of the weekend….especially when one does over 50 a year.

But there’s another issue that clergy will never talk about in public. That being money. In churches where there is not an established fee structure….including appropriate honorariums for officiant and organist….it is not uncommon for the bride’s family to spend three or four thousand dollars on flowers only to have the groom slip a rumpled ten dollar bill to the preacher. I can tell you that because it’s not a concern, personally. But late at night….behind closed doors….when the hair comes down at clergy gatherings….all you have to do is listen.

Do I do weddings? Sure! Lots of them. Fewer now, than before. No more years of 50….and I am working hard to get the number under 40. But, career-wise, I am pressing ever closer toward 1700. We do lots of weddings here. I did one last night. Rod did one yesterday afternoon. At 5:00 on Friday, I did a vow renewal ceremony for Lindsay Hinz’s parents, on the occasion of their 50th anniversary. After the renewal, they all went out for an elegant family dinner. Which made no sense to me, given that they could have gotten away at a fraction of the price at the Ice Cream Social. But I like vow renewals. That’s because they smack of success.

Do I have horror stories I could send to Ann Landers? A few. But, surprisingly, very few. There was the groom who smoked a “joint” in my bathroom. Nor will I soon forget the day we had plainclothes cops sprinkled around the building in case the bride’s old boyfriend followed through on his threat to “put somebody down for the count” if she ever married anybody but him. And then there’s my colleague’s remembrance of the four-year-old boy, neatly attired with tux and pillow, who growled all the way down the center aisle because someone told him that he was the “ring bear.” But, over the years, I’ve liked most people in most weddings….with the possible exception of videographers. And I’ve learned the art of working with them beforehand, so as to minimize my irritation with them afterward. I’ve gotten smarter as the years have gone by. One day I woke up and realized that, in this burgeoning (and somewhat lucrative) industry that we call “the wedding business,” all of us have jobs to do. And if I can help you do yours in ways that will cause minimal infringement upon mine, we will all be a lot happier….and the results will be a whole lot prettier.

Still, somebody has to be in charge. And here….in my shop….it’s me. Not the photographer. Not the videographer. Not the floral arranger or the wedding coordinator. Not the string quartet conductor, the bride’s mother, or even the bride. But me.

If that seems heavy handed, it’s not. Because I am not. In fact, I’m a bit of a pussycat. Most people find me easy….perhaps, even charming….to work with. That’s because I listen. I mean, I really listen. I listen to what you want to do. But more important, I listen to why you want to do it. Then I try to help you accomplish your objectives in ways that will make sense spiritually and artistically.

Knowing that a minimum of one wedding in three will have some underlying family tension attached to it, I work things through (carefully and in advance) with the bride and groom. That way, nothing is left to chance at the rehearsal. Wedding rehearsals are my ministry to your anxiety. Having planned carefully, I simply announce the seating arrangements involving dad’s new girlfriend (who everybody is meeting for the first time, including mom)….not to mention the in-laws who can’t abide each other and don’t speak to each other. And I would never put a floor plan issue up for grabs on Friday night, where an egocentric bridesmaid could make a grandstand play to change everything around, so that this wedding might become a carbon copy of her wedding that took place six months ago.

On the night of the rehearsal….in the midst of this swelling sea of nervousness….someone has to look like they know what they are doing. And that someone has to be me. That’s where I earn the rumpled ten dollars or whatever. In fact, I am floored by the number of times people say (with reference to the rehearsal): “Oh, you made us feel so very much at ease.” When, if the truth be told, I worry that I am being just a tad dictatorial. I comfort myself by saying that I am not imposing my will if I have listened (and negotiated) with sensitivity, beforehand. Still, as much as it may be “your day,” it is still “my shop.”

What does the Bible say about weddings? Precious little. Does the Bible tell me how to perform one? Not that I can discern. Everybody remembers the story about Jesus and the wedding that took place in Cana of Galilee. Jesus went….accompanied by his mother. He performed his first miracle there. He turned water into wine there. He saved the reception from becoming a total disaster there. And he caused an argument between the guests and the host over why this new-and-improved wine had been held back until the party was nearly over.

But this story is tricky. It’s not about weddings. It’s not about receptions. It’s not about anybody’s personal preference for Mondavi over Manischevitz. Instead, it’s a cryptic story about a theological paradigm shift. How’s that for a fifty-dollar phrase? It’s a story about Jesus being the new wine….whose time is coming. And it’s a story about Judaism representing the old wine….whose time has been.

But if we scan the pages of scripture, we can glean a few interesting tidbits about weddings in biblical times. From the Book of Tobit (7:14), we learn of the existence of a wedding contract….meaning that “prenuptials” aren’t necessarily all that new. From the Song of Songs, we learn of a special bridal garment, including the existence of adornment. From Genesis 24:35, we learn that the bride, even then, was probably veiled. From Judges 14:11, we learn that the groom most likely had attendants, including a best man. From Matthew 9:15, Mark 2:19 and Luke 5:34, we learn that it was traditional to invite a number of wedding guests.

Jeremiah 7:34 suggests a procession accompanied by music (meaning that Doris Hall worked Saturdays, even then). The Book of Ruth hints of a skirt-spreading ceremony, whatever that was. Deuteronomy 22:13-21 raises the possibility of a virginity check prior to the ceremony. Alas, it appears that this was required only of the bride. And various references in Tobit (located in the Apocrypha) and Judges….along with the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins in Matthew 25….give evidence that wedding festivities may have lasted a minimum of seven days, all the way up to a maximum of fourteen. But of particular interest to me this morning is the passage I just read from the second chapter of Genesis, the one that concludes: “This, at last, is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. Called woman, she is born of man. And a man shall leave his mother and cleave to his wife, and the two shall become as one flesh.” This image of “one flesh” is perhaps the most ancient matrimonial symbol. And its appearance at the conclusion of a Genesis creation story suggests that marriage was deemed to be part of the natural….and intended…. order of creation.

