Spring 1992 Quarterly Review - Theological Resources For Ministry

Quarterly Review/Spring 1992 S5.
00
A Journal of Theological Resources for Ministry
Ecclesial Vision and the Realities of

Congregational Life
Thomas E. Frank
Helen E. Casey-Rutland
Carol G. Carwile
Reading to Feed the Imagination

Jack A. Keller, Jr.
Ronndtable Discussion on Clergi/ Morale
The Language of Public Prayer

Gaylord Noyce
Editorial Board
Lloyd R. Bailey Robert C. Neville

Duke Divinity School Boston University School of
Theology
Wilfred Bailey
Casa View United Methodist Church Judith E. Smith
Dallas, Texas General Board of Higher Education
and Ministry
Pamela D. Couture T h e United Methodist Church
Candler School of Theology
Emory University Marjoric Hewitt Suchocki
Claremont School of Theology
Fred B. Craddock
Candler School of Theology John L. Topolewski
Emory University District Superintendent
W y o m i n g Conference
Brita Gill-Austern
Andover Newton Theological School Donald H . Treese
General Board of Higher Education
Janice Riggle Huic and Ministry
Manchaca United Methodist Church T h e United Methodist Church
Manchaca, Texas
F. T h o m a s Trotter
Roger W . Ireson, Chair Alaska Pacific University
General Board of Higher Education
and Ministry
T h e United Methodist Church
Editor, Sharon J. Hels

Editorial Director, J. Richard Peck
Composition Editor, Sheila W . McGee
Quarterly Review
A Journal of Theological Resources for Ministry
Volume 12, Number 1
A Publication of The United Methodist Publishing House

and the United Methodist Board of Higher Education and Ministry
Quarterly Review (ISSN 0270-9287) provides continuing education resources for scholars,
Christian educators, and lay and profcssinnal ministers in The United Methodist Church and
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Christian ministry can be raised and debated.
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Scripture quotations unless otherwise noted are from the New Revised Standard Version
Common Bible, copyrighted O 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National
Council of Churches of Christ in the US, and are used by permission.
Quarterly Review:
Spring, 1992
Copyright o 1992 by T h e United Methodist Publishing House

and T h e United Methodist Board of Higher Education and Ministry
ii
VOL. 12, NO. 1 SPRING 1992
Contents
Introduction
Sharon J. Hels 1
Articles
Ecclesial Vision and the Realities of Congregational Life
Thomas E. Frank 3
Reading to Feed the Imagination

Jack A. Keller, Jr 19
Quarterly Review Roundtable Discussion on Clergy Morale

31
The Language of Public Prayer

Gaylord Noyce 67
The Minister's Bookshelf: Worship

James F. White 73
QR Lectionary Study
The Wisdom of Stillness: Preaching on the Testing of Jesus in Luke
James C, Howell 81
iii
Introduction
Despite the fact that I am an innumerate-a mathematical illiterate,

and not proud of itI would like to declare a small celebration in honor
of the number twelve. What a splendid number it is! Consider that there
are twelve tribes of Israel, twelve apostles, twelve days of Christmas,
twelve gates in the New Jerusalem (Revelation), twelve baskets of
leftovers after Jesus fed the five thousand (John), and twelve Great
Feasts (in the Eastern Church). The Sumerians bequeathed to us a
base-twelve system of measurement, which we use to organize hours,
eggs, and months. Modern music is sometimes twelve-tone, and math
ematicians know all about the dodecahedron, a thing (what kind of
thing, they'll have to tell you) with twelve sides.
And with this issue, Quarterly Review enters its twelfth year of
publication. Volume 12 has a new, updated look. We put the QR logo
on a diet and trimmed the color back to the left-hand margin so the titles
would be easier to read. The left margin color won't change seasonally,
but with each volume. We began with a conservative khaki color, but
look out-some wacky colors may emerge in the future.
The subtitle of the journal has also changed. Our full, formal name
is now Quarterly Review: A Journal of Theological Resources for Min
istry. That enigmatic word, scholarly, has been omitted. Back in 1981,
QR called itself (not incorrectly) a scholarly journal; then, a journal of
scholarly reflection. The quality we seek is summed up nicely in an
explanatory sentence under the entiy scholarly in Webster's Third
International Unabridged Dictionary: "Never academic-still less pedan-
tic-but always scholarly; with the effect of 'profound learning' ever so
lightly worn." The substitution of the word theological allows us to
modify "profound learning" with Christian commitment, somethingthat
has always been central to this enterprise.
A word about this issue's contents. Thomas Frank and his staff at
the Rollins Center for Church Ministries at the Candler School of
Theology have given us the background on the writing of the Foundation
Document for the United Methodist bishops' initiative called Vital
Congregations-Faithful Disciples: Vision for the Church. Their work
holds a mirror up to us in our congregations, It also suggests that the
INTRODUCTION 1
variety we often experience as a deficit may be turned into our greatest
strength as a church.
Jack Keller, Jr., a United Methodist Publishing House editor, is
known to his colleagues as an inveterate reader. As such he is a very
effective advocate for the idea that a broad range of reading keeps the
mind alive and stimulates theological reasoning. His choice of modern
works of fiction and non-fiction shows both depth and humor and may
lead you to the local bookstore or challenge you to come up with your
own list of favorites.
The Quarterly Review Roundtable Discussion this year addressed
the issue of clergy morale. The panelists, who were selected from a
number of annual conferences, were not acquainted with each other.
But as they sat around a large conference table and shared their
experiences of joy and frustration in ministry, they quickly formed an
ad hoc covenant group. These ten panelists shared their stories with
each other unselfishly, and I am grateful to each of them for their
wisdom and candor.
The opening story of Gaylord Noyce's article is a prize! Beyond the
introduction lies a deceptively simple set of guidelines to public prayer.
The current emphasis in religious circles on spirituality and inner work
is balanced by our ability to speak formally with authenticity about the
hopes, fears and dreams of our people. This little piece is a great help.
James White's bibliographical essay covers the new and noteworthy
books on liturgy. White, the author of Introduction to Christian Wor
ship, Revised Edition (1990) has educated a generation of liturgical
scholars. His own work is of major importance in the study of Christian
liturgy today.
Finally, we are escorted through the Lent lections this spring by
James Howell. Howell ranges far and wide for the memorable detail in
some classic stories told in Luke's Gospel. You'll go to Israel, become
reacquainted with classic literature, religious movies and art, and dis
cover new resources for thinking about good and evil. Howell's treat
ment of these lections is chock-full of observations and new insights.
Occasionally a writer will object to the editing of his or her work for
publication; unfortunately, that happened in our winter 1991 issue. Dr.
Abraham Smith wishes readers to know that the article as printed did
not reflect his scholarly judgment on all points. And as editor, I take
responsibility for any such errors that occurred as a result of the editing
process. The unedited version of Dr. Smith's paper is available from him
at Boston University School of Theology, 745 Commonwealth Avenue,
Boston, MA 02215.
Have a wonderful, hope-filled spring and a blessed Easter!
2 QUARTERLY REVIEW/SPRING 1992

Thomas E. Frank
Ecclesial Vision
and the Realities
of Congregation Life
We the people of God called United Methodist, have come to a critical
turning point in our history. The world in which our heritage of faith
seemed secure is passing away...we must be more intentional about being
1
the church God calls us to be.
W ith these words of their 1990 pastoral letter, the Council of

Bishops of the United Methodist Church has issued a ringing
call for transformation of the life of the church. Rapid social changes
on all continents challenge the church's mission as never before.
The bishops have therefore declared a moratorium on life as usual.
They have invited congregations throughout the connection to join
in an intentional, focused plan that seeks God's vision for vital con
2
gregational life and faithful discipleship in each place.
The bishops' call for congregational vitality has been matched by
the renewed vitality of the role of the bishops. Over the course of
this century, institutional forces have increasingly confined the epis
copacy to managerial and bureaucratic tasks. In recent years the
bishops' initiatives have sought to recover the historic teaching and
liturgical offices to which bishops are consecrated. This has included
two efforts at extended pastoral statements addressed to the whole
church. Following their pastoral letter and document on the nuclear
arms race, titled In Defense of Creation (1986), they have now in
vited the church into study of the nature and purpose of the church
itself.
Thomas E. Frank is Director of the Rollins Center for Church Ministries and
Assistant Professor of Congregational Life at Candler School of Theology at
Emory University, Atlanta, Ga.
ECCLESIAL VISION 3
A clarion call of this nature requires a plan that is innovative, yet
grounded in the ecclesial traditions of episcopacy. The bishops con
sidered the literature currently available on the local church, with
typical emphases on evangelism and growth, organizational develop
ment, or management skills. None of these approaches seemed ap
propriate for the bishops to speak in their own uniquely episcopal
voice, as shepherds and overseers (episkopoi) of the whole church.
Instead, the bishops chose to lead the church into a liturgy, using
the church's historic practice of discernment. The Foundation Docu
ment, Vital Congregations-Faithful Disciples: Vision for the
Church is organized as an order of worship; instead of having a
t
table of contents with chapters, the book follows a pattern of wor

ship. As the text moves from gathering to praise to confession to par
don, and so on, it is accompanied by songs, prayers, stories, images
and quotations from congregations across the church. In short, the
book uses the language of faith, not the lingo of institutional
management so often imported into church life.
The distinctive purpose of the vital congregations initiative is con
tained in the bishops' assertion that "a new imagination for
tomorrow's church will arise by God's grace from the creativity and
3
vitality of congregations who find their life in Christ." Rejecting
proposals for a denominational program or master plan containing a
universal formula for congregational vitality, the bishops affirm
their faith in local church congregations to be and become the
church in each place, as God calls and gifts them to do.
Congregations are being urged to undertake theological reflection
on their own practices as communities of faith. The bishops enjoin
them to learn their stories, to examine their often self-imposed
limitations, to investigate the needs of their surrounding com
munities, and to discover the untapped gifts and resources for minis
try that God has in store for them.
The Response Process

To prepare for their pastoral letter and Foundation Document, the
bishops asked the Rollins Center for Church Ministries at the Candler
School of Theology to design and carry out a response process with
congregations. In order to evoke the multiple, particular realities of
actual congregations, we designed the response process to be as fully
participatory as possible.
United Methodism is an effervescent pool of diversity. No
"mainstream" or "oldline" Protestant denomination has more eth-

nicities more broadly represented; and with 37,000 congregations
scattered from the Bronx to North Dakota, from Burundi to
Portland and the Philippines, it is not difficult to find distinctions of
setting and therefore of ministry. The real question is what to do
with all the richness one discovers even from a small sampling.
Working in covenant with the Committee on Episcopal Initiatives
of the Council of Bishops, we constructed a process in which con
gregations could speak in their own authentic voice. First, we asked
each bishop to select a pastor and layperson from several congrega
tions in his or her episcopal area. These persons formed an Area Ad
visory Committee that met with their bishop to review the research
process and to evaluate draft material for the Foundation Document.
In May, 1989, we asked the pastor-lay teams to conduct "A Gather
ing for Celebration and Discovery" in their congregations and return
a written response to us. These local church events, we hoped,
would call forth congregational self-understanding. The open-ended
questions were grouped in a broadly liturgical movement, from
celebration to confession, to Word and story, to offering a response.
Some congregations adapted the format to their regular Sunday wor
ship service. Some held special sessions of the Administrative Coun
cil or other group to complete the form, while others used the
questions to structure their church planning retreat. Some chose
not to respond, or to let the pastor or a layperson simply complete
the form.
The Fabric of Congregational Life

One cannot read the marvelous range of responses from such a
diverse mix of congregations without being moved by the richness of
their shared life. Each congregation is a unique human reality com
posed of individuals living out their ministry and mission in a par
ticular place. Every congregation represents a dense tapestry o f
stories woven together over time, both individual journeys and cor
porate acts of ministry. Stories of the United Methodist heritage,
Christian tradition, and indeed the gospel itself are woven in and
through the fabric, giving unity and purpose to the whole.
These local church gatherings yielded dozens of memories,
prayers, and images of congregational life. We included much of this
material in the Foundation Document, because it helped to ground
the bishops' pastoral statement about the church in the realities of
actual congregations. Thus the Foundation Document appears in a
double-column format, with the bishops' text closest to the binding
ECCLESIAL VISION 5
on each page and the vignettes of congregational life in an outer
column, along with hymn verses, quotations, and other material.
Many of these stories and images are unforgettable. In the United
Methodist Church of Corrigan, Texas, for example:
One Sunday morning the pastor called for the ushers to come for
ward to receive the offering of the people. On this particular morn
ing, no men stood up to take the offering. After a short time, a
mentally retarded woman in her mid-twenties stood up and came for
ward to take the offering. The next Sunday she assumed the role her
self and was joined by another retarded woman in the congregation.
These two women are now the greeters and ushers, taking up the
morning offering in worship. God does move congregations to
change.
A story from First United Methodist Church in Bluefield, Virginia
shows the deep roots of memory that create loyalty to congregations:
The collections plates used to be entirely metal and change (which
was the main contribution in the early days) "clanged" as the plate
was passed. Often the plate stopped as some members made change
before passing the plate on down the pew. The children watched cer
6
tain people whom they knew were likely to make change.
Some congregations used only a few words to show the relation
ship between their corporate story and their Christian faith. First
Korean United Methodist Church of Chicago wrote:
We have purchased a Jewish synagogue and are using it as our
church building. The beautiful sanctuary stained-glass windows are
decorated with Jewish symbols. A few years ago, we decorated the
remaining windows in the sanctuary with Jesus' image as the good
shepherd in stained glass. The sanctuary seems to be the most
wondrous place to worship God. It is also a very meaningful place to
signify our journey from the Hebrew tradition and the Protestant
tradition, finally to that of the Korean-American?
Other congregations shared the biblical roots and theological
vision of their ministries. Istrouma United Methodist Church in
Baton Rouge, Louisiana, wrote:
If there was any doubt as to whether the kitchen wall should have
a door leading into the coffee room, it's too late now. Nothing seems
to stop our people from doing what needs doingnot even a five-inch
think concrete block wall! As I saw that sledgehammer crash through
that wall, I saw an image in my mind-an image of the church in the
business of '"breaking barriers and opening doors." Isn't this what the
Food Pantry, the Clothing Closet, the Thrift Shop, the Each Elder
Ministry, and the After-School Program are all about? And isn't this
G QUARTERLY REVIEW/SPRING 1992

what Church school and Sunday morning worship are all about?
"For he is our peace, who has made us both one, and has broken
down the dividing wall of hostility..." (Eph. 2:14),
From these congregational responses we identified trends that be
came thematic in the bishop's statement. For example, many con
gregations wrote of the centrality of worship in their life; the
bishops defined worship as the focal point of the Christian life, and
in fact organized the entire text around the movement of liturgy.
Congregations named their fears of change, their sense of being
overwhelmed by social problems such as substance abuse, their need
for spiritual discipline. All of these themes found their way into the
book.
What we could not do in the Foundation Document was to analyze
the congregational responses systematically. Even so, there is much
to be learned from surveying this sample. A thorough look at the
responses makes clear that the bishops' initiative will have to con
tend with persistent realities of actual congregations in particular
places, While the survey evidences many signs of hope, it also shows
that congregations face many obstacles to practical theological reflec
tion of this kind.
Issues for Transformation

To reduce all the congregational responses into seven points or five
conclusions about United Methodism would, of course, contradict the
whole process that produced the responses in the first place. We
wanted congregations to speak in their own voice, and we continue to
honor that particularity in this assessment. But while the survey
offers a taste of the richness and diversity of congregational life, it also j
brings to the surface issues with which many congregations seem to !
be contending. Thus the survey provides one window into the broader
picture of contemporary United Methodist congregations.
I
A C h a n c e t o T e l l T h e i r S t o r i e s . For many congregations the
main contact with the connectional church comes through the su-
perintendency, primarily at charge conference or appointment time,
when much emphasis is placed on statistics such as membership, I
salary, and apportionments. Unlike those occasions, the "gathering" {
survey instrument offered a completely different approach. Par- i

ticipants described the event as "invigorating and useful," giving :
them an opportunity to look at themselves, "blemishes and all."
Some congregations wrote back to us in surprise; they said, !
ECCLESIAL VISION 7
"Thank you for including the laypeople, for turning the process the
other way around." They were excited that the bishops especially
were interested in their stories.
The process invited participants to convey what it is like to be a
member of their congregation, and how they perceive their own
identity and omission. One question asked them to reflect on sym
bols in their church building and tell the stories associated with
them. Another question asked them to write down a story that
would capture something essential about their congregation's uni
que character. This approach, focusing on self-definition, led to en
thusiastic congregational responses, such as, "ThankB for helping us
rediscover who we are."
We received many anecdotes and images for use in the book, told
in the freshness o f local accents and styles, all with the ring of
authenticity as expressions of faith and ministry in particular
places. One congregation described the character of the church as
"the warm, caring feeling you get when you walk in the front door of
someone's home and you can smell the invitation from the kitchen."
We sensed a longing to tell the stories, for they reach to the deepest
level of people's loyalty and commitment to discipleship in and
through a given congregation.
Yet many congregations appeared not to know their own story.
We are convinced that many local church members do not know
either the corporate story of their congregation or each other's
stories of how they came to be part of their congregation. Thus the
congregation's life and mission is robbed of the richness and depth
that would result from a fully shared sense of identity and purpose.
The seeming poverty of story indicates a larger problem. Many
congregations appeared to view themselves as normative, and their
way of being the church as simply "the way it is." One congregation
described its participants as "simple in faith, simple in their
demands and accepting of others," saying they "just want to go to
church." Another congregation, when asked how it differed from
other churches, responded with doubt that it was indeed much dif
ferent, saying, "We are all trying to serve Christ in our community
as best we can." When a group of people remains together over
time, from generation to generation, such a self-contained image is
natural. But it has many consequences.
Many who were unable to say much about how their congregation
is different from others in the community were clear, however,
about distinguishing themselves from fundamentalist churches.
They claimed and even celebrated United Methodism's place in the

!
"middle of the road," where extremist advocates of either orthodoxy

or change would not feel welcome. |
But what it means to be United Methodist beyond the broad I
tolerance of the middle is vague to many congregations. One con- }
gregation lamented that being part of the denomination is no more
than a weekly routine, saying, "Every Sunday morning we meet at j
our appointed church, at our appointed time because that is our cus
tom. I honestly believe we do not know what Methodism is and if we
did, we might be a stronger church." When asked what made them
distinctly United Methodist, respondents named the cross and
flame logo, the hymnal, church school literature, apportionments, j
and the appointive system for pastors. Some pointed to the practice j
of open communion. Virtually none made mention of any doctrine of ,
salvation, or the discipline of holiness now called discipleship.
Congregations need to tell their stories continually both for a j
healthy self-image and identity and for the integration of new par- j
ticipants into the community of faith. One congregation voiced con
cern as to whether its traditions would be perpetuated by following >
generations, asking, "Will we speak to posterity from these walls?
What will our message be? Will others be compelled to follow?"
j
What a n d W h e r e Is M i n i s t r y ? Church survival and maintenance
emerged as most congregations' main emphasis. Although they iden
tified numerous social issues for Christian response, rarely did they s
list those issues as specific challenges to the congregation's mission. |

More frequently, they cited membership growth, finance, and up
keep of the physical plant as areas of primary need. I
Most of our responding congregations exhibited a deep passivity i
about other institutions in their communities and the social issues ;
that affect them all. Many described their settings, such as a loca
tion next to a college campus, in some detail. Many wrote of rapid
changes in their communities, such as a declining farm economy, or
racial and ethnic population movements, or increases in drug traffic,
teen pregnancy, and other signs of social dislocation. But few
described any efforts to develop responses jointly with schools, j
government, or businesses. Few mentioned programs to train their j
own lay leadership for any kind of community action. i
The congregations that are teaming with other institutions in
response to social issues are striking exceptions. One wrote of work
ing with another local congregation in initiating a Head Start pro
gram, while another noted its involvement with the local school
system and low-income housing developments. !
ECCLESIAL VISION 9
Many congregations seemed to look to the pastor as central to
their corporate identity. Responses to our question about the most
important tasks of the pastor were limited to work that the pastor
individually performs, such as preaching, visitation, or counseling.
Few of the responses highlighted the role of the pastor as empower
ing and equipping laity for ministry. One congregation went so far as
to describe the pastor as "the one determining factor for the vitality
and character" of the church.
Congregations and Social Assumptions. The congregations'

lack of self-awareness and intentionality plays out also in unspoken
social assumptions. Virtually all the churches described themselves
as friendly; many claimed to be open and diverse. Yet when asked
"what kind of person might not feel comfortable in your congrega
tion," many described people of a lower socio-economic class or of
another race. It was not uncommon to have a congregation describe
itself as "a loving, caring and understanding congregation where
people are supported," only later in the survey to find: "Some people
do not respond well to blacks, etc., to the point where these would
not be welcome."
People tend to label their congregation as friendly when they
have friends there; it does not follow that strangers are welcome. A
few congregations recognized the irony in this response. One noted,
" A s we look at the list of persons who might not feel comfortable in
our church, it seems apparent that we are not communicating this
sort of acceptance." We were struck, though, by how many did not
seem to see the contrast between their self-image as a caring com
munity and their self-defined profile for selecting those appropriate
for inclusion.
Spiritual Poverty and Hunger. The response form asked con

gregations to name a biblical story or image that would best describe
them; here again, social assumptions came to the fore. The self-
image of most congregations was that "we" have the resources, and
the burden of initiative to serve rests on "us." These congregations
typically identified with the Good Samaritan, or with the disciples
handing out the bread and fish on the hillside, saying, "We do reach
out to those in need in our community." The predominant view
seemed to be that "we" are supposed to help "them," the ones who
have less than "we" do. Some congregations did recognize that they
might represent different roles in the Samaritan story, saying,
"Sometimes we're the good person, sometimes the bad and some-

times we just pass by." But none identified with the victim, beaten,
robbed and left to die by the roadside.
Few congregations reflected a profound sense of need or of having
received anything from beyond themselves and their own resources.
Few were vulnerable enough to admit to poverty. At the material
level, one could argue that, of course, predominantly middle-class
churches do often have plentiful resources. But congregations that
do not know their own poverty, of spirit and imagination if not
material things, and therefore their need for grace, something that
must be received, are not going to be able to be in ministry with
other people. As long as they see themselves as "a family with open
arms to welcome back those who are lost and need to come home to
God," they will only be able to minister to, to share out of their abun
dance, and thus to act out the social assumptions of their economic
class.
This spiritual malnutrition appears to permeate the life of many
congregations. The responses listed multitudes of groups and
programs. Many United Methodist local churches are bustling with
activities; the calendar is crowded, the staff and laity very busy.
Productivity, buildings, visible results get the praise. We wonder,
though, how congregations value moments that do not "produce"
anything tangible; are worship experiences, times of prayer and
meditation, or personal acts of ministry as important as organization
al events?
In fact, the responses showed a deep split between spiritual life
and the business/busy-ness of the church. When asked, "At what
points in your congregation's life do you feel most distant from
God?" many people replied, "In committee meetings when there is
an obvious conflict" or, "Anytime financial decisions must be made."
The life of the spirit does not seem to carry over from the sanctuary
to the meeting room. Activities and the decisions to carry them out
are not undergirded with the praise of God. Scripture, prayer, and
spiritual discernment are in another world from "running the
church."
Responses to our questions about language also mirrored the
split. Many congregations lamented the lack of biblical or theologi
cal knowledge among their people. One congregation noted that it
"is not prone to search through the scriptures to find God's instruc
tions for our lives." Another congregation wrote that they tend to
avoid words like "saved" or "salvation" because they have been
"snatched" by more fundamental or evangelical churches. They
reported, "Because of the connotation and association these terms
ECCLESIAL VISION 11
have come to represent, we have 'disowned* them and consider our
selves 'too sophisticated' to use them."
A more common response was that church members "don't use
Bible language, but they try their best to live their lives as Chris
tians." The consequence is that United Methodists are left to do
their church business without much concrete reference to a vision
of what God intends for them. One congregation, upon recognizing
its lack of biblical language use, responded, "This question forces us
to ask: If scripture is forgotten, in what sense is God forgotten?
What vital connection is there between God and God's word that we
may be lacking?"
TolerantBut Private-Congregations. In the congregations'

search for spiritual vitality, the "middle of the road" status of the
United Methodist heritage, at least in North America, comes to the
forefront again. In mainstream society religion is considered a private
matter; it is not generally a subject for open discussion. Each individual
is free to pursue his or her own religious journey; it is no one else's
business. One congregation reported, "Members are entitled to their
own personal beliefs and are not poured into a certain theological
mold."
The language of "discipleship" replaces the language of "holiness."
The latter implies a community to which one is accountable, and ul
timately one's obedience to the Holy One. The former stresses the
individual decision to follow, with one's choices along the way being
9
one's personal responsibility.
This attitude of "tolerance" is pervasive in United Methodist con
gregations. People are intensely afraid of conflict, since their
deepest convictions would be exposed. Congregations have difficulty
resolving internal differences, since arguing or being assertive in
one's opinions is considered impolite. One congregation spoke of
how the "traditionalist" and the "modernist" are able to "share faith
together without m^jor conflict." Another congregation noted, "Our
congregation is caring and sharing, but they shy away from things
that are controversial instead of speaking out and standing up for
what they believe."
Thus many congregations continue to be paralyzed by a passivity
deriving from their reluctance to really talk with each other. This is
another facet of the passivity that pulls them back from engage
ment with other community institutions and social issues that im
pact everyone. Congregations of "privately" religious people are not
sure what role, if any, a religious organization should play in "public"
community life.

