Groundhog Day

On the second day of February, most folks have an awareness that it's Groundhog Day.  It's on the calendar after all. Groundhog Day is a peculiar holiday, if one could call it a holiday. It's commemorated in a town fairly close to where I live, Punxsutawney, PA. Punxsutawney Phil, the esteemed groundhog, emerges from its burrow and the human observers determine whether the squinty rodent has seen its shadow, or not. The day was whimsically and dramatically portrayed in the 1993 film by the same name, Groundhog Day, with Bill Murray playing the character of Phil Connors. Phil, a reporter sent to do a story on Groundhog Day, experiencing it over and over and over again. 

Margaret at her K-State graduation

February 2 was Margaret Kritsch Anderson's birthday. 

Of course, when her birthday would roll around in our Lutheran Campus Ministry circle at K-State, we'd have to joke about it being on Groundhog Day. Born in 1977, she would have been 39 years old. As I've written and you may well know, Margaret was murdered on January 1, 2012. On that New Year's Day, in Mount Rainier National Park, Margaret was fatally shot in the line of duty on the road to Paradise at Mount Rainier National Park. Margaret responded to a call to intercept a vehicle that failed to stop at a chain-up checkpoint. The driver of the vehicle opened fire on Margaret, killing her, and then he fled on foot into the woods and later died of exposure.

Margaret on her last day of work, December 31, 2011, in Mount Rainier National Park

A photo I took at Margaret's memorial service, her boots are in the foreground

Our Thiel College student group at the 2015 ELCA Extravaganza

February 2 is also another poignant day of remembrance for me and one that I haven't been able to write about until today.  A year ago, I was with eight amazing Thiel College students and two great colleagues in ministry, Pastor Laurie Carson and Vicar Tara Lamont Eastman, at the ELCA Extravaganza for youth and family ministry in Detroit, MI. We were having a marvelous time until the morning of February 2. 

We were getting ready to head into another great morning session, when I got a call from Louie urging me to come up to his room. Something was wrong with his roommate, Cody Danner. I raced up to their room and discovered Cody in distress. Cody was recovering from a surgery to repair a break in the small bones in his foot. He needed to be in a wheelchair and Louie had been wheeling him around to the events of our gathering. Louie said that Cody had tried to get up and had fallen down, twice. He was disoriented and his face with a pale shade of blue. I asked Louie questions, I asked Cody questions about what he could feel, about his heart and I felt his forehead. It was icy cool. Cody, it seemed to me, was dying! 

"We have to call 911," I told Louie. So, I grabbed the room phone and dialed the front desk. I urgently told them that we needed emergency crews to come. While we were waiting, I messaged others in our group to let them know that we had an emergency. I asked Cody's friend Cheryl to come up and be with us. The first responders were the hotel medics. They tried to get a pulse, to no avail. Quickly, they applied oxygen. The EMT guys arrived next and took over, put Cody on a stretcher and wheeled him down to the lobby. Detroit was under a snow emergency and there were near blizzard conditions. Louie, Cheryl and I were allowed to ride in the ambulance with Cody.  We were whisked off to the Detroit Medical Center Emergency Room.  

After much waiting and testing, the doctors discovered that Cody had a large pulmonary embolism lodge in the saddle between his lungs near his heart. Had we waited or had other decisions been made, Cody would have surely died, they told him. 

We spent many long, tense hours in the hospital. Cody had authorized me to call his family and his fiancee way on the east coast of Pennsylvania to tell them about his condition. His mom posted this prayer request on her Facebook page: 

"Hi everyone I am asking for your prayers for our boy Cody Danner. He is in the hospital and we are waiting on an update from Pastor Jayne who is now my angel for being with my son at his time of need when we can't be there. She is a blessing to my family right now. I just ask for prayers that everything will be okay for our son. Be strong buddy your family loves you lots." 

Cody's family mom, dad and fiancee jumped in the car and headed toward Detroit. Meanwhile, I stayed with Cody and my other friends stayed back with the rest of the students at the hotel. We had to get them back to Thiel and I was going to remain until Cody's family made to Detroit. 

Cody and the Thiel College group joining in prayer-time in the ICU

Thankfully, Cody's surgery was successful and, with the permission of his nurses, we were all able to squish into the ICU room and share prayer time with him. The Thiel students took off for Pennsylvania and his family made it to the hospital. Once Cody was stable enough to leave, I rode back with them to campus. Cody wanted to stop in to say hello and thank you to his choir friends and band members who had been praying for him through his life threatening ordeal.