On the average Saturday, does everybody understand that? I doubt it. Secularity is ripe on the planet. And it is especially virulent among those of marrying age. Years ago, most weddings took place in church and were followed by a simple reception in fellowship hall, hosted by the ladies of the church. No beer. No band. But even the poorest little church had a silver tea set. Which meant that there was tea….lemon wedges….sugar cubes….round mints….bowls of mixed nuts (from which I always tried to extract the few visible pecans)….individualized squares of vanilla ice cream (paper wrapped) with little pink colored hearts frozen inside….and cake. Of course, cake. Which was sometimes upgraded to include those ridiculously expensive little tea sandwiches (which men positively abhor as they talk in groups about whose idea it was to veto the serving of “real food”).

Do we see such receptions anymore? Not much. In part, because even if the bride and groom wanted it, most churches wouldn’t have anybody left who would remember how to do it….or would volunteer for it. Meaning that it’s not just today’s kids who are different.

Today, people get married in all kinds of places….especially in California. Twice in the last two years, I have flown to the coast to officiate in a California wedding. Once at a golf resort. The other time at a winery. I’m here to tell you that “winery weddings” are a big deal in the West.

Do I go outside of the church to do weddings? Sure! Do I do so often? Not really. Do I water down what I do….when I don’t “do church?” No. Because I have this weird habit….implanted at ordination….of carrying “church” in me, whether I am surrounded by stained glass or green grass. Weddings, you see, may be set in the context of the sacred or the secular. But marriage, to me….even though I am light years removed from Roman Catholicism….hints at (and maybe even smacks of) a sacrament. When I do a wedding, the understanding I bring to it is that God is in it….and that Christ comes to it. Meaning that from day-one of the planning to moment-last of the benediction, I try to lift everyone six or seven feet above a morbidly obsessive preoccupation with questions concerning nut cups or no nut cups

If I am successful, I will leave you with a clear (albeit unspoken) message….whether you are the bride, the groom, or the mothers of the bride and groom….that this is not (just) about you. This is about some strange and exotic mystery that Paul twice referred to as “Christ and the church.” Which suggests a certain manner of “living with”….along with a certain openness to “dying for.” How in the world did Christ love the church? Well, lots of words come to mind. But “sacrificially” is the one that sticks.

I doubt most couples know this. But I think many couples sense this. Their language gives them away. When they talk (repeatedly) about this being a “big day,” they are not just talking about the clothes they are wearing….the guests they are greeting….the money they are spending….but about the awesomeness of what they are undertaking (and the fact that if all they bring to it is what “they” bring to it, they will probably fail). Not that they’ll ever admit it. But they fear it. Let me tell you, they fear it.

And so a wedding becomes a moment….a personal and professional moment….to see what I can bring to it. Or, better yet, to see who I can bring to it. Which is why I don’t lose a lot of sleep over whether those I marry are members (or even attenders). Because a wedding is one of those moments in which everybody is incredibly vulnerable, don’t you see. And vulnerability is the one thing that throws open more windows to the fresh air of the gospel, than anything else I know.

Do I come across heavy handedly? Of course not. But do I blow weddings off lightly? Of course not. Here at First Church, we even instituted a “Preparation for Marriage Seminar” (of four weeks duration) as one component of our agreement with the couples we marry. Does premarital work, work? Gosh, I hope so. Does it ever stop people from going ahead with the wedding? Once in a blue moon….maybe.

Let’s get real. By the time most people see me, things are pretty much on cruise control. Which means they are going ahead. So it’s relatively ridiculous for me (from my position) to render judgments like:

            Insider….outsider,

            Ours….not ours,

            Fit….unfit,

            Sure thing….certain disaster.

My job is to take what comes, asking: “Tell me why it’s important to you to be married in a church.” Then, without prejudging the answer (sufficient reason….insufficient reason), I work with whoever God brings me.

Do weddings beget church members? Sometimes. Is that a good reason to perform them? Not particularly. Why do it, then? Because human love is as close as a lot of people are ever going to get to seeing the Spirit of God in action. Moreover, if we expect commitments to last (as Jesus said they should), we who believe them to be sacred ought to do our level best to be present when people make them.

Quite frankly, if I have one complaint about church weddings involving non-church people, it has more to do with the guests in the pews than the participants at the altar. I recognize that strangeness explains rudeness. But it shouldn’t excuse it. And the part of me that is becoming old and crotchety sometimes wishes I could say to the people in the pews:

Sit down. Shut up. Keep your cameras in your purse. Keep your opinions to yourself. If you must bring a two year old, be sensitive to the fact that not everyone may think his actions quite as cute as you do. And if you are a female guest who is young and shapely, don’t show so much skin so as to upstage the bride.

Even then, it’s amazing how often a well-officiated ceremony can turn a rag-tag audience into a worshiping congregation, without anybody being aware that such a transformation is actually taking place.

Sometimes, when I launch into the Call to Worship at a wedding, I find myself thinking: “Let’s see if I can get them.” But, once I’ve “got them,” what do I want them to see? I want them to see that God wouldn’t give two people this awesome, aching hunger for another human being, if God didn’t believe it was a hunger capable of being satisfied. I want them to see that God wouldn’t design something into the nature and fabric of creation….namely, this “one flesh” ideal….unless God believed that people could really make it work. And I want them to see that the Bible wouldn’t (time and again) equate the Kingdom of God with a giant wedding reception, unless weddings and the parties that follow them are pretty close to God’s heart. Then, if God is even one part Slovenian, I trust there will be an occasional polka at the reception.

 

Note: The four paragraphs of “biblical material” concerning wedding traditions were taken from a sermon I wrote in 1997 entitled “Five Minutes Before a Wedding.”

