I've had two different conversations this week about grace. Actually, I've probably had a lot of conversations about grace...particularly the one in which I told my wife all about the fun things I got to do last week while attending the ELCA Churchwide Assembly in Pittsburgh. The part where she smiled and listened politely and even commended me for having a good time - all while she went to work all week, and fixed dinners for our son, and did the laundry and the dishes and the bills and all of that other "regular life" stuff, and endured yet another Arizona multiple day "heat advisory" - that was the grace part of that conversation!
But specifically, I had the chance the other day to relate the manner in which I came to feel comfortable not having to preach a perfect sermon every week. It happened about a year after I became a full time parish pastor. In a wonderful spot out in the middle of the state of Washington, there's a little town with a funny name - Soap Lake. (I'm kind of surprised it's not on this list - http://voices.yahoo.com/top-50-cities-funny-names-all-around-the-2931257.html) Anyway, this is where I first began preaching every week. At seminary we were taught that preaching was the pinnacle of pastoral ministry. Sermons, we learned, should be painstakingly crafted using solid exegetical research, careful translation of the original texts, and never failing to include words of both law and gospel. Preaching, they said, was the opportunity (along with the sacraments) for God's people to experience in ways unlike any other the grace that gives life. I began my work in Soap Lake, WA afraid that I would not be able adequately preach the gospel in a way worthy of my calling...certainly not week after week after week.
But specifically, I had the chance the other day to relate the manner in which I came to feel comfortable not having to preach a perfect sermon every week. It happened about a year after I became a full time parish pastor. In a wonderful spot out in the middle of the state of Washington, there's a little town with a funny name - Soap Lake. (I'm kind of surprised it's not on this list - http://voices.yahoo.com/top-50-cities-funny-names-all-around-the-2931257.html) Anyway, this is where I first began preaching every week. At seminary we were taught that preaching was the pinnacle of pastoral ministry. Sermons, we learned, should be painstakingly crafted using solid exegetical research, careful translation of the original texts, and never failing to include words of both law and gospel. Preaching, they said, was the opportunity (along with the sacraments) for God's people to experience in ways unlike any other the grace that gives life. I began my work in Soap Lake, WA afraid that I would not be able adequately preach the gospel in a way worthy of my calling...certainly not week after week after week.
Like I said, it was about a year later when I realized that I didn't need to hit a home run every week. It's not that I ceased to put a responsible effort into the job, but I quit worrying so much about the "wow" factor. And I also realized (with apologies to my preaching professors) that those words - and actions - that were so life-changing happened not only in sermons, but at hospital bedsides, in living rooms over coffee, at the diner on Main Street, and in the random convergence of my shopping cart with another's at the grocery store. This realization was grace to me because I was able to see my job not as one approval interview after another, but as a journey through the life of God that surrounds all of us. If I didn't hit it out of the park every Sunday, oh well...God will still find a way to give grace!
The other conversation that conveyed a gracious idea was about how we envision the Church and what it should be to the world. My conversational partner and I were lamenting the fact that we all seem to have this notion that the Church - it's message, it's relevance, it's ability to inspire - needs to be perfect, as a fine symphonic orchestra. We concluded, however, that the church is really more like a middle school band. We are a bunch of beginners who probably don't practice enough, but who, none-the-less, are eager to get out on that stage and play our hearts out. We aren't very good at getting our instruments tuned correctly, and our technique is a long way from that which will make our instruments sound as they should.
Such is the grace of God. We are not called to be perfect. We are called to be faithful. That goes for each of us individually whether we are preachers or plumbers or accountants or basket weavers. And it applies to the Church at large. Paul liked to use the metaphor of a race. But this one of a rag tag gang of kids trying to play in a band together is good, too. With God as our director, we are called to play our best - keeping tempo with the other players - using the skills and techniques that we have been taught - and having a good time doing it. And every once in a while the director will point that baton at you ready to lead you in your solo part. Play loud and proud...the world is listening for just the music that you have to share.
Maybe I'll get out the violin I tried to learn to play when I was in middle school and "play" my next sermon....maybe not.
I just wrote a blog post on my writer's website called "My Favorite Line." For this one - the line that "hit it out of the park" for me was, "... I was able to see my job not as one approval interview after another, but as a journey through the life of God..."
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing.