Recovering the Love Feast

by Brian Gumm

The seminary careers of Paul Stutzman and myself overlapped for one year at Eastern Mennonite Seminary. He was finishing up his last year of an MAR degree while I was starting my dual degree project at the seminary and Center for Justice and Peacebuilding. So now two years later, his master's thesis work has been picked up and published by Wipf and Stock, and it has profound relevance for Brethren!  Check it out...

Recovering the Love Feast: Broadening Our Eucharistic Celebrations
by Paul Fike Stutzman

The foreword is by Eleanor Kreider, who has done considerable work on worship practices at the London Mennonite Center and is now - with her husband, Alan - at the "other" (to me, I say that lovingly) Mennonite seminary, AMBS. The endorsements include a word from Bethany president, Ruthann Knechel Johansen; Brethren sociologist, Carl Bowman; and Brethren historian (and my mentor and former pastor), Jeff Bach!

Paul said it should be available directly off the Wipf and Stock website linked above, and on Amazon within a few weeks. Definitely on my list...

[Note: Cross-posted on my RT blog.]

How seminary is ruining church

After putting such a shocker post title I should start out by saying this isn't an indictment of theological education in any way.  I'm just talking about how studying Bible and theology is affecting my experience of worship.

"Cognitive dissonance" would be a top contender for seminary phrase of the year, if such a distinction existed.  It's certainly one of theology instructor Malinda Berry's favorites.  For me, it's one of those buzzword phrases that I use with a frequency not warranted by my level of understanding of what it actually means--you know, kind of like "exegesis."

Until now, that is.  According to Wikipedia, "cognitive dissonance" is "an uncomfortable feeling caused by holding two contradictory ideas simultaneously."  Basically, theologically, it happens when we experience something contrary to our own truths.

I have a confession: I used to like praise music.  Actually, I used to love praise music.  It's why I learned to play the guitar.  Which I played in the praise band for Intercollegiate Ministries (ICM) at Manchester College.

Most praise music is now ruined for me, because I can't just sing and enjoy it.  No, now that I eat, sleep and breathe theology, I must deconstruct the theological claims present in the lyrics.  And I have to say, they do not nourish my theological intellect.  Most often it's just a lack of the song actually saying much, though there is the occasional bit of questionable theology.  Plus, at seminary I've become used to a lot of inclusive language type stuff (we're all "autumn wind" and "breath of giving" and such), and I get really distracted by songs that are loaded with "father" this and "lord" that.  In one way or another, though, I'm constantly finding myself evaluating the theology of our music.

The other distraction is that I now know too much.  This past weekend I was at a wedding in which both the pastor and the person reading the scripture identified Paul as the author of Colossians.  Now, while the authorship of Colossians is cautiously called "disputed," my understanding and belief is that it was written pseudonymously by one of Paul's later followers, not by Paul.

I squirmed in my seat.

I then picked up the pew Bible from in front of me and turned to the introduction to Colossians.  My Bible is a HarperCollins NRSV Study Bible and is chalk full of critique.  I sort of forgot that there were non-critical Bibles, and that pew Bibles were likely to fall into this category.  So I was surprised when I saw the introduction to Colossians uncritically discussing the circumstances under which Paul wrote it.

Okay, I told myself.  Maybe Colossians can be a gray area.  But what about the pastorals?  Scholarly consensus pretty much rejects Pauline authorship of the pastorals.

I turned to First Timothy.  Again, the introduction talked unquestionably about Paul as the author.  I felt some cognitive dissonance rumbling in me.

Why, though?  My personal faith favors speaking of things that may not be literally true, as if they are true.  I find it unlikely that Mary was a virgin, or even that Jesus turned water into wine.  Yet I have no problem telling these stories.

I think, for me, telling scripture is a statement of faith.  It is a story, and the truth it bears is inherent.  But when we talk about who wrote the letters that make up that scripture, we get into history and fact.  And it bothers me that we fudge over this in worship.  I do understand that for some--many--Pauline authorship, too, is a matter of faith, but I have to say that just isn't how I see it.  In fact, for me, talking critically about the Bible makes it all the richer and more valuable to me.

There has been some resistance, in our tradition, to theological higher education.  And I can understand the frustration of feeling like some priestly class (i.e. those with seminary education) is telling everyone else how to do church.  This is, after all, a Church that recognizes the priesthood of all believers.  Yet my solution wouldn't be to do away with seminary; it would be to open up the kind of discussion we have here to everyone.  Bring it more into our worship.  I was talking to a friend last weekend who noted that a year of seminary would be valuable to anyone who is the least bit interested in theology.

