Visiting a small country church in the Bavarian Alps on Pentecost got me longing for the spirit who blows where she wants and refreshes my dried out heart (and perhaps yours).
Almut, I need to share your post with my daughter and her pastor husband. He will not only know but will feel the angst of the young pastor swimming against the tide in that little Lutheran Church. Or rather, crashing in the wall of rigid expectations. He would probably share with you that he too has unchristian thoughts when congregants huff and puff when children are making noise, or singing too loud, or dare to sit next to him at the side of the alter, the "holy place". Their words not his.
Years ago a good friend told me the sanctuary can be a dangerous place. Why do folks who bear their sorrow and intense pain privately allow tears to flow while singing a hymn, or when the pastor hits that soft spot during a sermon or when receiving communion? Because the sanctuary is a place of community and safety. It is the only public space dedicated every Sunday (or other times of services) to peace and love and compassion. BUT, when judgement and rigidity and the need for "my worship experience" takes over it stirs anger and fear and shame. It is no longer a safe sanctuary.
I think too, it is the place where we do expect the Holy Spirit to bring us into communion and community. To help us put aside our rough edges, pointy shoulders and killer eyes, and encourage our better angels to stand tall with outstretched arms of embrace for all. And there are no better messengers the Holy Spirit has than our children with their enthusiasm, innocence, giddiness, delight and laughter.
What beautiful words, dear Kathleen. I like the image of the sanctuary as that holy space of communion. And of the children dancing along with their innocent laughter.
Chuck, I think the Holy Spirit knocked on my noggin last night around 7:00. I was minding my own business when suddenly Almut’s description of her experience at communion came into sharp focus. Oooooo, that is the gem offered. That moment when the Holy Spirit has us drop our armor and connects our hearts.
Kathleen, I like this description. It captures the surprise of these moments. But I also think the moment is prepared by your own, unconscious, searching. You own inner mulling over of the tensions . And then a pattern clicks into place and you have a moment of "aha!" The Jesuits teach us that we should then dig deeper into the emotions and insights of that moment to help us understand ourselves and our world, and to guide our future actions. It is then that the gem shows it real worth. It is then that the gem Almut offers becomes yours.
Sigh. Your post made me think un-Christian thoughts about stuffy churches. I'm so sorry for all the stress on the way to the Holy Spirit. I wish every church were excited about kids and noise and random joy during the service.
Ha! Yes, lots of unchristian thoughts went through my head. It felt a bit vulnerable to share them but it is about our human condition in the end. The search for the holy spirit needs to start in my own heart and stuffy churches are just a reminder 😇
Ha! Yes, lots of unchristian thoughts went through my head. It felt a bit vulnerable to share them but it is about our human condition in the end. The search for the holy spirit needs to start in my own heart and stuffy churches are just a reminder 😇
I served a German Lutheran Church in New York for three years (who still had two services in German at Christmas and Good Friday), and was struck by how different they were during worship and in real life. They insisted on plodding through the same liturgy week after week in very somber style, but had the best Octoberfest, and a comedy team called "The Sisters of Perpetual Motion." (They had a holy relic of Martin Luther's wife's snozz.). It always intrigued me how they could be such different people in different contexts. I wonder if, in part, it is because Luther was so insistent that God is completely transcendent and Other. Soberly performing the rituals of sacred mystery is a way of participation in transcendence, and interruptions break the flow. I tend to have a more immanent theology of God's Spirit, which finds God's Spirit in the interactions we have with each other, which is what you found at the Table. An immanent theology hears the Spirit in a child's laughter and joy. A transcendent theology finds this an irritation. I wonder how we make room for both experiences in the gathered community in worship.
This sounds like a fun place to serve, Todd 😇. Do you speak some German then? German funerals are even the most soberly performance I think. Thus I came love the American way to allow some humor to it.
Like Chuck I like your distinction between the immanent and transcendent theology. And I wonder if the monastic and existential ways of life try to overcome the paradox by integrating both.
Unfortunately my semester of theological German didn't give me much to help conversations, unless people really want to talk Barth. They brought in a German speaking pastor for special services. Integration is the word. I was reading Psalm 139 at a nursing home service yesterday, and what kept striking me was the refrain, wherever we go, God is there. God has searched us and known us and is close. We may see a fleeting glimpse of what is transcendent, but we are allowed to experience at least in part.
Todd, I like the distinction between a transcendent and immanent god as an explanation for religious experience (or lack thereof). All the religious traditions recognize an immanent god and their mystical or monastic wings emphasize it. It seems to me Jesus was all about "the kingdom is here, now, among you." But even in the face of immanence, we are struck by how little we know.