A few days after delivering this sermon, Aileen Erdmann handed me a clipping from the August 2 issue of the Livingston Enterprise (Livingston, Montana). It described, in some detail, the outdoor wedding ceremony for Heather Nack and Bob Culbreth. The bride and groom wore handmade clothes and leggings of buckskin, which they had scraped, tanned and prepared themselves. Instead of a veil, the bride wore a flower garland on her head and carried a bouquet of white and purple lilacs. The groom’s best man was his black lab, Roswell. Instead of exchanging rings, both the bride and groom had clasped-hand rings tattooed on their ring fingers. For their honeymoon, Heather and Bob spent five days and nights canoeing the 110-mile wild and scenic section of the Missouri River. Given that they are both 1999 graduates of the University of Montana School of Forestry, the style and structure of the wedding may have been well-fitting and comfortably appropriate.

 

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On Feeling Low in a Flying High World

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church

Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: II Corinthians 12:1-12

 

Slices of the Psalms

To whatever degree you are depressed….or know someone who is depressed….you have plenty of company in the Bible. Read the Psalms if you doubt this. Start with Psalm 69:1-3.

            Save me, O God,

            For the waters have come up to my neck.

            I sink in deep mire,

            Where there is no foothold;

            I have come into deep waters,

            And the flood sweeps over me.

            I am weary with my crying;

            My throat is parched.

            My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God.

 

Or consider the helplessness of Psalm 74:9-11:

            We do not see any signs;

            There is no longer any prophet,

            And there is no one among us who knows how long.

            How long, O God, is the foe to scoff?

            Is the enemy to revile your name forever?

            Why do you hold back your hand?

            Why do you keep your hand in your bosom?

 

Or listen to the low self-esteem that drips from Psalm 22:6-7:

            But I am a worm, and not human;

            Scorned by others, and despised by the people.

            All who see me mock at me;

            They make mouths at me; they wag their heads.

 

Or consider the description of Barzillai, the Gileadite:

            Why should I go?

            I can no longer discern what is pleasant from what is not.

            I can no longer taste what I eat or what I drink.

            I can no longer listen to the voices of singing men or singing women.

            Why should I become a burden to the king?

                                                                                    II Samuel 19:34-35

 

The Sermon

Just the other day, I happened upon a letter written by a colleague. He didn’t write it to me. He wrote it to his congregation. At issue was the launching of an endowment fund. Which, given tonight’s auction, seemed timely. So I read it. Along about the fourth paragraph he wrote:

            No one who invests in God will go unblessed.

            No one who believes in God will be ineffective.

            No one who plants seeds for God will go unrewarded.

            And no one who rejoices in God will ever be depressed.

Which was a good letter. As to how much money it generated, who can say? If I have any quarrel, however, it is with the overly optimistic note of his promises…. especially the one which reads: “No one who rejoices in God will ever be depressed.” For the fact is, lots of people are….depressed, I mean. And many of them rejoice deeply in God.

We have talked of this before, you and I. You know, from hearing me say it, that depression, as a malady, is as old as the Bible and as new as this morning’s message. Last year, nearly 18 million people were treated for some form of it, and many of them worship in this sanctuary on a regular basis. But they still feel isolated and alone….even in church.

Which is not to say that worship shouldn’t be praise-filled and joyful. Very few people would continue to attend a church that left them feeling worse than when they entered. But it is also true that people sometimes feel they must check all negative emotions at the door in order to participate in the singing of hymns, the saying of prayers and the hearing of sermons. One of the contemporary hymns we love to sing features the following lyric:

            Why so downcast, O my soul?

            Put your hope in God, put your hope in God.

            Bless the Lord, he’s the lifter of my countenance.

            Bless the Lord, he’s the lifter of my head.

Which is sage biblical advice, drawn from the 42nd Psalm. But you can see how it could affect someone who entered the sanctuary “in the pits,” as they say.

A year ago I wrote: “All of us get the blues from time to time. Like when it rains….or when the sun don’t shine….or when our baby leaves us….or when anything else leaves us (like job or child, health or hope). ‘Sometimes I’m up, sometimes I’m down’ sings the hitchhiker on the Jesus chariot. And he’s right, of course. We all get ‘down’ sometimes….even we who love the Lord. Sooner or later, all God’s chill’un gonna crash. But when we hit bottom and don’t bounce, that’s not the blues. That’s something deeper….darker….and decidedly different.”

What it is, is depression. Which is no respecter of persons….or professions of faith, for that matter. Christians are not exempt. Methodists are not exempt. Hard-working, Bible-carrying, spirit-loving church members are not exempt. Preachers and teachers are not exempt. I have friends in the ministry who struggle mightily with this malady. A few of them, openly. Most of them, secretly. Every time I call one colleague and ask, “How is it going?”, she responds: “We’re having fun.” But the fact of the matter is, she isn’t. At least not so as I can see. Which we could talk about. But we never do.

All of which brings me to Susan Gregg-Schroeder. As you have noted in Steeple Notes, she is among us for the next few days. I look forward to lunching with her later this morning, hearing her on Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, and introducing her to several of my clergy friends on Wednesday morning. In short, she has come to tell her story….much of which is personal…. some of which is painful. But her telling of it is profoundly pastoral. Meaning that she will give us reasons for hope and courage.

Susan has been in the ministry for nearly 15 years after having taught kindergarten for another 15 years. She serves on the staff of First United Methodist Church, San Diego (where her specialty is pastoral care and counseling). She is a published author, including her book on grace in the midst of depression entitled In the Shadow of God’s Wings. Let me quote just enough to whet your appetite, without stepping on the hem of her presentation. She writes:

The symptoms were there, but I didn’t recognize what was happening to me. Sadness and despair overwhelmed me. I felt disoriented and disconnected from my feelings and myself. I did not want to eat. I couldn’t sleep. Nothing I did brought any pleasure. I was simply going through the motions. All I wanted to do was isolate myself from everyone. Any task I attempted took great effort. I felt utterly hopeless about the future. Soon I got to the point of believing that life was not worth living and I developed an elaborate suicide plan. Yet, at the same time, I couldn’t concentrate or think clearly. I felt as if I were falling into a bottomless black hole and saw no way out. I avoided the people who could help me most.

