An Announcement

I had almost forgotten to make this announcement, because I was waiting until the folks at First Lutheran and Prince of Peace in Tulsa knew about it. But the letter is out, and the news is even “FBO” (Facebook Official): My family and I are about to become Floridians!

Bokeeelia, Florida

The good people of Christ Lutheran in Cape Coral, FL have extended me a call in their community, and I have accepted! This has been in the works for approximately two months now, and I won’t bore you with the whole story, much of which involved paperwork, telephone conversations, and Zoom meetings. (I won’t complain. The magic of Zoom is that it allows a speedier and much less costly Call process, if it’s conducted well. This one certainly was.)

It also included two trips down to Cape Coral. The first of which took place during the hideous snow storm we had here in Tulsa. When we left for the airport on the way to RSW airport, we faced freezing drizzle. By the time we were meant to return via St. Louis, TUL and OKC and even Dallas were frozen in, and so we were “stuck” in sunny Southwest Florida for several days, tortured repeatedly by beautiful weather, wining and dining by various council members, hospitality in multiple ways by others, and many sightings of Burrowing Owls and other gorgeous birds. It was awful. You would have hated it. Oh, and the seafood? It was fresh and delicious. Just so awful, you guys.

The second trip was similar, weather-wise, but we didn’t get to spend any extra time in Florida. That trip was a bit more business: meeting the rest of the congregation, locating a realtor, doing a little cruising in a borrowed Mini-Cooper and eating more seafood. (Somebody’s got to do it, and I guess we’ll take one for the team.)

In any case, things went well, obviously, and we begin our adventures together beginning on May 1. In the meantime, we’ve had to get home, endure a bit of waiting until the vote became official, informing the people here in Tulsa, starting to straighten up our home in preparation for placing it on the market. Did I mention that all of this is happening in the final weeks of Lent?

It has been crazy busy on both ends of this. The poor people back in Cape Coral have been jumping through all the bureaucratic hoops and ringing the bells in order to get my installation service set up at the same time that they’re planning their own congregation’s 60 year anniversary. It’s an interesting time, and our family is super excited to get down there.

At the same time, it’s hard saying goodbye to the place we’ve called home for the last eight years. We’ve met a lot of really great people here and have formed some friendships that are going to be hard to change by adding distance to the equation. People at church, people in the neighborhood, people at the kids’ school, people around town. It’s a bitter-sweet time, to be sure.

And hard work. Just did a two-day-long garage sale in which we got rid of most of the bulky furniture items that we don’t intend to drag with us, plus lots and lots (and lots!) of accumulated Schtuff from projects that now belong to the past. That, in itself, is hard to let go of.

All of this reminds me of the time when we were finishing seminary and were anxious about our first call. In addition to the school work, we had mobility paperwork to fill out, regional assignments to wait on, and after the regional assignments, synod assignments. Finally came the interviewing process with specific congregations.

During that time, we chose a kind of biblical metaphor to guide us as we waited. While we watched countless classmates getting calls from their bishops, we had to wait on ours. As we watched them getting interviews and first call placements, we had to wait on ours. The most fitting biblical narrative for us seemed to be “Wilderness Wandering.” We had to learn to trust. “Trust the process” was the catch-phrase, but even then I thought that was ridiculous. I did NOT trust the process. But we did trust God.

Eventually we got tired of waiting, watching a new class coming in for Summer Greek classes and then witnessing the fall semester begin. So we chose a new biblical metaphor: “Abram, Go.” We decided to pack up and move to Oklahoma, whether that would be our ultimate destination or not.
We weren’t in OK for more than a couple weeks before we got an interview at First Lutheran, and that’s where we landed. And it turned out pretty well, I dare say.

This move to Florida is out of character for this guy, who was really missing the Midwest, but it was also clear that we couldn’t stay in Tulsa any longer. I think the proper metaphor for this time, considering that we weren’t financially ready for this move and that we had to trust that things will fall into place SOMEhow is simply this: “God Provides.”

We are all grateful for our time in Tulsa. We are also grateful for the opportunity in front of us. It’s an embarrassment of riches, and we are humbled by all of it.

Stay tuned here for more adventures. Who knows what God (as one of our new friends says, “The Spooky Spirit”) has in store for Christ Lutheran and us? We sure don’t know, but we’re confident that God Provides, and we will do our best to serve faithfully among these folks, who have already shown us such love and support. I think it’s gonna be great!

Still Thinking about In-Person Worship

A couple of you saw and commented on my last post about worship, and at least one person (which means I know more are thinking it) said, “Wow. That means you might not see my spouse and me until as late as the end of 2021.”

That’s true. We might not. On the other hand, we might. We’re still trying to come up with creative ways we could gather, which is desired, while still keeping people safe, which is necessary.

One thing I mentioned is that we’ll continue to be an online presence. That’s not everyone’s cup of tea, and we all understand that. Some people, we though, might enjoy that option but can’t exercise it for one reason or another. If you know someone who would join us online, either live or after the fact, but can’t because of technological problems, please let us know, and maybe we can work out a way to make that happen.

Something I didn’t mention previously, but has been running around in my head, is doing more worship out of doors. This is also a problem in some ways, because as we enter the summer, the heat can be just as problematic for some folks healthwise as the virus is. But it might allow us some limited singing during worship, depending on who is interested in participating. An added bonus of doing outdoor worship is, as I’ve always contended, it’s great when people have a chance to actually see us. Not that we’re doing it for our own self-aggrandizement, but rather so that folks know that we are open and actively working. It’s evangelism by practicing in public.

