Churches and Ageism

I've been meaning to write this post for some time now. 

I read obituaries.  I am interested in which parts of a life get tagged as “important enough” to consume another line in a ridiculously over-priced obituary.  I also read the classified ads…for churches.  I am interested in goals that congregations set for themselves and the traits that they believe their new minister must have to make those goals a reality.  I see a disturbing trend in these ads.   As a specific example, at the very top of the list of “personal/professional qualifications” desired in the new pastor, one church listed “young/young thinker (age 25-45).”

What an incredibly ageist statement.

We would never dream (at least I hope we would never dream) of listing race or gender or marital status or height or weight or financial worth as a “qualification” for ministry.  Yet, we don’t even flinch when “those over 45 years of age need not apply.”  We do not even blink when churches set goal after goal to reach “young families.”  We don’t think twice about the barrage of articles and workshops that address our obsession with getting millennials into church.

What about single adults…of all ages?  Are they less worth our time and energy?  What about couples who have no children?  Are they less valuable to God in their service?  What about older people?  Are their lives less worthy of hearing the Gospel? 

I’m a pastor.  I get worrying about the church’s future.  I get the desire to have young people, lots of young people, actively participating in congregations.  In 2016, I get the need to have leaders who are technologically savvy and who are unafraid of cultural change. 

However, a minister’s age or family status is never an appropriate credential for ministry.  Ministerial membership in a certain age group cannot guarantee anything about the church’s future.  For crying out loud, look at Bernie Sanders.  The man is 74 years old. Born in 1941.  His hair is white.  He’s a grandpa…and yet, the Washington Post reports that Bernie Sanders has “remarkable dominance among young voters…. Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump are well on their way to becoming their parties' 2016 nominees for president.  Among young voters, though, Bernie Sanders has more votes than both of them — combined.”

My point is not political.  My point is that the age of the leader is not a deciding factor in his or her charisma, nor is it a deciding factor in his or her skills, talents, and God-given abilities.  That reminds me…let us not forget God. Let us not forget that in the church, we are talking about God-given abilities and God-given call.  We insult younger people – all people, for that matter - when we assume that their allegiance can be manipulated with something as fleeting as age.  We insult older people – all people, for that matter – when we assume that their age limits their abilities.  We insult God when we fail to acknowledge the vibrancy and value that can be ours at any age.

I guess this little tirade is my attempt to urge churches to give careful thought to the words they use to describe their ministry's goals and the qualifications they seek in leadership.  If you want someone with a certain theological bent, then by all means, include that in your profile.  If you want someone with a certain amount of experience, then by all means, include that in your profile.  But, do not discriminate.  Do not insult God’s pool of leaders by seeking only those who are “young” or “old” or “middle-aged.”  Age – whatever it may be – is a gift from God, and it should be celebrated as such.

Church

This has been a full week of church!  Kitchen renovation committee on Monday (thankfully, my attendance was not required), Shrove Tuesday Pancake Supper, HOPE meals on Wednesday followed by our Ash Wednesday Service, and tonight, handbell practice.

Some might say that not only has this been a full week of church, but it has been a week full of too MUCH church.  In fact, because I have been at church at not at home in the evenings, I canceled by piano lesson today.  No sense in having a lesson if I have not had time to practice.  That cancellation prompted me to think about how my life is completely centered on the life of the church.   This is not new.  I grew up with a father who served as minister of music and a mother who served as church pianist/organist.  Here is what that is like.  Family dinner times are set by church events (and seldom are family dinners not interrupted by calls from someone needing a key to something). Vacations are planned around church events.  Weekends are defined by church events.  Social life is often limited to church events.  Hobbies are pursued that fit around church events.  Holidays are celebrated within church events.  Holidays are also interrupted by emergencies resulting in additional church events.  

When church events called, we were present and accounted for!

Sound oppressive?  Well, sometimes I do feel resentful about things like canceled piano lessons, but after our service last night, I felt so very fortunate that my church attendance today is mandatory…by nature of my job.  I am fortunate because whether I like it or not, my attendance puts me in a different rhythm - the rhythm of the church year.  For instance, I’ve started Lent now.  My head was marked with an ashen cross and I was told to “repent and return to the Lord.”  Not only that, I had the honor of marking the heads of others – from the tiniest of children to our oldest members – it was a powerful moment of connection and community.  We really are all in this quest to live lives of faith together.  We really are!  If not, why would any of us bother to show up for something as silly as having ashes put on our heads?  We show up because in these ancient practices, we chase Jesus. The church year and all of is events is where our lives and the life of Jesus cross each other. 