Congregations Overwhelmed by Change. Neighborhoods, towns,
and rural areas have gone through dramatic transitions in the fifty
years since World War II. The culture does not support church activity
as it once did, for North American society has become multicultural.
People do not line up at the door to join many United Methodist
churches, and the children of church families are less likely than their
parents to stay in church as adults.
The survey revealed a widespread helplessness about coping with
these changes. One congregation acknowledged the frustration and
pain it felt because of an inability to reach the youth of the church,
saying, "They are our hope for growth and new life, but we don't
seem to be able to develop the strong bonds of love and caring."
Several predominantly black congregations expressed concern that
more charismatic churches were attracting United Methodist mem
bers.
Many congregations seem to be waiting for the right "expert" to
come along and give them the "answer" to their situation. Many lack
authority or empowerment to claim their own gifts for ministry and
seek a new vision. Although some congregations were able to list
many of the problems of their communities, one congregation
doubted their ability to improve the situation, saying, "Most o f our
people believe that the local church is not equipped to address the
hard-core issues of our time."
We are not sure, in reviewing the responses, how willing many
congregations are to make necessary changes. Can they learn to wel
come the stranger, especially to be a community of hospitality with
people of different ethnicities or socio-economic class? Are they com
mitted to finding out how younger people or people alienated from
or not participating in any congregation feel that their religious jour
neys can be more effectively supported?
Despite more than a decade of intensive program emphasis on
evangelism at all connectional levels of the denomination, most con
gregations in this response process mentioned little about it. Our
questions were open-ended; we did not ask the typical denomina
tional performance questions, such as, "What did your congregation
do in evangelism in the past year?" or "How many new groups and
classes were started in your congregation?" The congregations that
spontaneously offered descriptions of their new programs did not
often refer to them as "evangelistic." Many congregations mentioned
the need to attract young families or the desire for improved youth
programs to help retain young members. Yet few congregations
listed specific, intentional ways that they were attempting to expand
ECCLESIAL VISION 13
the circle of their caring community or create new ministries.
Perhaps congregations are just so accustomed to denominational
report forms that lead them to answers, usually requiring numerical
data, that they overlooked or forgot to mention such things. On the
other hand, when congregations do not voluntarily use the language
or articulate a focus of evangelism, this surely reflects their actual
self-image for ministry.
Signs of Vision and Hope. Among the responses there were many
signs of hope. Congregations wrote with poignancy and insight about
their past and future, relating incidents that symbolized the love, care,
and justice with which they want to carry out their ministries. Many
of these stories appear in the Foundation Document, including this
striking narrative:
If one enters our large sanctuary before the people arrive, there is the dis
tinct feeling that many souls from the past still reside there. The round
stained-glass window high above the altar; the mahogany baptismal
urn; the heavy glass and iron chandeliers; the red seat cushions-much
was given in memory of church members or their loved ones. The library
in the corner of the sanctuary holds shelves of books dated clear back to
the 1800s. There is a picture of the Trinity Union Sunday school in its
heyday. The people look like they are related.
We don't know most of these people. They are dead or gone away. Trinity
is a new church now. On any Sunday, there are Africans, Afro-
Americans, Cambodians, and Anglo-Saxons. On the bulletin board in
Fellowship Hall is a photo of each person who registered for our Sunday
school last year, black, brown, and white. Above the Sunday school altar
is a handcrocheted picture of Jesus with outstretched hands, a gift from
Liberia. Below the picture reads, "He's Got the Whole World in His
10
Hands."
Some congregations proudly told stories of the vitality of their

churches. One celebrated a fivefold increase in church attendance
over a two-year period:
For over twenty years the church labored, ministers came and went and
visitors came and left We had no overall growth. The church was will
ing to make changes and opened its doors to change, to new ideas, to
new methods, to new opportunities. When you offer yourself, God chan
ges you and things begin to happen. Praise the Lord for exciting times.

Another congregation wrote of deciding to stay in its inner-city
location when other churches were relocating: "We have successfully
redefined our mission which is now characterized by outreach to the
immediate, needy neighborhood." Another responded quickly when
two families moved to another church: "This made us rethink our
children's program and design a new one which has helped us very
much."
Some congregations were made aware of their lack of vision
during the "gathering" process. One church wrote that although
there were personal visions for their church, no real corporate
vision had been established. "It is hoped that one of the outcomes of
this self-study and assessment will be that the wealth of gifts and
graces, evident in the lives and works of the people of the church,
will be utilized to help us realize that the Kingdom of God is indeed
within the reach of the body of the faithful."
Conclusion
The issues raised by the congregational survey are critical to the future
of the church. Many congregations do appear to sustain strong fellow
ship ties, to worship, educate, and serve effectively. Yet the overall
picture of normativity, spiritual drought, and passive tolerance is
alarming. Clearly many congregations either have not yet awakened
to a sense of purpose or simply feel overwhelmed by the cultural
changes that have swept across American society.
The bishops' initiative calls congregations into self-study.
Through a process of claiming and celebrating their past, realizing
their strengths, and matching their gifts with the needs of their
communities, congregations are being invited to discover the vision
that God has for them. The process takes time and requires a will
ingness to look at the realities of congregational life. Only with such
intentionality is change going to be possible.
In what is probably the sharpest and most controversial section of
the Foundation Document, the bishops call the church to confes
sion. The sins named there include many of the issues that surfaced
in the response process. The bishops invite the church to confess
"our preoccupation with church business," the way church business
"makes us feel distant from God," "our fear of others," our passivity,
spiritual emptiness, and fear.
The bishops then call the church to renounce these sins and seek
forgiveness. And they announce God's pardon in words of faith:
ECCLESIAL VISION 15
Hear the Good News: in the name of Jesus Christ we are forgiven. God
wants to use our congregations for God's eternal purposes of saving the
world. We are jars of clay indeed, bearing a treasure beyond all reckon-
ing. (2 Cor. 4:7)
God knows the cracks and weaknesses of our vessels; but God entrusts
this precious mystery of salvation to us as stewards of the promise. (1
n
Cor. 4:l)
Our survey identified a critical need for transformation in the

church. But in the spirit of the bishops' document, we conclude that
after all, United Methodist congregations are the church only by the
grace of God, and by God's grace they will be transformed.
Notes
1. "A Pastoral Letter to All United Methodists," Vital Congregations-Faithful Dis
ciples: Visions for the Church (Nashville: Graded Press, 1990), 158.
2 . T h e bishops' initiative was launched at an international gathering in Fort W o r t h ,
Texas, in early November 1990. All congregations were asked to hear the bishops*
pastoral letter later that same month, calling for a time of fasting, prayer, study and
discernment of God's direction for the church.
T h e Foundation Document released for study at that time, Vital Congregations -
Faithful Disciples: Vision for the Church, was the product of thirty months of intensive
consultation, research, drafting and rewriting in response to over a thousand readers.
T h e Rollins Center for Church Ministries at Candler School of Theology was the
coordinating agency and base for research. T h o m a s E. Frank, director of the Center,
was principal consultant and writer for the project. Helen E. Casey-Rutland assisted in
research and editing. Carol Carwile joined the Center after the publication of the book
to help assess findings from the research process.
3 . Foundation Document, 2 1 .
4. Basic resources in congregational studies include Carroll, Jackson W., Carl S.
Dudley, and William McKinncy, ed., Handbook for Congregational Studies (Nashville:
Abingdon Press, 1986); Dudley, Carl S., Jackson Carroll, James P. Wind, cds., Carriers
of Faith: Lessons from Congregational Studies (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox,
1991); Gricrson, Denham, Transforming a People of God (Melbourne: Joint Board of
Christian Education of Australia and N e w Zealand, 1984; Hopewell, James F., Congrega
tion: Stories and Structures. Edited by Barbara G. Wheeler (Philadelphia: Fortress,
1987). From over 4 0 0 congregations named by their bishops as participants, we received
262 responses representing 3 8 states. O f the surveys received, 8 6 . 5 percent of the
responses were from predominantly white churches, 10.1 percent were from black
churches and 1.9 percent were from Asian churches. Three-quarters of the churches
surveyed reported an average Sunday worship attendance of over 100. T h e majority of
churches responding were from areas with a population size of less than 50,000. T h e
demographic profile of the survey responses was generally close to the profile of the
denomination as a whole, with a few exceptions. Because of the individual bishops'
choices of participating congregations, the survey included a disproportionate number
of churches with average attendance over 150. W h i l e some Native American congrega
tions were invited to participate, none completed the response form. Similarly, we were
able to obtain only six responses representing three nations other than the United
1G QUARTERLY REVIEW/SPRING 1992

States, while United Methodism is active in 2 3 countries.
5. Foundation Document, 8 1 .
6. Foundation Document, 94.
7. Foundation Document, 54
8. Foundation Document, 120
9. W e arc indebted to Dr. Theodore W . Jennings for this insight into Wesleyan
language.
10. Foundation Document, 17-18.
11. Foundation Document, 4 7 .
ECCLESIAL VISION 17
Jack A. Keller, Jr.
Reading to Feed
The Imagination
O ne often hears laments about the deplorable reading habits of

most pastors. Pastors read too few books. And when they do
read, so the complaint goes, pastors limit their reading to books that
can easily be cannibalized for preaching or program purposes. This
lament can be heard in publishing circles and among seminary facul
ty. It comes up, too, among clergy themselves who feel guilty that
they cannot keep current in the theological disciplines, let alone a
wider program of reading. While empirical research about clergy
reading habits is notoriously slippery, and despite the fact that some
clergy are voracious readers, I think there is probably considerable
truth to the charge that most clergy do not read widely.
It is not that pastors as a class are anti-intellectual. It is simply
that their time gets swallowed up by the demands of administration,
counselling, program development, and weekly preaching. It is un
derstandable why many pastors view reading anything but Bible
commentaries and professional "how to" books as frivolous, a luxury,
an indulgence. They need to be persuaded that reading widely can
genuinely enhance their ministry, that time spent reading is as im
portant as time spent in any other essential task of ministry. In
short, many pastors need a license to read.
I found my license for reading several years ago when I began
work as an editor at a religious publishing house. I had been reading
laboriously for years before that, of course. I did my best to keep
abreast of my specialty area and a couple of secondary disciplines, all
somewhere under the umbrella of theological studies. But I very sel-
Jack A Keller, Jr. is Reference Books Editor for Abingdon Press and Project
Director for The New Interpreter's Bible, United Methodist Publishing
House, Nashville, TN.
READING TO FEED THE IMAGINATION 19

dom spent an evening with a novel or a collection of short stories or
one of the non-fiction titles on the best-seller lists. That would have
been a verboten luxury. There just weren't enough hours in the day
to justify spending even one or two on "frivolous" reading.
But employment as an editor changed my thinking. My new job
certainly didn't give me any more spare time. But it did give me per
mission to range outside scholarly tomes for my reading. For five
years I worked on church curriculum materials for youth and adults.
My job was to train non-professional writers to write "professional
ly." Grammatical errors were the least of the problems I en
countered. Much more serious was the lack of imagination some
manuscripts betrayed. Riveting they were not. How could I expect
the teachers and students who were our customers to embrace the
gospel, to live transformed lives, if the curriculum material was so
dull?
Literature in Service of the Church

I began to read across a wide spectrum of fields and genres, searching
for imaginative "hooks" for biblical and theological claims. Like the
pastor who realizes that an effective sermon connects the gospel with
the experience and imagination of listeners, I scoured the offerings of
fiction and nonfiction for resources that might be mined, refined, and
sometimes polished in the service of Christian education.
The treasure I found did offer some immediate rewards. For in
1
stance, while working on a publication for y o u t h we were searching
for an interesting way to respond to the question "What does it
mean to be spiritual?" I happened upon Edwin Abbott's classic
science fiction novel Flatland? That story describes a world of only
two dimensions. Everything in that world is located in a single
plane: triangles, squares, pentagons, hexagons, and so forth. From
the narrator's perspective, that two-dimensional world seems to en
compass all reality. The shapes in a plane are what is real. At least
so it seems until the narrator encounters a sphere. Bewildered at
first by what he sees, the narrator eventually recovers his bearings.
He is astounded! The world is so much more complex, so much more
beautiful than the reality he had previously known. Now he knows a
depth to reality he had never grasped before. After a brief retelling
of Flatlandy it was no great leap to suggest to our teenage readers
the analogous relation in our world of mundane experience and the
experience of spiritual depth. The story had them hooked before a

word of theology was spoken. All that was needed was for them to ex
claim "aha!"
Or take another example. In that same publication for young
people we were trying to convey the sense of awe before the Creator
that creation can inspire. Abstract, formal "proofs" of the argument
from design would have fallen on deaf ears, even ifwe weren't un
easy about the logical flaws in the argument. But how to convey a
sense of wonder? I found a promising candidate in a chapter from
the splendid collection of essays entitled TheLives of a Cell by Lewis
Thomas. Human beings, Thomas contends, are alive against stupen
dous odds of genetics and physics. "We make our living by catching
electrons at the moment of their excitement by solar photons, swip
ing the energy released at the instant of each jump and storing it up
in intricate loops for ourselves. We violate probability, by our na
ture." Each of us is a unique individual, spun out by processes that
boggle the mind. "You'd think," Thomas muses, "we'd never stop
1,3
dancing. Suddenly, the doctrine of creation didn't seem formal or
abstract to our teenage readers. Some of them, at least, felt the
sense of mystery and marvel that the writer of Psalm 8 must have
felt.
A few other gleanings, in one fashion or another, helped to en
liven curriculum materials. And some found their way into my
spouse's sermon illustrations. I began to see all manner of fiction
and nonfiction as mother lodes of insight and illumination that
could be mined to enable others' spiritual journeys. I became shame
less in reading popular as well as sophisticated literature,
Two books helped ease my guilt about popular genres. Allene
Stuart Phy's The Bible and Popular Culture in America* helped me
see how deeply intertwined in the American experience are the
Bible, on the one hand, and popular fiction, humor, country music,
and children's literature, on the other. Those popular genres have
deeply touched innumerable souls. Andrew Greeley is best known
these days for his steamy romances and whodunits, but it was his
5
God in Popular Culture that caught my e y e . After laying out his
theory of the religious imagination and a corresponding theology of
popular culture, Greeley helps his readers see why we are so
thoroughly taken with fantasy, westerns, romances, horror thrillers,
mysteries, and even comics. We read those genres for fun, of course,
and for escape (where else can you get a mini-vacation for $5.95?).
But Greeley points to some deeper reasons why those of us in pulpit
6
and pew find those popular genres so refreshing.

Novels of Religious Self-Discovery
Oftentimes it is my own self-understanding that is confused and in
need o f a guide. Pastors are not so different from editors and
theologians, I suspect, on that score. We may eventually find oppor
tunities to share what we have learned from our literary forays. But
first we are the ones who find ourselves judged, illumined, and some
times given hope. Over the past several years, three authors in par
ticular have spoken to me of judging and perhaps redeeming my own
condition.
Flannery O'Connor's Southern Gothic novels and short stories
are filled with odd people caught in bizarre circumstances. And yet
her writings have a peculiar power to illumine the Christian life for
all of us. Her splendidly strange story "Revelation" is a good ex
7
ample. "Revelation" tells the story of Ruby Turpin, a woman filled
with her own self-righteousness, someone who finds in Jesus a satis
fying legitimation of a hierarchical world view. But something hap
pens to upset that world view radically. And Ruby Turpin is graced
with a vision of God's new order and her own need for conversion.
The judgment that so angers and bewilders her makes possible the
transformed imagination that carries the prospect of her redemp
tion.
Many of us who frequent pulpit or pew would, I suspect, be quick
to protest that we are neither so crude nor so smug as Ruby Turpin.
But our own self-assurance convicts us. We need to learn with Ruby
Turpin that the last shall be first. We need to learn with her that
self-righteousness is not God's righteousness. We need to discover
with her that even our favorite virtues have to be burned away if we
are to enter the Kingdom. In short, we need to learn alongside Ruby
Turpin that our salvation comes as a gift, not as our due.
J. F. Powers's Morte D'Urban, which won the National Book
9
Award in 1962, has won over a new generation of readers. Powers
tells the story of a fictitious Father Urban Roche, a talented go-get
ter in an equally fictitious declining religious order, the Clemen
tines. Father Urban chafes under the uninspired leadership of his
religious superiors. He knows how to make the Clementines suc
ceed. His golden opportunity comes when he is put in charge of a
floundering retreat center. By purchasing an adjoining golf course,
he figures out a way to provide the necessary revenue.
Urban's compromise is hilarious-until I stop to realize that I am
prone to the same temptation. I work in a religious bureaucracy that
struggles daily with the same dilemma: how to keep the
bureaucratic machinery going without betraying the gospel we

profess to proclaim, Clergy in the local church face the same dilem
ma: how to make a parish church successful without becoming un
faithful in the pursuit of that success. Powers is not particularly
judgmental. But he does lay bare the irony of our situation. We are
lost souls if we no longer feel uncomfortable with the irony of our
predicament.
Of Robert Coles's forty-some books, I will mention only two. Har
vard Diary is a collection of short essays that first appeared in New
10
Oxford Review. Each of the fifty-five essays is brief enough to read
on a lunch break or before going to bed, but most show a clarity of in
sight that warrants a slow, deliberate reading. The subject matter of
the essays ranges widely, from reminiscences about great and ordi
nary persons the author has known, to gleanings from literary
masterpieces, to political opinion, to musings on theological themes.
In "Spiritual Kinship" Coles talks about his appreciation for those
moments when his students, without denigrating the intellectual
life, recognize that it is not all of life. They feel the gentle
remonstrance of Thomas a Kempis: "Deeply inquisitive reasoning
does not make a man [sic] holy or righteous but a good life makes
him beloved by God. I would rather feel compunction of heart for
my sins than merely know the definition of compunction." They feel
that same remonstrance in Walker Percy's description of a person
who "got all A's, and flunked life." The fifteenth-century monk and
the twentieth-century physician-turned-novelist make me squirm a
little, too, because I know how loving God with one's mind can
degenerate to loving intellectual gymnastics. I agree with Coles:
"...there is a spiritual kinship among those [intellectuals] who are
alarmed, even frightened, by a kind of scholarly life that goes full
steam ahead, year after year, with no self-criticism, no moral
11
anxiety, no sense of mocking humor with respect to itself."
A similar thread runs through the entry "Small Gestures." Coles
recounts a conversation with an undergraduate student who came to
learn the hard way that
...being clever, brilliant, even what gets called "well-educated'"is not to

be equated, necessarily, with being considerate, kind, tactful, even plain
polite or civiL.one's proclaimed social or political views-however articu
lately humanitarian-are not always guarantors of one's everyday be
havior. ... One can speak big-hearted words, write incisive and
thoughtful prose-and be a rather crude, arrogant, smug person in the
12
course of getting through the day.
Professional scholars and church bureaucrats may be especially

prone to this fault. But some pastors may tremble, as I do, before

Coles's warning: "Let those of us who find that words come easy, and
who like to play with ideas, and call the attention of others to our
13
words and ideas, beware. Our jeopardy is real and continuing."
If Harvard Diary comes in bite-sized units, Coles's The Call of
14
Stories demands longer periods of immersion. These chapters pro
vide a kind of documentary study of Coles's conversations with stu
dents (undergraduates as well as medical, law, business, and divinity
school students). I found myself intrigued by his use of novels and
poetry to explore character as a key to professional and personal
morality. Coles's method may inspire clergy or Christian educators
to do some innovative teaching in the local church. With all of the at
tention being given these days in theological circles to technical
analysis of story and narrative, Coles provides a particularly engag
ing, readable, practical demonstration of how lives are shaped and il
lumined by great literature.
Of Saints a n d Symbols
Several writers are collected in my mind and on my bookshelves under
the rubric of "portraits of the Christian life." They use various genres:
novels, short stories, autobiographies. Some are light and humorous;
others are sobering. But all will bear rereading. All present a convinc
ing perspective on the struggles and possibilities of Christian living.
In Miz Lil and the Chronicles of Grace and The Manger is
15
Empty, Walter Wangerin weaves together autobiographical stories
and evocative short fiction that explore demanding law and gracious
gospel in everyday life. I cannot seem to forget the moving account
of a boy's guilt and a father's forgiveness in "For, Behold, the Day
Cometh" or the testimony to the power of suffering to redeem in
"Matthew, Seven, Eight, and Nine."
I had previously been acquainted with a handful of Frederick
Buechner's twenty-some books of fiction and nonfiction. But what
caught my fancy recently was a transcription of a lecture he gave
16
under the auspices o f the Book-of-the-Month C l u b . Buechner
recounts three peculiar events in his life that seem charged with
the mystery of providential care. He goes on to talk about the bet
ting we do with our very lives on the basis of evidence that is "frag
mentary, fragile, ambiguous." Buechner is always looking for divine
clues in human experience "...in a world that half the time we're in
17
love with and half the time scares the hell out of us." So pay atten
tion, Buechner pleads, to "the unexpected sound of your name on
somebody's lips. The good dream. The strange coincidence. The mo-

ment that brings tears to your eyes. The person who brings life to
18
your life. Even the smallest events hold the greatest clues."
Four other novelists have come to my bookshelf of late who probe
the Christian life with uncommon insight. Clyde Edgerton is best
known for his observations of newlywed love in Raney and a stub
born, loving elderly widow in Walking across Egypt Religion is part
of both novels because religion-for better and for worse-is part of
the fabric of the rural South Edgerton writes about. In his more
somber The Floatplane Notebooks which tells about the terrible
encounter of a Southern community with the Vietnam War, religion
is further in the background. Yet this is a powerful portrayal of the
physical and moral brokenness of human beings-either caused by
the war or revealed by it-and the precarious possibility of redemp
tion. This is judgment and grace without sentimentality.
Mary Gordon has been justly praised for her Final Payments and
0
Men and Angels?' The former tells about the awakening of a young
woman who, after eleven years of devoted care for her ailing father,
is released by his death to face a frightening and exciting world. She
is vulnerable and naive, so she gets bruised. But the support of two
old school friends helps her keep going until she comes to herself
and knows what has to be left behind in order really to live. Men and
Angels portrays the tensions of a less-than-egalitarian marriage
from the woman's perspective. Gordon enfleshes different concep
tions of love: love as mutuality, as equal regard, and as self-sacrifice.
Gordon challenges the notion that the highest love must be utterly
selfless. Instead she helps us see that human love needs to ap
preciate beauty in the other.
Jon Hassler has set all of his novels in small town Minnesota, but
he is much more than a merely regional writer. Hassler is a percep
tive observer of the passions, purposes, and pitfalls of human beings
in the complex but perfectly ordinary web of relationships defined
1
by family, friends, and community. In Simon's Night? we follow
the life and thoughts of Simon Shea, a retired college professor who
commits himself prematurely to a home for the infirm elderly.
That's when the fun starts. Hassler writes of the indignities of old
age with humor-but with genuine respect for persons, too. Simon's
religious faith is presented as something steady and meaningful,
secure enough to admit to some puzzlement. Simon's Night is one
of the best portrayals in contemporary fiction of an ordinary man
moving into older age with a measure of grace and maturity.
22
The protagonist of Hassler's A Green Journey, as with Simon's
Night, is facing life in the retirement years. In this case, Agatha

