"I believe in God...

...but I don't go to church.  I just, I absolutely believe in God, I just don't think you have to go to church to believe in God."

...said the grieving son as we met at the funeral home.  His mother had just passed away in a town several hours from mine, but the family was returning to bury her remains next to those of her late husband.  I had never met the family before that day.

The husband assured that they were Lutheran (apparently getting married in a Lutheran church building qualifies one to be Lutheran these days) and that he and his wife had gotten baptized "after the wedding".  Deceased mom apparently never felt the need to have her children baptized, despite telling them stories about how her mother had read her Bible stories at bedtime.

So, "we believe in God, we're just not really church-going people, you know?  I don't think you have to go to church to believe in God."

I nodded non-judgmentally and pressed the conversation further, "Tell me more about your mom," I said, as I suppressed my eye-rolling.

After a few more minutes with the family, I returned home to work on a memorial service/homily for this woman and her family who "believe in God, but don't need to go to church."  And the more I thought about it, the more frustrated I became.  "If you don't need the church," I thought, "then why do you need me, a representative of the church?  Why don't you just do your own funeral?"

And then I remembered a seminary professor who once told me that the purpose of the church is to teach us how to die.  At the time, I didn't really understand her point, but I think I'm beginning to get it.

Anybody can (I didn't say should, just can) baptize.  No stained-glass windows?  Well, a lot of modern churches these days are terribly ugly anyway - get married in a botanical garden if "beautiful setting" is that important to you.  But death?  That's different.  Even people - families - who don't want a funeral "in church", want a pastor to do the funeral home service or graveside committal.  And I suppose that's something in our spirits that cries out for hope, for promises, for someone to tell them, in the face of "the end", that this isn't really the end. I suppose it's something crying out to hear that, although they've forgotten God, God hasn't forgotten them.  And fortunately, we have a God that does that.

But.

It proves that "I believe in God, but I don't need the church" is a complete lie.  Even if the person saying it isn't aware that it's a lie.  Because as a representative of the church, I can offer up prayers about God's merciful arms.  I can strip any semblance of theological sophistication from a homily.  I can pray the Lord's Prayer on my own, and coach the proper response to intercessory prayers.  I can read very basic, very simple, very common Scripture passages - but in the end, I don't know if this family has any idea at all what I'm talking about.

Because the prayers, the liturgy, the language, the Scriptures, the rites, the rituals all "belong", in a sense, to the Church.  Even if the ancient wording is "translated" out of "King James English" and into something more vernacular, it still presumes a familiarity with the faith, with the promises of Christ, with the images of Scripture.

And so, leaving the Holy Spirit out of it for just a moment (we'll get right back to that), it's hard to know what to say.  Because the Church created the rituals - selected the Scriptures, wrote the prayers - for individuals who belong to the Church, who hold to the hope of eternal life promised by Jesus Christ. And it isn't so much that God isn't - or can't be - merciful to those outside the faith.  And none of us knows for sure the state of anyone's heart at the moment of death.  But to do a service, and preach the essentials of the faith - for a group of people thoroughly uninterested in it every other day of their lives - is a nigh-unto-impossible task.

(And yes, who knows but that the pastor in this situation might be there for such a time as this - perhaps the Holy Spirit will indeed use this time of loss and despair to bring a grieving family to himself.  And we should always hold out such hope, trusting that God works as he sees fit, and in his mysterious timing.  We have a big, big God.  But that's not really my point.)

My point is that, for anyone who says, "I believe in God, but I don't need to go to church," the answer is, "Well, actually, yes, yes you do."  Because the Church teaches us how to die.  She teaches us how to die ourselves, and she teaches us how to handle the death of a loved one.  We have prayers and Scriptures and rituals and rites for just this occasion.  But if you don't ever participate in the life of the Church, they will be meaningless (although not powerless) in the face of The Last Enemy.

"Christ loved the Church, giving himself up for her."