We re-live his story as we remember his story.  We find our place in his story.  And, somewhere in that, our spirits get re-formed and reshaped.  Joan Chittister wrote, “In the liturgical year we walk with Jesus through all the details of his life – and he walks with us in ours.”

So, although I am tired today and ready to head home instead of playing bells, I am thankful to be in this sacred rhythm.  Thankful to be moving through Lent, intentionally doing the hard work of spiritual formation (and all of the little deaths that come with that), and waiting for the Resurrection.  I am thankful that I will then wait for the wild and wooly Spirit of Pentecost.  Thankful then to wait through the lessons of Jesus and to grow in ordinary time.  And, thankful then to prepare to meet the newborn presence of God.

The church walks me through all of that.  Some days, it feels like too much.  Some days, it feels like not enough.  But, my hope is that as my calendar builds itself around the community of faith, maybe my heart will do the same.

Where I'm From - Word Made Flesh Edition

Over the summer,  I took our "church ladies" on their annual retreat to Christmount - one of our exercises was a writing exercise based on the poem "Where I'm From."  You can read about the poem here and you can read the retreat efforts here.

I thought about this poem as I pondered John 1:1-18 and the word becoming flesh.  Jesus, no doubt, would have a very colorful "Where I'm From" poem.  So, I took a little creative liberty and wrote "Where I'm From," the Word Made Flesh Edition.

I’m from sawdust piles and dinner tables, from fishing boats and healing mud.  

I am from unknown years lost to history, and imagination set on fire – it feels mysterious and as inviting as the taste of fresh baked bread.  

I am from olive trees and salt water stinging a blistered heel.  

I’m from silly puns and storytelling late at night, 

from Joseph with a bruised thumb that got caught between hammer and nail, and 

Mary with her spontaneous singing that seems to welcome the world.  

I’m from weird cousins, and Peter, James, and John, from Martha and Mary. 

I’m from laughing at inappropriate times and overstaying my welcome.  

I’m from “Child, why have you worried us like this?” 

and “I’m your mother, that’s why.”  

I’m from Yahweh, the God of my ancestors, 

from faith that commands me to love – God, neighbor, and enemy.  

I’m from Bethlehem or Nazareth, depending on which book you read.  

I’m from red wine and broiled fish.   

I’m from God’s heart with choirs of angels singing into the night.  

I’m from a teen-aged girl awkwardly greeting exotic kings bearing incense and oils. 

I’m from an old book with gold-trimmed yellowed pages curling up at the edges.  

I am from flesh.  I am from heaven.  

I am from diapers.  I am from Gloria in excelsis Deo.  

I am from shepherds.  I am from stars. 

I am from the word.  I am the word.  

I am from everywhere.  I am from nowhere.  

I am the word becoming flesh and pitching a tent in a camp full of nobodies, and together, we become somebody, so that I can be born in the heart of everybody.”

Christmas Eve

On Christmas Eve, I sat outside our sanctuary with my mother - she was playing piano for our service that night - and we wondered about how the other half lives on Christmas Eve.  For those who don't go to church, do they eat a leisurely meal?  Read stories?  Drink wine? Wrap presents?  Eat popcorn and watch Christmas movies on TV?

I confess that sometimes I get wistful thinking about spending a quiet Christmas Eve at home around a fire - of course, this year with its 75 degree weather, I suppose a Christmas Eve fire would have been a bonfire outside instead of a fire in a fireplace with "the stockings all hung by the chimney with care."

Anyway, with parents who were professional church musicians, we have always, always, always been in church on Christmas Eve...usually several times.  We would start at the Moravian Church for an early service and a love feast.  Every year, the Moravian choir would sing:

"Morning Star, o cheering sight, Ere thou cam’st, how dark earth’s night! 

Jesus mine, in me shine;

In me shine, Jesus mine;

fill my heart with light divine.

Then, they would serve us sweet rolls and sweet coffee.

Afterwards, we would head to our church - a Baptist church - for communion.

Then, it was off to join the Episcopalians for the 9:00 PM service and the 11:00 PM service because my sister was their guest musician.

Once we moved to Statesville, the church service for our home church was much bigger. Musicians and a full choir singing "Still, Still, Still."  I sang in that choir with  years beside my good friend, Robin.  We were inseparable in our high school youth group, and we made quite a formidable alto section.  We were loud and proud altos!  And, we stayed that way - even after we were both grown up and living in other places, we came home to sing in the choir.

So, this year, it was particularly meaningful to me to have Robin and her mother and sister join us for our Christmas Eve Service.  During "Angels We Have Heard on High," I caught her eye and I knew we were both nailing the alto line of "Gloria in excelsis Deo!"

As I reflect back on all the Christmas Eves I have spent in church, I realize how important faith has been to my personal celebration of Christmas from childhood all the way to my, uh, mid-forties!  I realize that the rituals - the candles, the readings, the carols - shape the way I understand God - I DO believe in the God who came in our flesh!  What a wonderful, beautiful thing!  I realize the power of singing the story of faith with others - family, old friends, and new friends.  

Have you ever really paid attention to the words of the carols?  Sing them, and you come face to face with the power of "Mild he lay his glory by, born that we no more may die" and "Word of the Father now in flesh appearing."  We come face to face with the promise "when peace shall over all the earth its ancient splendors fling, and all the world give back the song which now the angels sing."  That's good stuff!

I may never know how the other half lives on Christmas Eve.  But, as I look out across the congregation holding up their candles, I glimpse  the "radiant beams from thy holy face, with the dawn of redeeming grace, Jesus, Lord, at thy birth."  I feel a glimmer of hope for 2016.  Maybe the power of Christmas Eve extends far beyond that one night. Maybe there's more to this birth than we ever imagined.

Peace on Earth

One of my favorite Christmas carols is "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day," mainly because I like that last verse about "God is not dead nor doth he sleep."  But, after hanging out on facebook for a little while, I'm stuck in an earlier verse..."Then in despair, I bowed my head. "There is no peace on earth," I said, "for hate is strong and mocks the song of peace on earth, good will to men."

If the terrorist intent is to divide the rest of us, they are doing a fine job. Quite frankly, we ought to be ashamed.

I have seen such ugly things posted and re-posted.  I have seen ugly comments between "friends."  I've seen the media spin stories - with little regard for truth, it seems to me - to appeal to their viewership or their readership or whatever.  It feels like we've lost all decency...not to mention integrity.  It feels like the "sides" are using great tragedy to benefit themselves...and that is shameful. Are we even capable of feeling shame anymore?  Are we even capable of feeling embarrassment?  Are we even capable of recognizing our own participation in "mocking the song of peace on earth, good will to men"?  Or, are we mainly interested in being right and making our point?

I don't know.  I don't mean to post something so negative.  I guess that today, I felt overwhelmed with the heartlessness I believe I am witnessing.  I just cannot believe some of the things that are being written and spoken.  Today, I feel as though we are so far away from the higher good that faith calls us to.  In fact, I feel as though we are not interested in the higher good.  We are content to wallow in the basest parts of human nature.  In essence, we are content to let terrorism define how we feel and how we treat each other, and that just makes me sad.

As soon as we can define someone as a "liberal" or a "conservative" or a Republican or a Democrat - and we are doing this constantly in response to the terrorist attacks, I guess, because it makes us feel like we have some control if we can name who we don't like and who we ought to blame - as soon as we can stick a label on another person, they cease to be a person - they are a category - either a friend or foe.  And, we are getting into trouble with that.  People are getting angrier and angrier and meaner and meaner and we cannot find any common ground.

Somebody needs to do something.

Somebody needs to demonstrate a better way.

Somebody needs to "fear not" and "behold the good tidings of great joy which shall be for ALL people."

That somebody is us.

I don't know how to do it - but I am going to start by being careful about what I post.  I am going to start by praying for people I don't like and with whom I disagree.  I am going to start by reviewing my day every day and assessing where I've participated in "mocking the song of peace on earth."  Then, I am going to ask for forgiveness and I am going to do better.  I am going to put my trust in God and believe that Jesus was serious about loving God and loving neighbor.  I am going to read a gospel - probably Matthew - to see if I can jog my memory as to what Jesus actually said about enemies and strangers and peace and friends and God and all that stuff.  I'm not relying on someone else's editorial to do that for me - I'm relying on the Holy Spirit and my genuine effort.

I can't fix the world, but I can improve my corner of it.  I will not let my faith be defined by fear or anger.

A Day that Counts

Every day counts, but some days, that truth seems especially salient.  Today was one of those days. Early this morning (OK, it was 8:15 AM but that counts as "early" on a Saturday), I met several of our "church ladies" in the church parking lot.  We were heading to Raleigh to walk in the LUNGe Forward Walk.  We are not normally a group that is too keen on community fitness events.  However, today was different.  We were walking for our friend, Sheree.  So, we had on our active wear, our walking shoes, and our church t-shirts...and our coffee was already in "to go" cups.  We prayed a short prayer on the side porch and loaded into our cars for the drive.