McGee is a feisty, unmarried school teacher. Like her beloved S t
Isidore's Elementary School, she is facing the pressure of changing
times. She falls in love with her unseen pen pal in Ireland, which is
fine until she decides to visit Ireland and discovers that her pen pal
is a Catholic priest! Hassler portrays Agatha's religious faith sym
pathetically. Likewise, he presents Agatha's pen pal as a man of
genuine faith who longs to be just a little more ordinary than a
priest in Ireland is allowed to be. Some glimpses of the church make
it look pretty silly (as, indeed, it sometimes is), but the tone overall
is that of an amused loyalist.
2,3
Hassler's Grand Opening follows the Foster family of four-wife,
husband, twelve-year-old son, and eighty-year-old grandfather-as
the family leaves Minneapolis in 1944 and tries to settle into the
Minnesota village of Plum. Grand Opening is not so funny as the
other two Hassler titles mentioned, though it is an engaging read.
All four of the Fosters face a struggle. They are Catholics in a town
sharply divided between Catholics and Lutherans. The wife chafes
under the social constraints of rural life and is torn between her
obligations to her family and to herself. Her husband has it a bit
easier, perhaps, since he is thoroughly immersed in the grocery
store that was their reason for moving to Plum. But he feels the un-
happiness of his spouse and wonders what to do. The grandfather is
locked more firmly in the past than are other family members, yet
he is remarkably resilient. The boy, Brendan, has a tough time win
ning a place for himself in a new school and feeling that place jeop
ardized by the unwelcome friendship of a fifteen-year-old social
misfit. Hassler's nuanced depiction of the moral web of relationships
in which the Fosters find themselves is simply superb.
Like most pastors I wrestle with issues of theodicy-trying to
reconcile God's beneficence with the inescapable fact of human suf
24
fering. One of my persistent frustrations is that the arguments I
find intellectually most nearly satisfactory are so stubbornly
abstract. How can you explain within the constraints of a sermon or
a Sunday school class or a counselling session an "answer" that
makes sense only if the listener first has digested a complex
philosophical or theological "school" of thought? At a practical level,
a story seems to communicate better than an argument. And one
such marvelous story, told with a keen sense of humor, comes from
prolific writer Madeleine L'Engle.
At one point in the second volume of her trilogy of autobiographi
cal meditations based loosely on the Book of Genesis, L'Engle
recounts the misfortune that befell her in 1984 and 1985. "1984,"

:
I
1
she says, "was not a good year for my body." Indeed! Shingles. A bad
fall that smashed her face. A weird virus causing stabbing pains in \
her head. A bout of serious intestinal infection from aeromonas,
And finally a stubborn bronchial cold. No wonder L'Engle was look
ing forward to 1985. It had to be an improvement. But it too started J
badly. A slip on ice left L'Engle with a broken shoulder-and insult \
was added to injury in the form of a shoulder immobilizer unsuited j
by design for anyone without a flat chest! But somehow L'Engle '
retained her sense of humor and discerned God's grace in the midst
of her weakness. To her surprise, the old support network of the vil
lage church she had left twenty-five years earlier launched into ac
tion: home-cooked meals appeared at her doorstep and old friends
called to offer comfort. Best of all, her husband, Hugh, accompanied
her as a nursemaid on one of her out-of-town speaking engage
ments. Hugh, an accomplished actor of stage and TV, agreed to do \
public readings with her from her work, a treat for the audience and !
a delight for husband and wife. Was God, who had brought such j
blessings out of her misfortune, responsible for breaking her |
shoulder in the first place? Of course not, L'Engle realized, "but God j
can take anything and redeem it." Pretty good theology, I think,
shared in a personal story that doesn't require a graduate degree to
grasp.
The Graceful W o r d
i
1
A final category of my non-theological reading that warrants at
least brief mention here might be called "the craft of writing." Not [
all scholars write with a golden pen (or word-processor, as the case \
may be), nor do all curriculum writers or preachers. Those who
recognize that the style and structure of writing are as important to \
winning the audience's ear as content need to feed regularly upon \
good examples of nonfiction writing. j
Two recent books have kept my love of the English language alive j
(not bothering to mention Garrison Keillor's works, since everyone
is already reading Keillor). Cheeseburgers: The Best of Bob Greene j
26
may seem like an unlikely source. This is a collection of seventy- j
two very short essays that appeared originally in Greene's j
"American Beat" column in Esquire magazine or his syndicated j
newspaper column based in the Chicago Tribune. Greene is an ir- I
reverent writer and a curious investigator. He describes his stories j
as snapshots of life in America in the eighties-and that life includes j
the good, the bad, and the ugly. But the man can write! He knows |

how to capture the attention of readers at the outset, how to keep
them reading, and how to wrap things up so the reader feels satis
fied. Preachers may not always like what Greene observes (though
more often than not, preachers will be as fascinated by his tales as
anyone else), but they can surely pick up a few pointers about hold
ing listeners' attention. And occasionally, those of us of a religious
bent will find in his stories a secular parable waiting to be translated
to a grander tradition. I know I'll never forget his "Permanent
Record," a comic lament on the demise of a threat that held in check
the lawless inclinations of generations of school children.
Robert MacNeil is known to most TV viewers as half of an es
teemed TV journalism team. Fewer people, but still a good many,
will recognize him as co-author of a television series and a book,
both called The Story of English. But I have come to appreciate him
2
most as the author of Wordstruck ^ an autobiographical paean to
the sound of words, the look of words, the feeling of words.
MacNeil's life story is interesting in itself, but the skill with which
he tells of his growing appreciation for the English language is a
sheer delight to read. Those who claim, by virtue of their profession,
that the spoken or written word has power will be reminded by Mac-
Neil that it should also have beauty.
I recognize that casting such a wide net for my reading reduces
the time available for technical reading in the theological dis
ciplines. But I think the gain is worth the cost--for editors and for
pastors. Reading to feed my imagination keeps me mentally
refreshed. And occasionally it sparks new directions for disciplined
inquiry. It serves, too, as a vehicle for self-examination. But more
than anything else it provides resources to connect human life and
Christian faith in ways that speak to people outside clerical and
scholarly circles. The habit of reading widely no longer seems to me
a frivolous luxury. Rather, it seems an essential part of the vocation
of anyone called to preach or teach or otherwise publish the good
news.
Notes
1. George B. Thompson, Jr., et al., Foundations: Basics of the Christian Faith for
Youth, 2 vols. (Nashville: Graded Press, 1988).
2. Edwin A . Abbott, Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions. Second and revised
edition of 1884 now available from several publishers.
3. Lewis Thomas, The Lives of a Cell Notes of a Biology Watcher (New York: Bantam
Books, 1975), 165-66.
4. Allene Stuart Phy, ed., The Bible and Popular Culture in America (Philadelphia:
Fortress Press; and Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985).

5. Andrew M. Greeley, God in Popular Culture (Chicago: T h o m a s More Press, 1988).
6. See also the discussions of the significance of popular culture specifically for
preaching in James R. M . Young, "Science Fiction for Preachers: A n Examination of
Popular Culture," Journal for Preachers 10:2 (Lent 1987): 25-34; and in Lamar Potts,
"Preaching and Country Music," Journal for Preachers 12:1 (Advent 1988): 13-21.
7. See The Complete Stories ofFlannery O'Conner (New York: Farrar, Straus and
Giroux,, 1980), 488-509.
8. See Craig R. Dykstra's appropriation of this story in his Vision and Character: A
Christian Educator's Alternative to Kohlberg (New York and Ramsey, NJ: Paulist Press,
1981), chapter 3. Sec also Ronald D. Witherup's helpful comparison of O'Connor's
"Revelation" and the biblical Book of Revelation in "Revelation and Conversion," The
Bible Today 28:5 (September 1990): 270-76.
9. J. F. Powers, MorteD'Urban (New York: Pocket Books, 1990. Originally published
by Doubleday in 1962).
10. Robert Coles, Harvard Diary: Reflections on the Sacred and the Secular (New
York: Crossroad, 1988).
11. Ibid., 26.
12. Ibid., 111.
13. Ibid., 112.
14. Robert Coles, The Call of Stories: Teaching and the Imagination (Boston:
Houghton Mifflin, 1989).
15. Walter Wangerin, Jr., Miz Lit and the Chronicles of Grace (San Francisco: Harper
& Row, 1988) and The Manger Is Empty: Stories in Time (San Francisco: Harper & Row,
1989).
16. Spiritual Quests: The Art and Craft of Religious Writing, ed., William Zinsser,
(Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1988), 105-29.
17. Ibid., 129.
18. Ibid.
19. Clyde Edgerton, The Floatplane Notebooks (Chapel Hill, N C : Algonquin Books,
1988).
20. Mary Gordon, Final Payments (New York: Random House, 1978) and M e n and
Angels (New York: Random House, 1985). See the critical study of four of Gordon's
novels by Marcia Bundy Seabury, "Of Belief and Unbelief: T h e Novels of Mary Gordon,"
Christianity and Literature 40:1 (Autumn 1990): 37-55.
2 1 . Jon Hassler, Simon's Night (New York: Atheneum, 1979).
22. Jon Hassler, A Green Journey (New York: William Morrow, 1985).
23. Jon Hassler, Grand Opening (New York: William Morrow, 1987).
24. M y own position has been deeply shaped by David Ray Griffin's God, Power, and
Evil: A Process Theodicy (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1976). See m y article "On
Providence and Prayer," The Christian Century 104:32 (November 4, 1987): 967-69.
Encountering Evil: Live Options in Theodicy, ed. Stephen T. Davis (Atlanta: John Knox,
1981) provides an excellent rehearsal of the major scholarly options.
25. Madeleine L'Engle, A Stone for a Pillow (Wheaton, IL: Harold Shaw, 1986),
229-34.
26. Cheeseburgers: The Best of Bob Greene (New York: Atheneum, 1985).
27. Robert MacNeil, Wordstruck: A Memoir (New York: Viking Press, 1989).

Clergy Morale in The United
Methodist Church
A Quarterly Review Roundtable Discussion
O n October 16-17,1991, a group of United Methodist clergy men

and women met at the office of the Board of Higher Education
and Ministry in Nashville to discuss morale in their ranks. Their con
versation was taped and edited for publication. The participants were:
Ellen Brubaker, West Michigan Conference; Ben Feemster, Central
Texas Conference; Finees Flores, Southwest Texas Conference; Dean
A. Lanning, Northern New Jersey Conference; C. Ebb Munden,
Nebraska Conference; Joonho John Song, California-Nevada Con
ference; Mary Ann Swenson, Pacific Northwest Conference; John
Ross Thompson, Western Pennsylvania Conference; Don Treese,
Central Pennsylvania Conference, William Walker, Oregon-Idaho
Conference. For Quarterly Review, Sharon Hels.
Defining Happiness and Finding Community

Hels: I heard a radio commentator say recently that in economic
terms the eighties were the decade of success-ambition, high
achievement, and status symbols-but the nineties would be known as
the decade of happiness-balancing work, family, and outside inter
ests. What does happiness mean for members of the clergy? Are cler
gy men and women happy?
Walker: I asked that question at our monthly clergy group, al
though I used the word fulfilled, and maybe that slants it a little. But
our group, which includes about 12 to 15 clergy men and women,
talked about that for the entire ninety-minute breakfast session. One
interesting comment came from a clergy woman whom I had known
years ago when she was a lay person. After seminary she was plopped
down into a little logging town in the Cascade Mountains that was
CLERGY MORALE 31
hurting because the mill was closed. Karen said, "If I had to rely on
fellow clergymen-and in this case all the other clergy in town are
men-I would be totally isolated. If I had to rely on getting together
with the other United Methodists, I don't think I could make it from
one meeting to the next." "But," she said, "in all of it, I'm now beyond
the point of saying, 'I've got to move next year/ because I'm finding
that I'm having a ministry and I am being fulfilled; although some
times I could scream-Fm so isolated, as a fiftyish woman, often total
ly scared." At that point we got into a discussion of grace as a
bouncing factor: you don't have to be perfect; things don't have to be
nice all the time, and you don't have to be happy.
Brubaker: I think the question is pertinent though. Recently our
bishop in Michigan sponsored a round of district discussions. I had a
conversation with a group of very talented and committed pastors
younger than myself, male and female. I believe they will structure
their lives in ways that will bring them some happiness-and not
sacrifice happiness out of a misplaced sense of commitment.
I also talked to a person my age whom I had admired because he
and his wife stayed in a parish and worked through a crisis with their
daughter, and I had believed that things had gotten better. But they
didn't; he's been in an endurance contest for eight years in that
place. His wife expressed her satisfaction with her own job and
described the ministry that she was doing through it. I told them that
I thought the object was not just to do what the ordained person
needed to do if happiness is an issue. Why don't you look at options
around your life and your future and go where the joy is? Maybe not
happiness-that's pretty elusive-but go where the joy is. And that's
real strange to that family, to even begin to consider options around
that. So, again, age and years and concept of what the ordained minis
try is are limited in some ways for them. I don't believe they are
limited in that younger group that I was talking to.
Thompson: We should explore the word happiness. If you asked me
on a given day, Are you happy? I would probably say no. But if you
asked, "Are you fulfilled? Do you have Christian joy? Is there deep
satisfaction in what you do?" That's another thing. I find that my
generation and older were more tied to the institution. We were
prone to be workaholics and have more stress. Younger persons are
more balanced, they take better care of themselves physically, and
they are more attuned to their spouses. They have interests beyond
the institution. In that sense they tend to be better rounded and satis
fied. When occupational, professional things crash and burn, there's

more to hang on to. Few of us would say we're happy; but many of us
would say we are fulfilled.
Swenson: I like the "joy" idea. It evoked Joseph Campbell's phrase,
"follow your bliss."
Lanning: I'd like to affirm what John has said. Several years ago
now, I participated in a pilot project that was concerned with the high
dropout rate among young clergy. They coupled potential dropouts
with older clergy for dialogue and assistance over a period of two
years. I was one of the more experienced pastors, and I noticed that
their happiness or fulfillment-whatever you want to call it-was tied
really to the ups and downs of the institution. The morale of younger
persons today does not seem to be that closely tied to the institution.
Munden: I got hold of Robert Ely's book Iron John this summer. I
wasn't really too taken with it, and my wife viewed it with great
suspicion. A friend of mine said, "Well, you need to read Sam Keen's
new book, Fire in the Belly" So for about a month now, seven of us
have been meeting and talking about this book. Keen thinks that the
alienation in our society stems from a loss of vocation, and the
relationships out of which vocation emerges. He thinks this applies to
both men and women-and those in secular occupations, not just
those who are interested in professional ministry. But the significant
thing is really the group itself, because for one of the few times in my
35 years of ministry my colleagues and I are sitting around talking
about our feelings. I really do think that the loss of passion in our
lives comes from isolation. It's not just a matter of being around a lot
of people, but of being real with each other, sharing real hopes and
real fears and real memories, and hearing others do the same. I've
just been astonished at the amount of energy and excitement that
this opens up in me.
Song: I have a mentor in our annual conference, and he said a
group of his peers will get together-people in their fifties-and talk
about basic life issues, such as approaching retirement, and the
search for meaning. He said, "As I get older, things that really matter
are spiritual." At my age there are childhood issues to resolve. I was
brought up fatherless, and in Asian culture this is a shameful thing. I
lived in silence and secrecy about this all my life. In order to compen
sate for my low self-esteem, I had to achieve more. I wanted to hide
mys hamae, but I had to come to terms with it, and share it with my
wife and finally my congregation. And the interesting thing about
that experience was that the people began to open up. It's as if they
realize that if the leader of the church is able to be open with them,
CLERGY MORALE 33
and still be the leader, then they can open up, too. It was truly the
beginning of my ministry. I think the fulfillment you feel is corre
lated to your own spiritual journey. If you are not consciously on your
spiritual journey, you always feel empty.
Swenson: I interviewed my associate pastor about this topic before
coming to Nashville for this discussion. He's in his late twenties and
in his first appointment after seminary. His immediate response on
this topic was that if a person works on a team then he or she is going
to know more fulfillment and have higher morale. Loners or people
who want to do everything themselves or who work in isolation will
be less happy. This was not necessarily what I had expected to hear
from him.
Brubaker: The need for success in institutional terms may still be a
primary cause of low morale. The burden of fulfilling institutional ex
pectations may prevent people from being "real" with one another.
And being candid with a congregation may prevent you from meeting
these institutional goals. If membership is down, and the money isn't
there, my morale suffers. If I need to be a "successful pastor," then I
shoulder the blame if the members don't come and the money
doesn't come. I may want to be real in the way you described, but that
may not be possible.
Swenson: It is ironic that we want our leaders to be real with us,
but we define them as leaders because of their ability to meet institu
tional goals.
Treese: After I had spent a year at my job [at the Division of Or
dained Ministry], I came to realize that all the phone calls I received
had to do with problems. Boards o f ordained ministry never called to
say, "Just wanted to let you know we're doing a great job, and we have
a great group of clergy and there's nothing wrong." I realized that you
had to put things in perspective. My rule of thumb is this: Where cler
gy experience community, morale is usually good. Where they don't
experience community, morale is usually low. Because if clergy are ex
periencing community, you can stand almost anything-even profes
sional stress and disappointment. But if you don't have that, either
by location or temperament or by the idea that you have to be perfect
and therefore can't ever open up to others, you can have a big salary
and a big membership and be pretty, pretty low in terms of your
morale. And that perspective has helped me put the whole morale
issue in terms that I can deal with and live with; because if I based it
on what I hear, I would say that the morale in this church is pretty
awful.

Walker: But community comes in different ways, and some people
blame the structure if it's not there for them. I think you have to
make it happen yourself. My first full-time appointment was in South
Douglas County, and it happened that my nearest neighbor had just
come from twenty years of missionary work in Jamaica. He and I
found ourselves gathering, usually at his place, every Monday morn
ing for a little while. We would talk over how things went Sunday and
make some hot chocolate that usually boiled over on the stove. We
would have some Bible study and some personal sharing together. If
it hadn't been for Cyril-and he has said the same thing of m e - I don't
know what would have happened. We weren't trying to build each
other's morale; we just needed each other; we needed to share that
About once a month, we went to another pastor's study 125 miles
away, just to get some intellectual stimulation. You know, reading a
paper, discussing a book, that sort of thing. That kind of community
is very important.
Feemster: I think people our age were not encouraged to express
feelings as we came along, either in seminary or in early ministry.
And as we've grown in ministry we've had to make ourselves do so. I
think people entering ministry today are encouraged to open up and
share more, and this is good. I've been in ministry for 43 years, and I
think one of the highlights of it was when I changed annual conferen
ces and went to a large church that was held at arms length by the
other clergy. But some people whose theology was considerably dif
ferent from mine offered me openness and acceptance. I joined a
study group that met for breakfast every week. I don't think I could
have made those first three years if it had not been for that. It was
not something that I enjoyed in the beginning, but I realized I needed
it.
Brubaker: I think you're right. I was a pastor's spouse for many
years before I was a pastor, and back then it seemed to me that the in
stitution promised a lot-even community. You want community? Get
in your subdistrict. But that's changed. I've found myself saying to
the pastors that came on the district, "I know you need this. It may
not automatically be here. If I can help you to find itif you need
some help finding itI will be happy to do that. But don't expect it to
be provided anymore."
Lanning: By being here today, I'm missing a group that will start
this evening and will go for 24 hours. We've done this every month
for about five years. I came home from one of these meetings one eve
ning and my wife said to me, "I don't think that group does you much
CLERGY MORALE 35
good. I think you're more depressed now than you were when you
left." And here I was feeling really energized by these relationships.
My wife's comment made me think-you can't always tell by looking
when something is fulfilling for someone else.
Flores: I was at a gathering in the early part of this year at Perkins
where a group of Hispanic pastors gathered to do some sharing with
each other. I was surprised to see these "macho" guys expressing
pain, anger, and problems within their own ranks. It was quite clear
to me that they were sensing lack of direction. It went all day long,
and we were really burned out by the end. But at the same time,
there was an outpouring of compassion for each other.
Walker: I'm not sure I agree with the idea that younger clergy, or
newer clergy, know how to be in community better than older clergy.
Some of the new clergy are very quick to set up what looks like a con
tractual arrangement with their PPR committees. "How much time
do you expect me to be here?" It is as if they see themselves as a
counterforce to the congregation.
Feemster: The first-career and second-career clergy differ on the
question of vocation and call. The second-career people often come
from other professions-law and medicine-and they don't raise the
question of how many hours a week they will be expected to work.
People who came into the ministry young and have never done any
thing else are more prone to raise these questions. The second-career
people have more of a sense of call.
Song: I have heard my older clergy colleagues say that they gave
everything they had to the ministry, and that if they could do it over,
they would choose to spend more time with their family. They have
this feeling that they were too rigid with their families and over-in
vested time and energy in their congregations. I think we should get
over the idea that our congregations will not survive unless we put in
a seventy or eighty hours a week. That's what younger pastors are
more tuned into. And I think the D.S. and the ordained ministry com
mittee are more sensitive and aware of the importance of that issue,
even to the point where they ask what you are doing to have fun and
if you are spending enough time with your family. If you don't have
an answer for that, they say, "You're doing something wrong. We
don't want a workaholic. We want somebody who has balance."
Treese: I think that's true. Younger clergy understand that they
are under the authority of the bishop and cabinet and must go where
they are appointed. But they will raise the question "Why?"which in
the end is a missional question. They will go even if the bishop and

cabinet do not answer the question-but they will not go happily. The
younger clergy bring a more wholistic view of themselves to the
process; it's not just ministry to a congregation; it's ministry as hus
band, father, and so on. But the older clergy have a spiritual dis
cipline and strength that has gotten them through some very hard
times. How did they develop that discipline? They have a sense of call
in the biblical sense, a call to servanthood. If we can relate the two
perspectives on ministry, we can help each other when it comes to
morale.
Feemster: What John said strikes home for me. I was busy organiz
ing a congregation when my son was born. When he was four years
old, I realized I hardly knew him. He underwent therapy when he was
in graduate school in order to deal with his feelings over this, He's
thirty-five years old now, and very active in his local church, I'm
pleased to say. But it left scars on him-as well as on my wife. I have
been one of those who have said to people like John, "Take time for
your family."
Briibaker: Working with such intensity doesn't bring the same
rewards it used to either. A group of us have been reading and dis
cussing Mary Catherine Bateson's new book, Composing a Life.
Bateson looked at the lives of five significant women whom she had
known well for many years and concluded that they lived improvisa-
tionally, by phases. They may go through early years raising children,
have part-time careers, and so forth. Her point is that, more and
more, men's lives are also taking that pattern. People do not see
themselves simply entering the itinerant system and staying in a
local church appointment all their lives. They're looking for different
ways to be in ministry. It may include a period of years out of the
parishor years spent in raising a family.
Thompson: When I entered the ministry in the sixties, there was
no question whatever in my mind that this was a lifetime call. When I
saw people being involuntarily terminated, or forced into early retire
ment because they did not perform well in the ministry, I felt that
these lives were devastated. Now with a lifetime call, with a solid com
mitment to the institution as well as to God, there are deep roots-
and that's the advantage of that type of call. But I see a healthier call,
perhaps, in those that are newer, including second-career pastors,
who know that as they grow, they may grow into something else. It
may not necessarily be "till death do us part."
Swenson: It may very well be true that the nineties see more open
reflection on the conflict between institutional demands and personal
CLERGY MORALE 37
needs. I'm not sure there is anything new here-for several decades,
people have had to wrestle with this conflict. But now there will be a
new visibility about the struggle, and people will make different
kinds of choices.
Song: Ebb, you talked about those two writers, Sam Keen and
Robert Bly. There's another book that has been important to me,
called King, Warrior, Magician, Lover, by Robert Moore. He thinks in
order to be a whole male person, you need to have these four ar
chetypal figures in place. To generalize things, maybe the older
generation has a heavy emphasis on king and warrior and not enough
on magician/clown and lover. He says "warrior" without "lover" is
dangerous; not enough "warrior" and too much "magician" and
"lover" lacks the discipline to go on when things get tough. There
needs to be a balance of all four.
Munden: That's really very helpful. I was just reflecting on happi
ness in my own life, which has always involved the experience of
growth. Yet growing always involves change and change is rarely free
of pain. I have had more of the experience of growth in failure rather
than in success. My failures were painful, but they have been the
source of a great sense of joy and excitement. I suppose in biblical
terms this is the way of the cross. I've been taught this all my life and
never believed it, but in my own experience, it has proven to be true.
Brubaker: I think it's true, too. While I was on the cabinet, my hus
band died. Soon after, I went off the cabinet and had to take a church
that is difficult in a number of ways. We had been planning and
saving for me to take a sabbatical, but that couldn't happen. Now I am
just weary, and I'm not sure I want to endure someplace just to be a
stoic. I would like to be happier than I am now.
Walker: I can relate to that, too. A few of my colleagues are saying,
"What am I going to do when I retire?" and I have been responding,
"Why don't you do it now?" My wife died last November. We had
started talking about where we would live in the future, but before
she died we realized that we were already there. I thought I was
ready, but after she died I discovered how spoiled I was. The time
after Carol's death was tough. But I've been playing the piano more
lately and keeping my garden, and I've made my bed every day.
Swenson: This summer I was at a meeting of women superinten
dents and former superintendents, and a number of them talked
about the need for a sabbatical after the season of superintending.
Bill has talked about how his congregation helped him to mourn
Carol's death. My vision is that our communities undergird us and

support us, so that we can move through these seasons together and
enrich each other. None of us has to be everything for everybody.
Treese: I think we need to talk about the definition of morale again.
We pretty well agree that it's not happiness, because what's happi
ness? That depends on cultural expectations, and our ability to satisfy
them-usually by having more things. But is it bliss? Is it joy? Is it ful
fillment? But if you seem to lack bliss and fulfillment but still have a
Christian sense of grace and peace, do you have high morale or low
morale?
Walker: I never perceived or felt that I was going through a morale
problem, because the very thing that fed me and sustained me was
family, church, faith, laughter, tears, community.
Thompson: It seems like when we say morale we're thinking about
bad morale. We assume that when we're talking about clergy morale
that it's negative and that we perceive it in others rather than in our
selves. I may be unhappy or having a difficult time, but I don't per
ceive it as a morale problem, when perhaps it is.
Treese: I've read about twelve or thirteen surveys on clergy morale
from the conferences, and in every one, the person answering the
questionnaire would assess his or her morale as pretty good. Someone
else has a morale problem.
Thompson: That was our experience in Western Pennsylvania.
When we did the survey, morale for ourselves was fine. The great
majority expressed good morale. But they perceived a problem out
there.
Lanning: When I read the report on morale from the Nebraska an
nual conference, I was very suspicious. I grew up in Nebraska, and I
remember that when people asked you how you were, you didn't tell
them how you really were. You just said, "I'm fine." Considering some
of the issues the church faces, those statistics raise some real ques
tions.
Walker: Let's bracket the word morale for a second. Our lives are a
combination of highs and lows. When we are depressed or euphoric
for too long, we get out of balance; and then there is a problem. It's
the balance that we are after.
Brubaker: Yes, it is. When I look back on the death of my husband,
as excruciatingly painful as that was and still is, the reality of it all
was something I had to accept. My theology had to encompass chaos,
so that I could be angry with God and still be faithful. My grief had
nothing to do with a morale problem. But I can tell you when I did
have one. In the first year of my pastorate in this conservative com-
CLERGY MORALE 39
munity, the abortion issue surfaced. Some people asked me to let
them use space in the church for a pro-choice group meeting. I gave
them the space; I had the authority to do it, and I believed it was the
right thing to do. And all hell broke loose. Church members joined
other people from the pro-life camp to picket the church. When I
turned for support to the people I had been in community with when
I was on the cabinet, I got institutional responses. They were more
concerned about preserving the church than they were in supporting
me in a desperate situation. That night, when I realized I would not
be getting any support, I had a morale problem.
Treese; But was it a constant, continuing thing? How long did it
last?
Brubaker: It lasted for a while.
Lanning: But in the long run, your action may give you strong
morale. In my area, Protestants are in a minority. There are many
Roman Catholic churches and three large Jewish congregations. I
went to one rabbi and asked him about morale. He said, "Oh, I just
got back from a conference on that." So I asked him what came up.
And he said, "We're going through the one about new identity. For in
stance, we used to be scholars." Now they really feel that they are
spiritual leaders. He also cited the challenge of women rabbis, al
though there aren't that many yet. But the really big issue, he said,
was that many young men went into the rabbinate because they
were, essentially, nice guys. Nice guys want to please everybody. So
they hedge a little here and hedge a little there, and ultimately that
creates morale problems. That may resonate for clergy in all faith
communities. I think there are more people who have morale
problems from trimming their sails too much than from taking the
tough positions you did.
Munden: I think that action is an important part of the idea of
being in community-because when community doesn't also include
risk and action it becomes very self-centered. Action is needed for
wholeness and happiness. I think a lot of us are suffering from the
fact that we know that we are called to serve a gospel that requires us
to act in opposition to an unjust world, and we're not doing it. And
that failure to act, along with the isolation, has just overwhelmed
many of us.
Brubaker: I understand that, and I can live with it. But in the mid
dle of a crisis, it's good to have some unconditional personal support
coming through persons in the connection. Morale drops when in
stitutional success is valued over individuals.

Swenson: If we agree that community is one of the tools that helps
us maintain good morale, then your story was about the failure of a
community, Ellen. Where are those people to whom I can say, "This is
what I feel and this is what I need." Anyone who gives me an institu
tional response at that point has failed at the task of being a com
munity. But the community is not only supposed to understand and
accept us in our weakness, it is also supposed to empower us for ac
tion.
Song: I think Ebb was also saying that unless we clergy participate
in meanngful works of God, we burn out. Often we are asked to
manage a church and to maintain the system, rather than to truly
preach the gospel, which is to turn the world upside down.
Treese: I wonder how the term burnout relates to our discussion of
morale. All of us have experienced burnout at times, but to what de
gree is burnout really crippling?
Flores: Let me add another perspective to the problem. All of my
ministerial experience is in inner-city Chicago, with a mix of whites,
blacks and Hispanics. We all know about the problems of transitional
communities, but the biggest, most difficult stress is for an ethnic pas
tor to take over an ethnically diverse church. Unless y o u ' v e been in
it, you really can't feel and know what that really does, and how quick
ly you want out of it. Overworking and overinvesting in the congrega
tion does nothing to help it move toward unity--and if you make that
mistake, the congregation will eat you up. But if you commit yourself
to this work, then slowly the congregation will organize itself. And
even then, you have facilitated change, but it still leaves you feeling
very much alone.
Thompson: I've not been in a church with the ethnic mix that you
described, but let me try to apply what you said to my own ex
perience. It seems that whenever we're really true to the gospel, in
cluding all types of people of various social, economic, and theological
backgrounds, the consequence is more diversity, more controversy,
and more worry that we're out of control. The people who cannot live
with that diversity will end up with low morale.
Munden: Inclusiveness is very divisive.
Thompson: Yes, yes. It happened to us when I noticed there were
no persons on financial assistance in my church. So I sought out such
people through evangelistic outreach. It was a time of growth for ur
members, but it did raise some havoc.
Flores: The morale of pastors in inner-city churches is very low
these days, because when you try to be of service to the community,
CLERGY MORALE 41
there are very few actual results to measure. Of course, you could cre
ate a role for yourself, be a social activist, or a secular priest, and that
could give you satisfaction. But really, in terms of souls coming to
Jesus Christ...
Thompson: You never get to "pick the fruit,"
Flores:... that's right.
Song: Someone once told me that if you haven't experienced grace
in your life, you have no business in the ministry. If we try to carry
the burden of making things happen all by ourselves, the conse
quence is frustration and burnout. The same thing goes for success: if
you think you worked hard and deserve all you get, then you aren't
discerning the grace of God at work in the church. Unless we as cler
gy ride on the wind of grace, we will never experience fulfillment in
our ministry.
Munden: I think Finees has touched on something that we need to
remember when we talk about community. When the church is as
king some of us to minister in those kinds of situations that appear to
be hopeless, those people need a special kind of community that may
not be available in that place. People outside your inner city church
need to find a way to stand with you in ministry there.
The Institutional Church and Clergy Morale

Hels: I think we've found so far that it's very difficult to define or
assess clergy morale because it is a subjective phenomenon. It's about
perception, and feelings, and factors that are beyond our control. But
one factor seems recurring: the distrust of institutions. On an in
dividual level, that can mean a real contrast between our private and
public selves. Is there a deep gulf between who we are as persons and
what we're being asked to do in the church?
Thompson: We usually deal openly with morale issues in the year
when we elect general and jurisdictional delegates, because that's
when we pit ourselves against each other. We decide on the basis of
effectiveness, or maybe popularity or political savvy. But only a few
get elected, so lots of people can lose.
Treese: Back in the late seventies, I was a member of the Division
of Ordained Ministry, and I served on a committee assigned by
General Conference to study the itineracy. Dale Dunlap and some
others did some historical writing for us, and it became clear that ten
sion between institutional needs and individual needs is the key to
the changes made in the itinerant system in Methodism, and par-

ticularly American Methodism. Dunlap found that back in the
eighteenth century a deal was struck between preachers and the sys
tem that is still with us today: the individual surrenders his or her
right to determine where that person will live and serve. The church
commits that there will always be a place for that individual to serve.
Our committee took stock of that historic tension and wrote legisla
tion for General Conference that offered a consultative process for ap
pointment-making, less than full-time appointment, maternity leave,
and an evaluation process. We thought we were preserving the rights
of the individual against the powerful, historical advantages of the in
stitution. But in the last fifteen years we have placed much more em
phasis on individual needs than on institutional needs. Some would
say that in this time the power and effectiveness of the institutional
church has eroded. I wonder if we can ever expect for this tension to
disappear, or is there something creative about it?
Song: I'd like to raise the issue of guaranteed appointment. Is it
really necessary? Is it serving the church or harming it by having in
competent pastors who bring down the standard of the church
wherever they go? Should we guarantee that sort of person an ap
pointment?
Treese: The ministry study report changed "guaranteed appoint
ment" to "annual appointment," but the concept is the same, I would
say that the ineffective pastor should be dealt with in a humane way,
but they should be led out of ministry. We have a process for that,
but you have to want to use it.
Brubaker: Don, your question brings to mind something we talked
about at a meeting of the Academy for Spiritual Formation. One of
the presenters, Bruce Rigdon, a Presbyterian who has taught at Mc-
Cormick, pointed out that the church has been on two tracks
throughout its history. One is spiritual, and the other is institutional.
And he said, "Just be clear, the purpose of the institution is to main
tain itself." This was not said in a derogatory way. But two things
come out of this for me. One is that I am aware of the dangers of the
institution because it confers power on individuals. And the other is
that I think institutions are inevitable: wherever two are three are
gathered, we'll probably organize. But as for pure institutional main
tenance, Pm just not as interested as I used to be.
Swenson: But institutional maintenance says nothing about institu

tional goals--in the case of the church, caring for clergy and laity. But
the institution needs to be flexible enough to include the needs of
many different groups and individuals in order to maintain itself.
CLERGY MORALE 43
Walker: One institutional resource that I think we should acknow
ledge is the Wesleyan idea of conferencing. For us, it is almost
sacramental. We think of Wesley not only as a theologian and
preacher but also as one who organized people so that a structure for
continuity remained after he was gone. He gave us a way of coming
together, not only just in annual conferencing but in the class meet
ing, the smaller group of folk who inquired as to the state of my soul.
That had an ongoing effect for the life of the church, even more than
theology, in a way. W e denigrate it sometimes, but even in local chur
ches right now we ask ourselves how to organize the folk after
they've become members so that their faith can grow after we move
on. That's a gift of the institution.
Lanning: I think that the definition of institution we are using is a
bit cynical. Organizations, or institutions, I think, can also be defined
as groups that come together to provide a product on an organized
basis. Now the church doesn't have products as such, but it does pro
vide opportunities for spiritual growth in an organized way. The
church's greatness appears when it embodies what Christ did in his
own life-bringing the unexpected, the surprising. These days, we
tend to savage our institutions, even though we can't get along
without them, as the authors of The Good Society have pointed out.
Treese: If we did not have institutions, there would be nothing but
chaos. But the institution that is interested only in maintaining itself
should die, and probably will die. I think institutions ideally exist to
embody the vision, the dreams of like-minded persons, and ways for
communities to express a common purpose, whether it's a school, col
lege, bank, court, hospital, or church. It's easy to disillusion people
about common goals by presenting only one side of the story-like ap
portionments and general church programs and so forth. But that is a
distortion. Where would we be without the organization?
Brubaker: I agree with you, but I still worry about how people have
a relative value assigned to them according to their position in the or
ganizational structure. Those in leadership positions are valued more
highly. The idea that pastors in particular situations are only good
enough for a certain amount of salary does have an effect on morale.
Munden: I think the tension we are talking about is more fun
damental than that; it's between order and chaos. And this is not a
moral issue, because chaos is not inherently evil or unjust. By the
grace o f God, Chaos has the potential for creating and sustaining new
life, just as it has in the opening chapter of Genesis. It is the un
known that must be confronted before new health and wholeness can

emerge. This has certainly been the case in my own life. I think that
if institutions can see that new possibilities are going to emerge from
the bottom up, rather than from the top down, then they can become
creative. So Fm not prepared to give up on them. During the Civil
Rights crisis in the sixties, I learned the great value of being in the in
stitutional church. As a pastor in the South in those days, the institu- \
tion gave me a sense that I wasn't there just as a lone individual, but I
was part of a church that existed worldwide, with all the strength and
vision of that larger world.
Lanning: I like the idea of seeing chaos in a positive way, Ebb.
Another crucial polarity is the tension between freedom and order.
We usually see both as positive. Our institutions have been at their ,
best when they recognize that one is just as important as the other.
Song: At [the University of California at] Berkeley, there is a his
tory professor who won the Pulitzer Prize for his work in American
history. He gave a lecture recently for the celebration of the 200th an
niversary of the U.S. Constitution. The point he made was that the
greatest danger to society comes not from rebels and protesters but
from the silent, the unquestioning and the indifferent. People who j
rebel within the institutions are keeping the country alive. The point 1
is institutional responsiveness. The church has been great because it
serves the needs of the people. Over the years, we have forgotten the
original fervor that made our institution grow. But that memory and
experience must be preserved. We need to go back and say, "What are
the needs of the people? What are people hungry for? And how can
we be church to these hungry people?
Munden: Fm inclined to think, John, that answering those ques
tions takes some discernment. What people think they need and |
what they really need are often two different things. The church can 1
easily play into the hands of the consumer society that we live in,
where you simply look for an appetite and satisfy it for a price. I think j
we need to first be clear that we serve God before we can serve i
people. It is in serving God's will that we are able to discern what
people need as opposed to what they want. I just go back again to the
civil rights movement in the South in the fifties and sixties. What the
community wanted was the preservation of the status q u o -
segregated society. The church was called to say no to that and to
offer instead what, insofar as God's will could be discerned, they real- |
ly needed. Serving God may well jeopardize the institutional church
in our society. i
CLERGY MORALE 45
Song: You're absolutely right. I think of the Confessional Church
in Nazi Germany. It was a minority. But when history judges-and it's
God's judgment, I feel--it was the confessing church that held a flick
ering candle in the midst of darkness.
Thompson: I notice more and more anti-institutional language, but
at the same time, more expectations placed on the institution. More
pension, more benefits, and so on. We're talking out of both sides of
our mouth.
Munden: And, you know, I think that gets back to what we were
saying earlier. Part of the shame we bear is that we are aware that
the gospel of God is calling each of us to take some risks. I want
security, and I want protection for my family, and for my own future.
And yet I feel the gospel is calling me to take some actions that risk
those things. At times, I've sensed that God was calling my congrega
tion to do things that actually jeopardized its life. And I loved that
congregation. So you're right.
Lanning; Lots of studies these days show an awareness of the gap
between clergy and laity. If there are times when you have to take a
prophetic stand in your congregation, it's important to do so. I sure
would hope we all do. But then one of the greatest gifts to us is what
we learn from the laity when they proclaim, "Thus saith the Lord,"
too. Laity are often prophets to clergy when we'll listen.
Treese: I think of the period in the 1920s, when Walter Rauschen-
busch and his followers in the Methodist Church preached the gospel
of pacifism. That was also a time when the great city missionary
societies arose. In the midst of the "Roaring Twenties," when
everyone seemed to be enjoying the good life, they saw the dark un
derside. Where clergy took that line, they were really standing over
against the culture, society, and many of their parishioners. What did
they do when they experienced low morale? Did those radical stands
create a morale problem in general? I wonder if they didn't just think
that their sense of the call to ministry included risks that entailed
some sacrifice. It just came with the territory. These days when
things go wrong and nobody seems to like us, we have a morale prob
lem. Fifty years ago it was just the cost of being faithful.
Thompson: I have a feeling that in every generation people will
identify themselves as disadvantaged and will have low morale. And
they do that by placing themselves in categories. My morale is low be
cause I'm a woman and women aren't accepted in this conference. My
morale is low because I'm a white male and all the positions are going
to ethnics and women. Or I'm feeling bad about myself because I'm

conservative theologically and the leadership is liberal. If we didn't
have these categories to help us label these negative feelings, we
would find others.
Brubaker; You're probably right-there always will be personal is
sues that ambush a person's ministry and lower their morale. But
those people in the twenties who took courageous stands did not give
up their need to feel valued as persons and as members of the institu
tion. I still say that morale becomes an issue when I get confused
about who I am supposed to be: do I matter as a person or according
to what I produce? Because if my value comes from running a success
ful church, then I will be less valued if something goes wrong. The
structure of the institution has to come from function, not from rela
tive status based on some idea of success. How can we learn to elect
people to delegations and the episcopacy and so forth who under
stand that there are particular functions in ministry, but one has no
more value than the other?
Swenson: You can experience the internal stressors of struggle
with faithfulness if you have that sense of purpose and positive sense
of well-being. But if the institution refuses to be a supporting com
munity that fosters solidarity but questions us and undermines our
efforts, then that is just another stressor. It would be impossible not
to have bad morale at that point.
Walker: I told you about my breakfast group [earlier]. One interest
i n g thing happened after that group meeting ended. A relatively new j
pastor came up to me and said that he was a part of the group that |
was feeling very low after the last annual conference. We had passed
some petitions for General Conference to get rid of what some of us *
feel is the derogatory language against homosexual persons in the *
Discipline. And he had disagreed with our position on that question. i
But what he said was, 'You know, some of us never seem to be on the
majority side." I guess I thought the issue was closed, because we had j
a debate and the vote was taken and that was that. But he still felt
1
the effects of this occasion, and it made him feel that he didn't really
belong in our conference. How do you maintain the balance and in
clude everybody? I think grace covers us all! What worried me was a j
tone in his voice that suggested, "Oh, just ignore me; I'll get by."
Thompson: My morale is always affected by whether I think I've
been heard. My views don't have to prevail, which is what Ellen said, I
Some of the best bishops and superintendents and other visible j
leaders let people know they've been heard and they have a place.
That young man was sincerely asking whether he has a place. j
I
CLERGY MORALE 47
Munden: I think that gets back to our discussion about the need for
community. If a person feels that he or she can share deeply, and not
just at the surface level, then community works, and nobody has to
fix problems. I think we often take on the role of fixing things. What
community demands is that we just be there with the hurting person,
to care, to give a damn.
Treese: Would you say, then, that morale is low among certain
groups that have not been heard, who are taking minority positions
in annual conferences and are not getting leadership positions?
Thompson: I think that morale is about the same across the board
but that certain groups have historical reasons for feeling excluded.
Their issues are more visible.
Treese: And you'd say that if you're a white male and your morale
is low, it's your own fault.
Thompson: Yes, it may very well be.
Swenson: I had a very interesting phone conversation recently as
part of my preparation for this discussion. It was with the administra
tive secretary for our district superintendent. She told me that clergy
often put on a positive face for the superintendent, but they would
call and tell her other things-that they were depressed, that doors
were closed to them, or that they were stuck and couldn't go
anywhere. A few of them were frustrated because their spouses were
unable to find employment in that town or community. But she said
the group of people with the most specific frustrations seemed to be
those in their late thirties. She was wondering if there was a critical
age where you either run into a dead-end or get over the hump and
reach fulfillment, and said she noticed that those people who thought
they had some input and control over decisions that affected them
and their families seemed happier, on the whole.
Song: I'd like to mention the situation of the Korean Methodist
churches in this light. These congregations have been the fastest
growing churches in this denomination, and their members are usual
ly Korean-speaking immigrants who came to the U.S. in the early
seventies. The church gives them community, a source of social ser
vice, a sense of belonging. But they always feel like outsiders in the
United Methodist institution. They pay their apportionments, but it
doesn't make any difference, they feel. I come from California, where
it's so diverse, so pluralistic. But the institutional church really has
not made a genuine effort to accommodate people of different cul
tures. Somehow, when the main culture and the minority cultures
come together, minority cultures always have to carry the burden of

adopting and accommodating the main culture, their way of doing
things. Asian congregations in general need to be heard, even though
they do not want to burden other people with their problems. I'd just
like to see the center reaching out halfway and saying, "We want to be
your church, too."
Flores: One way for the church to do that would be to work on its
own racist attitudes. When you pastor a bilingual congregation, you
must pastor both the Spanish congregation and an English congrega
tion. In that situation, you must perform at a higher calibre even to
be accepted as an equal in that situation. But your race will disqualify
you, regardless of your level of skill.
Song: Yes, there's a mistrust.
Flores: And that's prevalent amongst inner city situations, which I
spoke about earlier.
Treese: What are the issues around morale for ethnic minority cler
gy?
Song: If I could speak for Korean, first generation clergy, morale
seems to be tied to the situation in the parish. The Korean church in
the United Methodist system runs on the call system, not appoint
ments. If you are a successful minister, a good preacher, and your
church is growing, then you have high morale. But when the con
gregation is tired of this pastor who has been here twelve or thirteen
years, and they want a change, morale will be low. He started out
from scratch, you've got to remember. He began with a house church.
And he built its membership to a certain point, but it has held steady
for the last five or six years. The people who are really close to him
will let him know that the congregation is ready for new leadership.
And he says, "Where can I go?" If you are a well-known preacher,
then other churches will call you. But if you are a mediocre or un
known preacher, you've got no place to go. So that's the situation
where Korean pastors are. It's very different. j
Treese: If the Korean churches were more institutionalized-that is, ;
more a part of the institution, more a part of the appointment sys
tem, with built-in evaluation procedures and so onwould this situa
tion be less likely to occur?
Song: I think it would help, because these days there's no support
system for clergy under these circumstances. They could talk with
their district superintendent, but what can he do?
<
Munden: Is it the language problem? j

!
CLERGY MORALE 49 ,
Song: Yes. They cannot serve American churches because of the
language problem. But there is also the influence of the Confucian so
cial system on the Korean church. It is extremely hierarchical. The
senior pastor has absolute authority over the associates, and
whatever they do must support and give glory to the senior pastor.
The senior pastors served in the same system in Korea. It's hard for
me to fit into a system like that, because I was raised in this country,
mostly, and feel more comfortable with a democratic, egalitarian ap
proach. When I worked in the Korean church, I was limited to youth
and college-age ministry. Why? Because the first generation dis
covered that their children are also adopting American cultural ideas
and speak English, and they want me to reach them where they can
not. But because of those cultural differences between the two
generations, the young people constitute a separate, invisible con
gregation within the church. It is limited, difficult work with few
rewards, and after three years I was ready to leave it. When I came to
the American church I was to spread my wings wide and become a
pastor to the whole congregation. I was appreciated; I felt that I was a
significant person. I know the Korean church needs me, but to go
back to that situation again would be very difficult. And that's a pain I
just have to live with.
Brubaker: The influence of cultural values and social systems on

the church really strikes me here. One way we really have been co-
opted by the culture is that in American society, money seems to be
the only way we know how to value something. Lots of Anglo people
that I know give great credit to Korean churches for no other reason
than that they are self-supporting, as opposed to other non-white
people. When I was on the cabinet, I remember our search for a loca
tion for the Native American congregation in Grand Rapids, realizing
that I was also presiding over church conferences where people were
spending half a million or more to enlarge the churches they already
had. We could hardly find a thing, because the Native American con
gregation had so little money.
Song: The feeling is that we cannot get help from the conference,
from the Methodist system, and therefore we have to help ourselves.
So the Korean National Caucus is very strong, very well attended.
Until they are ready to be integrated into the Methodist system,
that's what they're going to do. And I think it is the right thing for
now.
Flores: The Hispanic historical situation is different than the
Korean, and so is the structure of the churches. The problems vary

according to each conference and where it is located, as for example,
the Caribbean or mainland conferences. Fm thinking of Puerto Rico
and Rio Grande. But I don't know what will happen in the Rio Grande
conference. It will eventually merge with various conferences in the
area, I think, and deal with those local issues.
Walker: Where I see hierarchy working against us is in the area of
salary, as Ellen said. I think we have to explore the idea of an equi
table common salary or share salarybut the denomination has been
very slow to allow conferences to think that through and make any
changes.
Munden: We tried to come up with a basic salary plan in Nebraska
in the early seventies. That was when the Discipline still allowed it as
a possibility. The greatest opposition was from laity who felt that
salary was something they should be able to control.
Walker:... which is the objective of the call system.
Munden: That's right. Since then we've introduced the evaluation
system, which gives other opportunities for laity to evaluate clergy.
And we have a consultative system which does give more voice to the
laity, in terms of appointment. With these other factors in the equa
tion, I would hope laity might be more open to this, if the clergy
themselves were open to it. But we've never gotten very far with this
at General Conference.
Treese: How much flexibility, how much bending, can any system
undergo before it breaks down or is rendered ineffective? I think
people are subject to instances of low morale when they observe that
the system could not bend one more time, far enough to accom
modate a particular situation. On the other hand, some people seem
to have chronic morale problems beause they operate with the idea
that the system never works and will not even see cases where it has
done a reasonable job of being flexible.
Brubaker; One area where flexibility is crucial is in dual-career
situations. That's going to exist, whether the system likes it or not, or
tries to slap clergy on the wrist and says, 'You're not being faithful if
you won't be fully itinerant." Clergy are giving a commuting radius
when they know that they may be up for a new appointment, because
their spouse is going to try to hang on to that job. And I think in some
ways cabinets are dealing pretty graciously with that new challenge.
Feemster; But no matter how hard we try to work at it, and take
into consideration the two careers and the children, many times the
person has to make a sacrifice as to the size of church and the salary
CLERGY MORALE 51
in order to stay where they need to stay. And even then, sometimes,
it's not possible.
Lanning: To respond to your question, Don, I think that a system
is in trouble when it seems to bend or remain inflexible in a capri
cious way. Our church appears to be capricious when it comes to in
dividuals near the top of the salary scale. And cynicism always sets in
when people believe an organization exists for the people who run it.
Treese: But the point I would want to make is that when the sys
tem works, and is adaptable, and does a pretty good job, it's never
recognized. It's just a given. And that also goes for individuals; it's
very difficult for us to say publicly that we do feel good about oursel
ves and our ministry. If we do say it, the church will find twenty-five
reasons why clergy should not feel satisfied or proud of the job they
do.
Walker: I don't think anybody minds suggestions for improvement
as long as they are also getting the pastoral care they need. Our cur
rent bishop seems to have the philosophy of delegating the pastoral
role to the superintendents. And some of the superintendents don't
know how to do that. They don't want to catch that ball that is
thrown to them. And so there is a feeling that some of us are not
being well pastored.
Brubaker: The very fact that the Board of Ordained Ministry has
begun to assist the conference to identify spiritual mentors, pastoral
presences, makes me think that the message has finally gotten
through. There are so many occasions in which institutional repre
sentatives can't be pastoral. When the pastor's in trouble and you've
got to look to the needs of the church as well as the pastor, you really
can't do that. It's been wrong to tell people that it can be done-and it
can really B e t up a morale problem.
Munden: The Division sent out a book by Robert Schnase, You Are
Called to Ministry, which is very helpful. The point is made there
that a person who is in an authority position, or supervisory position,
is really not able to provide the spiritual direction, support, pastoral
care that a person needs. If you think you are being evaluated by a
person-and I think in theory most of us have thought that district su
perintendents ought to be able to do that-then they cannot provide
us with basic pastoral care. But it also points up the fact that there is
a real need for that in our ministry. I have a spiritual director who is
a Roman Catholic nun, whom I sought out for this-a very gifted,
trained woman. Ellen mentioned the Academy for Spiritual Forma
tion. Most of us don't have that kind of resource, despite the fact that

we don't have the capacity to do our ministries without guidance.
There will always be times when we can't make it on our own. We
need one another during those times to be there with us, to help and
support until faith is revived again.
Swenson; My approach to getting pastoral care for myself is that
certain persons will earn that right with us. I choose who will be a pas- ;
tor to me when in my experience, I know I need one. That may or
may not be the person who has supervisory responsibility for my per
formance at this moment. I think each of us needs to learn how to dis
cern when those times arise and who can be pastoral for us when
they do.
Brubaker; I agree with that, Mary Ann. I think it's also important
to be clear about the role that one is taking, whether pastoral or su
pervisory, and not change from one to the other inappropriately. A
young clergywoman told me of an instance in which she was confiding
in a district superintendent who actually changed roles in the middle
of their conversation. The D.S. was listening and all of a sudden she
told the clergywoman that she was going to have to inform the bishop
about the situation. That's bad, but at the same time, if what the cler- [
gywoman wanted was simply pastoral care, she should have been told
that this was not the place to find it.
Swenson: But I do think that there are times when the institution
al person-the district superintendent or the bishop or whomever-
can be pastoral with us, can show us some institutional solidarity. For
example, if you're really out there on a limb, taking a risk for justice,
I can come and march with you or be alongside you, or, if you are in a ,
time of personal crisis, I can come and stand beside you and be a com- j
panion and a friend.
Feemster: I think a lot depends on the person. The individual must
see him or herself in the pastoral role at the time, and the other per- \
son has to be receptive. Often people underestimate the capacity of
the district superintendent to be pastoral for them, because they are
not willing to risk opening the relationship further. But the pastoral
relationship involves earning trust, as you said, and that is difficult
when you are superintending. When I was area director of profes
sional ministries and had nothing to do with appointments, there
were people who would let me be in the pastoral role with them, but
it ended after I became a superintendent.
Munden: I think, though, there is a difference between seeking out
pastoral care and support in a time of particular need and crisis and
developing an ongoing relationship, which over years provides you
CLERGY MORALE 53
with an opportunity to do theological reflection. We need to be asking
ourselves questions, such as, What is God doing in my life? What is
happening-not just to me, but what is God doing in the situation? I
think that's very helpful, and someone needs to be trained to do that
kind of thing.
Call, Vocation, and Morale

Hels: What is the relationship between the call to ministry and
one's continuing sense of meaning and satisfaction in the practice of
ordained ministry? Does age or background affect the way the call
gets articulated? Is describing a call more or less difficult than talking
about one's faith in general?
Feemster: I think the second-career people are much more sure
about call-maybe because they wouldn't be changing careers if they
weren't sure. The Walk to Emmaus program in our conference has
supported several people in making the decision to consider ministry.
Years ago, youth camps and assemblies provided the same stimulus to
think about a call to ministry. We don't do that anymore because we
haven't wanted to play on the emotions of young people, as so many
other groups do. But as a result, many young people have not been
challenged.
Thompson: My sense is that young people are having more and
more trouble articulating their call. Second-career people do a little
better, but the problem is that people are having trouble talking
about their faith in general.
Swenson: I've had some experiences with people in recent years
that led me to think that the call is a lifelong process that takes con
tinuing discernment. People can be clear about hearing the call and
wanting to respond to it, but after that, there are so many options. Is
it a call to preach? Is it a call to ordained ministry? to diaconal minis
try? Being sensitive to these options challenges people for their en
tire lifetime.
Brubaker: I really admire the young people I've worked with, be
cause it seems to me that they are hearing a call to be a certain way
in the world-to be "faithing" people, rather than to do this or that par
ticular thing. The sureness comes in who God calls me to be, even if
there is confusion about what God calls me to do. And I think they
are very courageous, because human-service professions do not have
the same clout and influence they had in the days when, say, my hus
band, Bob, entered the ministry.

Walker: Every other year in our conference we have a convocation
on ministry, and we always have to decide whether the focus will be
on ordained or general ministry. We concentrate on the latter now be
cause we need to begin with a sense of vocation, o f marrying God's
will, and only then looking at all the ways to do that, whether or
dained or diaconal or lay work. A person who is too much on the
church career track can be inoculated against the real thing: a deep,
true call from God. I suppose that is why I am suspicious of people
who think they have been called specifically to the ordained ministry
-it's like someone claiming he was called to serve only large chur
ches! I was called by God to be in ministry, and from there we did the
sorting.
Brubaker; Years ago, anyone who was very religious was steered
toward the ordained ministry. At least this was the case with young
men. Now I know lay people who are as deeply committed to religion
as I am. They get very resentful at times of the "ownership" of the
faith by the clergy. What we need to emphasize is that radical com
mitment to Christ and the Church, regardless of career choice.
Munden: Candidates have trouble talking about their call for the
same reason that all of us, in this secular world, have a hard time talk
ing about God. It's difficult to tell one's story and believe that some
thing so unique and personal has real merit. It is easier to fall back on
abstractions and generalities. But let me be candid for a minute. The
call I had at first bore a strong resemblance to my overall desire for
success. It was a call to more. It didn't make any difference what it
was; I wanted more o f it. But when our first child died, suddenly the
house and the country club were just not enough. I did enter the min
istry, but I'm convinced I was still looking for more-the top of my
class in seminary or president of the student body or pastor of the
largest church, whatever it was. Only later did I realize that what I
really needed was a sense of home. That was the true hunger. I can
sit on the beach and look at the water for just hours, sensing how
much we all belong to this environment, people, dolphins, herons,
everything. That feeling of being at home happens only occasionally,
but I know that is the call.
Brubaker: That's the call, that's the joy, that's the passion, that's
the everything. When I was trying to describe morale for me, that's it.
And it's there in moments of great pain and in moments of great joy.
But if you lose that sense of belonging, then morale is shaken.
Lanning: I think the thing that is meaningful about what Ebb says
is that it is a call to persons, not to an individual occupation. I heard
CLERGY MORALE 55
the call to ministry when I was sixteen. I can't remember it too clear
ly now; it was probably at the advice of an influential minister. It was
a call to leadership among the people of God, as opposed to a decision
to enter one of the other professions. It took me a long time to under
stand what Luther meant by the priesthood of all believers. After a
while I began to wonder if being a pastor was not my way of being a
religious person and whether I would even go to church if I weren't
the minister. Then the shift began, and I began to see that I would
worship whether I was in the ministry or not. It was tremendously
freeing. Now I'm suspicious of people who claim to have a religious
call, because it can become an excuse for doing almost nothing. It is
not helpful for our young people to think that if you are going to be
religious, the only thing you can do is be in ministry. The real call is
to the vocation of being human; it is far more important than a call to
the ordained ministry.
Song: What you and Ebb are saying makes me wonder about my
own experience. When I was being interviewed by the district, I was
so young that I had not really lived life, and therefore I said what I
had learned from theological books. That's what they wanted to hear.
Young people are going to have a hard time understanding what a
true call from God is.
Swenson: I think you told us about your call when you told us
about the Korean congregations, and your position with them.
Walker: We still all carry the truth recognized by my brother in the
faith, John Wesley-you preach faith until you have faith. We articu
late and clean up our act as we go along. I'm still being called, I feel,
and nudged.
Treese: There is often a significant third person who gets people on
the road to ministry, who helps you sense the call and see it more
clearly. What is your experience with that?
Song: For me there was no real particular person. Because I grew
up without a father, I had a deep mistrust for older men. Women had
always taken good care of me. One day when I was out of high school I
got shot, right in the chest. I nearly died, but after I knew I was going
to survive, I became philosophical and began to question the purpose
for my existence. It was very bleak. I went to college searching for the
answer to that question. One of my friends was a poet, and we had
long conversations about it. Then during my fourth year of college, I
had a conversion experience. I was in a state of eternity, and I saw a
figure. I assumed it was Jesus, but I suppose if I had been raised in a
Buddhist society, it might have been a Buddha. But it was that sense

of belonging-that I was loved, that I belonged to something that was
so much greater and more loving than I ever imagined possible. It af
firmed my being. And I wanted to devote myself to that which came
and revealed itself to me. My friend in college was the one who
helped me on this journey. As I grew older I realized I needed a men
tor. Now this fifty-four-year-old Caucasian pastor, whom I respect and j
admire, has become a mentor to me.
Munden; I really cannot identify a particular person either. I was I
raised in the church; my parents were very involved. But I never con
sciously wanted to be in ordained ministry. In fact, the clergy seemed
like pious asses and I didn't really feel comfortable around them. I j
also had an experience that sounds like the one John described. I was
in the navy during World War II, serving on an aircraft carrier. One
day, standing on the flight deck, I had an experience of wonder at the |
staggering enormity of the sky, the stars, and the ocean around me.
At the same time I realized that I was loved by God, that I was not
just a meaningless speck in the universe. I thought I would never for
get that moment, and that it would change my life. But when the war
was over I went right back to law school, right on track, looking for
more--and did a very good job of that. But as I said, when our
daughter died, that moment in the corridor of that hospital when the i
doctor talked with me, my world just fell apart. Everything I'd ever j
depended on in life-money, brains, influence-couldn't make any dif
ference. And yet even then I felt myself held and supported, in the
presence of someone who loved me. And I also understood that our
daughter was being held, and that she was all right. I've often said
that the person who had the greatest significance on me was my .
daughter, who only lived a short while. But that reality never left me.
The need to express that led me into the ministry, despite all the
wrong turns I've taken. That's why I'm convinced that our strengths
betray us, but our failures are the occasions for God's grace to act.
God doesn't send misery, but God's grace can come through it. j
Treese: And how does the sense and experience of call enable a per
son to keep the passion, the joy, the bliss, even when the abortion
protestors are marching on your church and telling you where to go?
Brubaker; When I live out my call, I am living out o f the memory of
those holy moments. The contrast is between really being able share
in the deepest moments of other peoples' lives and having your spirit (
eroded by carping and pettiness. The last two weeks I have spent with 1
the family of a thirty-five-year-old woman, a mother of two, who is
dying. On this I would gladly give myself, night and day. But I also. j
have to deal with minute administrative problems concerning a part-
CLERGY MORALE 57 1
time staff person in the church. It would be great if I did not have to
operate with these constraints, but the times when we have moments
of witness with other people remind me what I was called to do.
Lanning: It seems important to notice that what calls you in may
not keep you in. The morale problems surface in the transition from
one vision to the next one. I started out with the idea that Jesus was
a kind of social worker, and I've had to enlarge this view because it
couldn't sustain me anymore.
Feemster: But the original call, as Don says, can be an extremely
powerful thing. I was fourteen when I was called to ministry at a
youth assembly. I'd planned to go to law school at the time. I took my
first churches when I was eighteen years old. It was that strong sense
of call that has sustained me through forty-three years of ministry
now.
Swenson: I'd like to share some of my story, too. I had a sense of
the oneness, of belonging to the universe from the beginning, that
was like being called from the womb. In 1961, when I was fourteen
years old, I rededicated my life to Jesus Christ and pledged myself to
a full-time church-related vocation. That call was appropriate for a
girl growing up in Mississippi~I was called for service under, not over,
some good man. That meant Christian education, missionary work,
being a preacher's wife. When I started college, I looked at the mini
sterial students and decided I would rather be one than marry one.
My male classmates in colleges were serving churches, but I wasn't
because I was the other gender. I went to seminary, and I was told
that even though I would end up in Christian education it would be
useful for me to learn what the male students were learning. I had to
get to a place where I could live with this and go beyond it. When the
holy moments with people began to occur, they sustained me, and
have done so over the years. The call at age fourteen was shaped by
the mythology of a dominant culture. But originally, there was con-
nectedness--and that's always there. What I decide to do with it, my
work, requires me to push beyond those limiting cultural messages.
Brubaker: Hearing your story, I think of a moment of real surprise

and excitement. About two years ago, I was at a school of Christian
mission when a couple of women I've known for years came up to
speak with me. They were telling me about their mentors and their
sense that the church was inviting them to consider second-career
ministry. It was really happening for them! I was in tears, I was so
thrilled for them.