But if you and your loved ones have consciously declared that you don't need the Church, then how is the Church to explain her Lover and his promises in your hour of need?

**And yet we proclaim them all the more - we know not what seed will be planted, and while we give no illusion for false hope, we continually announce the good news of Jesus Christ for all who have ears to hear.

But you need the Church.

More on Death

Wow, I'm just Miss Merry Little Sunshine today, aren't I?

Anyway, this essay on "dying with dignity" by David Mills really hit home for me a couple weeks ago.  It came as I was getting ready for yet another funeral, and basically doing (to be blunt) "Death Watch" for another member.  I wish that I could just cut and paste the entire thing right here, but I think that violates all kinds of "fair use" restrictions.  So I'll put some of the best, and then encourage you to go read it all.

In discussing the current trend toward "Death with Dignity," he writes,

“Death with dignity” offers not only an escape from pain and humiliation, but a rational and apparently noble way to leave this life. All it requires is that you declare yourself God. Make yourself the lord of life and death, and you can do what you want. All you have to do, as a last, definitive act, is to do what you’ve been doing all your life, every time you sin: declare yourself, on the matter at hand, the final authority, the last judge, the one vote that counts.

But you are not God, and, the Christian believes, the decision of when to leave this life is not one he has delegated to you. To put it bluntly, he expects you to suffer if you are given suffering and to put up with indignities if you are given indignities. The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord. And that, as far as dying goes, is that.

For the Christian, Mills says, "dying with dignity" means something else altogether:

This is what my father taught me: to die with dignity means to accept what God has given you and deal with it till the end. It means to play the hand God has dealt you, no matter how bad a hand it is, without folding. It means actually to live as if the Lord gives, and the Lord takes away, and in either case blessed be the name of the Lord.

And here is why:

It’s what Jesus did: dying with dignity, in obedience to his Father suffering all the pain and humiliation this world could give. That is something to remember, after celebrating the feasts of All Saints and All Souls, of those who have gone before us, if we want some day ourselves to be among the faithful departed.

For some reason, Mills' thoughts here remind me of the Nunc Dimmitis, aka Luke 2:29-32.  The ESV Translation reads:

Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace,
according to your word;
for my eyes have seen your salvation
that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples
a light for revelation to the Gentiles
and for glory to your people, Israel.

From years of the LBW, the "translation" in my head is

♪ Lord, now you let your servant go in peace, your word has been fulfilled.
My own eyes have seen the salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of every people.
A light to reveal you to the nations, and the glory of your people, Israel. ♫

Love, love, love this.  Read it at my funeral, mkay?

Things I Think I Think II

• I normally want nothing to do with Al Mohler, but I think he is exactly right when he notes that "divorce is now the scandal of the evangelical conscience".  It's hard to excerpt, because it's so good, but here are some key quotes:

As Smith argues, the Bible is emphatic in condemning divorce. For this reason, you would expect to find evangelical Christians demanding the inclusion of divorce on a list of central concerns and aims. But this seldom happened. Evangelical Christians rightly demanded laws that would defend the sanctity of human life. Not so for marriage. Smith explains that the inclusion of divorce on the agenda of the Christian right would have risked a massive alienation of members. In summary, evangelicals allowed culture to trump Scripture.

           See also:

But divorce harms many more lives than will be touched by homosexual marriage. Children are left without fathers, wives without husbands, and homes are forever broken. Fathers are separated from their children, and marriage is irreparably undermined as divorce becomes routine and accepted. Divorce is not the unpardonable sin, but it is sin, and it is a sin that is condemned in no uncertain terms.

• Catholic or no, I think Elizabeth Scalia makes a fabulous point in this article. 

Intellectual rigor and loyalty are not mutually exclusive, as some progressives are prone to insist. What Newman models is, perhaps, a willingness to apply one’s own intellect to any question with enough openness as to leave room to be surprised at one’s own conclusions.