There is much that led to that point. And much, much more that followed it. Susan ended up hospitalized, although she secured a weekend pass to participate in Sunday services at her church. That’s because the congregation did not know of her hospitalization. When her veil of secrecy was finally shredded, more than one parishioner said sympathetically: “We never knew. You seemed so normal.” Little did they know that the effort it took to project an appearance of normalcy was so overwhelming that she usually spent Sunday afternoons in bed.

It would be nice to say that one hospitalization was all it took. Just as it would be nice to say that one prescription was all it took….one visit to a therapist was all it took….one meeting with a support group was all it took….or one evening spent fervently in prayer was all it took. But it wasn’t.

Susan continues:

I wish I could say that my depression magically left, but I can’t. It has been a continuing struggle with bouts of depression as I have worked in therapy through difficult childhood issues. I was not one of those who found the right medication on the first try, and thyroid problems further complicated my chemical imbalance. I was admitted to the hospital twice more over the next two years.

Over time I have come to understand that my depression is a chronic condition. I have accepted the fact that I will probably be taking medication for a long time….if not the rest of my life. But I have also learned the warning signs of a downward spiral and have gained some coping skills.

As to the rest of the story, it is Susan’s to tell, not mine. But it isn’t the first time I have heard it. That’s because many of you have lived it and have been willing to share it. Like most amateurs in this field, I know that depression has many origins. Some of them are situational. Others of them are chemical. Situational depression is called “reactive”….meaning that it comes in response to an identifiable event. We sometimes equate this with feeling “down”….“blue”….or “moody.” When we connect the feeling to the event that precipitated it, most people understand.

Chemical depression, however, is called “endogenous.” It often runs in families, makes its initial appearance in adolescence, and is experienced at particular seasons rather than in response to particular events. Sometimes it comes as the secondary effect of another disease such as diabetes, chronic fatigue syndrome, alcoholism or a hypothyroid condition. And then there is biochemical depression that is linked with Mania….often called Bi-polar Disease. Experts can help you understand all of the above. Unfortunately, I am not one of them. So I will stick to my territory, confident that they are well versed in theirs. And the same can be said for treatment plans, of which there are more and more all the time. Some begin with therapy. Others begin with pharmacology. There is no reason for anyone to feel hopeless in the face of a diagnosis. No reason at all.

But there are some things I can say that might not be said elsewhere….things unique to my profession. Let’s start with God. More to the point, let’s start where God starts….which is in the very worst places….at the very worst times. God never says: “Fight your way through the forest by yourself and I’ll meet you when you reach the glade.” God is there when the skies are dark, the trees are thick, and all the animals (real and imagined) have voracious appetites. Which is another way of saying that, even without a map, God can find his way down deep valleys and dark alleys, not to mention dead end streets. But then you know that, given your life-long love of the 23rd Psalm.

But how do I make that real to you? Fortunately, I’ve got Susan to help me. In her book, she talks about one of her hospital stays. Her spiritual director paid her a visit, bringing Holy Communion with him. All of us know that the sacrament can be celebrated anywhere. But on this particular occasion, there was nothing in the bare-bones room to suggest a proper liturgical setting….no cross….no candles….no altar….not even a table. Looking around, they found a trash can. After emptying its contents, they turned it upside down….transforming it into an altar.

What a double-edged action. Would that we all could pitch the trash before lifting the cup. But pitch it, she did. And lift it, she did. There, with an upside-down wastebasket as an altar, Susan experienced God’s presence in one of the darkest and most difficult hours of her life.

Once we concede that God can meet us anywhere, we open ourselves to the possibilities that God can heal us anywhere. But it helps if we cut God some slack relative to what healing looks like. On the cover of Steeple Notes, I alluded to the fact that we Christians love dramatic victories. Cancer, gone. Crutches, gone. Addiction and affliction, gone. Doubt and despair, gone. Beaten back forever….left in the dust….never to return again. Which is how it sometimes happens. Don’t ask me why it doesn’t happen that way more often. Because I don’t know. I simply don’t know.

What I do know is that many of us fight against forces that are not easily defeated. We beat them back. But we never quite leave them behind. The more I thought about this, the more my thoughts turned to the Apostle Paul and his much-debated “thorn in the flesh” that he shared with the people of Corinth. Three times he prayed urgently that it might depart from him. But it never did. Whereupon he stopped praying for a once-and-for-all victory and began trying to discern whatever blessings there might be in the midst of his problem.

I spent the last couple of days researching Paul’s “thorn”….wondering what it could have been that made him so miserable. Everybody has a theory. Nobody has an answer. The ideas can be grouped in three columns. The first column associates Paul’s “thorn” with the ongoing persecution he experienced in his travels. Lots of it, physical. Some of it, legal. Much of it, spiritual. Paul created tons of opposition and was forced to pay for it. He was beaten, stoned, flogged and imprisoned. And that was only the tip of the iceberg. Worse yet were the number of people who heard the best that Paul could preach, but turned a deaf ear and a hard heart. In short, he didn’t get through.

The second column identifies physical difficulties. I’ve read well-reasoned arguments that Paul suffered from epilepsy, migraine headaches, irritable bowel syndrome, or a speech impediment. As a preacher, I can’t imagine having a speech impediment. Maybe Paul stuttered. And at the bottom of this column is the suggestion that Paul was less than pleasing to look at…. meaning that he was ugly. Perhaps there was some disfigurement which hindered him in his work.