Walker. It's a real luxury to feel a sense of total call and then to be
able to clarify that as you go along. I can remember the "influentials"
who helped me into ministry. One was a pastor in high school who
just said, "Have you ever thought of being a minister?"--no more than
that. But it planted a seed. Other people influenced me by living out
my understanding of the Christian life. One person was not even a
Christian, but he had spent six months working with Gandhi, and he
embodied the very Christ I believed in, a nonviolent activist.
Swenson: It seems to me that some people just have a gift of dis
cerning religious leadership in others and helping them see pos
sibilities that they may not have seen.
Song: But I think also, in persons' lifetimes, some of the profound
experiences really strip away all the superficialities and artificialities
of what ministry is about and get to the core. And I think what sus
tains a person after the initial call is those profound moments of
failure, where you get down to the core of what's real, what's lasting,
what will remain even when you die.
Walker: We are talking about grace, the most basic stuff of all min
istry. All the rest is sorting out gifts. Which will win out? The grace of
God is that "at homeness." And the gifts I have may be the very
things that do me in. But if I can rely on the grace, then these gifts
don't become gods; they become handles.
Brubaker; I think morale becomes a problem when we forget this
perspective and think instead: "I will have arrived when..." This year a
man in our conference left. His dad was a pastor, extremely active in
the life the church. The young man must have had his own reasons
for leaving, but his father told everyone that it was because the chur
ches aren't big enough in this conference and he had nowhere to go.
So the quest for "more" turns out to be an illusion for everybody.
Munden: One thing I'm learning, and constantly relearning: it's not
just in holy moments that real life is to be found; holy moments show
us what is true of every moment. The wonder of life is most truly
present in its ordinariness. There's a lot of just ordinary stuff that
goes on in the ministry that I don't like much, but I'm convinced that
God is present in those moments as well as in the powerfully
dramatic moments.
Lanning: One of my closest friends in ministry, a rabbi, died at age
thirty-five. He had been very involved in social action issues in our
community. And he died by inches. At one point he said, "Dean, the is
sues don't look nearly as important as they did. But relationships are
just as important." Maybe our progress in Christian maturity is to
CLERGY MORALE 59
move toward what might have brought us into ministry in the very
first place.
Swenson: I want to get back around again to what really erodes our
morale. We can have that sense of vision in the call, the vision to be
and do whatever we might be. But then we can just act really ugly to
each other, and not in love and care with each other in our way of
living out our lives together. When we ask people to be leaders or to
do something on our behalf, then we sort of pick away at their necks
like chickens. I think our jurisdictional conferences are stages where
we act out the depth and pervasiveness of our human sinfulness. If
we are called to be at one with one another and to be with each other,
why do we do that?
Thompson: When I think about problems with the system, it's not
active wrongdoing that impresses me but living with the effects of
something missing. So many people are doing without a support sys
tem or a covenant group, and they never get to talk about these is
sues at all. We may wait for the system to organize this for us, but
ultimately we are responsible for being part of a group that helps
define us, and then can feed us.
Song: The individual still has to be ready to face whatever life has
to offer. I really admire someone who can say, "Let whatever must
happen, happen!" Your own character must be built, through God's
grace, to be able to live fully.
Brubaker; But it also requires trust in a group. For some people,
the system can provide those linkages, but for many people there
isn't enough trust there; and the circle becomes an ecumenical one.
Song: Maybe then it's really important to have a mentor, spiritual
advisor, so that in low moments you can go to that person and have
some support and a sense of community.
Lanning: I think we can talk to each other on issues that affect our
morale, but we can't instruct others about morale. Life will bring us
enough hardship without our asking to be tested-there's nothing
hypothetical about it. My biggest morale problem came at one of the
happiest times of my life. Everything was great. I was district superin-
tendent-that is the only negative thing I can remember, [laughter]
But I will never again question someone who claims to have gone
through a "dark night of the soul." I never understood why it hap
pened to me, but it just did. God's grace appeared for me in the form
of a friend, and I was delivered from it. Now I would not claim to
know how to deal with an issue of morale.
GO QUARTERLY REVIEW/SPRING 1992

Song: I think what I meant was that a person should live with an
openness to what life has to offer, and not out of fear. We should cul
tivate an adventurous spirit. You might be called to go someplace fear
ful, but you have confidence that God's grace has led you thus far and
will continue on this journey with you. It's not that you can control
your own destiny but that you can rely on God's grace.
Thompson: The call is the wellspring I go to, again and again and
again in the dry times, to make it through. And yet it is renewed and
it's evolving. And I depend upon other people to reauthenticate it. It's
there, and in dry moments even when I'm alone I can draw from it.
But it changes and evolves, especially through other people. I hear
God's voice primarily through others.
Finding and Raising L o w Morale
Hels: I am wondering how we can identify and reach out to our

brothers and sisters who have low morale, acting as supervisors or
peers. If we have experienced low morale ourselves but also found
renewal, what can we say to those with low spirits-what will be of
real assistance?
Feemster; I'm not sure people with low morale have really been
identified. We can estimate their numbers, but it is harder to identify
the individuals. People rate other people's morale lower than their
own, and that creates problems for people trying to create support
systems, such as the Division of Ordained Ministry. Unless people
with low morale are willing to identify themselves, we won't find out
what is causing them stress and how we can help.
Swenson: I've got a theory about that. As a superintendent, I grew
to expect that about 10 percent of the clergy and congregations would
be unsettled or unhappy every year, and they would shift, year by
year. I think people and congregations have seasons of joy and well-
being, and then periodically they come up for a problem that needs
resolving. It seems to hold steady at about 10 percent a year.
Walker: But there are those with perpetual problems, and when
they are appointed to churches that are always in a state of agitation,
then you really hit the bottom.
Thompson: I don't like the idea of labelling people or churches who
are not willing to identify themselves. I know we all do it. But I think
any remedy that we impose on people who have not sought it would
be counterproductive.
CLERGY MORALE 61
Lanning: I am also uncomfortable with using percentages if
everyone has a morale problem at one time or another-or thinks that
someone else does. At the same time, I wouldn't deny that, as in any
thing, some people have chronic morale concerns.
Brubaker. It looks as if clergy might need some help in determin
ing when they have a problem that affects their morale. I wonder who
should do the assessing: the person who has a hard time acknow
ledging that he or she needs help with a situation, or with the state of
his or her soul, or the system, which is supposed to support but
doesn't want to pigeonhole anybody.
Thompson: One problem with the system is that it penalizes people
for taking a sabbatical or making interim arrangements. So if I have a
problem or if I have low morale, I end up being punished with finan
cial trauma and potential loss of appointment. I don't see anybody
taking seriously the basic need to step aside for time of rest and
renewal. We affirm it in other professions, but somehow never in our
own.
Munden: I think our morale problems are real and significant, but I
don't think we ought to conclude that the ministry is in some great
trauma. If everyone will have a morale problem at some time, then
this is not unusual or sinister or dangerous. I think if every clergy
could be part of a community of people, whether that is a small group
of just clergy, or clergy and laity, or--some small group where he or
she could really have the sense that they could, at any given time,
honestly share what they were feeling and thinking, we would all be
able to work through what kind of morale problems we would be
having at a given time, or most of us could.
Brubaker: I think you're right, but I don't want to lose the point
that John is making. We started offering sabbaticals for cabinet mem
bers. I was the first and maybe the only one who actually took a
renewal leave. It was the summer after Bob's death, and I can tell you
that it saved my life. Everyone got around the bishop to make sure
that she could take a leave. Nobody did that for the people in the
cabinet. And what about people in the parish? It would be a real
mercy and a real grace for the system to recognize that our pastors
are giving as much of themselves and that their ministry is every bit
as important as the bishop's ministry. There ought to be a way to get
some time off without losing the farm.
Thompson: It makes so much sense to me in a connection. We're
not in a call system-we're connected; we have supervisors.

Feemster: Last year I took sixty days off~I couldn't work out ninety
days. It was my fifth year on the District, and it was wonderful. One
of the other superintendents filled in for me. A number of ministers
came to me at the time and said, "You know, I was in such and such a
place and I really should have stayed longer because my work was not
done. But I had to get away from all the stress, so I moved to another
appointment. If I could have had ninety days off, I could have gone
back refreshed and renewed-but there was no guarantee that there
would be a place for me when I came back." Several local pastors told
me how much they envied my being able to take a sabbatical.
Treese: Ben, you've talked to pastors who say they couldn't take
the sixty days because there might not be an appointment waiting for
them. Why couldn't they take sixty days' leave while they were serv
ing their current parish? I see Presbyterian and United Church of
Christ congregations getting along for a year and even thriving; we
can't tolerate the idea that we wouldn't have a pastor for three
months! Both pastors and laity feel somehow that they will be dis
abled if the pastor's not there.
Feemster: It could be done. We've got a lot of retired ministers who
would be willing to work with us. There is one in my district who
retired at 62 this last year, and he said what he'd really like to do is
have temporary assignments, filling in where necessary. So why
aren't we hearing these ministers who are saying, "I was in a stress-
filled situation, and if I could have had sixty or ninety days off I would
have come back refreshed and recharged and stayed to see the
church through. But once I reached the point of mental, physical, and
spiritual exhaustion, I had to go to another appointment. There was
no alternative."
Lanning: I think it's very good to talk about sabbaticals. In actual
fact, we often have clergy who do not even observe the sabbath. A day
off for refreshment is important, but I think the church needs to
think about how its clergy worships and renews itself spiritually.
Spiritual formation can be attended to on a practical level in a con
ference, given a day for concentrating on such matters. It is interest
ing how many of us have identified small-group experience as the
crucial thing that has kept our morale high.
Treese; More care should be paid to the first appointment; by defini
tion it is going to be a low-paying one, but location may be a point of
more flexibility. I think a lot of what we would call chronic morale
problems begin in that first four or five years; when you're placed in
an isolated situation; it's tough sledding financially; and, if you have a
CLERGY MORALE G3
spouse, then that person either can't find work or has to travel a long
distance to find it. Maybe the school system is not the best. These
people are very easily overlooked because it's the large churches that
get all the attention from the superintendent. If the first appoint
ment is not a good one, you can move to one that pays more, but the
bad patterns from the first appointment get carried to the second
place.
Thompson: If those persons are probationers and not full members,
they will have supervising pastors. And those people can help
monitor, mentor, and set the right patterns, if it's done well.
Swenson: There is some subtlety in the appointment-making
process at that point. The leader or the superintendent has to really
listen and understand the desires of the persons and families being
appointed; he or she must also try to see things that the person being
appointed either can't see or shouldn't be asked to focus on. But if
the superintendent assumes that he or she and the one being ap
pointed have the same values, and the superintendent can use that to
plan a person's career, then the pastor will not feel heard-and his or
her morale will be low.
Song; Ethnic minority churches often feel that the bishop and the
D.S. are there for the main churches who are in the system, and that,
somehow, we are not a part of it. And so they feel they're not heard;
their pains and problems are not understood by the D.S.'s and the
bishops. So what I would like to see in our conferences is to have the
bishop and his or her cabinet members make an intentional effort to
be in dialogue with various ethnic communities-pastors and lay
leaders-so that they can be better D.S.'s and bishops to these chur
ches. When they see that effort coming from the top, they will be
honored, and they will feel more a part of the community.
Flores: In many places those efforts are being made. The cabinet or
the Board of Ordained Ministry-primarily the cabinet-will meet
with the particular group of ethnic folk and articulate the concerns of
ministry, for example, all the issues that relate to the bilingualism of
ministry in the urban areas, or strategy for ministry in urban areas.
There are no easy answers to these questions. But the dialogue is
helpful, not necessarily for the bishop and cabinet to give direction
but for support to be given where it is needed.
Song; The key is being heard and understood.
Brubaker; I want to go back to our discussion about categories, be
cause there is a nagging question around this for me. We all have
brothers and sisters beginning ministry and then doing something

else for a phase, and then perhaps becoming ready to serve a local
church again. For me, ordination is not about privilege, but the
spiritual dimensions of it are important for me. Why does this move
ment into different types of ministry, or into a leave of absence, seem
to compromise one's ordination and sacramental privileges? Bishops,
for example, don't seem to have this problem.
Swenson: In terms of morale, it really does have to do with the idea
of devaluing persons because of transitions in their lives. The system
seems to be saying, "You've changed, you took time out, and we no
longer place the same value on you. In fact, you just don't belong,"
Walker: I keep hearing that unless you experience it, you don't real
ly know how devalued you feel. A leave of absence doesn't sound bad
until you look at the consequences-and then it begins to feel more
negative.
Brubaker; I think there is a perception that it is not acceptable to
do various kinds of ministries, or be in a parish for only a certain
period of time. The United Methodist system defines doing ministry
for the most part by serving in a local church, plus some acceptable
appointments beyond the local church, and then moving up the track
to large-church pastor, district superintendent, and bishop. But some
people are saying that they want to do ministry in a different form for
a number of years and may reenter the local church at a given time.
And they have to insist that this, too, is authentic ministry.
Treese: I do think that there has been a singular lack of creativity
on the part of those making appointments, and even some Boards of
Ordained Ministry, around placing people in categories. The leave of
absence becomes a convenient place for lodging a lot of unusual situa
tions, which could, I think, be handled in other ways. But individual
pastors must keep people informed and give evidence that they know
what they are about. Then a cabinet that was open to risk could go
along with that.
Munden: There is another factor in judging morale that we haven't
really isolated in our discussion. Everybody experiences morale
problems at times. But there is also the ineffective pastor who be
comes demoralized as a result of being in the wrong business al
together and the clumsy institutional response to that. We are
beginning to respond to the ineffective pastor, but in the past we
have avoided confrontation and simply moved the problem on to the
next appointment, Now, I think there can be some structural kinds of
things that we do, although they may be expensive. The leave of ab
sence can be used to get skills for a new and more positive ministry. It
CLERGY MORALE 65
may also be a time of reflection, enabling the person to exit without
disgrace or embarrassment.
Treese: You can't always establish a relation between ineffective
ness and morale. Because you can have a pastor who is judged by the
cabinet as being ineffective, who could be one of the happiest pastors;
and then ten miles down the road, you have someone who looks suc
cessful because he or she is working 80 hours a week but the problem
is in the parsonage, and no one knows it until something drastic hap-
pens-all of which shows the wide range of this issue.
Song: I'd really like our church to have something in place where
Ebb's concern can be implemented. There must be a way, because I
think we owe it to the congregations that we send good pastors, not
someone who will continue to bring pain and destruction in their
spiritual lives.
Walker: Yes, but the reality is that our pool of available pastors is
limited. Some churches simply get-and know they are getting--the
"leftovers." It affects the morale of the individual and the church. The
question is, how do you encourage and support the clergy you have?
I'd rather deal with a happy Christian than a brilliant, highly trained
pastor whose morale is so low that he or she is completely ineffective.
Brubaker: I still think that the system can help us all by affirming
the spiritual dimension of each member of the annual conference:
We recognize that you are a spiritual being; that you must pray; that
you should allow yourself to be vulnerable within a community or
with your colleagues. With some encouragement, we might free our
selves to do those things.
Lanning: But it is important to separate prudential issues, such as
money, from faith issues when it comes to morale; because the faith
issues are so much more sensitive, and the cost of being judgmental
in this area is extremely high. It is not good for a conference to in
form one of its members that his or faith is an issue for them. In the
end, the individual has to be responsible for his or her own faith is
sues when it comes to morale.

Gaylord Noyce
The Language
of Public Prayer
ome years ago, the eminent dean of Yale University's Divinity

School was entertaining guests at dinner. Just as the whole party
sat down for the meal and the dean was about to say grace, the telephone
started ringing. The host hesitated. He started to get up, then sat back
down. Finally, with marked determination he bowed his head.
"Dean Weigle speaking," he said.
The story ends there, but we can wonder whether the guests were
able to turn their attention to the task at hand. The language wasn't
right. Nonetheless, better this peremptory opening of a prayer to the
Creator than no prayer at all.
Like much else in religious faith and practice, "prayer" denotes both
an objective human action and a subjective sentiment, each deeply
involved with the other. Abraham Heschel wrote once that as we walk
along the slopes and ridges of the liturgy we are led to prayer. We enter
into objective action and move toward the religious emotion. Converse
ly, the emotion can lead to objective actionto the composition or
singing of hymns, for example, or preaching, or audible prayer.
The appropriate language, especially in public prayer, can enhance
both the meaning of the objective action and the richness of the
subjective experience. Inappropriate language can intrude and inter
rupt the movement of prayer and can misdirect those people on the
Gaylord Noyce is Professor of Parish Ministry at Yale Divinity School, New Haven,
CT.
THE LANGUAGE OF PUBLIC PRAYER 67

slopes and ridges. We have all had the experience of feeling misled in
public prayers, whether offered by ordained clergy or by lay people.
There are several lenses through which one may examine the lan
guage of prayer. Theology checks the appropriateness of content. We
feel misled if a worship leader seems to think of God in merely pantheis
tic terms or is so preoccupied with Jesus or with the third person of the
Trinity that God's fullness is never addressed.
Moral reflection reminds us that the content might be right, but it is
false if the one who leads us in prayer seems to lack a commitment to
its ideas. A prayer addressed to "God, the redeemer of us all" and
petitioning for racial harmony, but offered by someone known to be
racially bigoted would be problematical for most people in the pews.
Aesthetics may contribute another lens. Prepared public prayer is
poetic--it dares try to express something of the whole God-human
relationship in the course of a few meaningful words. We know our
satisfaction when our own religious sentiments are expressed with grace
and beauty, and our frustration when we are led instead by someone
apparently caught up in merely ritualistic verbosity.
Whether there are any criteria for praying that have universal ap
plication is doubtful. Religious traditions and subcultures vary in the
extreme. For some, the beads of prayer-wheel-using repetition o f
phrases or brief prayers is the essence of praying. Others stress spon
taneity and innovation. Both figuratively and physically, some kneel to
pray while others stand and fling wide their arms. Our focus will have
to be limited to the language of public prayer in the so-called "mainline"
Protestant Christian traditions.
Here then are some reflections and some guidelines for use as we
prepare prayers for public worship:
1. Prayer is addressed to God. Few errors are as distracting as a shift
to a third-person reference to God when we are collectively engaged in
addressing God second-person, as "you" or "Thou." (It is wrong to say, "O
Lord, strengthen among all people the love of God." Far better: ". . .
among all people their love for you.") The mistake seems to show that
the leader is not praying.
The exception to this is the bidding prayer-when the liturgist addres
ses the congregation with an invitation to pray in a certain vein, then
shifts back-usually after a silence-to addressing God with a collect. The
shifts may be repeated six or eight times, but clarity about them is
important to the integrity of prayer.
With respect to our evolution toward more inclusive language about
God, this "you" makes prayer easier than preaching. Second-person
pronouns in English are already inclusive. However, the rest of the
G8 QUARTERLY REVIEW/SPRING 1992

language-its images and metaphors-needs opening up on the feminine j
side these days in comparison to older prayers. We will be hearing more
of birth images in relation to creation and/or nurturing language for
providence and divine compassion. We address a personal God who is
yet more than masculine, more than feminine, in holy attributes.
2. Prayer addresses God and is meant to lift our attention God-ward. j
It ought not call attention to itself. This is an important clue about
language in prayer, with many ramifications. Adjectives and embellish- j
ments desirable in storytelling and preaching usually have extremely I
limited place in prayer. Simple direct prose is normative. The less
complicated Anglo-Saxon words work better than the multi-syllable
Latin ones. Winston Churchill's well-known preference for "blood,
sweat, and tears" over words like "sacrifice, perseverance, and suffering"
would be equally right in prayer. Florid, "purple" prose is especially I
intrusive, for it obviously displays itself, instead of getting out of the
way to point us to God.
This does not mean that prayers must be dull. Quite the contrary.
The right word or image can capture the nuance and ambiance of a
theme so well that it may make us catch our breath. Its accuracy and !
freshness can serve the purposes of prayer without sidetracking the I
!
worshipper. I still remember being led by someone praying that a
marriage be "spacious," and by another that peace might overcome i
"layers of rancor thousands of years deep." The classic phrases like the
petition for a "righteous and sober life" precisely convey the dimension j
of the God-human relation being denoted without being trite or dull. j
These words are not like the cute phrases of prayer in the sixties-"Are j
you running with me, Jesus?" They are new, but they still direct us
toward the Holy, not to themselves.
Addressing God, we needn't summarize the news God already knows. j
A friend of mine remembers hearing a prayer that began with a folksy
"Now Lord, we all read last week in the Readers Digest,." We can pray f
for earthquake victims without rehearsing the headline and the whole !
lead sentence from the daily press.
3. T h e task o f prayers in public worship is to gather up a j
congregation's concerns and lay them before God. These concerns go
much deeper than those on the tip of people's tongues. Leading public
prayer, we are called on to express commonly repressed anxieties about
life and death, about the imprisoned, the poor and the outcast, and even
about injustices of which we are the beneficiaries, such as the unfair
distribution of wealth in our favor. However, if this gathering up slips j
into implied "prophetic" and judgmental preaching or moral instruction, j

it is off the targeted task of prayer. Instead of uniting the congregation,
it divides it. And it invites people to tune out.
4. Pastoral prayer has to build on sentiment at least vaguely felt in
the pews, not on the leader's convictions about the sins of the congrega
tion. The prophets themselves were poets, evoking moral sensitivity
that would overcome people's calloused or haughty indifference. Walter
Brueggemann rehearses this poetic/prophetic gift of articulating the
pain of the oppressed and countering the "numbness" of the privileged
in The Prophetic Imagination (Fortress Press, 1978).
There is thus a discipline for our writing of prayers. That discipline
includes an appraisal of what resonates with both the great tradition
and with the congregation being led in prayer. There may be a local grief
or celebration that is on everyone's mind: it must be recognized in
prayer or preaching if the leader is to be effective. The discipline
includes the God-ward focus of prayer and the avoidance of distracting
self-display. It also prevents that topical range of public prayer from
being coterminus with the whims of the pastor/leader. Among these
standards is the inclusion of varied elements o f prayer-thanksgiving,
adoration, confession, and concern for others and for the church and the
world. These elements may be developed in separate parts of a liturgy,
but somewhere they should appear.
5. Familiar liturgical forms and prayers long used have several virtues
that innovators do well to remember. Familiarity helps language do
what it is supposed to d o - k e e p out of the spotlight so that the worship
per can approach the Holy. If it is a classic prayer, it anchors prayer in
the Christian tradition, surrounding us with a "great cloud of witnesses."
And it provides stability in the midst of life experience that for some
seems full of overwhelming change. Repeated prayers come to be
memorized, and the distraction from centered meditation that is in
volved in reading a prayer book or bulletin can be dispensed with for the
moment.
6. Composing new prayers frees us to gather up new concerns, how
ever, meeting the needs of a Christian community that grows restless
hearing archaic language or perceives it as dull repetition. New prayers
can still resonate with the tradition through Biblical allusions and
phrases. These need not be the only kind of reference and image in new
prayers, but they should be among them. To achieve something of the
poetic gift and to anchor prayer in the tradition, Ernest Fremont Tittle
said that before he composed a prayer he would "steep (his) mind in the
Psalms, in Isaiah, and in The Book of Common Prayer"
7. Styles of prayer evolve over time, of course, and ought to. New
patterns of worship can be introduced without upsetting many people

so long as they are announced in advance and interpreted. Startling
fresh language can become familiar remarkably soon. Learning from
other traditions in ecumenical dialogue is an important and satisfying
source of new forms.
8. A leader from outside a congregation needs to listen to a culture as
well as to individual parishioners encountered in pastoral conversation.
There is no eternally right form of prayer. The griefs and enchantments
and struggles of a folk are best put in something like their own idiom,
according to region, living situation, ethnic style and social class. To
ignore all this and impose, say, a formal liturgy on free-church people
of Appalachian Kentucky is to deaden the potential of a congregation.
A gospel choir can be led to broaden its repertoire, but the starting point
is with the gospel songs. So it is with prayer.
9. Finally, all this must not be allowed to "professionalize" praying. By
setting a model of language and then involving lay people in leadership
of prayers, we help people pray. One congregation regularly invites
written prayers from the congregation on a bulletin insert, prayers that
are then collected with the offering and read during the "pastoral
prayer." It is usually a moving experience. Other congregations, less
inhibited, invite spoken prayers from the pews. Verbal instruction goes
only so far in prayer. Learning to pray comes mainly from practice. A
person's spiritual awareness and discipline have to undergird the public
office of leading others in prayer, or the integrity of the public praying
will erode. Immersing oneself in scripture, standing alongside the con
gregation in the daily rounds of joys and sorrows and being with the
congregation in praise and contrition and intercession, even when not
leading-these habits are the genesis of meaningful leadership in
prayer.