Rabbi Louis Finkelstein said, "When we pray, we talk to God.  When we study, God talks to us."  As I get deeper into theological study, I certainly find it to be where I can hear God.  And I won't go so far as to claim it's for everyone, but I would like to see more connection between those doing scholarship and those doing church.

Of course, then everyone would be distracted by having to evaluate the theology of our songs.  But I guess that's the price you pay.

-Nick Miller Kauffman

If You Believe...

You know how sometimes we learn new songs at Annual Conferences and other large denominational and regional events? And how sometimes we love them so much we can't keep ourselves from singing them?

Once upon a time, like 2001 Annual Conference in Baltimore perhaps, the Church of the Brethren learned the song "If You Believe and I Believe" from Zimbabwe. The song served as the country's national anthem during it's struggle for independence, declared in 1965 but not formally recognized until 1980.

It is a simple, beautiful song, with a fantastic message:

If you believe and I believe and we together pray
The Holy Spirit must come down and set God's people free,
And set God's people free,
And set God's people free;
The Holy Spirit must come down and set God's people free.

Although the song made it into the 2008 conference booklet, I don't know if we sang it. Strange though this seems to some of my friends, I didn't sit in on every business session.

As many of you may know from recent news reports, Zimbabwe had been an Africa success story (it still has the highest literacy rate on the continent) and Harare, the capitol, was site of the WCC's 8th General Assembly in 1998. Now the country is in the midst of a drought, weighted down by inflation, subject to an embargo, projecting the world's lowest life expectancy, and living through a time where its elections look more like a selection.

If we did indeed sing "If You Believe and I Believe" at Annual Conference, I hope we sang it as a prayer for Zimbabwe. If we didn't, I hope you and your congregation will do so in the future and keep the country's people in your prayers for the foreseeable future.

Gen X & Y-ing Out?

Greetings friends, sisters and brothers!

Nick asked for additional authors and I decided to answer the call. I come from the "quality-over-quantity" school of thought, so look for at least one post each month from me.

To give you a really brief personal intro at Nick's request (more to come soon, I promise): My name is Nadine, I'm 30, I live in Philadelphia and I've been blogging for a few years on various topics. (Hey, Nick, how 'bout putting short bios in the column?)

And, now, for the post:

Over my lunch break at work, I save about 15 minutes for scanning a few favorites on the Interwebs. Recently, I saw this article by Marty Cauley on the Albany Institute's blog and my jaw practically hit the desk. (Please read it! The link will open in a separate tab or window for you. It makes it easy to get back to this post when you're done.)

There, in black and white, is what seems to be a line-in to my brain.

Over the years as a member of the Church of the Brethren, there have been several occasions on which I've - seemingly - been asked to be the voice of all the young adults/youth the congregation has "trouble" attracting. I don't ask to be that voice and I don't pretend to speak for others. After all, I actually was at church and committed to being there on a regular basis.

But I feel this article clearly states three of the key points I fumblingly tried to articulate in my teens and twenties. (For the record, I strongly identify with Marty's third, fourth and fifth points, though I also like what he wrote in the first two.) The jewel is this quote:

They see it as hypocritical when the church states how important their presence is but develops program for them but not with them...

I can't tell you how many times I asked this when I was growing up! I'd leave church camp or NYC all geared up to contribute, feeling so empowered, only to get home and be told what was fun and meaningful.

So, seeing from the poll that most of you are in the Gen X, Gen Y and Millenial age groups, what do you think of Marty's article? Does it touch on any themes you notice as areas for improvement in the life of the church when it comes to young adults/youth? Are there other points you'd highlight that were missed?

Blessings in Christ,
Nadine

P.S.: Favorite semi-related quote
From Gruntled Center blog

"Several years ago, when some well-meaning but ineffectual Boomer was gassing on about our good intentions in church, I turned to Mrs. G. and asked (quietly), 'Can't we just pay the Xers to take over now?'"

Church attendance through the ages

Okay, this is a deceptive post title, since "through the ages" usually references something historic.

This blog has existed for somewhere in the neighbourhood of 36 hours, and it's already way more successful than my other websites. I got 41 votes on the first poll, "How often do you attend worship," and that prompted me to write about just that.

For the first big chunk of my life, church attendance was mandatory. It was simply what you did on Sunday mornings, and no amount of complaining would get you out of it (there was an eventual compromise on dress code, resulting in my now-ingrained idea that T-shirts and jeans are appropriate church wear). As I got into my later years of high school, it became more of an optional thing for a couple of reasons: first, I was older and my parents were giving me more freedom, and second, I think church attendance in my family as a whole was starting to decline. I still went, now out of choice, and I thought I'd keep going to church once I was in college.

