Falling grace...

Today, after a post-worship nap, I spent some time thinking about this funny, beautiful and often trying thing I try to do with God's help called parish ministry.  A dear man in the church whose wife just went through a successful back surgery, baked us cookies as a sign of love and solidarity given our grief over old Casey.  Another husband whose wife just finished her third operation for cancer - and is doing really well - was telling me how he tries to do one kind thing for someone else each day as his Lenten prayer of gratitude.  My Christian Ed director told me that at his other job - running a food pantry for those in need in North County - he "puts legs on his prayers" and just helps people without thought of race, creed, color or background.

I recalled my clergy colleagues  from other congregations who earlier this week  volunteered to join me this Good Friday at our "disorientation" presentation as an act of solidarity.  Or the way one of the choir tenors gave me the "thumbs up" after my message this morning before we sang Steiner's "God So Loved the World" together.  Or the tender way my moderator checked in on my health.  Or my loving secretary and sexton making certain I knew they were praying for us after we put Casey down. Or my band mate who quickly noted that our dogs so often act like the Father in the parable of the prodigal son - always offering us unconditional love - whenever we remember to return home.  I also remembered the people in the congregation who are their own worst enemies and who cause themselves so many problems that all they can do is resent everyone.  And those who are so wounded and lonely that they push away anyone who might become a friend.  And my confirmation kids and their families.  And the choir - once a source of consternation - but now a place of solace and beauty.  And of course my band mates...

Douglas John Hall wrote these words in his most recent book:

It is perhaps the difficulty and the spiritual threat involved in the attempt to comprehend the anxiety of emptiness and meaninglessness (of this age) that prevents Christian ministers and laypersons from delving into the roots and symptoms of this anxiety. Many prefer to continue speaking to the older, more readily understood anxieties of "fate and death" and "guilt and condemnation" (that shaped another era.)  Particularly the later type has left an indelible mark on Christianity because of its long history.  It is built into our liturgies, our hymn's and prayers, and our expectations of the worship and services of the church.  Few, in my experience, are the preachers who consistently speak from a perspective of compassionate participation to those who wonder whether life can be said to be purposeful.  No wonder the arts, including film, have been much better at recognizing the despair that will not name itself (that rules the hour) than have the churches.

All of which is to say I am grateful for my odd ministry that exists at the intersection of anxiety and art, faith and compassion, real people and the promise of Christ's gospel which I rarely grasp.  My music man, C, today played Steve Swallow's "Falling Grace" and in every way possible it was perfect...