James F. White
The Ministers' Bookshelf:

Worship
T he closing years of the 1980s saw a sudden bursting forth of

books on worship in the mainline churches. In part, this reflected
the end of an era of liturgical revision which began after Vatican II
(1962-1965) and was winding down a quarter of a century later. After
service books were revised, books of explanation and implementation
of the newly revised services were needed. But new concerns were
emerging which might have shaped the new services somewhat dif
ferently if they had arisen in time. One of these was justice, especial
ly in terms of making women visible in worship. Another was
historical scholarship and its ability to interpret present practices
with insights gained from the study o f the past. Shifting theological
currents also surfaced some new concerns.
We shall discuss about a score of new books. This will by no means
exhaust the rich harvest of books about worship of this period; but
these books will be some of the most immediately helpful for those
responsible for worship in the mainline churches of North America.
By all odds, the biggest liturgical event of the last few years was
the publication of The United Methodist Hymnal in 1989. Its ap
pearance coincided with the last of the revised Roman Catholic litur
gical books to be published in English, Ceremonial of Bishops and
Book of Blessings. Publication of the Hymnal brought to a close work
on the United Methodist basic services, a work of revision which had
extended over a period of twenty years. The reception of the Hymnal
has been highly positive and makes it the most widely used Protes
tant service book in North America with the possible exception of the
James F. White is Professor of Liturgy at the University of Notre Dame, South

Bend, IN.
THE MINISTER'S BOOKSHELF: WORSHIP 73

Lutheran Book of Worship (1978).
It is far more than a hymnal in the conventional sense, such as the
new (1990) Presbyterian Hymnal, which limits service materials to
only four pages. The "General Services" occupy nearly eighty pages of
the Hymnal plus a liturgical psalter of 100 psalms with antiphons. All
this comes in addition to nearly seven hundred hymns, probably the
most broadly based selection ever compiled by any denomination.
With so much that is new to understand and interpret, two volumes
are essential for the United Methodist pastor: The Worship Resources
of the United Methodist Hymnal, edited by Hoyt L. Hickman, and The
Hymns of the United Methodist Hymnal, edited by Diana Sanchez,
both published by Abingdon Press in 1989.
If the United Methodist Hymnal represents a new era for United
Methodists, many of the things in it will be familiar to many other
Christians. Some of the most essential texts are the result of
ecumenical endeavors. The most recent state-of-the-art document on
basic texts is Prayer Together (Abingdon Press, 1988). The work of
the English Language Liturgical Consultation (ELLC), it is the suc
cessor to three previous editions of Prayers We Have in Common by
the International Consultation on English Texts (ICET). It contains
such basic texts as the Lord's Prayer and the Apostles' and Nicene
Creeds.
The most recent service book to appear will be of interest to many
others than just Presbyterians, who developed it. It is Pastoral Care:
Ministry with the Sick and Dying, Supplemental Liturgical Resource
6 (Westminster/John Knox Press, 1990). It fills a m^jor gap in pas
toral care that many churches have neglected, although the
Lutheran Occasional Services (1982) and the Episcopal Book of Com
mon Prayer (1979) have some materials. No Protestant church has
equaled this volume with its historical, theological, and practical in
troduction, its services for ministry to the sick, including sickroom
communion, services for healing, a service of repentance and forgive
ness, and ministry at the time of death. This volume should have
wide use among pastors of all denominations. It puts Presbyterians
out ahead of other churches and evokes high hopes for the next
volume in this distinguished series, Liturgical Year (SLR, #7), which
will be published in January, 1992.
So many new service books have blossomed in the last ten years
that it is hard to keep track o f them all. In producing a revised edi
tion for my Introduction to Christian Worship (Abingdon, 1990), I
found it necessary to refer to more than fifty new service books from
English-speaking North America and British Isles alone. None were
74 QUARTERLY REVIEW, SPRING/1992

more than fifteen years old and many were much more recent than
that. This high rate of change dictated a new edition of this textbook,
which has been widely used in seminaries since first publication in
1980. It is a measure of how much ecumenical progress has occurred
in recent years that a book by a United Methodist is the textbook
used in many Roman Catholic seminaries and at least one Orthodox
seminary. Similar volumes on worship are the English collection of es
says The Study of Liturgy (Oxford, 1978), or the American Epis
copalian Marion Hatchett's Sanctifying Life, Time, and Space
(Seabury, 1976).
Another general approach to worship with a special emphasis on
building congregational participation is Craig Erickson's Participat
ing in Worship (Westminster/John Know, 1989). A Presbyterian mini
ster now serving Tokyo Union Church in Japan, Erickson begins by
demonstrating why participation is such a key word in modern discus
sions of worship. He shows how this is of the essence in defining the
Christian community. Then he turns his attention to discussing
various forms and patterns that participation takes. Much of the book
is devoted to examining a whole gamut of liturgical acts common in
Christian communities with an eye to how they already function and
can be enhanced to function even more as participatory worship. It is
a stimulating survey, well sprinkled with historical information,
theoretical guidelines, and practical suggestions.
Another general book published in 1990 comes from the pen (or
computer) of the distinguished Episcopal liturgical scholar, Thomas
J. Talley. Worship: Reforming Tradition (Pastoral Press, 1990) is a col
lection of historical essays dealing with a wide variety of liturgical
topics. Some of these are important articles, reprinted and brought
up-to-date, Perhaps most valuable is his chapter on "Sources and
Structures of the Eucharistic Prayer." Other topics covered are bap
tism, ordination, healing, reconciliation, eschatology, and a masterful
essay on "The Liturgical Year: Pattern of Proclamation." Throughout,
Tally manages to show how practical history is for reforming modern-
day practices. With all its ironies and strange accidents, history be
comes a source of the understanding that is necessary to make
reform possible.
Quite a different type and period of history forms the content of
my own book from 1989, Protestant Worship: Traditions in Transi
tion (Westminster/John Knox Press). This undertakes an overview of
the worship of roughly a quarter of Christianity in those European
and North American churches originating in the sixteenth century
and since. It may be either courageous or foolhardy to undertake

such a comprehensive view of a phenomenon with as much variety as
Protestant worship. The method for doing this is in discerning nine
distinct traditions such as Quaker worship or Methodist worship and
tracing the origins, developments, and current characteristics. One
can question whether the traditions are as distinct as I suggest or
whether the nine I explore (Lutheran, Anglican, Reformed, Anabap
tist, Puritan, Quaker, Methodist, Frontier, and Pentecostal) are the
appropriate divisions. At any rate, I consider it my most original
work, especially as regards North American developments in worship,
which liturgical scholars tend to ignore. More liturgical scholarship is
devoted to ancient Armenia than to modern America! My general im
pression is that Protestantism has moved to ever-broadening degrees
and forms of participation in worship and that future traditions will
expand these possibilities even further.
Recent years have seen a great spurt in recognition of the close
relationship of liturgy and justice. This has come from many sources:
feminism, liberation theology, crusades for social justice in society
and church, and ethical studies. These factors have forced many
Christians to raise questions about the Church's worship. Does it
reinforce stereotypes which we have come to recognize as oppressive,
or does it liberate? Is the full human worth of each individual af
firmed or concealed? Do our linguistic and other symbols reflect the
true nature of the Church's claim to be an avant garde of the
Kingdom of God? None of these are easy questions; none of the
answers given are fully acceptable yet. All we can do is to chronicle
the state of the art as we seek proximate answers. Even these are full
of ambiguities: we make curb cuts for wheelchairs only to find that
for blind persons these are very dangerous. So we move further on,
discovering injustices that we have ignored all our lives but which
after a moment of recognition become intolerable. It is a continuing
journey.
Fortunately, there are a number of people who have undertaken to
be our guides and who can help us see things we would miss without
them. One of the very best o f these is Marjorie Procter-Smith, who
teaches Worship at Perkins School of Theology. Her book In Her
Own Rite (Abingdon Press, 1990) shows her to be equally at home as
a liturgical scholar or as a feminist. Not only is her liturgical scholar
ship impeccable but she is familiar with the vast sea of feminist litera
ture in a variety of fields. This is not an easy book; the topics admit
no easy resolution, especially when she moves to God talk. But she
moves us toward emancipatory language with the goal of empowering
everybody. It is not simply a question of giving women the powers

hitherto reserved (by roles and by language) to men but of reforming
the Church to be a community that values everyone.
The theme of empowerment is picked up by David R. Newman in
his Worship as Praise and Empowerment (Pilgrim Press, 1988) His
early death in 1990 was a tragic loss for the United Church of Canada
(where he taught at Emmanuel College, Toronto) and to all North
American Christians. This work remains behind him as still the best
encounter of liberation theology and liturgical studies. He traces the
history of worship as praise directed to God and the moments (all too
rare) at which it also brought power to the people. Unusual for a litur-
gist, he has the sense to take the Enlightenment seriously as a
liberating epoch. After his historical survey, spiced with a wide read
ing in philosophy, he goes on to explore the possibilities open to us
today for making worship a means of both praise to God and empower
ment to people. Again the term participation resounds as the com
munity recognizes one another's gifts and calls them forth in doing
together its work of worship.
A somewhat more practical book is Liturgy, Justice and the Reign
of God: Integrating Vision and Practice by J. Frank Henderson, Kath
leen Quinn, and Stephen Larson (Paulist Press, 1989). This ecumeni
cal team of Canadians has put together a book which is a collection of
thoughtful reflections and practical suggestions for reform. A fine
chapter treats the general "Principles of Liturgy and Social Justice,"
pointing out the various ways in which the two intersect. Further
chapters illustrate these principles in terms of the actual Sunday ser
vice with its components of gathering, liturgy of the Word, Baptism,
Eucharist, and sending forth. Some reforms are easily accomplished,
often just a matter of "never having thought of it that way before."
Others will take prolonged work and struggle. But always the em
phasis is on what can be done and why it is important if we want to
make our worship truly reflect the dealings of God with humans and
our response to God.
Two recent books give Roman Catholic perspectives on the same is
sues. Liturgy and Social Justice: Celebrating RitesProclaiming
Rights (Liturgical Press, 1989) consists of two sermons and three
papers from a conference o f the same title in San Diego in 1988. Par
ticularly moving is a talk, "Justice, Power, and Praise," by the late
Thea Bowman, F.S.P.A. In 1990, The Liturgy That Does Justice by
James L. Empereur, S.J., and Christopher G. Kiesling, O.P. (Liturgi
cal Press) appeared. The death of Chris Kiesling in 1986 deprives the
Church on earth of a dedicated worker for justice who persevered
despite the threat o f cancer that clouded his last years. Systematical-

ly, the two authors work their way through the seven sacraments,
preaching and the lectionary in a discussion that cuts no corners but
forthrightly addresses the issues. Although the context is Roman
Catholic, certainly most Protestants will find their own concerns ad
dressed in this extensive discussion (262 pages).
Several other recent books on worship escape any specific
categorization, but that makes them no less significant. It may seem
strange to include a book by a Jewish rabbi, although Lawrence A.
Hoffman has exactly the same title as I do, Professor of Liturgy, in
his case at Hebrew Union College, New York City. He has been a
rruijor interpreter of the Reform tradition in Jewish worship in his es
says in Gates of Understanding and in a remarkable book, Beyond the
Text: A Holistic Approach to Liturgy (Indiana University Press, 1987).
The latter, although the illustrative material is from Jewish history,
is a highly provocative book for Christians concerned about liturgy.
His most recent book, The Art of Public Prayer: Not for Clergy Only
(Pastoral Press, 1988), is a systematic study of what does happen in
worship and why so often nothing happens. The second half of the
book is devoted to correcting some of the deficiencies of our worship.
As the title suggests, worship is seen as having many of the charac
teristics of an art form and involving great sensitivity to the medium
itself. Much of the book is based on probing into the meaning of com
mon acts and words. Like Craig Erickson's book on participation, this
one goes to the heart o f the matter and in simple but profound ways
suggests means of deepening our worship life. Christians need his in
sights just as much as Jews do.
Spirituality has become almost as common a term among Protes
tants today as among Roman Catholics. Just as once-Protestant terms
such as worship or ministry have been adopted and imbued with new
meaning by Roman Catholics, so words such as liturgy, priesthood,
and spirituality have been given Protestant definitions. Professor
Don E. Saliers has done much to familiarize United Methodists with
the meanings unlocked by the term spirituality (cf. his Worship and
Spirituality, Westminster Press, 1984). The most recent volume of
this type, which includes a chapter by Saliers, is Liturgy and
Spirituality in Context: Perspectives on Prayer and Culture (Liturgical
Press, 1990). A series o f essays, it explores various aspects of the con
nections of liturgy and spirituality from such perspectives as sociol
ogy, formation of children, the liturgical year, and the work week.
Although each of the essays is written by a different author, it is a col
lection with considerable coherence. Partly because they are
grounded in value-free observations of American culture, the articles

j
have an air of reality about them. j

Graduates of Drew University Theological School will be familiar
with the teaching of Thomas C. Oden, and many readers will know j
other volumes in his Classical Pastoral Care series. The latest
volume, Ministry through Word and Sacrament (Crossroad, 1989), is a
marvelous journey through the history of pastoral care with excerpts
from the great pastors of souls who also happened to be theologians
and reformers. Shoulder to shoulder march Tertullian and Luther,
Chrysostom and Calvin. Oden has cast his nets widely and many unex- j
pected sources turn up, such as the Irish (Anglican) Canons of 1634; }
but all are relevant to the topics which are systematically developed. j
A good preacher's book this, too, for it takes one through a whole
array of concerns that often appear in sermons. The selections range
from the first to the seventeenth century, often from sources not
readily accessible in a minister's library.
In The Liturgy of Liberation: The Confession and Forgiveness of
Sins (Abingdon, 1988), Theodore W. Jennings, Jr., calls us back to a (
basic component in worship all too easily taken for granted. He shows I
how confession is a renunciation of bondage and all it implies and i
how Christians, both individually and corporately, move to freedom !
through God's act of forgiveness. He touches on all the difficult is- j
sues: the authority to forgive, the role of all Christians, private confes-
sion, etc. The concluding section deals with points for dialogue
between Protestants and Roman Catholics. Like his earlier book, Life
as Worship: Prayer and Praise in Jesus' Name (Eerdmans, 1982), this
one is solidly grounded in the corporate nature of the Christian com
munity and its involvement in the everyday world. j
I shall mention very briefly several other books that are recent but
rather specialized in content. The first of these is Time and Com
munity: Studies in Liturgical History and Theology, edited by J. Neil
Alexander (Pastoral Press, 1990). This is a festschrift for Thomas J.
Talley (mentioned above) and consists of a number of scholarly ar- I
tides on historical aspects of worship. Of the greatest general inter- 1
est is probably Paul Bradshaw's discussion of the various forms that
daily public prayer has taken in the past and could take again. j
For those involved in church building or utterly baffled by the
building in which they are supposed to serve God, Church Architec
ture: Building and Renovating for Christian Worship (Abingdon
Press, 1988) should be useful. It looks at the various spaces and fur
nishings necessary for each service of Christian worship and how
they may best be designed. Susan J. White, one of the co-authors,
also published in 1990 Art, Architecture, and Liturgical Reform (Litur-

gical Press), a study of the work of the Liturgical Arts Society from
1927-1972.
OSL Publications (5246 Broadway, Cleveland, Ohio, 44127-1500)
has put us all in their debt by republishing J. Ernest Rattenbury's
The Eucharistic Hymns of John and Charles Wesley, long out of print.
This classic is the greatest collection of eucharistic hymns in the
English language and a common treasure of all English-speaking
Christians.
The same publisher has also provided The Lord Be with You by
Don E. Saliers and Charles D. Hackett (1990). This well-illustrated
volume depicts and describes ceremonial for the general services of
the Church.
The usefulness of Workbook on Communion and Baptism by Hoyt
L. Hickman (Discipleship Resources, 1990) is certainly not limited to
United Methodists. It succeeds in forcing one to wrestle with the prin
ciples by which we act in making well-informed practical decisions
about the ministry o f the sacraments. More specifically directed to
United Methodists are his editorial work and chapters in Companion
to the Book of Services (Abingdon, 1988).
What conclusions can we draw from this rapid survey o f recent
books about worship? The number of such books in the last few years
is one of the best indicators of a shift in Protestantism to more reflec
tion about the dynamics of worship. I hope this means that planning,
preparing for, and conducting worship are treated with more care and
seriousness than ever before. After all, worship is the one service that
the Church can provide for people that no other group in our society
can offer. Worship is the unique and most distinctive function of the
Church. Unless we give it our fullest attention, we are failing to pro
vide at its best something that people can find elsewhere.
This does not mean that simply reading books will automatically
make us better presiders over worship. This is not a new form of gnos
ticism. But the appearance of many new books on worship suggests
that American Protestantism now has available the scholarly and pas
toral resources for reflection on worship that were notably lacking
even thirty years ago. If so, this represents a new maturity in
American Protestantism. Let us hope that these new printed resour
ces will contribute greatly to the ministry of worship.

James C. Howell
The Wisdom of Stillness:

Preaching on the Testing
of Jesus in Luke
P reaching on Luke's Gospel during the weighty season of Lent is a

daring, risky venture. The opportunities to misconstrue these
texts are manifold. Satan's use of Scripture against Jesus in our first
Gospel lection, Luke 4:1-3, holds a lesson for modern preachers. As
Talbert explains, "The Devil in effect said that the promise of God in
Scripture applied to anyone, at any time and place, regardless of cir
1
cumstances, if that person would only claim them." We may often ob
serve the truth of Shakespeare's wry comment: "There is no error so
gross but that some sober brow will bless it with a proper text."
Like Jesus, the preacher must discern the proper application of
the promise of God in Scripture for a particular time and place. This
is a process, requiring action on our part. But the Jesus we see in
these texts, and indeed in all our Gospel readings this year, is not
busy in the usual sense of the word. Nor is he exactly the Jesus of
tradition and scholarship, for example, the Cosmic Christ of Matthew
Fox, the Apocalyptic Christ of Jurgen Moltmann, the autocrat of
Byzantine icons or the smiling miracle-worker of televangelists. This
Jesus is increasingly passive, both in the sense of being acted upon
("handed over") and in the more profound sense of suffering (his pas
sion). This Lent we will endure the harrowing of Jesus and see how
he embodies the psalmist's instruction to "be still and know that I am
God" (Ps. 46:10). Our five lections from Luke show us a remarkably
still Jesus, who may teach us to be still.
James C. Howell is pastor of Davidson United Methodist Church in Davidson,

NC. He is a member of the Western North Carolina Conference.
THE WISDOM OF STILLNESS 81

Lent 1: Luke 4:1-13, Testing in the Wilderness
To work effectively with this text, we first need to fix the terrain in
our minds. From Jericho, tourists today may lift their gaze westward
and see what is traditionally known as the "Mount of Temptation." (In
the sixteenth century, pious Christians carved a monastery into one
of its cliffs to commemorate this event.) In Luke 3:21-22, Jesus has
just emerged from the Jordan river and finds himself in the wilder
ness (or "desert") of Judea. But this wilderness is not a vast expanse
of sand dotted with cactus or tumbleweed. Instead, it is a dauntingly
rocky zone of precipices and caves, the haunt of wild beasts; people
living in the countryside avoided it, considering it to be a home to
demons and evil spirits. Jesus willingly exposes himself to this
perilous environment. In addition to the loneliness of his solitary ex
pedition, the wilderness will impose on him a gruelling physical test.
The Defense against Grace. In Lent, persons might test their own
limits in solitude and prayer. Many of us might admit that we have a
hard time enduring even forty minutes of devotional time. But a test
such as this may be rightly feared. The high social value placed on ac
tivity can result in a physiological addiction to stress. We work franti
cally and we play frantically, creating an overcharged flow of
adrenaline. If we dare to slow down and be quiet, our neurological sys
tem revolts, producing unbearable anxiety or else simply shutting
2
down in exhaustion. But solitude and prayer may prove difficult for
another reason. Thomas Merton once said, "Much of our coldness and
dryness in prayer may well be a kind of unconscious defense against
3
grace." The forty days of Lent are the time to focus upon the demoli
tion of our defenses against God's grace.
The fasting associated with Jesus' ordeal bears little resemblance
to the lightweight Lenten "disciplines" of today, such as eliminating
one favorite food from our diet. However, if we choose to engage in a
fast during this time, Luke 4 challenges us to rediscover its real pur
pose: to remind us of our own hunger and that of others, and to be
humbled (read Isa. 58!). Perhaps in Lent we are called to the kind of
change Andrew Canale imagines Jesus undergoing:
So he sat on the rocks under the hot sun and walked the barren desert
listening to the silence. Slowly, painfully, his Nazareth life melted away;
he shed that old skin like a snake of the desert. Then came that infinite
4
time between what was lost and what is to be found.

The ruckus surrounding Martin Scorsese's film The Last Tempta
tion of Christ demonstrates that we are more comfortable with Jesus'
finally being "without sin" rather than with his being "tempted in
everyway" (Heb. 2:18). If we would take Jesus' struggle seriously, per
haps we could be set free to deal with our own (1 Cor. 10:1-10).
Satan the Tester of Souls. Our story's title, the temptation, has
popular connotations. But the Greek word peirazo does not mean "to
tempt" in the sense of what an extra brownie might do or the effects
of a "hard sell" by a used car salesman. Jesus does not need to sell
himself against luxury or overindulgence. Instead, Jesus is allowing
himself to be tested in a lonely place, where ultimately he is not
alone at all. Peirazo is used elsewhere in the Gospels for the "testing"
questions put to Jesus by local teachers-questions meant to trip him
up.
The biblical world assumes that there are demons led by a devil,
the ultimate trickster. In the Old Testament this "Satan" is a member
of God's heavenly court; his role is to be the accuser, tester. Histori
cally, the Church has regarded the devil as very real and to be dealt
with rigorously. The desert fathers believed themselves to be locked
in mortal combat with the devil. The world of the Protestant Refor
mation was "with devils filled"; Martin Luther hurled his inkwell in
the devil's direction in the castle at Wartburg, On the American fron
tier, camp meeting preachers routed the devil in their sermons. Con
sider the popularity of popular Christian novelist Frank Peretti.
None of this is passe. A recent Gallup poll indicates that 80 percent of
Americans believe in the existence of the devil-roughly twice the
number of those who regularly attend church!
Scripture itself checks our tendency to dismiss the devil as primi
tive Israelite mythology. Likewise, a sermon on this text should
wrestle with the dynamics of evil. Only the naive and sheltered see
no evil in our world. But what about evil within the human psyche?
Did Jesus have to struggle in himself on this issue? Luke can speak of
"growth" in Jesus' life (2:52). People can have self-destructive urges
that cause pain to others; we may experience this reality as a power
tugging at us from outside ourselves. Dostoevsky brilliantly captures
a familiar aspect of evil in Ivan's words to Alyosha in The Brothers
Karamazov:
I think that if the Devil doesn't exist but man has created him, then he has
5
created him in his own image and likeness.

