Another angle...

Ok, here's yet another angle through which to look at the peculiar calling of pastor: the statement of faith first written for the merger of what became the United Church of Christ.  Over the years I have come to see that my perspective on church - and later my calling as a pastor - has been shaped and informed by these words.  And while I have embraced the wisdom and insights of inclusive language since the 70s - with periodic poetic exceptions to be sure - I still prefer the old 1959 words and the  broadly Trinitarian structure of the first iteration that reads as follows: 

We believe in God, the Eternal Spirit,
Father of our Lord Jesus Christ and our Father,
     and to his deeds we testify:
He calls the worlds into being,
     creates man (us) in his own image
     and sets before him (us) the ways of life and death.
He seeks in holy love to save all people from aimlessness and sin.
He judges men (sic) and nations by his righteous will
     declared through prophets and apostles.

In Jesus Christ, the man of Nazareth, our crucified and risen Lord,
     he has come to us
     and shared our common lot,
     conquering sin and death
     and reconciling the world to himself.
He bestows upon us his Holy Spirit,
     creating and renewing the church of Jesus Christ,
     binding in covenant faithful people of all ages, tongues, and races.

He calls us into his church
     to accept the cost and joy of discipleship,
     to be his servants in the service of men (of the world?)      

to proclaim the gospel to all the world
     and resist the powers of evil,
     to share in Christ's baptism and eat at his table,
     to join him in his passion and victory.
He promises to all who trust him
     forgiveness of sins and fullness of grace,
     courage in the struggle for justice and peace,
     his presence in trial and rejoicing,
     and eternal life in his kingdom which has no end.
Blessing and honor, glory and power be unto him.
Amen.

Of course there is some "memory bank" familiarity at work in my preference - same goes with most Christmas carols and Lenten hymns, too - there are times that the old words bring me comfort and clarity. (NOTE:  I have made some minor changes, too, I realize in moving towards inclusivity; they are noted in red.)  But let me be clear for the un-poetic or those literal minded readers: I do NOT think of God only in masculine terms nor solely as Father. I value the poetic wisdom of the ancient creeds.  I believe that we have lost some of the relational dimensions of the Trinity in our more functional restatements that speak of tasks and roles rather than relationships.  And I claim the full promise of radical inclusivity by praying to God as Father as well as Mother and almost always as Sacred Mystery.  (Not everyone agrees - and I get that, too.)

So why the old words here - and how have they shaped my calling as a pastor?  Well, the obvious answer is the Trinity:  I often see reality in three parts - I break down problems and challenges most often in three parts - and resonate with Hegel and Marx and others who have spoken of thesis, antithesis and synthesis. I also cherish the mysterious wisdom of the Holy Trinity and that is one clear way of getting at truth for me. But it doesn't stop there:

+ First, this statement speaks to me of God's gift of creation and creativity - a gift that sets before ALL people the ways of life and death - not just Christians.  Or not just Roman Catholics.  Or not just Protestants. All people. Then it states that God seeks to save us ALL from aimlessness and sin.  Those words, aimlessness and sin - alienation and turning away from holy love - are not abstract. They have shape and form in every generation and one of the tasks of the church is to articulate what aimlessness and sin look like born of a commitment to holy love.

+ Second, for those who follow Christ, this statement speaks of sin being conquered. This isn't wishful thinking, new age warm fuzzies or I'm ok, you're ok. There is healing and hope shaped in the Cross - the Paschal Mystery - and this statement says that the mission of the church is to offer hope for those trapped in sin.  It is the way God brings grace into the worst realities - and we believe that this most clearly expressed in Christ.  Christ isn't the only expression of God's grace, of course; but we trust that Jesus is the most clear expression of this blessing:  the Word made Flesh.

+ And then third, the statement speaks of being called by the Spirit into the church - and isn't that interesting?  Not to create the church, nor join it; but, rather to enter it.  And here's the deepest truth for me:  entering the church means "accepting the costs and joys of discipleship."  No room for the self-centered, please!  That is for therapy.  No, the work of the pastor isn't as spiritual cruise director but, rather one who helps articulate and train disciples/apprentices in the cost and joy of discipleship.  It is an upside-down way of living. And while there is always grace and refreshment in the community of faith - and deep rest and renewal, too - the whole point is discipleship born of the Spirit and life in community.

A sweet poem by Mark Noll addresses the cost and joy of discipleship - and the healing the Spirit brings - in his "Scots' Form in the Suburbs."

The sedentary Presbyterians
awoke, arose and filed to tables spread
with white to humble bits that showed how God
almighty had decided to embrace
humanity, and why these clean, well-fed,
well-dressed suburbanites might need his grace.

The pious cruel, the petty gossipers
and callous climbers on the make, the wives
with icy tongues and husbands with their hearts
of stone, the ones who battle drink and do
not always win, the power lawyers mute
before this awful bar of mercy, boys
uncertain of themselves and girls not sure
of where they fit, the poor and rich hemmed in
alike by cash, physicians waiting to
be healed, two women side by side - the one
with unrequited longing for a child,
the other terrified by signs within
of life, the saintly weary weary in
pursuit of good, the academics (soft 
and cosseted) who posture over words,
the travelers coming home from chasing wealth
or power or wantonness, the mothers choked
by dual duties, parents nearly crushed
by children died or lost, and some
with cancer-ridden bodies, some with spikes
of pain in chest or back or knee or mind
or heart. They come, O Christ, they come to you.

They came, they sat, they listened to the words,
"for you my body broken." Then they ate
and turned away - the spent unspent, the dead
recalled, a hint of color on the psychic
cheek - from tables groaning under weight
of tiny cups and little crumbs of bread.

Both this poem and the statement speak of God coming to us and meeting us - sharing our common lot - in Jesus the man of Nazareth, our crucified and risen Lord. And that is how I experience and shape my work as pastor:  listening, responding, seeking the image of God made flesh in Jesus, speaking a word of reconciliation within the harsh and banal realities of our lives.  And viewing reality through both the Trinity and the Cross.

The Language of God from United Church of Christ on Vimeo.
(ADDITIONAL NOTE:  If there is a poetic and relational reworking of this old statement I would love to see it.  I know the Robert Moss attempt - not bad - and I've tried the newer doxological Statement of Faith but too much is lost in the translation.  Perhaps a modest inclusive language version might be attempted yet again. I hope so...)