Yes, we struggle to live into this paradox. God is revealed in the ordinary, but what we discover leaves us in awe. A first kiss, a hummingbird, a look into the night skies. All very ordinary actions, but they can take our breath away and show us the wonder of our very small selves.
Todd, One of the things I like about your comment is the phrase "live into this paradox." It contains both the existential commitment and the tension of our unknowing.
Thank you for this meditation on what it is to come to the table and to be seen! Also, you have all my commiserations about how hard it is to have kids in the pews. Our church is great about kids (and it helps that there are lots) but there have been plenty of days where we have barely made it through the service!
Thank you for this story. I'm sure the little German flock was so surprised by a visitor that they did not know what to do. Maybe it's been years since someone they did not know had crossed the threshold. Either way, they should have been dancing in the aisles to have someone young, fresh, and curious in their midst. May you find a warm welcome on your next liturgical adventure.
Thank you, Katie, for your thoughtful note. It was a little town but also bursting with visitors. But may be people on vacation also vacation from church :-) I had a little friendly chat with the pastor afterwards (which did not fit into this story anymore.) She expressed her sadness to not have more kids at church. Lutherans are rather rare in the Bavarian countryside. So I am sure the congregation also knows a bit about resistance. But to explore this I would have needed to show up with some more curiosity. Instead I wanted a "holy experience" which then arrived a bit different than I wished for 😇
Only because you are such a gentle teacher.I hope that you are all enjoying the Bavarian countryside. May you the blue lakes, brats, and beer bring smiles to all of your faces.
In my first parish, maybe 50 people total on Sunday mornings, a particular elderly woman must have told me 3 or 4 times that the children really belonged in the nursery. I would "smile sweetly" and say, "Well, the children really belong in worship. The nursery, you know, is for the parents who are so hungry for the Gospel that they don't want to be distracted. The nursery is for the parents who need spiritual food for the week."
I'm pretty sure she didn't understand a word I said. Oh, well.
I held my breath as I read about the experiences in that church service. Sometimes, I wonder if the spirit that blows also stays within to tend and nourish.
Such a sweet post! And I love "she" being used in reference to the Holy Spirit.
Thank you, Kathleen. I love Hildegard of Bingen as she is so good in going beyond pronouns when speaking of divine qualities 😇
Almut, I need to share your post with my daughter and her pastor husband. He will not only know but will feel the angst of the young pastor swimming against the tide in that little Lutheran Church. Or rather, crashing in the wall of rigid expectations. He would probably share with you that he too has unchristian thoughts when congregants huff and puff when children are making noise, or singing too loud, or dare to sit next to him at the side of the alter, the "holy place". Their words not his.
Years ago a good friend told me the sanctuary can be a dangerous place. Why do folks who bear their sorrow and intense pain privately allow tears to flow while singing a hymn, or when the pastor hits that soft spot during a sermon or when receiving communion? Because the sanctuary is a place of community and safety. It is the only public space dedicated every Sunday (or other times of services) to peace and love and compassion. BUT, when judgement and rigidity and the need for "my worship experience" takes over it stirs anger and fear and shame. It is no longer a safe sanctuary.
I think too, it is the place where we do expect the Holy Spirit to bring us into communion and community. To help us put aside our rough edges, pointy shoulders and killer eyes, and encourage our better angels to stand tall with outstretched arms of embrace for all. And there are no better messengers the Holy Spirit has than our children with their enthusiasm, innocence, giddiness, delight and laughter.
What beautiful words, dear Kathleen. I like the image of the sanctuary as that holy space of communion. And of the children dancing along with their innocent laughter.
Chuck, I think the Holy Spirit knocked on my noggin last night around 7:00. I was minding my own business when suddenly Almut’s description of her experience at communion came into sharp focus. Oooooo, that is the gem offered. That moment when the Holy Spirit has us drop our armor and connects our hearts.
Kathleen, I like this description. It captures the surprise of these moments. But I also think the moment is prepared by your own, unconscious, searching. You own inner mulling over of the tensions . And then a pattern clicks into place and you have a moment of "aha!" The Jesuits teach us that we should then dig deeper into the emotions and insights of that moment to help us understand ourselves and our world, and to guide our future actions. It is then that the gem shows it real worth. It is then that the gem Almut offers becomes yours.
Sigh. Your post made me think un-Christian thoughts about stuffy churches. I'm so sorry for all the stress on the way to the Holy Spirit. I wish every church were excited about kids and noise and random joy during the service.
Ha! Yes, lots of unchristian thoughts went through my head. It felt a bit vulnerable to share them but it is about our human condition in the end. The search for the holy spirit needs to start in my own heart and stuffy churches are just a reminder 😇
That's a generous way to think about it!
Ha! Yes, lots of unchristian thoughts went through my head. It felt a bit vulnerable to share them but it is about our human condition in the end. The search for the holy spirit needs to start in my own heart and stuffy churches are just a reminder 😇
I served a German Lutheran Church in New York for three years (who still had two services in German at Christmas and Good Friday), and was struck by how different they were during worship and in real life. They insisted on plodding through the same liturgy week after week in very somber style, but had the best Octoberfest, and a comedy team called "The Sisters of Perpetual Motion." (They had a holy relic of Martin Luther's wife's snozz.). It always intrigued me how they could be such different people in different contexts. I wonder if, in part, it is because Luther was so insistent that God is completely transcendent and Other. Soberly performing the rituals of sacred mystery is a way of participation in transcendence, and interruptions break the flow. I tend to have a more immanent theology of God's Spirit, which finds God's Spirit in the interactions we have with each other, which is what you found at the Table. An immanent theology hears the Spirit in a child's laughter and joy. A transcendent theology finds this an irritation. I wonder how we make room for both experiences in the gathered community in worship.
This sounds like a fun place to serve, Todd 😇. Do you speak some German then? German funerals are even the most soberly performance I think. Thus I came love the American way to allow some humor to it.
Like Chuck I like your distinction between the immanent and transcendent theology. And I wonder if the monastic and existential ways of life try to overcome the paradox by integrating both.
Unfortunately my semester of theological German didn't give me much to help conversations, unless people really want to talk Barth. They brought in a German speaking pastor for special services. Integration is the word. I was reading Psalm 139 at a nursing home service yesterday, and what kept striking me was the refrain, wherever we go, God is there. God has searched us and known us and is close. We may see a fleeting glimpse of what is transcendent, but we are allowed to experience at least in part.
Todd, I like the distinction between a transcendent and immanent god as an explanation for religious experience (or lack thereof). All the religious traditions recognize an immanent god and their mystical or monastic wings emphasize it. It seems to me Jesus was all about "the kingdom is here, now, among you." But even in the face of immanence, we are struck by how little we know.
Yes, we struggle to live into this paradox. God is revealed in the ordinary, but what we discover leaves us in awe. A first kiss, a hummingbird, a look into the night skies. All very ordinary actions, but they can take our breath away and show us the wonder of our very small selves.
Todd, One of the things I like about your comment is the phrase "live into this paradox." It contains both the existential commitment and the tension of our unknowing.
Thank you for this meditation on what it is to come to the table and to be seen! Also, you have all my commiserations about how hard it is to have kids in the pews. Our church is great about kids (and it helps that there are lots) but there have been plenty of days where we have barely made it through the service!
Thank you, Christine. You again put lovely words to an experience: „what it is to come to the table and to be seen“.
Thank you for this story. I'm sure the little German flock was so surprised by a visitor that they did not know what to do. Maybe it's been years since someone they did not know had crossed the threshold. Either way, they should have been dancing in the aisles to have someone young, fresh, and curious in their midst. May you find a warm welcome on your next liturgical adventure.
Thank you, Katie, for your thoughtful note. It was a little town but also bursting with visitors. But may be people on vacation also vacation from church :-) I had a little friendly chat with the pastor afterwards (which did not fit into this story anymore.) She expressed her sadness to not have more kids at church. Lutherans are rather rare in the Bavarian countryside. So I am sure the congregation also knows a bit about resistance. But to explore this I would have needed to show up with some more curiosity. Instead I wanted a "holy experience" which then arrived a bit different than I wished for 😇
Isn't that always how the Spirit moves, giving us what we need rather than what we think we want.
Ha! Now you are giving the plot away 😇
Only because you are such a gentle teacher.I hope that you are all enjoying the Bavarian countryside. May you the blue lakes, brats, and beer bring smiles to all of your faces.
Church can take so much patience. No wonder so many have left and are leaving.
That is a good word, Maj-Britt, "patience" it needs indeed. Often we do not have that patience. I surely did not have it that very Sunday 😎
To the contrary, you had much more than I would’ve had!
😎
Not an "easy" worship experience. Wow!
In my first parish, maybe 50 people total on Sunday mornings, a particular elderly woman must have told me 3 or 4 times that the children really belonged in the nursery. I would "smile sweetly" and say, "Well, the children really belong in worship. The nursery, you know, is for the parents who are so hungry for the Gospel that they don't want to be distracted. The nursery is for the parents who need spiritual food for the week."
I'm pretty sure she didn't understand a word I said. Oh, well.
that is a great use for the nursery, Carol, I do like that.
I held my breath as I read about the experiences in that church service. Sometimes, I wonder if the spirit that blows also stays within to tend and nourish.
Thank you, Katherine, and yes, I very much hope the spirit also blows "within" :-)