For me, this was a soul-draining experience and I think it's difficult for most folks to comprehend what it was like. I'm pretty sure that few have any idea what some pastors do in the hospital helping folks. We do everything from making friends with and engaging the nursing staff, to making inquires for the patient and the family about when the doctor will be coming by and how the tests are coming along. Essentially, we are advocates, running point and helping things happen to hopefully run smoothly for all involved in the midst of a very stressful situation.  When you're the only one available with a young person and the family is hundreds of miles away, the job is pretty intense. I'm so grateful that Louie had the presence of mind to call me and that I could be there for Cody in "his time of need" as his mom said. 

When Groundhog Day rolls around, it's filled with all sorts of memories and moments; with feelings of the sadness that comes from missing Margaret on the one hand and a sense of grateful relief that Cody is still here on the other. Cody graduated from Thiel College in May of 2015 and is back home with his family getting ready for his own wedding day. So, I give thanks to God and to all the medical people who took care of Cody and helped him mend. Cody and the rest of the students had an experience that will bind them together in ministry and friendship for the years to come. 

This is a holy calling and a blessing - this life in campus ministry amidst the gifted young adults and all the rest of the community who love them. 

Remembering Margarget

It's -- been awhile since I posted.

More about that in the days to come.

But for now, for tonight, it's a New Year's reflection. Four years ago on the fresh and first day of 2012, my cozy New Year nestled in my idyllic pine forest home in Minnesota was shattered by horrific news. Jack and I learned that one of our dear and beloved former Lutheran Campus Ministry and Aikido students from K-State was murdered. Through the anguish and tears streaming down my cheeks, I wrote about her death in The Lutheran online magazine in a post entitled, Margaret.

It wasn't just any, run-of-the-mill murder. Margaret Kritsch Anderson was serving with distinction as a park ranger in Mount Rainier National Park. On New Year's Day morning while she was assisting families and children up at the Paradise Center, she heard news over the ranger coms that someone had blasted past the snow tire check point. The driver's intentions unknown, Margaret took off in her ranger SUV to set up a blockade on the narrow and winding road that had as its destination the Paradise lodge packed with families enjoying their holiday.

Benjamin Colton Barnes, a very troubled Iraq war veteran who was notably suffering from PTSD and violent tendencies, was barreling up the mountain. His car was filled with an arsenal of weapons, including assault rifles with armor-piercing rounds. None of this was known to any of the rangers in the park, even though on New Year's Eve he had a violent altercation at a party in Seattle.

Waiting in her SUV blocking the road, Margaret was gunned down by her assailant. He fired on her vehicle as the rounds ripped through the door and her body. Then he kept other rangers at bay for 90 minutes firing on them as they tried to rescue her. Ben Barnes fled on foot down into a ravine on the mountain. He was found early the next morning lying face down in a creek.

Margaret's husband, Eric, also a ranger in the park that day, heard about all of this over the park radio as it was transpiring, but could do nothing to help his dying wife. She left behind two small daughters, Anna and Katie. They were one and three at the time. Later on in the month of January when I traveled to Seattle for her memorial service, chronicled in this post, Memorial, I met Eric and her beautiful daughters. It was heartbreaking and incredibly sad.

According to the US Center For Disease Control, there are over 33,000 deaths by firearms in our country each year. Figuring conservatively at about 30,000 firearm deaths per year, in the four years since Margaret was viciously gunned down, over 120,000 people have lost their lives due to gun violence in the USA. Let the number sink in...for a minute or so. In comparison, the Vietnam war military deaths weigh in at a bit of 58,000. It's beyond mind boggling and sobering to consider that we live in a country in which it is as if we are at war with one another and the lethal weapon of choice we use is a firearm. In one year alone, we kill the equivalent of the population one medium-sized town in America.

There are many reasons why Ben Barnes ought not to have been in possession of any weapons. The court was well aware that he was violent and it had issued a restraining order against him at the urgent plea of the mother of his daughter. His base outside of Seattle was aware of his struggle with PTSD and the list goes on. My heartbreak and the sorrow of my family, Margaret's family and friends is magnified and amplified over and over again in by other families who experience the same  in our country.

I commonly use the third person, "we," when I talk and write about this grave matter. I think we are all in this together and together, we must find a way out of this terror and violence that stalks our nation. I also believe that we are addicted to such violence and the weapons that wreak havoc on our neighbors. I fear that we are like the proverbial frogs in the kettle of water that is slowly heating up to a boil and don't know enough to leap out for our dear lives, but instead - do  nothing.

Since Margaret's murder, I've been working for change. A year after her murder, Dick Gordon of NPR's The Story, contacted me about sharing my insights about Margaret's death. I've been doing what I can, and I usually feel that it's precious little and that it's not accomplishing much at all. But on my best days, I have to believe that each small action, combined with the compassionate and persistent actions of others, must make a difference - some how.

So, I return to the words that I wrote four years ago and reflect:
But I fear that we will again, strain to make sense of the senseless act by focusing on the desperate, despicable act of a soldier gone bad. I don’t think it’s that simple. I don’t think Margaret, who was thoughtful as the day is long, would dismiss him so lightly. I know Margaret. I think she would ask deeper questions about Ben. She would wonder about his family and if any one was caring for and praying for him. Margaret would want to talk this through with others. 
We, O Church, owe it to Margaret and yes, to Ben, to ponder this more deeply. To dig down and do some New Year’s soul-searching as a nation about our addiction to violence, our support of its use under the state’s authorization in war, but our mass-projection and baffling monster-creation when one of our own turns on others out of pain, rage, despair and isolation. I didn’t know Ben, but I pray for his family and all who knew him, worried about him, loved him and mourn his violent actions and his cold, frozen death.

So, I pray, and we pray and we take faithful actions for justice, mercy and compassion. I want to keep her memory alive and before the world. Margaret was a beautiful and amazing human being. She was, and still I,s beloved by many. I hope that this tribute can give a bit of solace to all who remember and all who love her. Margaret was a campfire sort of person who loved the outdoors, her family and God. She was a beloved campus ministry peer minister and thus, her story is a fitting match for the blending of my blogs.

For the time being, as The Lutheran online magazine works on some transitions, I'm shifting my campus ministry posts to this blog. I wish you all the best and brightest blessings in this new year and I invite you to join with me in working for peace and justice for all of God's beloved children - and I mean all of God's children - in the world.

Homecoming Worship at Thiel College - Prayers and Homily

Author's note: because I haven't preached a full service since I left Minnesota and due to the nature of the spectacular service and the astounding mishap that happened right before Holy Communion, I thought this really did qualify as a Campfire Chat blog post. 

Prayer of the Day

Holy God, your mercy is great and your love endures forever. We are mindful of the many paths, roads and sidewalks we’ve traveled to join together on this morning. No matter the distance or the means of our travel to Homecoming, keep us ever mindful that our home is always in you, O God, and that you welcome us on this morning as we come to remember, to pray and to gather as the Beloved community of Jesus. Be with us all and hold us fast, in his gentle, holy and blessed name we pray. Amen. 

Luke 17:11-19

On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered a village, ten lepers approached him. Keeping their distance, they called out, saying, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!” When he saw them, he said to them, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were made clean. Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. He prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan. Then Jesus asked, “Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?” Then he said to him, “Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”

I don’t know if you just walked down Brother Martin’s walk to the Chapel or came up on one of the many sidewalks that brings you from down campus to this place. Alumni and friends, maybe you crossed stateliness or journeyed from the next county. Since I’ve moved to PA, I noticed that I’m crossing little boundaries often on a daily basis: from Mercer County to various townships and boroughs, not a day goes by that each of us journeys over lines that we may not even notice. As we’ve come to huddle up in this place of grace, we are all one in Christ Jesus, gathering here to pray...
       God of all journeys, we've come from near and far to gather this Homecoming weekend and blessed by you, we wait for your word of hope and renewal. Be with us all and may the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable, O God, our rock and our redeemer. Amen. 

Yes, there is a Chicago Street in Greenville, PA

Last weekend, it was a great blessing to travel with twelve Thiel College students to the Installation of the new Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton. If you don’t know much or anything about her, she is our neighbor just to the west of us in Cleveland. On August 14, at the ELCA Churchwide Assembly in Pittsburg, she was elected to be the first female presiding bishop in the history of Lutherans in the USA. 

Getting ready to head out to Chicago at Chicago and Alan Streets with Louie, Audra, Liz, Cheryl, Amanda, Ivey, Rachel, Bess, Stephanie, Sean, Saba, Robert and me

Many of the Thiel College students are here on this morning. Some of the students are Lutherans who are very active or some by their own confession are, “not so much” active. There were students of other Christian communions and our friend, international student from Pakistan and the disputed region of Kashmir, who was a joyful traveler as well. We visited our friends at the Lutheran School of Theology in Chicago, met friends at the installation and also traveled to Valparaiso University on the way home. Everywhere we went, we made friends. Some of our students had never been out of PA. So the fun tradition of our trip was to stop – yes, stop – at each state border, jump out and to take a photo by the new state sign welcoming us across the border (two of them are in the back serving as greeters and they are laughing).  No one stopped us. No one asked for our credentials, ID’s or documents as we made our way west, state-by-state-by-state-by-state-by-state. 

First year student, Robert, and international student, Saba 

Saba, Rachel, Sean, Bess, Cheryl and Robert

Saba, Robert and me

Bess, Sean, Rachel and Cheryl

The city of Chicago, Illinois' welcome sign is over the toll road

Uneventful border crossings aren't always possible. There was no way to get out for a photo-op coming into Chicago. As you can see (or may know) the sign is across the toll road. It would be dangerous to get out here and plus it was raining. Happy border crossings aren't always the case across the world on the borders between peoples, governments and nations. Like between: 

Israel/Palestine 

India/Kashmir

North/South Korea

US/Mexico

Galilee/Samaria…for Jesus.

On the way to Jerusalem Jesus was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee…

Jesus was traveling through a border region. The kind of place that wasn’t very safe. Not then, not now. Disputed border regions are thin places where tensions run high. Thin places where mistrust and suspicion are the rule of the thin, tight line between the one place and the other.

Somehow, perhaps because no one wanted them on “their side,” ten lepers (outcast, unclean and unwelcome in any community) found themselves in betwixt and between…a real no man’s land…for the untouchables, the incurable and the banished. There, they were stuck. Until Jesus passed through their hellish tent city.

Jesus had been traveling around and about Palestine and Israel (that’s how we’d know those places today). He went to places he wasn’t really supposed to go and met with people he wasn’t really supposed to meet – like lepers – and people he wasn’t supposed to touch – never touch.

No wonder they called out to the traveling healer-rabbi. News had spread of his healing power and compassion. Keeping their distance, as they knew they ought, the gravely, terminally ill lepers with flesh falling off their bodies, cried out. Jesus commands them to go, as was the custom in Jewish law when one had leprosy, one would go have it checked out by the priest. Maybe it was a sprint to the priest’s place. Maybe they thought it was a test to see who could get there the fastest. I don’t know – if Jesus told you to do something and you believed in his power to heal – I think I might take off running, like many of our 5K racers did yesterday morning. Maybe, just maybe the foreign dude (the hated Samaritan, for Jews and Samaritans did not get along), had second thoughts about showing up on the door step of the Jewish priests knowing that he’d be turned away yet again. So, he slows down – just a tad to notice that – yes! – he’s been healed! So, it wasn’t a race to get to the priest’s house after all. Everything’s back to normal, no skin is falling off his face or limbs – he’s just healed. And with that he turns on his heals to race back to Jesus.

To Jesus. 

In absolute humility and profound gratitude, the Samaritan leper guy falls to his face. Not just his face to the ground kneeling, but he lies prostate – flat, his entire body laid out belly-to-the-ground in gratitude before the healer-rabbi guy. And he was, as Luke reminds us, a Samaritan. A nobody. A ne’er-do-well sort of fellow. But this guy is filled with gratitude to the marrow of his bones and he wants to thank Jesus.

They other nine are long gone of to Chez Priest/Casa Priest, but the dude, the guy who people wrote off as a loser all the time – he gives thanks. Jesus takes note of this. “Where are the nine – didn’t they notice and turn around to give praise to God?” Humph – Jesus must have shrugged noting this guy who had done pretty much a belly flop in front of him. “Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.”

But, wasn’t he already well? What about his behavior made him – more well? My hunch is that Jesus thought about healing in bigger terms than anyone around him then or anyone who hears this story now can comprehend. I think that healing has more to do with our entire beings than just our mere physical healing, that is so sought after and important. Sometimes that kind of healing doesn’t come…it’s true, we know this having lived our lives. But other kinds of healing come when we let go and commit entire beings to a life of gratitude to God and to God’s beloved community – the people of God with us on earth.

“…your faith has made you well…” Jesus told the once-leprous man. It may be a bit of a cliché, but if we have an attitude of gratitude, it can make all the difference in our world and to those around us. Our ability to turn back, turn around and give thanks to God at the feet of Jesus can make the entire difference in our lives. An attitude of gratitude, not one of privilege and haughty behavior will win the day, every time.

With the grace and leading of Jesus we are called to journey with him to the thin, border places our lives and our world to bring healing and hope where is only misery and despair. Jesus has gone before you and he is with you…so, gather up the discarded people, scoop up the throw-away children and cherish the moth-balled seniors. All are treasured and precious in God’s sight. Love and cherish them as God loves and cherishes you!

And above all, be thankful, truly and deeply thankful for all, here at homecoming and all places. 

Journey with Jesus and love the world in his name. Amen.

October 13, 2013: Prayers of the People

Bess: With grateful hearts we come before you, O God, to praise you and give thanks for your great compassion which covers the whole earth: Hear our prayers, O Holy One, as we life up your creation, and especially as we pray for those who are ill, those who feel unclean and the ones who are alone and outcast. God of grace; Hear our prayer.

Sean: Gracious God, we give thanks to you with our whole hearts: Raise up prophets within your Church to heal and renew your children, that those who live with stigma and prejudice may feel your mercy, and those who stay at a distance because of fear and rejection may be embraced and healed. God of grace; Hear our prayer.

Bess: Almighty One, fill our leaders with compassion and vision, that they may recognize the suffering of those beyond our borders, in border towns and places of despair.  Empower and inspire each one of us to reach out to them with empathy and care. God of grace; Hear our prayer.

Sean: Compassionate One, look upon the lepers of the world, upon those who suffer from HIV/AIDS and other devastating diseases throughout the world: Comfort them with your grace, and empower humanity to use our abundant resources to bring healing and love to our most vulnerable neighbors. God of grace; Hear our prayer.

 Bess: Cleanse our hearts, O God, that this community may be a haven of faithfulness and service, free from arrogance and division, reaching out with gratitude to reconcile and heal the earth. God of grace; Hear our prayer.

Sean: Wondrous God, strengthen those for whom we pray with your comforting Word. We turn back to thank you for all the abundant blessings and grace.
 Raise us up to new life with Jesus, we will also live with him and follow his ways of healing and peace. God of grace; Hear our prayer.

PJ: Fill our hearts, minds and imaginations with such expectancy and thanks, O God, that we may walk in deep gratitude for all around us and that we would practice this gratitude with glad and generous hearts. Keep us ever mindful of your healing presence that comes to us through Jesus Christ. Into your loving arms we commend all for whom we pray, fill them with your healing peace through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Facebook post following the worship service:

Well, it's just hard to know how to describe this morning's Thiel CollegeHomecoming worship service of remembrance at The Chapel at Thiel College. It went from wholly amazing with incredible music by the handbell choirs, choral tones and harmonies by the Thiel choirs woven with the voices of the Alumni Choir and worshippers alike, to holy beauty in word and song to holy pyro-fire, Batman!, as the 100+ candles in remembrance of the alumni who died last year since Homecoming melted down into the sand to become a melted pool of wax with 100 tiny, little flames floating that caused the glass rim to crack - no, crack is not right - snap, explode off the bowl sending the wax river with little flames over the edge, the bowl breaking, the college President and his wife in the front row and Chapel staff standing right there at the ready to feed the people with bread and wine turning around to feebly blow at the little flames, when a wonderful choir alumnus who is a chemistry teacher comes bounding forward down the aisle like a super hero with a fire extinguisher ready to douse the flaming wax river flow - when all the flames went out in the sand just as he bounded into action and I whispered to him, "I think it's out." He said, "Well, yes it is..." So, he went back and communion continued and the choir kept singing and the Chapel staff was calm in the face of danger and it was lovely, wholly amazing and holy. No one was hurt and as worshippers left the Chapel, they were so kind and grateful and said the loved the service in spite of the candle-wax lava flow and one elderly woman whose husband we had named because he died last year and was there with her daughter (also a Thiel alumna) said that he was an outspoken, feisty fellow and that he would have loved the service and would have loved the candle-explosion and she was convinced that he was there in spirit and must have had something to do with the careening, flaming wax flow. So, all was well as I led my first large Homecoming worship service at Thiel College. It was a blessing and I am wholly and holy blessed to be at this place of grace. Cody Danner took a photo of the remains of the candle-explosion - too bad we didn't get a pic before, because it was really quite pretty. 

The Chapel before Homecoming worship via Saba Pervez

The Candles of Remembrance table via Cody Danner

Candles of Remembrance table via Cheryl Marshall

30 Years of Ordained Ministry June 5, 2013

On June 5, 1983, I was ordained into the ministry of word and sacrament as a pastor of the Lutheran Church in America. As a new pastor at synod assemblies I would sit and applaud in utter amazement at the pastors who were recognized for 25, 30, 40 or more years of service. It seemed incredible to me then, just as it does now. Except now the pastor is me. When I look at the photograph of me with my sisters, I smile. I was twenty-six years old, a new mother and fresh out of seminary. I had completed my last year of seminary at Vanderbilt Divinity School in Nashville, TN. When I look at my bright, smiling face I see the young woman who had big dreams for serving God and loving all people, especially the hurting and lonely children, teens and young adults, in Jesus’ name.

June 5, 1983: My sisters, Kathy (left) and Carol (right) with me on ordination day.

When I’m asked to give talks about my life as an ordained woman-pastor with various groups, I usually divide up my life in the before-I-was-ordained life and the after-I-was-ordained life. In high school, I was one of the girls nominated for homecoming queen, served at the vice president of my class (in those days all the class presidents were boys), and was voted “the girl most likely to succeed.” I excelled at sports, music, academics, theatre, art, leadership and being a good friend. I spoke out against discrimination against girls, and back then there was plenty that we were told we couldn’t do.

At Our Savior Lutheran Church in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, I loved almost everything about church: hymns, singing the pastor’s communion liturgy parts under my breath once a month, playing hide-and-seek after confirmation class, youth group (we kind of had a small youth group), and Vacation Bible School. I watched the boys serving as acolytes and I wondered why the girls didn’t’ get to do that? I asked why. The answer: because we were girls and not boys.

This didn’t make sense to me. In confirmation class I was just as smart, maybe even smarter than the boys, I could outrun them on the playground and was stronger than some of them, played jacks with the best of them and I was in church almost every Sunday with my family. That job didn’t look too tough. So, I politely asked the pastor if I could be an acolyte. My query was met with a look of incredulity, the pastor shrugged and walked away. I asked again and this time he took the request to the church council, all of whom were men (one of them being my father). Many years later my dad told me about this and that the men talked about this for about an hour. I think that my dad, a champion of his daughters being able to do anything, helped them and they voted, yes, I could be an acolyte.

I was proud that day I was the first girl acolyte. I knew exactly what to do. I loved wearing the red cassock and white surplice holding my acolyte staff lighting the candles in order, carrying the communion trays as I gathered up the tiny glasses from the people of God kneeling at the altar rail. But I knew I wanted to be a pastor before I was an acolyte. I just didn’t tell anybody until later.

Later, I told that same pastor I wanted to be a pastor. Eventually, my home congregation changed the seminary fund from "Sons of the Ministry," to "Sons and Daughters of the Ministry" and they sent me to seminary. I am the first and, to date, the only daughter of the congregation who is a pastor. I wanted to be a pastor well before 1970 when the LCA and the ALC voted to welcome the gifts of women to ordained life. I always talk about that vote this way: it wasn’t that they “let” women be pastors, though I would hear people discuss it that way. To hear some male pastors and some of the laity talk about the ordination of women, it was like listening to people sounding Eeyore-ish go on and on about how, “oh no, how horrible it was that these uppity women wanted to be pastors,” and “oh no, the church is going to fall apart and the no one will come to listen to a women preach,” and “oh no, don’t they know their place and the orders of creation; what if they get pregnant, what if they’re having their monthly time…” Really, they said all that and much more that I won’t repeat in this post.

To my mind it was more like: finally the church had come to the understanding that it would welcome women to the ordained ministry because it was a good thing for the church, not just because some women thought they wanted to be pastors. Throughout the centuries from the very early beginnings of the Church, there have been women who felt called to serve as pastors. It was just that some men in the church wouldn’t let them – for a very long time. So, for me it’s like finally recognizing that no one should stand in the way of qualified people who feel called to serve God and our Savior Jesus.

“So, what happened to the girl most likely to succeed in her after-ordination life?” you may wonder. That is a very good question (she replies, buying a little time to collect thirty years of thoughts and memories)!

 

June 5, 1983: Chaplain Richard Elvee, Bishop Herb Chilstrom, random man, the Rev. Joy Bussert laying hands on me in Christ Chapel, Gustavus Adolphus College, Saint Peter, MN - also my internship site.

Well, as you might expect it’s mixed, but not really balanced, as if one were looking at the wonderful yin-yang symbol of balance. 

It’s not like the theatre masks either, the happy/sad faces balanced together. 

It’s more like the yin-yang black and white all swirled together all messy-like and the faces merged as well.

 

Shall I start with the happy-sad or the sad-happy mess? Both? Yes. I think I shall start with death because, while the heart of the pastor always carries the joy of the living, we the ones who are called to the thin places of life. We come and minister to the dying and we also gather with the broken hearted in the death of their beloved ones. More often than not, we bring our own tears and smiles to the mix. For all of my love of joyous ministry moments, I feel closest to the bone of my calling while ministering to the dying and the grieving. Since I’ve seen the face of death up close, I know how important this is.

This isn’t morbid. For me it’s a holy-to-the-bone sense of being where God needs me to be. Every day, people are swept into days of trial and tribulation by circumstance and happenstance. Pastors travel into to these moments by choice. We are sort of like the storm chasers, but not exactly. We are like the pilots who fly into the eye of a hurricane, but more than that. We fly solo (well, with the Holy Spirit as the wind under our wings). We soar like a mighty eagle with no outer protection into the eye of sorrow. Then we land and nestle near the heart of the one close to death and the loved ones who worry and wait.

In my heart, mind and soul I carry the holy and blessed memories of all saints who died, some too soon and some too painfully. These are so many stories that are tucked in, close to my heart. Here are some:

I was with Joan, who had long suffered from breast cancer. I held her hand, her family out in the waiting room, softly whispering to her that they were ready and it was okay if she needed to go to Jesus. And then, watching her breathe in deeply – and then let go, breathing out her last breath. I stared. I said, “Joan?” And then, stunned that she was gone, I went to get her family.

There was the young man gay man who died from AIDS. Rejected by his priest and church, one of his aunties asked me if I would come to pray with him and talk to him. Despondent, thin as a rail and too sick to care, he believed he was, as the priest told him, bound for hell and that God had abandoned him. My heart was breaking at the callous way he was treated. So, I mustered up courage and care and told him that God loved him no matter what and that I would be there for him and his family, though he wasn’t a member of my congregation.

As a campus pastor, I’ve wept over countless deaths of students who took their own lives or died in horrendous car accidents. But nothing prepared me for the gut-wrenching news I received in a midnight phone call on September 30, 1998. My former student Sheri, who was beginning her second year at Luther Seminary, called to tell me that her beloved high school sweetheart husband was dead. He was up on a roof for his job and was electrocuted. Matt was one of our Lutheran Campus Ministry Peer Ministers. I loved him and Sheri dearly. I presided over their wedding. They were part of my family, friends of my children and I was also devastated. Three memorial services later, we laid Matt to rest, picked up the pieces and moved on, slowly, day by day.

And there were the triple deaths of three young men who drowned while sailing on a balmy December day in Kansas and that long journey of sorrow. I traveled with three grieving families for the many days as the divers searched for two bodies. I attended all three funerals and I presided over the university-wide memorial service.

Nothing can compare to the deep sorrow I experienced after the murder of my former LCM Peer Minister Margaret Kritsch Anderson. 32-year old Margaret was the national park ranger shot by an angry, young Iraqi war vet on his way to the visitor’s center atop Mount Rainier National Park on January 1, 2012. Attending her law enforcement memorial service was incredibly moving, deeply sad yet profoundly beautiful. It was a-swirl; a jumbled mix of great honor for her service, sorrow as she left behind her park ranger husband and their two small daughters and respect for her sacrifice.

The knock-your-socks-off-amazing ministry moments are just as moving, but in a different way. There are the thousands of children, teenagers, young adults and grown-ups with whom I’ve been graced are spectacular.

Like 10-year old Hank, who came to my church in Florida. His mom, Jodi, grew up in the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod, where she said things were pretty formal in worship. Hank loved the sharing of the peace during worship. We shared the peace all over the sanctuary with reckless abandon. He would turn to folks on either side of him and announced with gusto, “Peace be with you!” This made me smile every time I’d see him out of the corner of my eye. Then one Sunday, unbeknownst to me, Hank launched himself out of his aisle to go share the peace with a dear elderly woman in a wheel chair named Joyce. I found out later as Jodi told me the story, she was mortified that he went out of his row. She said she was still getting used to “The Peace” and not sure how she felt about it. Then, Hank did that! Jodi hissed at him in church-mom speak, “Hank – Get. Back. Here.” But he didn’t hear her. After he got back to his seat, having exuberantly sharing the peace, she asked him why he did that. Earnestly and sweetly he replied, “Mom, I need to share the peace with my Joyce (that’s how he talked about her). She can’t come to share the peace with me, so I needed to share the peace with her. I just love her. I just love sharing the peace of Jesus.” Jodi said that’s what convinced her that they needed to be members of that church. When I hear people grumble about sharing the peace, I tell that story.

Two thirds of my after-ordained life and twenty years later as a Lutheran Campus Pastor (I put it in capital letters because it’s a title I joyously claim), I don’t know how I could begin to tell you all the fantastic miracle stories. There are so many wondrous tales of young adults celebrating their faith, wrestling with the big questions of life, coming to know and love Jesus and caring about his body - the Church - here on earth and learning how to love one another deeply, profoundly, tenaciously and how to love others and the world.

Of course I’m pleased about the dozens of young adults and not-so-young adults who have discerned their callings to serve as ministers in Jesus’ Church. But I’m equally pleased when people embrace what it means to live out their baptismal vocation in all that they say and do. I love it when people can hear the stories of the scripture echo into and through their own lives. I especially love it when the gospel of Jesus’ love carves out and breaks open up new places of compassion in someone when it wasn’t there before. I love it when people get changed from being judgmental and indifferent about suffering, to inching closer to God’s heart and God’s care for the tattered souls of the world. That’s true conversion that opens new conversations, friendships, love and shared work.

I embrace and celebrate all the sad-happy, happy-sad moments of my ministry. What concerns me the most though, and what has scarred me forever is - Ugliness. I was not prepared for Ugliness to grab my ankles trying to suck me under, into the muck. The bright-faced, love-the-world, smiley girl in the photo with her sisters had no idea that some seemingly well-meaning people were actually Gollum-esque and horrid. There is no way to talk about being a pastor without naming the dark underside of the belly of the Church. It’s where the ugly, pale-faced, sickly creatures lurk. 

Their names are Meanness, Passive-aggression, Two-faced-liar, Conniving, Dysfunction and Heartless. They brood, sulk and scheme, their sole mission is to abuse and torment the clergy. They conspire to undo and harm you. I know a lot of pastors who are very wounded, beaten people, through no fault of their own. I guess they weren’t prepared for the onslaught of Ugliness either. This happens to male and female clergy, but I think that most of us in pastoral ministry would agree that the level of intensity and vitriol is heightened when it’s directed toward a woman pastor. 

Since I became a martial artist nearly 25 years ago, I learned how to defend myself in real time and how to protect my ankles a little better from the attacks of Camp Ugliness. Scarred tissue is stronger, they say. Those places in my soul are stronger, but they’re not as attractive as my unscathed spirit; the one that just wanted to shine for Jesus. Some of the scars just come with everyday living. But some of them come from the unwarranted, unexpected and unwelcome hazards of pastoral ministry. There are many things that get me through those dangerous times.

This is when I have to remember two things:

1)   The Church is not God. The Church is us – the broken, mixed up people, struggling along seeking redemption, trying to put itself together out of its shards and fragments. Sometimes we hurt each other. Sometimes we try to kill spirits – intentionally and unintentionally. Even so, this is never okay. I am never okay with others trying to murder my soul or my body. As I pastor, with great compassion and with brutal honesty, I’m always going to stand up to bullies no matter whom or where they are – even in the Church.

2)   Do not let anyone take my sense of humor. If that happens, all is lost and I might as well throw in my stole, toss my alb in the trash, kick the dust off my Birkenstocks and lock my communion kit up forever.

I know that I number 3 should be about my faith in Jesus and how it’s sustained me through these thirty years. But for me, that’s a given. You can’t be a pastor and not throw your lot and your life with Jesus. Well, I guess some people pretend and do it all the time, but I can’t. I love Jesus and following him. I love walking a sacramental life, intentionally pouring my life out for others, choosing to have my heart be broken open more and more so that I can love more deeply, more fully and more calmly. I love that I can love even my enemies and sometimes in that love, they become friends. I love my life and my ministry and give thanks to The Great I Am of the Universe (my name for God) for carrying me, calling me, cradling me, covering me, and giving me courage when I thought I just could Not. Do This. Anymore.

The heart of a pastor is broken apart by love and beauty; by the innocent words of children and the insistent questions of teens; by the late night struggles of young adults and the morning cries of the elderly. We accompany you when you think no one will come and we pick you up when you thought you were left by the side of the road to die alone. We splash you with a water-welcome and toss the dirt of the earth upon you when you go back to God. I live my pastor-life, not because the yin-yang shape is perfect-pure and the theatre masks hang all pretty-like on the wall. I choose this life because it is a life of heartbreaking, breathtaking beauty graced by the One who holds us fast and who calls us into a life of love, however feebly I may live it. It is a beautiful life because God brings new life out of all the dead places over and over again. It's happened to me and I've seen it happen to others. 

So, Dear Ones, I offer this tender reflection and give thanks to all of you, especially my beloved family members, who have blessed me along the way. Here’s to the next thirty! 

June 5, 2013: My wonderful spouse, Jack Hayes, who has been my rock and has been with me all this time, at times when we've only had each other, standing the Rock whose name is Jesus.

June 9, 2013: Me in the pulpit of Christ Chapel, Gustavus Adolphus College, following synod assembly.