The third column veers in the direction of a moral or spiritual problem. A favorite view in the Middle Ages was that Paul suffered the torment of sexual temptations. Luther, himself, believed this. And none other than Bishop John Shelby Spong of the Episcopal Church (who is both radical and inflammatory, but far from stupid) has suggested that Paul’s sexual temptation had more to do with men than women. Whatever be the strength of these arguments, it is clear that some unresolved aspect of his nature led Paul to feel both incredibly unworthy and unredeemably guilty.

Ironically, there have even been suggestions that Paul suffered from states of depression. Given the Pauline mood swings between mania and melancholy, it is not totally beyond the pale to ponder Paul as bi-polar.

But all such considerations aside, Paul believed that God’s strength was sufficient for his weakness….that God’s grace was sufficient for his guilt….and that God’s presence was the one thing necessary to ensure his contentment. Which, when you hear Susan’s story, will resonate with some of the things she will say. Her depression has not been defeated. But neither has she been defeated. Lessons have been learned. Blessings have been found.

·      A friend she wouldn’t have met otherwise.

·      A truth she wouldn’t have learned otherwise.

·      A creativity she wouldn’t have uncovered otherwise.

·      A sensitivity she wouldn’t have developed otherwise.

I am sure she will tell you that this is not the ministry she felt called to….dreamed of….trained for….or entered. But this is the ministry into which she has grown, and who can count the number of lives it has touched or changed? She writes:

Most people view depression as something to “get over”….something to conquer as quickly as possible. As insurance companies try to become more cost effective, they cover less and less mental health care. The emphasis is on short-term therapy as a way of moving people through the system as quickly as possible.

Yet depression is not something to overcome, conquer or defeat. Making depression our adversary sets up a confrontation where there is a clear winner and loser. In my experience, whenever I adopt a “battle mentality,” I feel more disconnected from myself….and, consequently, become more depressed.

Which is not to prohibit asking God for help in defeating this. After all, Paul gave it a trio of tries. But then he changed the question, asking what he and God could accomplish through this…. whatever “this” was.

Today is Choir Recognition Sunday. And we are incredibly blessed with the quality of the music we experience on a weekly basis. I can never remember whether music is supposed to soothe the savage beast or the troubled breast. I suspect it does both. There is no record of anybody singing to Paul. But there is a clear record of David playing for Saul. And whatever the demons were that possessed Saul by day, they seemed to slip back into the woodwork when David played for him by night.

I pondered having us sing the hymn I quoted earlier in the sermon. But I feared it might trivialize the very thing I wanted to say….namely, that the “downcast soul” properly belongs in the sanctuary and can be offered to God just as it is….apart from the assumption that God will immediately lift or change it. I like the hymn. But we’ll save it for another time.

Instead, we will close this morning’s service with one of my all-time favorite hymns, “Spirit of God, Descend Upon My Heart.” I find the language of the second verse absolutely incredible.

            I ask no dreams, no prophet ecstasies,

            No sudden rending of the veil of clay,

            No angel visitant; no opening skies,

            Just take the dimness of my soul away.

Emotionally, I am one of the even keel ones. I seldom get terribly high. But, then, I don’t fall terribly low, either. As to whatever chemistry there is in my brain, it seems to work….praise God. But I had both a father and a sister who died from “dimness of soul” at age 57 and 45, respectively. To be sure, that’s not what the coroner reported. And there were a host of contributing factors, much too long to go into here. But over the last five years each of them lived, I watched their lights dim until there was barely 15 watts’ worth of illumination in their respective souls. Then there were none. And the fact that I regularly preached the one who John says is the “world’s true light,” couldn’t make up for the darkness that was consuming their lives.

The hymn writer, George Croly, was not looking for dramatic interventions, descending angels or darkness-shattering explosions of glory. Instead, he was simply offering his “dimness of soul” in prayer, asking that (in the midst of it) God might do with it whatever could be done. I don’t have the faintest idea whether God “took it away.” But God unlocked the creativity that gave us a wonderful hymn. Sing it with me.

 

Note: As acknowledged in the sermon, I am indebted to Susan Gregg-Schroeder’s book, In the Shadow of God’s Wings: Grace in the Midst of Depression. As concerns my understanding Paul’s “thorn in the flesh,” I consulted a number of textual commentaries. But the most exhaustive treatment of the subject was offered by Victor Paul Furnish in his Anchor Bible volume, II Corinthians: A New Translation With Introduction and Commentary

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Those Who Watch and Those Who Watch Out

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church

Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: Mark 13:24-26

 

Last Friday night, at the conclusion of our district ministers Christmas gathering, our new District Superintendent, Dale Miller, reminded us to wish each of you a “happy new year” on Sunday. This Sunday. “Unless,” he added, “the members of your congregation already think you are crazy and will take your greeting as confirmation that their worst suspicions are true.”

Everybody measures time differently. There are plenty of calendars that shape our lives….school calendars….national calendars….fiscal calendars….planting and harvesting calendars….even boating and fishing calendars. Ours (in the church) organizes itself around Jesus. Which is why a “new year” is properly launched when we begin tidying up our lives in anticipation of his appearing.

We call this season Advent. Initially, it was just what I suggested….a tidying up period….a penitential period….a period of getting ready by getting clean (meaning lots of confessing, repenting, renewing, that sort of thing). The predominant theory as to why we light a pink candle on the third Sunday of Advent (instead of a purple one) is that no Christian can stomach four long weeks of penitence without a break. So the third Sunday represents a joyful respite in the middle of a sober and somber month. That way, having laughed and smiled for a moment, we can get back to the brooding business of rigorous self-inventory and self-polishing. Ironically, children seem closer to this original spirit of Advent than the rest of us, given that even the most obnoxious of them sense that December is not a month for screwing up, so much as a month for cleaning up. The rest of us have largely forgotten the “penitence” part in favor of the “partying” part. But we continue to light the candles, even though there isn’t one of us in a hundred who can remember why the third one is pink.

