Memo to Ann Landers: Yes, I Still Do Weddings

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: Genesis 2:18-24

 

Several years ago, Ann Landers….who I almost never read….rendered an opinion on the proper way to hang a roll of toilet paper. I don’t remember whether she said that the squares should come out from under, or down from over. But the argument raged for weeks, with readers taking sides as to whether she was right or whether she was wrong.

Which was the biggest “brouhaha” Ann’s column ever caused, until a Catholic bishop wrote and told her (in no uncertain terms) why he hated to perform weddings. His diatribe was like dynamite under a dam. Suddenly, letters flooded in from clergy of all shapes and sizes, saying that they hated weddings, too. And telling her why. There were tales of intoxicated groomsmen, overbearing mothers, erotic wedding kisses, Broadway musical selections, and sanctuaries filled with guests who didn’t look like they had the faintest idea where they were….nor did they care.

There was the story of the best man who dropped his trousers at the head of the recessional, the bride who wanted her dog to walk her down the aisle (no, she wasn’t blind), and the groom who announced to all within earshot: “Here comes the preacher who shows up anytime there is free food.” But the prize for tastelessness went to the semi-sloshed father of the bride who, in answer to the preacher’s question, “Who gives this woman to be married to this man,” responded: “Your wife and I do.”

All of which seemed to interest you more than me. You clipped the columns and dropped them on my desk, literally begging for comment. So here it is.

Clearly, Ann struck a nerve. Many clergy do not like to do weddings and figure out ways to minimize their number. Peek behind rules that churches establish (as to who can stand at the altar and who can’t) and you will often find pastors who would just as soon spend their Saturday afternoons elsewhere. In part, their reluctance is a matter of timing. If more weddings took place at 11:00 on Tuesday or 1:30 on Thursday, you might find fewer pastoral scruples against performing them. With clergy weekends already sliced-and-diced-every-which-way-from-Sunday (by all that happens on Sunday), you can see what Friday night rehearsals and Saturday weddings do to what remains of the weekend….especially when one does over 50 a year.

But there’s another issue that clergy will never talk about in public. That being money. In churches where there is not an established fee structure….including appropriate honorariums for officiant and organist….it is not uncommon for the bride’s family to spend three or four thousand dollars on flowers only to have the groom slip a rumpled ten dollar bill to the preacher. I can tell you that because it’s not a concern, personally. But late at night….behind closed doors….when the hair comes down at clergy gatherings….all you have to do is listen.

Do I do weddings? Sure! Lots of them. Fewer now, than before. No more years of 50….and I am working hard to get the number under 40. But, career-wise, I am pressing ever closer toward 1700. We do lots of weddings here. I did one last night. Rod did one yesterday afternoon. At 5:00 on Friday, I did a vow renewal ceremony for Lindsay Hinz’s parents, on the occasion of their 50th anniversary. After the renewal, they all went out for an elegant family dinner. Which made no sense to me, given that they could have gotten away at a fraction of the price at the Ice Cream Social. But I like vow renewals. That’s because they smack of success.

Do I have horror stories I could send to Ann Landers? A few. But, surprisingly, very few. There was the groom who smoked a “joint” in my bathroom. Nor will I soon forget the day we had plainclothes cops sprinkled around the building in case the bride’s old boyfriend followed through on his threat to “put somebody down for the count” if she ever married anybody but him. And then there’s my colleague’s remembrance of the four-year-old boy, neatly attired with tux and pillow, who growled all the way down the center aisle because someone told him that he was the “ring bear.” But, over the years, I’ve liked most people in most weddings….with the possible exception of videographers. And I’ve learned the art of working with them beforehand, so as to minimize my irritation with them afterward. I’ve gotten smarter as the years have gone by. One day I woke up and realized that, in this burgeoning (and somewhat lucrative) industry that we call “the wedding business,” all of us have jobs to do. And if I can help you do yours in ways that will cause minimal infringement upon mine, we will all be a lot happier….and the results will be a whole lot prettier.

Still, somebody has to be in charge. And here….in my shop….it’s me. Not the photographer. Not the videographer. Not the floral arranger or the wedding coordinator. Not the string quartet conductor, the bride’s mother, or even the bride. But me.

If that seems heavy handed, it’s not. Because I am not. In fact, I’m a bit of a pussycat. Most people find me easy….perhaps, even charming….to work with. That’s because I listen. I mean, I really listen. I listen to what you want to do. But more important, I listen to why you want to do it. Then I try to help you accomplish your objectives in ways that will make sense spiritually and artistically.

Knowing that a minimum of one wedding in three will have some underlying family tension attached to it, I work things through (carefully and in advance) with the bride and groom. That way, nothing is left to chance at the rehearsal. Wedding rehearsals are my ministry to your anxiety. Having planned carefully, I simply announce the seating arrangements involving dad’s new girlfriend (who everybody is meeting for the first time, including mom)….not to mention the in-laws who can’t abide each other and don’t speak to each other. And I would never put a floor plan issue up for grabs on Friday night, where an egocentric bridesmaid could make a grandstand play to change everything around, so that this wedding might become a carbon copy of her wedding that took place six months ago.

On the night of the rehearsal….in the midst of this swelling sea of nervousness….someone has to look like they know what they are doing. And that someone has to be me. That’s where I earn the rumpled ten dollars or whatever. In fact, I am floored by the number of times people say (with reference to the rehearsal): “Oh, you made us feel so very much at ease.” When, if the truth be told, I worry that I am being just a tad dictatorial. I comfort myself by saying that I am not imposing my will if I have listened (and negotiated) with sensitivity, beforehand. Still, as much as it may be “your day,” it is still “my shop.”

What does the Bible say about weddings? Precious little. Does the Bible tell me how to perform one? Not that I can discern. Everybody remembers the story about Jesus and the wedding that took place in Cana of Galilee. Jesus went….accompanied by his mother. He performed his first miracle there. He turned water into wine there. He saved the reception from becoming a total disaster there. And he caused an argument between the guests and the host over why this new-and-improved wine had been held back until the party was nearly over.

But this story is tricky. It’s not about weddings. It’s not about receptions. It’s not about anybody’s personal preference for Mondavi over Manischevitz. Instead, it’s a cryptic story about a theological paradigm shift. How’s that for a fifty-dollar phrase? It’s a story about Jesus being the new wine….whose time is coming. And it’s a story about Judaism representing the old wine….whose time has been.

But if we scan the pages of scripture, we can glean a few interesting tidbits about weddings in biblical times. From the Book of Tobit (7:14), we learn of the existence of a wedding contract….meaning that “prenuptials” aren’t necessarily all that new. From the Song of Songs, we learn of a special bridal garment, including the existence of adornment. From Genesis 24:35, we learn that the bride, even then, was probably veiled. From Judges 14:11, we learn that the groom most likely had attendants, including a best man. From Matthew 9:15, Mark 2:19 and Luke 5:34, we learn that it was traditional to invite a number of wedding guests.

Jeremiah 7:34 suggests a procession accompanied by music (meaning that Doris Hall worked Saturdays, even then). The Book of Ruth hints of a skirt-spreading ceremony, whatever that was. Deuteronomy 22:13-21 raises the possibility of a virginity check prior to the ceremony. Alas, it appears that this was required only of the bride. And various references in Tobit (located in the Apocrypha) and Judges….along with the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins in Matthew 25….give evidence that wedding festivities may have lasted a minimum of seven days, all the way up to a maximum of fourteen. But of particular interest to me this morning is the passage I just read from the second chapter of Genesis, the one that concludes: “This, at last, is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh. Called woman, she is born of man. And a man shall leave his mother and cleave to his wife, and the two shall become as one flesh.” This image of “one flesh” is perhaps the most ancient matrimonial symbol. And its appearance at the conclusion of a Genesis creation story suggests that marriage was deemed to be part of the natural….and intended…. order of creation.

On the average Saturday, does everybody understand that? I doubt it. Secularity is ripe on the planet. And it is especially virulent among those of marrying age. Years ago, most weddings took place in church and were followed by a simple reception in fellowship hall, hosted by the ladies of the church. No beer. No band. But even the poorest little church had a silver tea set. Which meant that there was tea….lemon wedges….sugar cubes….round mints….bowls of mixed nuts (from which I always tried to extract the few visible pecans)….individualized squares of vanilla ice cream (paper wrapped) with little pink colored hearts frozen inside….and cake. Of course, cake. Which was sometimes upgraded to include those ridiculously expensive little tea sandwiches (which men positively abhor as they talk in groups about whose idea it was to veto the serving of “real food”).

Do we see such receptions anymore? Not much. In part, because even if the bride and groom wanted it, most churches wouldn’t have anybody left who would remember how to do it….or would volunteer for it. Meaning that it’s not just today’s kids who are different.

Today, people get married in all kinds of places….especially in California. Twice in the last two years, I have flown to the coast to officiate in a California wedding. Once at a golf resort. The other time at a winery. I’m here to tell you that “winery weddings” are a big deal in the West.

Do I go outside of the church to do weddings? Sure! Do I do so often? Not really. Do I water down what I do….when I don’t “do church?” No. Because I have this weird habit….implanted at ordination….of carrying “church” in me, whether I am surrounded by stained glass or green grass. Weddings, you see, may be set in the context of the sacred or the secular. But marriage, to me….even though I am light years removed from Roman Catholicism….hints at (and maybe even smacks of) a sacrament. When I do a wedding, the understanding I bring to it is that God is in it….and that Christ comes to it. Meaning that from day-one of the planning to moment-last of the benediction, I try to lift everyone six or seven feet above a morbidly obsessive preoccupation with questions concerning nut cups or no nut cups

If I am successful, I will leave you with a clear (albeit unspoken) message….whether you are the bride, the groom, or the mothers of the bride and groom….that this is not (just) about you. This is about some strange and exotic mystery that Paul twice referred to as “Christ and the church.” Which suggests a certain manner of “living with”….along with a certain openness to “dying for.” How in the world did Christ love the church? Well, lots of words come to mind. But “sacrificially” is the one that sticks.

I doubt most couples know this. But I think many couples sense this. Their language gives them away. When they talk (repeatedly) about this being a “big day,” they are not just talking about the clothes they are wearing….the guests they are greeting….the money they are spending….but about the awesomeness of what they are undertaking (and the fact that if all they bring to it is what “they” bring to it, they will probably fail). Not that they’ll ever admit it. But they fear it. Let me tell you, they fear it.

And so a wedding becomes a moment….a personal and professional moment….to see what I can bring to it. Or, better yet, to see who I can bring to it. Which is why I don’t lose a lot of sleep over whether those I marry are members (or even attenders). Because a wedding is one of those moments in which everybody is incredibly vulnerable, don’t you see. And vulnerability is the one thing that throws open more windows to the fresh air of the gospel, than anything else I know.

Do I come across heavy handedly? Of course not. But do I blow weddings off lightly? Of course not. Here at First Church, we even instituted a “Preparation for Marriage Seminar” (of four weeks duration) as one component of our agreement with the couples we marry. Does premarital work, work? Gosh, I hope so. Does it ever stop people from going ahead with the wedding? Once in a blue moon….maybe.

Let’s get real. By the time most people see me, things are pretty much on cruise control. Which means they are going ahead. So it’s relatively ridiculous for me (from my position) to render judgments like:

            Insider….outsider,

            Ours….not ours,

            Fit….unfit,

            Sure thing….certain disaster.

My job is to take what comes, asking: “Tell me why it’s important to you to be married in a church.” Then, without prejudging the answer (sufficient reason….insufficient reason), I work with whoever God brings me.

Do weddings beget church members? Sometimes. Is that a good reason to perform them? Not particularly. Why do it, then? Because human love is as close as a lot of people are ever going to get to seeing the Spirit of God in action. Moreover, if we expect commitments to last (as Jesus said they should), we who believe them to be sacred ought to do our level best to be present when people make them.

Quite frankly, if I have one complaint about church weddings involving non-church people, it has more to do with the guests in the pews than the participants at the altar. I recognize that strangeness explains rudeness. But it shouldn’t excuse it. And the part of me that is becoming old and crotchety sometimes wishes I could say to the people in the pews:

Sit down. Shut up. Keep your cameras in your purse. Keep your opinions to yourself. If you must bring a two year old, be sensitive to the fact that not everyone may think his actions quite as cute as you do. And if you are a female guest who is young and shapely, don’t show so much skin so as to upstage the bride.

Even then, it’s amazing how often a well-officiated ceremony can turn a rag-tag audience into a worshiping congregation, without anybody being aware that such a transformation is actually taking place.

Sometimes, when I launch into the Call to Worship at a wedding, I find myself thinking: “Let’s see if I can get them.” But, once I’ve “got them,” what do I want them to see? I want them to see that God wouldn’t give two people this awesome, aching hunger for another human being, if God didn’t believe it was a hunger capable of being satisfied. I want them to see that God wouldn’t design something into the nature and fabric of creation….namely, this “one flesh” ideal….unless God believed that people could really make it work. And I want them to see that the Bible wouldn’t (time and again) equate the Kingdom of God with a giant wedding reception, unless weddings and the parties that follow them are pretty close to God’s heart. Then, if God is even one part Slovenian, I trust there will be an occasional polka at the reception.

 

Note: The four paragraphs of “biblical material” concerning wedding traditions were taken from a sermon I wrote in 1997 entitled “Five Minutes Before a Wedding.”

A few days after delivering this sermon, Aileen Erdmann handed me a clipping from the August 2 issue of the Livingston Enterprise (Livingston, Montana). It described, in some detail, the outdoor wedding ceremony for Heather Nack and Bob Culbreth. The bride and groom wore handmade clothes and leggings of buckskin, which they had scraped, tanned and prepared themselves. Instead of a veil, the bride wore a flower garland on her head and carried a bouquet of white and purple lilacs. The groom’s best man was his black lab, Roswell. Instead of exchanging rings, both the bride and groom had clasped-hand rings tattooed on their ring fingers. For their honeymoon, Heather and Bob spent five days and nights canoeing the 110-mile wild and scenic section of the Missouri River. Given that they are both 1999 graduates of the University of Montana School of Forestry, the style and structure of the wedding may have been well-fitting and comfortably appropriate.

 

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Message In a Bottle

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church

Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: Luke 15

 

What an exciting new venture this is. I can’t help but be thrilled with the number of people who have gathered. For some of you, this is your first time in this church. For others, this is your second or third service of the day. As for me, it’s my fourth. But who’s counting? Besides, what a day it has been.

Looking around the sanctuary, I don’t see many of you who were here at 8:15 this morning. Which means that you missed Russ Ives’ wonderful solo. Russ sang “If With All Your Hearts, Ye Truly Seek Me” from Mendelssohn’s Elijah. And Russ has seldom sounded better. But he had a great song to start with. Rumor has it that Karl Barth once identified Mozart as the person he most hoped to see in heaven. But I trust that in some corner of the life that is to come, God has made some room for Mendelssohn.

If you go down Woodward Avenue to Metropolitan United Methodist Church, you will see the words Russ sang stenciled high above the altar. The only problem is, the letters all run together. No spacing separates them.

IfwithallyourheartsyetrulyseekmeyeshalleversurelyfindmethussaithyourGod.

I am not sure why it was done that way. But, sooner or later, most people catch on.

The idea behind the text is that, at some time or another, most of us will go looking for God. Not that we will do it continuously….or devotedly. But, at some point in time, the quest will capture and consume us. It will take some to mountaintops and others to monasteries. Still others of us will go to places where human need is raw, the better that we might find God in the faces of our hurting neighbors.

But I want to suggest something of a counter movement….that God goes looking, too. Moments ago I read a trio of texts. All of them describe a seeking God. In the first text, Adam is hiding from God in the garden. Leading God to ask: “Where are you?” Unless I am mistaken, it is the first question God poses in the Bible. He wants to know where Adam is.

The second text quotes the psalmist:

            Where can I go from your spirit?

            Where can I flee from your presence?

            If I ascend to heaven, you are there.

            If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

            If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,

            Even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.

Imagine that. Wherever we go, God will find us. Making our bed in Sheol is a “death image.” So is “taking the wings of the morning and dwelling in the uttermost parts of the sea.” What is the psalmist saying? He is suggesting that even if we die, God will hunt us down.

Then I read a couple of stories from Luke 15. I could have read them all, but a little taste is enough. A shepherd loses a sheep and goes looking for it. A lady loses a coin and does the same. And, in a story I didn’t read, a boy leaves home and heads for parts unknown. But his father never turns off the porch light, even as we picture him standing in the doorway scanning the horizon for a familiar face.

The connecting thread seems to be obvious. Things get lost. People get lost. And God organizes a search party. Even when we are indifferent….or downright hostile….to discovery.

Hiding is sometimes deliberate. We wander off intentionally. I don’t know if kids play Hide and Seek anymore, but I played it every night. Somebody was chosen to be “it.” He then buried his face in the big maple tree and counted to a hundred by fives. Then he cried: “Here I come, ready or not.” And we were always ready. Meaning that we were well hidden.

I don’t remember all the variations of the game that followed. Either he found us, or we somehow “got in free.” But I once got to thinking: “What if I hide so well that people stop looking?” What if I am still hiding when everybody else quits and goes home? Or quits to play baseball? Or starts a new game without me? I picture myself wondering: “Aren’t you going to look anymore?” Leading me to ponder the possibility that human beings crave discovery.

But hiding is sometimes inadvertent. We don’t plan to hide. We just wander off. Still, God looks for us, even when we are unaware that we have wandered.

John Wesley called this “prevenient grace.” In theological terminology, it means: “What God does for me, prior to my awareness.” Let me illustrate. Picture taking your kid to the state fair…. to a giant amusement park….or to a shopping mall. All of a sudden, you become aware of the fact that your kid is no longer by your side, but has wandered off. At first, you do a quiet little search. You go up one aisle….down another. But when your ever-widening circles fail to lead to discovery, you panic. Your search becomes sweaty and emotional. You make inquiries. You enlist allies. You have them page your kid over the loud speaker.

Eventually, you are successful. You hug your kid. Then you scold your kid. But your kid gives you the dumbest look in the world, followed by the question: “What’s all the fuss about?” Your kid didn’t even know he was lost. But there’s nothing unusual about that. Most of us don’t.

But the Bible seems to suggest that whether our hiding be deliberate or inadvertent, God is a relentless seeker (“Here I come, ready or not”). God will stop at nothing till we are found.

* * * * *

Picture, if you will, an island. The island is relatively large, but not so large so as to be inaccessible to all who dwell there. Meaning that everybody on the island has the possibility of knowing everybody else on the island. Not everybody does, of course. But everybody could.

The island, itself, is both balmy and breezy. Some describe it as “pleasant.” Others hold out for the word “idyllic.”

Stories suggest that people first came to the island following a series of shipwrecks. But, if true, they happened a long time ago. Nobody remembers (or talks about) them very much.

Life on the island is both predictable and comfortable. Early settlers took pains to civilize things. And classify things. Meaning that all the birds were named….as were the fish and animals. Trees, too. A system of transmitting information was established so that young minds could be trained. Thus, the island had education. When disputes arose (as will happen from time to time), a process was devised so that they might be resolved. Hence, the island had adjudication. And there was a “fun side” to life on the island, as evidenced by parties, parades and even an occasional holiday. Meaning that the island knew celebration. All told, a pretty nice place to live.

One day, while walking the beach, a man spotted a bottle. Uncorking it, he removed a piece of paper on which he found the words “Help is coming.” Not quite understanding what he had read, he said nothing to anybody and threw the bottle back into the sea.

Another day, while walking the same beach, the same man spotted a second bottle. This time the message read: “Help will arrive soon.” Puzzled, he confided in a friend.

Over time, more bottles washed up on the sand. Not all at once. And not every day. But enough, so that others began looking for them. While the messages varied from bottle to bottle, there was a common thread connecting them. Included were these:

            “Help left yesterday.”

            “Help is never far away.”

On the surface, the messages seemed absurd. People on the island didn’t really need help. But, over time, strange things began to happen. As word got around, more people began to gather on the beach. While they didn’t have a word to describe what they were feeling, there was a “curiosity” they hadn’t felt before….a curiosity about life beyond the island. They began to wonder what was out there….who was out there….and why “out there” cared about “here.”

All of which led to a collective musing….not about “what we got”….but about “what we ain’t got.” They began to wonder what they were missing. Was there something they needed that they didn’t have? They began to feel less than complete.

Over time, things became ritualized. While people still walked the beach looking for bottles at odd times of the day and night, others began to gather on a weekly basis. Some in the morning. Some at night. Upon gathering to look for new messages, they found it comforting to reread the old ones. All of which led to a camaraderie (of sorts) that was deeper than any they had previously experienced. Meaning that they began to support each other….look after each other….mutually encourage each other.

They began to feel good about the fact that the world was larger than they had imagined it to be. And the place where they lived began to feel less and less like an “I land.”

Some, of course, didn’t have any of these feelings. They paid little attention to the messages. Instead, they satisfied themselves by studying every detail of the bottles that brought them.

* * * * *

My friends, Russ is right. Seekers abound. Most mornings (and some evenings) on the “I land,” there are people who gather on the beach to look for bottles, read messages and encourage each other. Fortunately, bottle sightings are still frequent. And messages aren’t really that hard to find. In fact, one washed up yesterday. Unrolling it….and reading it….it had the feel of a lyric:

            You’ll never know just how much I love you.          

            You’ll never know just how much I care.

            And if I tried, I still couldn’t hide my love for you.

            You ought to know, for haven’t I told you so,

                        A million or more times….

 

Note:  This message was delivered at our first-ever “Sunday Night Alive” service. This represents a new venture for First Church and offers a fourth worship option each Sunday, featuring a more “contemporary” format.

“Sunday Night Alive” sermons may differ somewhat in style from those preached on Sunday morning. They are delivered from notes rather than a manuscript….and from a platform rather than a pulpit. Over time, a comfortable pattern will surely emerge.

For my story about the island, I am indebted to a wonderful book by Eugene Peterson entitled Working the Angles: The Shape of Pastoral Integrity.

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On Feeling Low in a Flying High World

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church

Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: II Corinthians 12:1-12

 

Slices of the Psalms

To whatever degree you are depressed….or know someone who is depressed….you have plenty of company in the Bible. Read the Psalms if you doubt this. Start with Psalm 69:1-3.

            Save me, O God,

            For the waters have come up to my neck.

            I sink in deep mire,

            Where there is no foothold;

            I have come into deep waters,

            And the flood sweeps over me.

            I am weary with my crying;

            My throat is parched.

            My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God.

 

Or consider the helplessness of Psalm 74:9-11:

            We do not see any signs;

            There is no longer any prophet,

            And there is no one among us who knows how long.

            How long, O God, is the foe to scoff?

            Is the enemy to revile your name forever?

            Why do you hold back your hand?

            Why do you keep your hand in your bosom?

 

Or listen to the low self-esteem that drips from Psalm 22:6-7:

            But I am a worm, and not human;

            Scorned by others, and despised by the people.

            All who see me mock at me;

            They make mouths at me; they wag their heads.

 

Or consider the description of Barzillai, the Gileadite:

            Why should I go?

            I can no longer discern what is pleasant from what is not.

            I can no longer taste what I eat or what I drink.

            I can no longer listen to the voices of singing men or singing women.

            Why should I become a burden to the king?

                                                                                    II Samuel 19:34-35

 

The Sermon

Just the other day, I happened upon a letter written by a colleague. He didn’t write it to me. He wrote it to his congregation. At issue was the launching of an endowment fund. Which, given tonight’s auction, seemed timely. So I read it. Along about the fourth paragraph he wrote:

            No one who invests in God will go unblessed.

            No one who believes in God will be ineffective.

            No one who plants seeds for God will go unrewarded.

            And no one who rejoices in God will ever be depressed.

Which was a good letter. As to how much money it generated, who can say? If I have any quarrel, however, it is with the overly optimistic note of his promises…. especially the one which reads: “No one who rejoices in God will ever be depressed.” For the fact is, lots of people are….depressed, I mean. And many of them rejoice deeply in God.

We have talked of this before, you and I. You know, from hearing me say it, that depression, as a malady, is as old as the Bible and as new as this morning’s message. Last year, nearly 18 million people were treated for some form of it, and many of them worship in this sanctuary on a regular basis. But they still feel isolated and alone….even in church.

Which is not to say that worship shouldn’t be praise-filled and joyful. Very few people would continue to attend a church that left them feeling worse than when they entered. But it is also true that people sometimes feel they must check all negative emotions at the door in order to participate in the singing of hymns, the saying of prayers and the hearing of sermons. One of the contemporary hymns we love to sing features the following lyric:

            Why so downcast, O my soul?

            Put your hope in God, put your hope in God.

            Bless the Lord, he’s the lifter of my countenance.

            Bless the Lord, he’s the lifter of my head.

Which is sage biblical advice, drawn from the 42nd Psalm. But you can see how it could affect someone who entered the sanctuary “in the pits,” as they say.

A year ago I wrote: “All of us get the blues from time to time. Like when it rains….or when the sun don’t shine….or when our baby leaves us….or when anything else leaves us (like job or child, health or hope). ‘Sometimes I’m up, sometimes I’m down’ sings the hitchhiker on the Jesus chariot. And he’s right, of course. We all get ‘down’ sometimes….even we who love the Lord. Sooner or later, all God’s chill’un gonna crash. But when we hit bottom and don’t bounce, that’s not the blues. That’s something deeper….darker….and decidedly different.”

What it is, is depression. Which is no respecter of persons….or professions of faith, for that matter. Christians are not exempt. Methodists are not exempt. Hard-working, Bible-carrying, spirit-loving church members are not exempt. Preachers and teachers are not exempt. I have friends in the ministry who struggle mightily with this malady. A few of them, openly. Most of them, secretly. Every time I call one colleague and ask, “How is it going?”, she responds: “We’re having fun.” But the fact of the matter is, she isn’t. At least not so as I can see. Which we could talk about. But we never do.

All of which brings me to Susan Gregg-Schroeder. As you have noted in Steeple Notes, she is among us for the next few days. I look forward to lunching with her later this morning, hearing her on Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, and introducing her to several of my clergy friends on Wednesday morning. In short, she has come to tell her story….much of which is personal…. some of which is painful. But her telling of it is profoundly pastoral. Meaning that she will give us reasons for hope and courage.

Susan has been in the ministry for nearly 15 years after having taught kindergarten for another 15 years. She serves on the staff of First United Methodist Church, San Diego (where her specialty is pastoral care and counseling). She is a published author, including her book on grace in the midst of depression entitled In the Shadow of God’s Wings. Let me quote just enough to whet your appetite, without stepping on the hem of her presentation. She writes:

The symptoms were there, but I didn’t recognize what was happening to me. Sadness and despair overwhelmed me. I felt disoriented and disconnected from my feelings and myself. I did not want to eat. I couldn’t sleep. Nothing I did brought any pleasure. I was simply going through the motions. All I wanted to do was isolate myself from everyone. Any task I attempted took great effort. I felt utterly hopeless about the future. Soon I got to the point of believing that life was not worth living and I developed an elaborate suicide plan. Yet, at the same time, I couldn’t concentrate or think clearly. I felt as if I were falling into a bottomless black hole and saw no way out. I avoided the people who could help me most.

There is much that led to that point. And much, much more that followed it. Susan ended up hospitalized, although she secured a weekend pass to participate in Sunday services at her church. That’s because the congregation did not know of her hospitalization. When her veil of secrecy was finally shredded, more than one parishioner said sympathetically: “We never knew. You seemed so normal.” Little did they know that the effort it took to project an appearance of normalcy was so overwhelming that she usually spent Sunday afternoons in bed.

It would be nice to say that one hospitalization was all it took. Just as it would be nice to say that one prescription was all it took….one visit to a therapist was all it took….one meeting with a support group was all it took….or one evening spent fervently in prayer was all it took. But it wasn’t.

Susan continues:

I wish I could say that my depression magically left, but I can’t. It has been a continuing struggle with bouts of depression as I have worked in therapy through difficult childhood issues. I was not one of those who found the right medication on the first try, and thyroid problems further complicated my chemical imbalance. I was admitted to the hospital twice more over the next two years.

Over time I have come to understand that my depression is a chronic condition. I have accepted the fact that I will probably be taking medication for a long time….if not the rest of my life. But I have also learned the warning signs of a downward spiral and have gained some coping skills.

As to the rest of the story, it is Susan’s to tell, not mine. But it isn’t the first time I have heard it. That’s because many of you have lived it and have been willing to share it. Like most amateurs in this field, I know that depression has many origins. Some of them are situational. Others of them are chemical. Situational depression is called “reactive”….meaning that it comes in response to an identifiable event. We sometimes equate this with feeling “down”….“blue”….or “moody.” When we connect the feeling to the event that precipitated it, most people understand.

Chemical depression, however, is called “endogenous.” It often runs in families, makes its initial appearance in adolescence, and is experienced at particular seasons rather than in response to particular events. Sometimes it comes as the secondary effect of another disease such as diabetes, chronic fatigue syndrome, alcoholism or a hypothyroid condition. And then there is biochemical depression that is linked with Mania….often called Bi-polar Disease. Experts can help you understand all of the above. Unfortunately, I am not one of them. So I will stick to my territory, confident that they are well versed in theirs. And the same can be said for treatment plans, of which there are more and more all the time. Some begin with therapy. Others begin with pharmacology. There is no reason for anyone to feel hopeless in the face of a diagnosis. No reason at all.

But there are some things I can say that might not be said elsewhere….things unique to my profession. Let’s start with God. More to the point, let’s start where God starts….which is in the very worst places….at the very worst times. God never says: “Fight your way through the forest by yourself and I’ll meet you when you reach the glade.” God is there when the skies are dark, the trees are thick, and all the animals (real and imagined) have voracious appetites. Which is another way of saying that, even without a map, God can find his way down deep valleys and dark alleys, not to mention dead end streets. But then you know that, given your life-long love of the 23rd Psalm.

But how do I make that real to you? Fortunately, I’ve got Susan to help me. In her book, she talks about one of her hospital stays. Her spiritual director paid her a visit, bringing Holy Communion with him. All of us know that the sacrament can be celebrated anywhere. But on this particular occasion, there was nothing in the bare-bones room to suggest a proper liturgical setting….no cross….no candles….no altar….not even a table. Looking around, they found a trash can. After emptying its contents, they turned it upside down….transforming it into an altar.

What a double-edged action. Would that we all could pitch the trash before lifting the cup. But pitch it, she did. And lift it, she did. There, with an upside-down wastebasket as an altar, Susan experienced God’s presence in one of the darkest and most difficult hours of her life.

Once we concede that God can meet us anywhere, we open ourselves to the possibilities that God can heal us anywhere. But it helps if we cut God some slack relative to what healing looks like. On the cover of Steeple Notes, I alluded to the fact that we Christians love dramatic victories. Cancer, gone. Crutches, gone. Addiction and affliction, gone. Doubt and despair, gone. Beaten back forever….left in the dust….never to return again. Which is how it sometimes happens. Don’t ask me why it doesn’t happen that way more often. Because I don’t know. I simply don’t know.

What I do know is that many of us fight against forces that are not easily defeated. We beat them back. But we never quite leave them behind. The more I thought about this, the more my thoughts turned to the Apostle Paul and his much-debated “thorn in the flesh” that he shared with the people of Corinth. Three times he prayed urgently that it might depart from him. But it never did. Whereupon he stopped praying for a once-and-for-all victory and began trying to discern whatever blessings there might be in the midst of his problem.

I spent the last couple of days researching Paul’s “thorn”….wondering what it could have been that made him so miserable. Everybody has a theory. Nobody has an answer. The ideas can be grouped in three columns. The first column associates Paul’s “thorn” with the ongoing persecution he experienced in his travels. Lots of it, physical. Some of it, legal. Much of it, spiritual. Paul created tons of opposition and was forced to pay for it. He was beaten, stoned, flogged and imprisoned. And that was only the tip of the iceberg. Worse yet were the number of people who heard the best that Paul could preach, but turned a deaf ear and a hard heart. In short, he didn’t get through.

The second column identifies physical difficulties. I’ve read well-reasoned arguments that Paul suffered from epilepsy, migraine headaches, irritable bowel syndrome, or a speech impediment. As a preacher, I can’t imagine having a speech impediment. Maybe Paul stuttered. And at the bottom of this column is the suggestion that Paul was less than pleasing to look at…. meaning that he was ugly. Perhaps there was some disfigurement which hindered him in his work.

The third column veers in the direction of a moral or spiritual problem. A favorite view in the Middle Ages was that Paul suffered the torment of sexual temptations. Luther, himself, believed this. And none other than Bishop John Shelby Spong of the Episcopal Church (who is both radical and inflammatory, but far from stupid) has suggested that Paul’s sexual temptation had more to do with men than women. Whatever be the strength of these arguments, it is clear that some unresolved aspect of his nature led Paul to feel both incredibly unworthy and unredeemably guilty.

Ironically, there have even been suggestions that Paul suffered from states of depression. Given the Pauline mood swings between mania and melancholy, it is not totally beyond the pale to ponder Paul as bi-polar.

But all such considerations aside, Paul believed that God’s strength was sufficient for his weakness….that God’s grace was sufficient for his guilt….and that God’s presence was the one thing necessary to ensure his contentment. Which, when you hear Susan’s story, will resonate with some of the things she will say. Her depression has not been defeated. But neither has she been defeated. Lessons have been learned. Blessings have been found.

·      A friend she wouldn’t have met otherwise.

·      A truth she wouldn’t have learned otherwise.

·      A creativity she wouldn’t have uncovered otherwise.

·      A sensitivity she wouldn’t have developed otherwise.

I am sure she will tell you that this is not the ministry she felt called to….dreamed of….trained for….or entered. But this is the ministry into which she has grown, and who can count the number of lives it has touched or changed? She writes:

Most people view depression as something to “get over”….something to conquer as quickly as possible. As insurance companies try to become more cost effective, they cover less and less mental health care. The emphasis is on short-term therapy as a way of moving people through the system as quickly as possible.

Yet depression is not something to overcome, conquer or defeat. Making depression our adversary sets up a confrontation where there is a clear winner and loser. In my experience, whenever I adopt a “battle mentality,” I feel more disconnected from myself….and, consequently, become more depressed.

Which is not to prohibit asking God for help in defeating this. After all, Paul gave it a trio of tries. But then he changed the question, asking what he and God could accomplish through this…. whatever “this” was.

Today is Choir Recognition Sunday. And we are incredibly blessed with the quality of the music we experience on a weekly basis. I can never remember whether music is supposed to soothe the savage beast or the troubled breast. I suspect it does both. There is no record of anybody singing to Paul. But there is a clear record of David playing for Saul. And whatever the demons were that possessed Saul by day, they seemed to slip back into the woodwork when David played for him by night.

I pondered having us sing the hymn I quoted earlier in the sermon. But I feared it might trivialize the very thing I wanted to say….namely, that the “downcast soul” properly belongs in the sanctuary and can be offered to God just as it is….apart from the assumption that God will immediately lift or change it. I like the hymn. But we’ll save it for another time.

Instead, we will close this morning’s service with one of my all-time favorite hymns, “Spirit of God, Descend Upon My Heart.” I find the language of the second verse absolutely incredible.

            I ask no dreams, no prophet ecstasies,

            No sudden rending of the veil of clay,

            No angel visitant; no opening skies,

            Just take the dimness of my soul away.

Emotionally, I am one of the even keel ones. I seldom get terribly high. But, then, I don’t fall terribly low, either. As to whatever chemistry there is in my brain, it seems to work….praise God. But I had both a father and a sister who died from “dimness of soul” at age 57 and 45, respectively. To be sure, that’s not what the coroner reported. And there were a host of contributing factors, much too long to go into here. But over the last five years each of them lived, I watched their lights dim until there was barely 15 watts’ worth of illumination in their respective souls. Then there were none. And the fact that I regularly preached the one who John says is the “world’s true light,” couldn’t make up for the darkness that was consuming their lives.

The hymn writer, George Croly, was not looking for dramatic interventions, descending angels or darkness-shattering explosions of glory. Instead, he was simply offering his “dimness of soul” in prayer, asking that (in the midst of it) God might do with it whatever could be done. I don’t have the faintest idea whether God “took it away.” But God unlocked the creativity that gave us a wonderful hymn. Sing it with me.

 

Note: As acknowledged in the sermon, I am indebted to Susan Gregg-Schroeder’s book, In the Shadow of God’s Wings: Grace in the Midst of Depression. As concerns my understanding Paul’s “thorn in the flesh,” I consulted a number of textual commentaries. But the most exhaustive treatment of the subject was offered by Victor Paul Furnish in his Anchor Bible volume, II Corinthians: A New Translation With Introduction and Commentary

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On Running Afoul of the Dress Code

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church

Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture:  Matthew 22:11-14

 

Along about 9:00 last night, I gave semi-serious consideration to wearing my tux for these Ash Wednesday services of worship. Just as quickly, I discarded the idea, given that it might be perceived as frivolous. And whatever else Ash Wednesday is about, it is certainly not frivolous.

At issue in this morning’s text is “wedding attire” (and what is “appropriate” for such an occasion). I don’t suppose there is anyone here who hasn’t been invited to a wedding….attended a wedding….or pondered what to wear to a wedding. As a veteran of 1600 weddings, I have seen it all. I’ve seen weddings where all the guests came formally attired. And I’ve seen weddings where everybody stopped one step short of “beach apparel.” As concerns male options, I’ve seen men in tuxes….dark suits…..sport coats….slacks and shirts with open collars…..khakis and sweaters….even cowboy boots and jean jackets. On the other side of the gender gap, I’ve seen women in evening dresses…..glitzy dresses….cocktail dresses….party dresses….shirtwaist dresses….power suits….slacks and blouses….even halters and shorts. No rule governs every occasion. I’ve long been told that women who attend a wedding should never dress in a manner that upstages the bride. If I could add one additional rule, it would concern the revealing of too much skin. But that’s a personal prejudice.

Most every location has a dress code. Sometimes the code is written. Sometimes unwritten. Sometimes the rules are formally stated. Other times, informally implied. Every one of us has gone to eat in an establishment that posts: “No Shoes. No Shirt. No Service.” There can be no mistaking where the management stands. By contrast, I belong to a club where I can’t walk through the lobby without a tie. Were you to ask where it says that, I couldn’t point to a sign. One is just supposed to know such things.

Actually, this text about the wedding guest who was inappropriately clad follows a more familiar story of Jesus, that of the wedding banquet itself. You remember it. The king sends out a raft of invitations. But the recipients send their regrets. Each would appear to have a good reason. But none is willing to come. Which angers the king. So he asks his messenger to beat the bushes. “Go get anybody….from anywhere….by any means.” So they do. And all of the second wave shows up.

Which sounds like the gospel we know.

            Round ‘em up.

            Reel ‘em in.

            Take ‘em all.

One even pictures Doris Hall in the banquet hall, quietly playing “Just As I Am.”

But suddenly comes this jarring note. It strikes the ear like the sound of a dinner fork in the garbage disposal. Walking among the guests, the king finds a man with no wedding garment on. “How did you get in here?” the king asks. Whereupon the bouncers are called and the man is thrown out. Way out. Out of the hall. Out into the “outer darkness.”

What’s this about, anyway? Surely, this is not about ties….tails….tuxedos. Surely this is not about protocols…..proprieties….performance expectations. After all, if God’s grace does not come in response to good works, surely it can’t come in response to fine dress. This is harsh…. judgmental….un-Jesus-like. But it is very Matthew-like. Matthew’s gospel presents difficulties not found elsewhere. Matthew’s gospel yields images of judgment that cannot be found elsewhere. Whenever we hear words like “weeping,” “wailing,” “gnashing of teeth,” and “outer darkness,” we can assume that we are reading Matthew.

But back to the story. The evictee was speechless. Wouldn’t you be? I mean, did you ever get thrown out of any place….especially a place where Doris Hall was playing “Just As I Am” as you walked in the door? How can we make sense of this?

I’m not entirely sure. But thanks to Richard Hays, I think I have a clue. Richard Hays teaches ethics at Duke. Five weeks ago, I sat in his class entitled “Preaching New Testament Ethics.” Discussing this story of the “wedding garment,” Hays said the following:

While God’s message extends far more widely than any of us think, guests who accept God’s gracious invitation must not assume that being invited is an invitation to laxity.

But the story still sounds harsh. Or it did, until I realized that….as with any good thing….it is possible to abuse grace. Which brings me to an old seminary friend from Amery, Wisconsin. Prior to deciding for the ministry, this friend lived a somewhat free-and-easy life (if you know what I mean). One night he got talking about the annual revival that took place in Amery. Same format every year. Instead of a tent, everybody went down to the football field. Somewhere out around the 50 yard line stood the evangelist and the choir. When it came time for the altar call, people streamed down from the bleachers and out onto the field. Said my friend:

The thing I remember most about the revival was that every night my girlfriend and I would come down from the bleachers to get saved. Then, when they turned out the lights and everybody went home, we’d go down under the bleachers and give ourselves fresh reason to get saved the next night.

If you think about that long enough, I think you’ll agree that it’s possible to abuse grace. Or, as Hays put it: “Guests who accept God’s gracious invitation must not assume that being invited is an invitation to laxity.”

Some years ago, a group of us were invited to tour one of those Salvation Army-type shelters in the bowels of an eastern city. You know the kind of place I’m talking about. They opened the doors and everybody came in. Whereupon they sobered ‘em up….cleaned ‘em up….fed ‘em up….and prayed ‘em up. But they didn’t let just anyone stay the night. You had to cut a deal. You had to agree (I think, in writing) that you would not spit….swear….drink….fight….or steal some other guy’s stuff while he slept. And you had to go to the nightly chapel service.

I remember someone asking: “Isn’t this a little bit harsh?” And I remember the host answering: “They can come in, but they’ve got to follow the rules.”

Lent is a good time to preach such a message. For Lent is not only about invitations to answer. Lent is about disciplines to undertake and work to do. Historically, Lent has generated daily “job descriptions” for Christians. Give up this. Take on that. I used to minimize that. But I don’t anymore. I think that “doing something” for Lent is exceedingly important.

Guests who accept God’s gracious invitation must not assume that being invited is an invitation to laxity.

My friends, the table is prepared. At which Jesus invites the needy….and feeds the hungry. But Jesus gives no encouragement to the sloppy. At least, not so as I can tell.

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