Another possibility that I haven’t spoken about yet is adding worship services for smaller groups with the chance to clean and sanitize things in between. I kind of like this option, because it opens a door for building greater numbers of the gathered when the crisis is past its peak. Especially if we did something on, say, a Saturday evening or later on a Sunday, or even some other day of the week entirely. Would it be a lot more work for me? Of course. And something would have to give somewhere else. But it’s an option, and I think it’s a good one.

What other ideas do you have? Use those big brains of yours!

Reflection on All Saints Day

Paul F. Bradshaw and Maxwell Johnson devote a chapter of their book The Origins of Feasts, Fasts, and Seasons in Early Christianity to the sanctoral cycle¬†— a kind of liturgical calendar of its own (199ff) — which celebrates feast days of individual saints. The authors point out that the sanctoral cycle developed out of popular pietestic veneration of early Christian martyrs, generally on the anniversaries of their martyrdoms. Martyrdom was, for early Christians, “in all likelihood … understood as both a repetition of baptism or a substitute for it, and a sacrifice parallel and similar to Christ’s passion and the Eucharist, that is to say, as a redemptive sacrifice” (179). This manner of dying for the cause (as it were) sanctified the sacrifice and martyrdom became essentially synonymous with sainthood.

Bradshaw and Johnson state that, by the fourth century, several other categories of “saints” began to appear on lists of the Church’s annual celebrations: ascetics and monks, people who were confessors (and therefore “witnesses”), but who were not killed on account of their witness, per se, were nevertheless included as “martyrs by extension” (189). Bishops also began to make the list in the fourth century and, as the authors quote Pierre Jounel, “the difference between these two types of anniversaries must have been rather vague in practice” (190). Throughout that century, the categories continued to expand, and feasts for figures like Mary Theotokos, Emperor Constantine, and Theodosius I were added to the cycle, and so the sanctorum continued to grow, with localized variations, over time.

Laurence Hull Stookey (Calendar: Christ’s Time for the Church), along with much of contemporary Protestantism (in spite of continued anti-Catholic grumbling), embraces a much more expansive definition of a saint, citing the New Testament’s synonymous use of “saint” with “Christian” and “believer” (142). He points out that being a saint actually has nothing to do with being one of the “greats of History,” or indeed with any merit or effort on the part of humans, but rather, sanctity is necessarily intimately connected with and dependent upon identification with the holiness of Christ. We are ALL saints “because God’s [that is, Christ’s] sanctity is at work in us” (143).

Contemporary practice of commemorating a particular saint’s feast day still generally corresponds with that person’s death date (as it had been for the martyrs of the early church), unless some other festival or celebration (e.g. the Lord’s Day) takes precedence, or if the death date is not known, as is the case for biblical saints. Instead, those feast days are placed into the cycle largely according to convenience or in order to make a special comment on that saint’s “specialness” (e.g. Stephen, the protomartyr, who is considered noteworthy enough for his feast day to fall on the day after Christmas) (145).

In any case, the large number of saints whose lives are commemorated in the sanctoral cycle gives rise to a predicament: each day of the calendar year memorializes one or more saint’s lives. Stookey states: “Eventually a crisis developed, and a solution arose: Designate one day each year as a kind of omnibus occasion, a day on which to commemorate all the saints who cannot be accorded their own specific dates, and whose names have been forgotten” (148). The date of this commemoration, which we call All Saints Day, varies in the West (where it is often celebrated on November 1) and the East (where some rites celebrate it on May 13 and some on the Sunday following Pentecost) (148). And even in the West, there remains a disparity between Roman Catholics on the one hand, who celebrate only canonized saints on November 1, leaving “all other faithful departed” to be remembered the following day (the Feast of All Souls), and Protestants on the other, who celebrate All Saints Day, collapsing RC practices into one day: either November 1 or the first Sunday in November (148).

Protestant practice also makes no distinction between “recognized” saints (i.e. great historical figures) and the biblical “great cloud of witnesses,” including people who died in the previous year, many of whom belonged to our parishes and whose names we read aloud as part of our ritual celebration of the saints (148).

In our expansive definition of sanctity and in our ritual observance, we emphasize the catholicity of the church in all times and all places. We give thanks for the departed ones and for their faithful witness to the promise of God in Jesus Christ. Stookey writes: “[T]hese persons [, though departed, continue to] bear testimony to us concerning the One of whom it is written, ‘Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows’ (Isaiah 53:4 RSV). Their stories point us to his story. And it is his story that enables us to bear all sorrow …. [It is] the sole source and focus of the entire liturgical calendar” (150).

The rites particular to All Saints Day manifest in the church’s use of time in the proclamation that all the saints across all times and places are sanctified in the holiness of Christ, which he shares with us as part of what Luther called “the happy exchange,” or what Orthodox Christians might refer to as theosis or deification. In other words, Christ takes on OUR sins which die with him on the cross. With us he shares, by his grace, the righteousness which belongs to HIM as the Son of God.

This Good News interacts with the faithful in our time in spite of the larger cultural orientation toward despair and the fear of death. As believers, we still grieve death — our own and that of those we love — but because God’s promise proves trustworthy, we can rest in the assurance that death does not have the final word. Instead, the final word belongs to God, whose promise IS life in Christ.

I think that All Saints Day aims, as a ritual event, to put us in mind, not only of all the saints who have gone before us, but also to remember that WE are the saints. Here and Now. We are examples in the world in real time. Our faith will also have impact on the generations that follow. Our understanding and way of being run counter to Culture (the “powers and principalities” of the kosmos, “the prince of this world”, “the patterns of this world,” etc.), and this gives us hope in the face of death and decay, in the face of every kind of darkness. It falls to US SAINTS to share this Good News, which we ourselves have already received — to share it with a world that desperately needs to hear it, aches to hear it.