Perhaps you have noticed that this year of ours….this new year of ours….begins in the dark. Two Saturdays ago (when I was in Boston for the Yale-Harvard game), I wasn’t sure they were going to finish it while they could still see to play it….even though it started before 1:00 in the afternoon. That’s because Boston is on the eastern end of the time zone while we are on the western end. Which means that afternoon tea time is nighttime on the eastern seaboard. At least in December.

Not that Michigan is much better. Or much brighter. Thankfully, in Advent we light more and more candles as the season goes on. But we also suffer more and more darkness as the season goes on. But, then, people of faith have always known that it sometimes gets darker before it gets light….sometimes gets worse before it gets better….and sometimes seems as if night will never end before we get to morning. Which always surprises people outside the church, who figure that God should work on their timetable, not His. But it does not surprise those of us inside the church, who know that we do not always keep the faith because we see the light….but until we see the light.

Yes, we know that tomorrow morning will come….that Christmas morning will come….that Easter morning will come….and that our own great gettin’ up morning will come. But we also know that there will be a whole lot of tossing and turning, sheep counting and floor pacing, along with the outward push of laboring and the downward pull of dying, before morning comes. Light will not be rushed. Which is why the Bible says that we hope for what we do not see. For if we have light, we have sight. And if we have sight, who needs hope? Or faith? Or belief, for that matter? But we don’t always have light. Nor do we always have sight.

In our text for today, Jesus is talking with Peter, James, Andrew and John….those four, no more….about how the mighty walls of Jerusalem (in whose shadow they were presently standing) would begin falling, stone upon stone. What’s more, he said that on that day the sun will be smudged, the moon will be snuffed, and the stars will tumble from their constellations like so many cheap pearls breaking loose from a necklace whose string has snapped. “Then you will see,” he said, “the Son of Man coming in clouds with great power and glory.”

They, of course, wanted to know when. I mean, wouldn’t you? So, in one breath, he told them: “Before this generation passes away, you will see these things.” But with the next breath he seemingly took it all back when he said: “But of that day….or that hour….no one knows. Not the angels. Not me. Only the Father.” Ironically, while there are several questions in the New Testament Jesus wouldn’t answer, this is the only question he said he couldn’t answer. “When will it all crash and burn, Jesus?” To which he said: “Don’t know. Don’t pretend to know. But you will see it in your generation.”

Which they did, of course….see things “crash and burn” in their generation, I mean. Thirty years later, the walls of the Temple came tumbling down, stone upon stone. Jerusalem in ruins. People in prison. Families torn apart by conflicting loyalties. Street corner messiahs….each one louder than the next….each one nuttier than the next….each one claiming exclusive access to the mind of God.

So Mark, who wrote his gospel around 70 A.D. (when all these things were going on, don’t you see), recalled these words of Jesus as if to say: “Look, Jesus said it was going to crash and burn. Jesus said that the light was going to go out of your life and the stars were going to fall from your sky. He said you’d see it. Didn’t say when. Didn’t know when. Just that you’d see it.”

Which we have. Over and over again. In every generation. In this generation. Which of you, sitting within the sound of my voice, hasn’t watched it all crash and burn….hasn’t seen the lights go out….hasn’t watched the stars fall from the sky (or at least one special star fall from the sky)? Jesus doesn’t know when it’s going to happen. Nobody knows when it’s going to happen. Only that it will happen….in every generation….to pretty much everybody in that generation. Am I talking about the end of the earth? Well, it sometimes feels like it, doesn’t it? Things crash and burn. Lights fall from the sky. Terrible things happen. And we hear ourselves saying: “That’s it. No more. All over. Can’t go on.”

So what do you do then? Well, you look again, (says Jesus). Past the crashing. Past the burning. Past the rubbish, ruin and rubble. Past the fallen stars rolling like pearls in whatever direction the floor of your life happens to be tilting. Past the smudged-over sun and the snuffed-out moon. Past the turbulence that is, at that very moment, shaking your airplane or your attitude….shaking your faith or your life….even shaking the earth on which you stand or the heavens toward which you gaze. Look past all that, Jesus said. Look through all that, Jesus said. And you will see, amidst the darkness, that the Son of Man is coming in the clouds with great power and glory.

Is he talking about the Second Coming? Of course he is. But do not be confused. The Second Coming need not necessarily mean “final coming” so much as it means “your coming”….as in the sense of his “coming to you.” Which is why Jesus said: “I don’t know when it will happen. Nobody knows. Angels don’t know. Mortals don’t know. Even messiahs don’t know. But this much I do know. People in your generation will see it. Because people in your generation will need to see it….the Second Coming, I mean.” Will Jesus come again when the world ends….or when your world ends? Yes!

When Jesus died, his disciples believed their world had ended. When Jerusalem fell (and Nero began slamming doors in the collective faces of some very fragile “Jesus people”), the church thought its world had ended. But whenever it was that it happened for you, I can’t quite rightly say. Except I believe it has. Or will. Your world come to an end, I mean.

So what do you do? Well, you watch and you wait. Fearfully? I think not. Jesus did not talk about the Son of Man appearing in the clouds to frighten his friends, but to comfort them. And I think he would say the same to us. What the text says is that if darkness will not stop him, it need not stop us either.

So we have a choice this Advent. We can go to bed and lie there with pillows over our heads….having first shoved all the heavy furniture against the door, even that cumbersome and nearly-impossible-to-move bureau that we inherited from Uncle Frank. Or we can put a parka over our PJs and make our way to the porch at midnight….candle in hand….the better to scan the skies for the one whose appearing we cannot….yet….see.

 

Note:  I am indebted to Barbara Brown Taylor for her suggestion of this rather unusual text for the first Sunday in Advent. Look for her treatment of the theme in one of her earlier books entitled God’s Medicine.

At the conclusion of the sermon, I paused to light a candle and scanned the skies (or, at least, the upper regions of the sanctuary).

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Three Lifelines

First United Methodist Church

Birmingham, Michigan

Dr. William A. Ritter

Scripture: Luke 11:5-13

 

Even though it has been 35 years since I was a contestant on a televised game show, I still remember the “rush” that came as the result of sitting before the cameras, trying to answer questions for money. The game was Password. The host was Bill Cullen. Playing partners were Kitty Carlisle (with whom I won) and James Mason (with whom I didn’t). Unfortunately, the prize money was miniscule….$300 plus a set of World Book Encyclopedias. Today, I can’t account for any of the dollars. But I still have all of the encyclopedias. Along with the memories.

Which have been rekindled by the amazing success of a ABC’s boffo game show, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. Not that I watch it much. But, given the way it has blanketed prime time, who can avoid it? Just yesterday, I read that it will air four times weekly, come fall. Already, it has run away with the ratings….averaged 24 million viewers a night….saved a struggling network….made a star out of an aging talk show host….forced every male in America to consider dressing monochromatically….and injected into everyday speech the phrase: “Is this your final answer?”

Concerning the show, there’s a lot to like. The host is good. The set is good. The music is good. The money is good. And the premise is good. Most of us wouldn’t mind being millionaires. But we’d rather not have our desire labeled “greed” and splashed into the title. I have noticed that almost nobody wins a million….not because they are stupid and miss questions, but because they are smart and settle for lesser jackpots. Meaning that they quit while they’re ahead. Which differentiates them from gamblers. But that’s another sermon.

But the show’s real appeal rests in a pair of other considerations. First, the questions are relatively easy. Second, the format is uncommonly interactive.

Concerning the questions, most of us can answer some of them. And some of us can answer most of them. They draw heavily upon popular culture. And they are all multiple choice. The right answer is staring you in the face. Which means you don’t have to know it, so much as recognize it. What’s more, anybody who has graduated from college in the last quarter century has taken hundreds of multiple-choice exams, and may have mastered the art of out-psyching the test’s designer.

But it is the show’s interactivity that makes it captivating. Once you make it to the chair opposite Regis Philbin, there is no other contestant to compete against. But there are a host of people (seen and unseen) to collaborate with.

Thirty years ago, Hal March (remember him?) hosted an equally-popular show, The $64,000 Question (remember it?). What a big deal $64,000 was. And what an expert you had to be to win it. But if you remember that show, focus on the absolute isolation of the contestant. He or she was sealed (not placed….sealed) in a soundproof booth. Meaning that nobody….offering anything in the way of help….could get anywhere near. Much was made about the absoluteness of the isolation.

On Millionaire, there is neither booth nor barricade. The contestants are exposed for all to see. We see them. The audience sees them. What’s more, the audience is allowed to help them. That’s where the “lifelines” come in. To reach a million, the contestant must correctly answer fifteen questions. But a lifeline can be used three times in order to soften the impact of ignorance. Picture a relatively simple question:

            Bratwurst, as an edible delicacy, is most commonly associated with what country?

a.     Italy

b.     Hungary

c.     Germany

d.     New Guinea

And, for the sake of argument, let’s say that you have never seen, cooked or eaten bratwurst. What lifelines could you employ? Well, you could ask Regis to remove two wrong answers (presumably eliminating Italy and New Guinea). Or, you could poll the members of the audience, who would then punch their individual opinions into keypads, giving you an instantaneous spreadsheet of response. Obviously, if 94 percent of the audience settled in on one answer, you’d be stupid not to go with it. Your third option would be to phone a friend, who would then have 20 seconds to ponder “bratwurst” or look it up in a dictionary.

The correct answer, of course, is “c. Germany”….which you should have known linguistically, if not gastronomically. But if you didn’t, help was available….presuming you were willing to call upon it, or trust it, once received.

You see where this is going, don’t you? I suppose it is fair to compare life to a test. Not because God has designed it that way, but because it gosh-awful-often feels that way. Sometimes the stakes are minimal. But sometimes, incredibly high. And some of the most difficult tests center around choices….often, multiple choices. Which offer? Which lover? Which road? Which route on which road? High or low? Easy or hard? Cut the corner? Play the angle? Today? Tomorrow? Now? Never? It’s not by accident that America’s favorite poem begins: “Two lines diverged in a yellow wood….” But had Robert Frost lived longer….and become a part of the multi-optional society we have created….his depiction of “forking roads” wouldn’t have stopped at two.

I am talking about choices here. All kinds of choices. Moral and immoral. Legal and illegal. Vocational choices. Relational choices. You name ‘em, sooner or later, you’ll have to make ‘em. So how do you go about it? Well, let’s stick with the three lifelines. They’ll preach. After all, they aren’t called “lifelines” for nothing. Use them correctly….you go on. Fail to use them…. you go down.

First lifeline: Simplify life by eliminating those answers that are obviously wrong. But how might you do that? At the risk of sounding simplistic, you might become a student of scripture. But don’t misread me here. The Bible is not an instantaneous answer book. Most people are not going to be successful if they approach the Bible with a conundrum, open it at random, and then let their mind devour the first sentence their finger discovers.

Worse yet, in addition to there being conundrums the Bible will not instantaneously enlighten, there will be riddles the Bible will never completely resolve. That’s because the writers wrestled with the same things we wrestle with. And the Bible records that wrestling…. which is, in and of itself, helpful.

But that being said, the Bible is pretty clear that some choices don’t work….that some roads lead down dead ends….and that some options will turn out to be life-destroying (and guilt-producing) no matter how many people try them, believing themselves to be the exception. Jesus’ word to the multiply-wedded and frequently-bedded woman of Samaria said (in effect): “Lady, you keep getting on a train that never takes you anywhere.” Later that evening, talking with the guys at the bar, she was overheard to say: “How come that guy at the well talked turkey to me about my destination, while all you guys ever want to do is ride the train?”