Also:

Sometimes, the commingling of faith and reason is a neat and natty thing. More often it is a bit messy, but once our intellects have thrashed a matter to its frayed ends, we realize that we have stumbled into mystery and then, if we are open, we (very reasonably) throw our hands up to heaven and submit to it, because we know mystery for a good adventure, and we are loyal to it.

I'm always intrigued by people who say things like, "I could never be Catholic because I don't want anyone to make me believe all those things."  It's always said with kind of a sneer, as though it's obvious that there is no one who does in fact believe all those things, and that all those unthinking Catholics have clearly signed the Catechism at gunpoint (or something) and are to be viewed with disdain.  As though thinking about what you believe, reasoning it out, talking about it, all within a general framework of loyalty is impossible, or totally not allowed in the Catholic Church.  It also makes me ask the question: do other churches - Lutherans, Anglicans, and other less uh... historically tethered protestants - not have lists of "things you have to believe"?  Like, you know, the Creeds or something? 

• I think I am frustrated here by the general sense I get that not being married or having children completely disqualifies me from having anything to say about marriage or children/children's ministry.  Parents who disagree with me don't say, "Hmm...well, I see your point, but I still think..."  No, they say, "Well, as a parent, I can tell you that..."  At the wedding I was at last week, that I didn't even officiate at, the father of the groom looked quite obviously at my left hand, and then proceeded to say in all seriousness, "Well, you're not married, so of course, you don't know anything about any of this."  Thanks.  Because I don't already feel like a failure at life for being 29 and unmarried, I need you all to point it out and start removing my pastoral authority, all at the same time.  Awesome.  

• I think that being asked to preside at funerals, particularly the graveside portion of the service, is perhaps the greatest honor I have ever had.  I complain a lot about all of the funerals there have been, and I think that they can really take a toll on a solo pastor.  And while I'm really enjoying my time here, I'm not sure that I'm sold on "I really really wanna be a pastor here for the rest of my life."  But I will miss the funerals.  There's a very real, almost tangible, intersection of life, death, God, humans, love, loss, natural, and supernatural all at once.  I want to say that it's "cool", but that does no justice it to whatsoever.  There just is not the right word. 

• I think that there are a lot of grocery items where one can get by with using the inexpensive Wal-Mart brand.  Like canned vegetables, or shredded parmesan cheese, or hot cocoa mix.  Ranch dressing is not in this category. 

• I think that it is way too late in the year for the high temperatures to be in the 70s.  I know that it needs to snow on or before my birthday. 

• I think that I would move back to Europe, especially Germany, in a heartbeat.  With a good job offer, and hopefully a couple pre-fab friends in the area (connected to a job, or school, or just an expat community), I'd pack my bags and go right now. 

Tales of a Country Parson, Vol. V

So, last week was a busy week.  I preached (as usual) on Sunday, and then had a short afternoon off before dinner with the council members of the smaller of my two congregations.  It was a marvelous dinner, but still was something on the "to-do" list. 

Then Monday I had to head into the "big city" for staff meetings, internship supervision, etc... I like going to the city, (Starbucks, Walmart, and Target, the greatest sirens in my life) but I had to hurry back home because there was a visitation and prayer service (kind of a forum for eulogies, held in conjunction with many funerals in this part of the country) for a man at my church who had died.  I didn't really have to "run" any of it, as the deceased had a relative who is a pastor in a nearby town who had been pressed into service, but I still needed to go, and I'm glad I did. 

Tuesday was the funeral, and I spent most of the day in my office/the church being hospitable to all the assorted funeral people running around - funeral committee ladies, funeral home staff, etc...

Wednesday I went to the local nursing home to learn about leading worship there, as I apparently now have a rotating responsbility for leading it, and while I was at the nursing home, the funeral home director called to tell me that one of my parishoners had died, in the nursing home, the night before, and that we needed to get going on funeral arrangements.  So Wednesday afternoon/evening was spent consulting with my supervisor and trying to get a hold of the family, which ended up being kind of a weird thing.  I guess people get strange around death, and everyone reacts differently, but still, it was odd.