I had it all planned out. I'd go to the Eel River Community Church of the Brethren, since I knew Dan, the pastor. There was even a van to take me from the college and, better, a senior who worshipped there and was willing to drive me.

I went once.

It became just too easy to sleep in on Sunday mornings. Church was too early, ERCCOB was too far away, and I assumed I wouldn't like the North Manchester church because it was too big. Of course, there's another option for worship when you're at Manchester College: chapel!

I went to chapel maybe once or twice my entire first semester of college. Somewhere in the middle of that year, though, Jim, the campus pastor, asked me to do something for chapel. I don't remember what - a reading, a skit, a prayer - but I think his secret motive was to trick me into attendance. It worked, and I've scarcely missed a Wednesday since.

I also later discovered that I am in love with the North Manchester Church of the Brethren.

I still usually miss Sunday mornings, so my poll answer on average as a college student would be that I attend worship once a week. However, I had to vote "almost never," since in Mexico I've been to church twice: once to mass in Cuernavaca (who can say no to a mariache band in a cathedral?), and once to the Good Friday service at my host family's congregation of Jehova's Witnesses.

Thinking about this the other day, I started to wonder about how church attendance changes once we leave our families, go to college, and then leave college. (This also got me curious about the age distribution of this blog's fledgling readership, which is why I added the new poll. Scroll down for the old one.)

I wish I could post data that cross-references these two variables - age and attendance - but for now, please comment with your own stories and observations on the matter.

Get up and Dance

This was my message when I led chapel at the COB General Offices during my internship with Messenger, Summer 2007. It's not really analytical, but I had to post something.

“Praise him with the sounding of the trumpet, praise him with the harp and lyre, praise him with tambourine and dancing, praise him with the strings and flute, praise him with the clash of cymbals, praise him with resounding cymbals.” - Psalm 150:3-5

“Nobody cares if you can’t dance well. Just get up and dance.” - Dave Barry, Fourteen things that took me 50 years to learn, item six.

Dancing is a subject of some humor in the Church of the Brethren. I’m dubious about the accuracy of this – and part of me is afraid to ask – but rumor has it that back in the day, Bridgewater College used a 100 point system for disciplinary procedures: policy violations would earn you points, and once you reached 100 you were kicked out. Sources say that getting caught engaging in “premarital relations” was worth 99 points: getting caught dancing was an even hundred.

But Brethren jokes aside, Dave Barry – and the author of Psalm 150 – have an important message for us. God didn’t give us such beauty and creativity and passion and intensity so we could stay seated and keep our talents – or just our enthusiasm – to ourselves. Church is not a middle school dance where the boys and the girls clump together on opposite sides of the room and look awkwardly at each other. Church is a party where we can all dance our hearts out and never worry about looking stupid.

Temptations to treat our faith coolly follow us all our lives. Youth are pressured to be “too cool” to talk about Jesus. Adults who have been raised in the church can be just too used to our faith to get excited about it. And we all know what it’s like to be too busy to be excited about anything except the end of the day. The English department office at my high school has a clock permanently fixed on 5:00 with a sign underneath that reads, “It’s 5 PM somewhere.”

Brothers and sisters, life is better than that! God is too good not to praise. Our work here as Christians is too important not to give it our all. When we hold back due to our fear – of failure, of incompetence, of being overwhelmed, of putting ourselves out there, of looking stupid, of getting turned down by Ashley Brandau when we ask her to dance – we are robbing the world of our gifts and ourselves of the joy of living.

Look around. We're doing amazing things. We're feeding the hungry. We're clothing the naked. We're visiting the sick and imprisoned. We're reaching out our hands to Jesus and no, it’s not enough and it never will be, but it’s something. And that is something to celebrate. God is good, and God is doing good work, and that is all the reason we need to praise him with the sounding of the trumpet, with the harp and lyre, with tambourine and strings and flute and cymbals and yes, even dancing.

Now, go to any dance with me and you’ll find me standing quietly in the corner, explaining to anyone who tries to drag me out onto the floor that I’m Brethren and dancing is sinful. But when it comes to our passion for life, our love for Jesus Christ and our commitment to a better world, we have too much to offer to keep it to ourselves. Like Ken Medema's song from NYC 2006 says, “There’s lots of room out on the dancing floor. There’s no delaying anymore.”