The Bible isn’t going to solve everything. But it is going to take you through a whole lot of “been there, done that” stories that didn’t get anybody anywhere. I realize there is a human propensity for learning things the hard way. But if we believe that “trial and error” is the only way folks ever learn things, we might as well surrender the notions that history can be progressive and training can be productive. If, in a class for would-be chainsaw operators, the instructor centers in on a particularly dangerous behavior and says, “Remember, the last 17 guys who tried this now purchase single cufflinks,” I’d probably listen. Well, the Bible can reward the serious reader similarly, by removing the least productive answers from the great game board of life. Such answers are unproductive, not only because God has decreed them so, but because time has proved them so.

Second lifeline: Poll the audience (which, in this case, would seem to suggest “the congregation”). Now don’t dismiss this suggestion by viewing it with a literalness that is ridiculous. I am not suggesting we replace the sermon-of-the-week with a dilemma-of-the-week, while encouraging you to record your responses by punching keypads in your pew racks. Although there have, undoubtedly, been worse abuses of a Sunday morning.

Instead, I am suggesting that while a Christian congregation might not know the answer to everything….or agree on the answer to everything….it comes to the discussion with a leg up on all lesser constituencies. That’s because churches are filled with people who, when they talk about pursuing the “good life,” are not only talking about the “sweet life”….but also the “Godly life” (including, by inference, the “moral life”). Does this happen in every church? Sadly, no. And in churches where it happens, does it involve everybody? Sadly, no.

But I am here to tell you that clusters within congregations do provide opportunities for reflection (that are experientially driven and biblically grounded). It could be a group engaged in Bible study or book study. It could be a seminar talking about parenting issues or ethical issues. It could even be a circle of people sitting in the Thomas Parlor talking about modern movies and their content. Such groups provide forums wherein people can sharpen their thinking and refine their choices.

I have known a lot of people who have quietly introduced a personal issue into a group discussion and drawn great benefit from the conversational “chewing” that took place. Seldom do such folks say to the group: “I’ve got this problem and I would appreciate your counsel.” Instead, they pose it as somebody else’s problem….or a hypothetical problem….or a problem faced by somebody in the book (the text or the lesson). Then, when the group bites on it, I can see the wheels turning in their head. Later, they may say to me (privately): “I really learned a lot from Dale’s comment in this morning’s class” or “I was really surprised with the group’s reaction to Abraham’s dilemma….Mary Magdalene’s dilemma…. Kathleen Norris’ dilemma.” As your pastor, who watches you closely, you have no idea what you learn from each other. No idea at all. But such learning is taking place all the time. Hopefully, on my less ego-driven days, I am smart enough to get out of the way and let it happen.

Lifeline three: Phone a friend. That’s what they’re there for, don’t you know. The other day, it occurred to me (actually, it occurred to Kris) that while our acquaintances are drawn from every sphere of life, virtually all of our friends are people we met in church. This dates back years. Which, in some minds, is a violation of professional protocol. Clergy aren’t supposed to form close friendships with people they serve. Too many opportunities for favoritism and jealousy, they say. Too many problems for successor pastors, they say. Too many ways to blur the personal and professional, they say. All of which are warnings well heeded. Such things happen. But what’s the alternative? The alternative is a lot of pastoral families who are starved for friends. Friends are not only valuable, but critical. Even for pastors. Especially for pastors.

So why wouldn’t most of mine be church-related? After all, who is more likely to look at the world with lenses similar to mine, than you? Who is more likely to affirm values similar to mine, than you? And who is more likely to follow a Lord similar to mine, than you? Which means that if I find myself at some critical juncture of my life (unsure of which way to go), why wouldn’t I turn to a friend who would know “where I was coming from”….who would know something of my story….who would know something of my history….and who would know the impossibility of separating my history from His story.

Jesus told a story about a man who knocked on his friend’s door at midnight, saying: “I’ve just had a hungry houseguest arrive and I have no food to put before him. If you’d be so kind, lend me some bratwurst and some buns.” To which the reply came: “It’s late. You’re late. I’m sleepy. Kids are sleepy. Whole darn house is sleepy. Don’t have bratwurst. Only have summer sausage. Buns are stale. Refrigerator is padlocked.” Which is to say that most friendships have limits.

But, says Jesus, suppose the guy at the door doesn’t recognize those limits? Suppose he keeps knocking….keeps buzzing….keeps leaning on the doorbell….keeps calling out your name? Sooner or later, you’ll give up, get up and ante up, just so he’ll shut up. Which, several verses later, is followed by the kicker: “If he’ll do that, how much more will your heavenly Father do for you when you ask….when you seek….when you knock?” We’re talking connections here…. friends on earth and friends above….friends in low places and high places.

Everybody ought to have somebody they can call at midnight….or when they run out of bratwurst….or patience….or hope. Everybody ought to have somebody they can call when they’ve been dumped and have no honey….or been dumped and have no money. Everybody ought to have somebody they can call when they need someone to come to a police station with a checkbook that is open immediately, and questions that will wait till morning.

It recently occurred to me that the highest compliment Jesus paid his disciples was when he said (John 15:15): “I no longer call you servants. I used to call you servants. But now I call you friends….and no greater love has anyone than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Which brings to mind that snatch of a musical (which I can sing, but can’t name):

            He’s my friend, to the bitter end,

            No matter what the other people say.

            He’s my friend, to the bitter end,

            Though the bitter end’s not very far away.

Which it may not be….far away….the bitter end, I mean. So phone a friend.

            The friend that may have the answer.

            Or the friend that may be the answer.

 

 

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