Just when we thought the rain might hold off, the bottom fell out of the sky!  Rain came down by the buckets!  Visibility was bad, and we started to have second thoughts on our very noble plans of walking.  But, the parking garage was easy to find, and more importantly, a parking space was easy to find!  We put on our ponchos and jackets, and with umbrellas in hand, we walked out into the rain to find the registration tent.  After getting our free t-shirts and race numbers, we stood around...still raining.  We visited the porta-potties...still raining.  We found Sheree's team tent and put our new shirts in a bag to keep them dry, and then we stood some more...still raining.  It was then that Sheree's sister walked over to say "hello" and to give us the surprising news that Sheree had come to the walk.

That news was like a break in the clouds and a bright ray of sunshine for us.  It was the boost we needed to stop feeling sorry about our sopping socks!  We immediately left our puddles and went to find Sheree - she was hanging out in the survivor's tent, and she looked great and even seemed happy to see us with our bad hair and muddy shoes! So we posed for pictures and visited for a little while, and then the walk started.

Still raining.

But, with Sheree there, we felt a particular determination and we didn't mind the rain.  In fact, it almost felt cleansing.  In fact, it felt like an honor to walk for our friend.  In fact, it felt like...church.

Church is a beautiful thing.  Church is standing out in the rain and being soaked by friendship that is spirit-driven.  Church is your heart being lifted simply because someone else's heart is lifted.  Church is stepping out of your comfort zone to do good in the world.  Church is the healing that comes from laughter and knowing you are loved.  Church is the connection we have with each other through God that starts before birth and never ends.  Church is the presence of God fully recognized in each other's eyes.  Church is all that and more.

So, we had church in the rain today.  We "passed the peace" as we walked with each other.  Although we had no Table, we still managed to experience communion with pizza and bottled water.  And, believe me, the Spirit was there.  Yes, the Spirit was there.

Silence!

I have just returned from a 24-hour retreat at St. Francis Springs Prayer Center.  I had decided to attend this retreat back in June when I received an invitation from my spiritual director.  If that terms seems mysterious to you, it's just someone who helps me identify God's activity in my life - someone who serves as a pastor to me.  She had invited 14 of us, I think.  And, what a beautiful mix of souls!  Of course, we were reminded about confidentiality - no spilling the beans about conversations in the sessions...and then to make it even a safer environment, no talking to each other about conversations in the sessions if we happened to bump into each other in "real life."  That was all very comfortable for me.

We prayed silently together quite a bit.  I'm not sure why we don't do this in church more often, as it can be very powerful to be silent with other people before God.  There's just something about that practice that right-sizes us and binds us together...or at least, that's what happened in the last 24 hours!  We reflected on scripture.  We wrote a little.  We talked.  We ate wonderful meals.  We laughed.

The interesting thing was this sign that hung on the doors heading into the guest room hallway.  "Please observe silence in the residential hall."  NO TALKING??!  And, not only was there no talking from us, there was no talking from the television because there were no televisions.  And, no talking from the phone because you had to go outside and climb a hill to have phone service.  Instead of TVs, we had large writing desks in our rooms with a nice bright light and a little coaster for our coffee or water.  We had comfortable chairs that sat in front of large windows displaying the beautiful grounds.  We had nice comfortable beds, and when I turned my lights out earlier than usual, it was already a silent and holy night.

I've been thinking about how healthy silence is and how hard it is to practice.  Even when we are not speaking, we are typing, texting, facebooking...and it's not that I think technology is evil.  I don't.  I use it.  I'm using it right now!  But, when it becomes filler - background noise - and we cannot be comfortable without it, we have a problem.  When it becomes our preferred mode of communication, we have a problem.  When we believe that the glow of the computer screen is an open invitation to free speech from us, we have a problem.  What I mean is that words get us in trouble.  In Psalm 141, the Psalmist  prayed Set a guard over my mouth, Lord; keep watch over the door of my lips. The Psalmist understood that rarely does the unspoken word get people into trouble.  The Psalmist understood the quote that "My most prized possessions are the words I haven't spoken."
The past 24 hours was a good reminder to me of how restful life can be with fewer words and more prayers.  It was a good reminder to me of how little I actually need to speak.  And, it was a good reminder that silence is a friend.  I hope that in the coming days I can claim some spaces in my own life where I ask myself to "Please Observe Silence." It's not a bad thing.