Satan and the Modern View of Evil. But can we reduce the ex
tensive aura o f evil in the world to a human creation? Consider non-
fiction books on crime or Scott Peck's book, The People of the Lie.
Look beyond individuals to systems that perpetuate suffering and
bigotry or social and political structures that dehumanize and wreak
injustice. Systemic evil is not abstract or understood only by intellec
tuals. In Solentiname, a village on a remote archipelago on Lake
Nicaragua, Ernesto Cardenal engaged the campesinos in dialogue on
6
our text. Why didn't Jesus turn the stones into bread? he asked
them.
Francisco: The devil wanted him to perform a senseless miracle that

wouldn't do anybody any good.
Olivia: Later he gave bread to a whole crowd, but that was different.
Gustavo: Revolution doesn't mean just giving food and clothing and
comforts to people; bread is important, but we can't stop there.
Laureano: He's like a politician, that devil. Because that's what political
campaigns are like. A man comes into a town and makes all kinds of
promises so people will vote for him. And people do vote for him, and
afterwards he doesn't give them shit
Where did the devil get his riches? He stole them! Pedro noted the
phrase, "Seized him and took him up," and observed how the devil
seizes many people and lifts them into positions of power.
The preacher must grapple with the specter of evil. Luke knew
about this "strong man, fully armed" (11:21). In this Gospel, the na
ture of the demonic is that it is personal and that it is attractive. In
Luke 4, the testing of Jesus comes through a face-to-face dialogue, a
conversation (compare Genesis 3). The power of the demonic is that
it looks pleasing and even urges us toward what seems to be
praiseworthy; Satan does quote from the Bible. Wendy Farley puts it
well: "Sin does not require a self-conscious desire for evil as such.
Deception is the mask evil wears to disguise its true nature and to
make itself palatable to people who would be disturbed by concrete
7
suffering."
Jesus is able to discern what is contrary to the Kingdom of God in
this world. In so doing, he can "defeat" the devil (Luke 10:18; compare
8
Isa. 14:4-20), which is one of his primary objectives in this Gospel.
Jesus makes us aware that Satan's tactic is to take what is good and
subvert it to another end. C. S. Lewis's letter-writing devil, Screw-
tape, makes this clear in his advice to Wormwood:
...through this girl and her disgusting family the patient is now getting to
know more Christians every day, and very intelligent Christians, too. For

a long time it will be quite impossible to remove spirituality from his life.
Very well, then; we must corrupt it. No doubt you have often practised
transforming yourself into an angel of light as a parade-ground exercise.
Now is the time to do it in the face of the Enemy.
The Passive Resistance of Jesus. What Jesus does not do is at

tempt to explain logically the existence of evil. Jesus does not try to
justify evil; rather, he resists it. Critics have highlighted the implicit
comparison between the Fall of Adam and the triumph of Jesus in
this text. The triumph of Jesus, his resistance of Satan's assault, is ac
complished by a marked inactivity. In Alyosha's tale of the Grand In
quisitor in The Brothers Karamozov, the dread bureaucrat takes
Jesus prisoner and rails against him in private, justifying his power
10
and position against the passivity of Jesus. If Jesus really loved
humanity, he says, he would gladly have satisfied the hunger and
poverty of his own people; he would have reordered the world with
justice and peace; he would have glorified himself to give the evil and
ignorant final proof of the power of divinity.
But Jesus does none of these things. In fact, in his encounter with
Satan, he does almost nothing except to quote three Bible verses.
Fundamentally, in quoting these passages Jesus observes the sum
mons to "be still and know that I am God." Against the reality of God
and God's Kingdom the devil can unleash his energy, but he will
stumble and self-destruct. It is that truth, articulated in the face of
Satan, that frees Jesus from the assault of Satan. In The Brothers
Karamozov, Jesus answers the Grand Inquisitor's challenge of his
authority with a kiss; stunned but unrepentant, the Inquisitor
releases Jesus and bids him, "Go, and come no more...come not at all,
11
never, never!"
Stories of Christians who were "still" come to mind: Polycarp,
under the torch of martyrdom; Thomas More, silent when pressured
to recant before Henry VIII; Clarence Jordan, diligently hoeing the
ground the morning after Koinonia Farms had been burned out by
the KKK; and Martin Luther King, Jr., standing with Corettta and
ten-week-old Yoki in front of their firebombed home, calming a crowd
that craved vengeance, reminding them to love their enemies, to
meet hatred with love. Wendy Farley sums this up:
The profound integrity of Gandhi's or Martin Luther King's nonviolent

struggles condemned their opponents by the contrast between them. These
movements...simultaneously empowered victims to resist their suffering
THE WISDOM OF STILLNESS

and revealed to oppressors their guilt struggling against the evil from
t
1
both directions.
For Jesus is not alone with the tester. Luke adds that Jesus strode
into the wilderness "full of the Holy Spirit"--the fortification of God's
very presence. Having met the tester, Jesus emerges from the test
13
"armed with the power of the Spirit" (4:14, translated by Fitzmyer).
He departs, not drained but bolstered by the test. And bolstering he
will need: while Satan slinks off "for a little while, his henchmen
remain in the field (Luke 4:31f.) lurking around every corner. Jesus'
f
ministry is hardly devil-free; but now he has authority over the

demonic. The devil plots his vicious reprise in the person of Judas in
the Last Supper (where peirazo describes the climactic "test" for
Jesus). This is the ultimate test. Then, too, Jesus will be "still" and
passive, again letting his foe fling himself into oblivion.
Lent 2: Luke 13:31-5, A L a m e n t over Jerusalem
As we proceed along our Lenten journey, we find Jesus threatened

with death from political authorities. But Jesus shows no anxiety for
his own safety; rather, his heart is pained because the people he loves
have set themselves at odds with the Kingdom of God. Jesus' un
relenting compassion even in the face of personal danger is striking.
The Cast of Characters. In first-century Palestine, Pharisees were

not cut from a single fabric, although the New Testament writers
tend to oversimplify and caricature them. But what shall we make of
these Pharisees? It is impossible to determine the motivation behind
their warning to Jesus that Herod "wants to kill you." Is this evidence
of their goodness? Or are they lying to Jesus in hopes that he will
leave their territory? The Herod to which they refer, and whom
Jesus calls "that fox," is not Herod the Great, menace to the holy fami
ly and the holy innocents of Bethlehem. It is his son, Herod Antipas.
tetrarch of Galilee and Perea, notorious for his marriage to Herodias,
his neice and the wife of his half-brother. John the Baptist lambasted
Herod Antipas for his marriage, only to wind up in fetters; later, he
was executed (Luke 3:19-20; 9:7-9). With regard to Christ and his fol
lowers, however, all Herods are alike. All hysterically suppress the
faith and take pleasure in building their own fame and fortune by
"grinding the poor" of Israel.

The Glory and Doom of Zion. Luke gives Jesus' poignant lament
over Jerusalem an unusual context. In Matthew, Jesus stands on a
hillside vantage point and looks at the city (Matt. 23:37-39) sometime
during the last week of his life. But for Luke, Jesus is not in
Jerusalem, at least not yet. Still in Galilee, still en route to
Jerusalem, he "often" wishes to nurture, to love the city, so loved
since boyhood, held squarely in his mind's eye, the matrix of Jewish
hopes.
As a boy, Jesus would have gone with his parents and dozens of fel
low travellers to the holy city for the great festival of Passover (see
Luke 2:41-52). Massive caravans of pilgrims would form, most on foot,
but some riding donkeys. Their numbers would provide companion
ship and a measure of safety during the arduous trip, exposed as they
were to harsh weather and roadside thieves. As they travelled, they
would have sung lyrics from the Psalms (such as, "I was glad when
they said unto me, let us go into the house of the Lord," or "Glorious
things are spoken of you, Zion, city of our God," or "How lovely is thy
dwelling place...my soul longs for the courts of the Lord"). And when
the devout Jews finally reached the crest of one of Jerusalem's sur
rounding hills, Mount Scopus or the Mount of Olives, and finally
caught their first glimpse of the great city of David and the gleaming
stones of the temple mount, these pilgrims might well have fallen to
their knees and wept with joy.
How heart wrenching, then, for Jesus to return to Jerusalem as an
adult for the Passover. How he must have grieved over the tainted
holiness of the city, perceiving that he would lose his own life by her
hand! For the greatness of Zion's calling was matched only by her fail
ings. In Jesus' day, there was already a strident prophetic tradition
that perceived Jerusalem as "killing the prophets." Perhaps Luke is
thinking of the prophet Uriah, murdered by King Jehoiakim (Jer.
26:20ff.); or the thwarted attempt on Jeremiah's life (Jer. 38:4f.); the
death of Zechariah (2 Chron. 24:20f.) or even the fate of Isaiah, who
according to legend was sawed in half by King Manasseh (see the Mar
tyrdom of Isaiah 5). Neh. 9:26-31 also makes for sober reading in this
regard. Luke shares this perspective, describing how early Christians
such as Stephen would be martyred by Jerusalem (Acts 7; Luke 11:49
anachronistically adds "and apostles"); John the Baptist, too, would be
numbered among the slain prophets.
Jerusalem raised impressive monuments to the prophets who were
slain there. Just across from the southeast corner of the temple
mount is the tomb complex of the Bene Hezir, a high priestly family;
included is the co-called Tomb of Zechariah, pyramid-roofed with

Doric columns cut in living rock, originating 150 years before Jesus'
journey to Jerusalem. Further along the Mount of Olives, tourists
will discover a catacomb with kokhim shafts, dated to the first cen
tury BCE, purportedly the tomb of Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi.
The building and endowment of these tombs was a much-admired,
pietistic effort-but ironically the wrongdoing condemned by God
through these prophets continued (see Luke 11:47-51). As Eduard
Schweizer said of Jerusalem's walls: "They will be visited only by
tourists with an interest in art history, whose guides repeated the ter
1
rifying echo, 'this is the temple of the Lord'" (Jer. 7:4).
A Lament over the Distraction of Jerusalem. Perhaps Luke him

self had gazed from an overlook upon the city, smouldering and in
ruins (cf. Gen. 19:27-28) and wept. Luke knows of the city's destruc
tion in 70 C.E. by the Romans, and this fact informs our passage as
well. First, despite the implicit judgment on Jerusalem, Jesus' tone
in this passage is not one of condemnation but of lamentation. A
stone's toss away from the traditional tombs of the prophets is the
tear-shaped Church called Dominus Flevit ("the Lord wept"), built on
the site where this occurred as designated by medieval pilgrims.
During Holy Week, Jesus is said explicitly to have "wept" over the city
(Luke 19:41-44). Based on modes of Jewish prayer at the time, Jesus'
words would have been uttered aloud as a wailing lamentation. Jesus'
lamentation in Luke 13:33-35 would have had this character as well.
That Jesus actually wept is crucial for persons to envision and com
prehend. Jesus did not rain fire and brimstone on the city; he did not
shake his head and walk away. He simply wept. In today's society,
where God is presumed to be nonexistent, remote or vindictive, it is
worth looking at Jesus' love for Jerusalem, and his anguish at its
downfall. It is worth noting, too, that Jesus wept openly. We who
value strength, the stiff upper lip, stoicism, may mask our basic in
ability to deal with tragedy in life. If we could face reality with one
mind with Christ, then we might well lament as he did. "Tears
release us from the prison of power and control into the vast love and
15
infinite possibility of G o d . " Releasing our tears for our own predica
ment may allow us to notice and weep with those of other races and
cultures. Our primal response to the nonsense and tragedy of our
world should be simply to grieve, to have one long cry, sharing God's
pathos, taking the first rending step toward healing.
Grieving for Sin in Lent. Luke's reshuffling of Jesus' lament into a

new context invites us to do the same. What is the "Jerusalem" over

!
i
j
i
which Jesus might weep today? Near many towns and cities, there is j
some vantage point that permits a view of the community. The
preacher may imaginatively take the congregation to this spot to look j
at itself from a new perspective. Or we may broaden our concerns to
the world community. Lent surely is a time for repentance. We must j
look at individual sin and lack of spiritual growth, but we should also
use this time to consider collective guilt, corporate and systemic sin.
We are not skilled at thinking theologically about public, social, politi
cal issues. We have at the same time forgotten how to grieve, to la
ment, to be outraged at what goes on in God's world. Perhaps we have
achieved enough distance from the Gulf War to suggest that God was
surely grieved over what so many gloried in uncritically. Our parallel
]
text, Luke 19:41, indicts us: "Would that today you knew the things
that made for peace. But they are hidden from your eyes." The ,
preacher must stand apart, take note of the flag-waving and celebra
tion and ask, "Where are the tears, the grief, the sorrow of finding
ourselves in a violent world?"
Lent is the time to name the outrage. Prophets are still being )
killed; we still reject the bearers of hope. Stories of heroism and mar- j
tyrdom from Central America, or South Africa, or even locally, may
help us show that "killing the prophets" still goes on. Early in 1980 }
Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador said: \
I have been learning a beautiful harsh truth, that the Christian faith does
not separate us from the world but immerses us in it; that the Church,
therefore, is not a fortress set apart from the city, but a follower of the j
16
Jesus who loved, worked, struggled, and died in the midst of the city. j
On March 24, that same year, Romero was assassinated while
celebrating Mass at the Convent of the Good Shepherd. On Dec. 2 of J
that same year, Jean Donovan and three other Catholic missionaries t
were ruthlessly murdered by government operatives in El Salvador.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer was executed April 8,1945, in the Flossenburg
prison camp. When will the blood of the prophets cease to flow?
Martyrdom is crucial for our text. Jesus has called Herod a
predator of his people ("that fox"). But he, like a mother hen, would \
gather this brood beneath his wings (compare Deut. 32:11; Ps. 17:8; j
36:8; 91:4). Jerusalem, stalked by a hungry fox, has no chance on its j
own. But mother hens have been known to sacrifice their own lives to j
distract a fox from their brood, giving them time to escape. Time for
escape is the subject of the lection for Lent.

Lent 3: Luke 13:1-9, T w o N e w s Flashes
We rewind a few verses from last Sunday to a most difficult text.
Death still looms--but now for Jesus' hearers. "At that very time"
weds this pericope to the preceding apocalyptic invective. That con
nection persists to the following pericope, where Jesus heals a woman
on the Sabbath. The directness of Jesus is highlighted in his
response to reports o f killings and accidental death in Jerusalem.
The Problem of Innocent Suffering. Pontius Pilate, the scourge

of Palestine, reportedly has ordered the execution of a group of
Galileans, which takes place as they are offering their sacrifices in
the temple in Jerusalem. (The Jewish historian, Josephus, who
recorded most of Pilate's deeds, does not mention this.) On hearing
this news, Jesus reminds his listeners of the eighteen who died when
a tall stone structure hovering over the pool of Siloam at Jerusalem's
southeast corner crumbled.
Pilate's bloodletting clearly sounds a note of injustice in the politi
cal realm, while the collapse of the wall seems to be tragic. Kenneth
Bailey identifies the wall as an aqueduct Pilate was building with pil
fered temple treasury funds; there may be an implied accusation of
1
Pilate in this story. But as incidents of sudden death, these reports
bring injustice and tragedy together for a single response. Jesus, him
self a Galilean brother, might have chosen to console his friends with
a judgment on the wicked foreigners, the Romans. Instead he in
structs the fuming disciples to repent. There is suffering all around.
Self-righteous bluster can only shield one from the ongoing respon
sibility simply to repent.
In our congregations, there are those who have suffered for the
sake of a just cause; they still need to hear the clarion call to repent.
Others have been the object of tragic events and have endured mean
ingless suffering. They, too, need the "turning" of repentance. Repen
tance, as Bonhoeffer wrote, is "not in the first place thinking about
one's own needs, problems, sins, and fears, but allowing oneself to be
18
caught up into the way of Jesus Christ, into the messianic event."
Refuting the Doctrine of Retribution. Jesus refrains from per

petuating the trite dogma of retribution (called "theological sadism"
1
by Dorothee Soelle). He does not say "They got what they
deserved." Instead he raises a priceless rhetorical question: "Are they
worse sinners?" There persists today that abysmal habit of distin
guishing the magnitude of various sins. Countless examples present

themselves: a bold preacher might point out the common attitude
that imputes innocence to victims of heart disease but guilt to victims
of AIDS. Or he or she might point out the systemic sins that allow
the pollution of our air and our water supply, creating carcinogens.
Jesus' reasoning was revolutionary for those who regarded sin as the
direct cause of disease and death. Let us hear once more from Farley:
One of the most terrible beliefs of Christianity is that God punishes us

with suffering. It is a belief inflicted on grief-stricken or pain-ridden
individuals to justify their suffering and on groups to justify their
continued oppression. The association of suffering with punishment
denies even the right to resist suffering. This sadistic theology conspires
with pain to lock God away from the sufferer. This is the theology of Job's
20
comforters.. .
Preachers must use all the sensitivity at their disposal to help

their congregations face death, because it is so universally denied.
Jesus spoke quite frankly of the imminence of death (Luke 12:16f.).
The burnt, blackened palms of Ash Wednesday are an ominous
reminder of our mortality. Lenten preaching, too, must be ashen, star
ing boldly into the blinding flash of our mortality, our chronic vul
nerability.
The Parable o f the F i g Tree. Luke 13:6-9 transforms the searing

news of death into a ray of hope. To those who tremble before the
angel of death, Jesus, in his typical earthy manner, speaks of a fig
tree. The tree has been granted three years for growing; for another
three years its fruit could not be harvested (Lev. 19:23). Even after
this time of preparation, the fig tree has not produced fruit for three
years (according to Bailey), putting it in the ninth year. Chopping it
down seems in order to the owner. But the patient vinedresser pleads
for time; he will dig around it and put on manure. Then, he says, the
decision to cut it down can be made.
This underachieving fig tree has proven fruitful for allegorists: ac
cording to Ambrose, the vineyard represented the Jews, the fig tree
the synagogue, Peter (apostle to the Jews) the vinedresser, hoping
for conversion. The manure he considers to be a most appropriate
metaphor for the confession of sins. Augustine saw the owner's three
visits to the tree as humanity prior to the law, subject to the law, and
finally under God's grace (see Rom. 5). The gardener represents the
saints praying for lost souls.
Clearly the vinedresser's efforts portray God graciously extending
time for repentance, a vital Lukan theme (5:32; cf. 2 Pet. 3:8f.).

Without repentance, men and women will perish more profoundly
than if they were murdered or lost in a tragic accident. In light of
Jesus' instruction to repent, the parable of the fig tree presses the ur
gency of our response to this opportunity. The fig's tenth year is
decisive indeed. So intent is Luke on showing God's mercy to this
poor fig that he omits entirely the Markan account of Jesus' wither
ing of a fig tree that hasn't had any time at all! Ps. 103 (today's lec
tion) extols this mercy with unmatched eloquence. The ashes, a sign
of mortality, are a token of penitence and remorse. Note that the
story is open-ended. We never learn whether the tree bears fruit.
Preach the text-and then endure the time of waiting.
Lent 4: Luke 15:11-32

The Parable of the Undignified Father
The parable of the Prodigal Son is no easy subject for the preacher.
There is no improving on the story itself. Furthermore, the young
man's journey to the pig sty and back again is so familiar that we may
find ourselves in the predicament described in that old joke: a
preacher dreamed he was preaching, and when he woke up, he was.
But venture into this story we must.
The Cultural Background of the Story. Certain legal customs are

assumed in this remarkable story. Having property to divide between
his sons, this father is a man of some means. Critical opinion is
divided regarding the appropriateness of the younger son's request.
Some commentators contend that no son would dare ask for his share
in advance of his father's death. Others, however, point to the custom
among Palestinian Jews for younger sons, who inherit far less than
the eldest, to request their share in order to seek their fortune in the
burgeoning mercantile economy of the diaspora. The younger son
may legally be entitled to his share, regardless o f the circumstances
under which he parts from his family. How will he fare in a foreign
land? What interest will he take in the welfare of his family after he
has gone?
Although the son might make the request, the father would have
had good reason to resist fulfilling it. The son's possession of the
property was one thing; that he might nickel and dime it away was
another. The property being claimed would be the father's support in
his old age; in addition, a lump sum of money had no restrictions
placed upon it, and with his wealth, the father risked his honor.

Streetwise fathers were therefore reluctant to dispose of their hold
ings in so risky a manner, Sirach 33:19-23 warns fathers against
giving control of their property to others, "...in case you change your
mind and must ask for it. For it is better that your children should
ask from you than that you should look to the hand of your children."
Only a foolish father would not see that transferred wealth offered a
young man a tremendous temptation. But only a reprehensible son
would spend it all, with nothing to show for it, leaving nothing to sup
port the dependent members of the extended family.
The worst case occurs: the lad converts all the property into cash
and wastes that; he then disgraces himself by wallowing with pigs. We
can almost sympathize with the poor boy when famine strikes; a wise
planner, like Joseph of old, might have been prepared for calamity.
And what if famine struck back home? The son has all but said to his
father, "You do not matter to me; you are dead as far as I am con
cerned." To him, the father is merely someone to be used. The fifth
commandment lay shattered at his feet.
T h e R o l e of t h e Prodigal's R e p e n t a n c e . Traditionally, this story

has been read allegorically, as emblematic of inner change: the
younger son is the sinner finally come to repentance; the father is
the merciful God; the older son is originally the self-righteous
Pharisee, and later the smug, self-righteous Christian. The church
fathers allegorized every detail. The citizen whom the prodigal serves
is the devil, the robe is the innocence won in baptism (Tertullian).
The laborers in the father's fields are the Jews; the pods the lad ate
are vices; the "falling on the neck" is the easy yoke of Matthew 11; the
feast is the Eucharist, and the shoes the preparation to preach the
gospel (Jerome). Medieval morality plays portrayed the story of the
prodigal son, hoping to move spectators to remorse. In his Confes
sions, Augustine took this parable as the mirror of his own life, allud
ing to it in his famous prayer: "Our hearts are restless until they find
rest in you." James Weldon Johnson captured this dynamic elo
quently:
Jesus didn't give this man a name,

But his name is God Almighty.
And Jesus didn't call these sons by name,
But ev'ry young man, ev'rywhere,
Is one of these two sons

On the way, it's a "smooth and easy road," "nothing like the rough
furrows behind my father's plow," But "smooth and easy is the road
that leads to hell and destruction,"
down grade all the way.
The further you travel, the faster you go.
Just slip and slide, slip and slide, till
21
ill you bang up against helVs iron gate.
We think of John Newton, slavetrader and scoundrel, who penned
these stanzas in 1779: "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that
saved a wretch like me; I once was lost, but now am found; was blind,
but now I see." We think of Francis Thompson, squandering his life in
dark London alleys before being redeemed by a Christian family, lead
ing him to write of the "Hound of Heaven": "I fled him down the
nights and down the days/I fled him through the arches of the years."
So much hinges on our interpretation of the words in verse 17, "he
came to himself." This is not a full-fledged repentance. In the pigsty,
the son is thinking of only one person: himself. If anything, he plans
to use his father again in the most cynical fashion. James Breech ar
gues that this manipulator will say whatever the father might wish to
hear (as do Goneril and Regan when King Lear proposes to divide his
22
property). If the son changes at all--and the text nowhere says in
plain terms that he does change-it must be after the father has fal
len on the boy's neck and ordered the robe, ring, sandals, and fatted
calf. We know nothing of sin on our own; it is only in the bright light
of the love of God that we see that shadowy darkness of our own lives.
C. S. Lewis, in an eloquent Evensong sermon ("The Weight of Glory")
at Oxford on June 8,1941, said,
It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too
weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and
23
ambition when infinite joy is offered us... We are far too easily pleased.
St. Jerome understood the paradox of such seeking: "The son

couldn't be satisfied, because pleasure always creates its own hunger."
We misdirect our energies on lesser goals. Faith is when we learn
that our destiny is not the far country, however enticing. We begin
with God, with glory, splendor; but we use anyone, God included, to
pursue that which cannot profit. Facing this truth, we may neverthe
less by grace affirm that we are children of God. Our task is simply to
be ourselves. Mother Teresa was once asked, "Why are you so holy?"
She said, "You speak as if holiness is strange or abnormal. Holiness is
normal. God made us for holiness. To be anything else is abnormal."
God is our home. T. S. Eliot's line may be used to advantage:

The end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started
OA
and know the place for the first time. j
The Gifts of the Undignified Father. As most commentators are

swift to remind us, the real protagonist in this story is the father.
Given the legal scenario, his behavior is truly startling. Rebellious
sons could be put to death (Deut. 21:18ff.); we expect at least a
"Where've you been?" or an "I told you so." Jesus knew that such
fathers are all too familiar, a dime a dozen, clouding our lives and our
vision of what God is about. Bernard Brandon Scott adduces a clever
rabbinic parallel: f
i
A king had a son who had gone astray from his father a journey of a
hundred days; his friends said to him, "Return to your father"; he said, "I
cannot." Then his father sent to say, "Return as far as you can, and I will
come to you the rest of the way." So God says, "Return to me, and I will j
2 5
return to you. " I

In his famous ballet based on this text, George Balanchine j

portrayed the son's seduction beautifully in the form of a red-clad j
Oriental girl, her body snaking about the promiscuous son, coiled,
26
hissing to kill. Yet Balanchine mistook the homecoming. The son is -
{
choreographed as grovelling (as in Pushkin's story, "The Station- j

master") toward an austere father who stands waiting, arms folded. [
But in the parable itself, the father preempts any grovelling the son
might be planning. The father actually runs! In the biblical world,
this is something a man of dignity did not do. Onlookers would think
him a fool.
But this father has no need or desire to save face. He lets himself ]
1
be taken advantage of. The son has lost dignity in the pigsty; but the
father's indignity exceeds the son's. This father does not require his j
son to prove himself; no discipline is meted out, as Craddock writes:
i
Judaism and Christianity have clear provisions for the restoration of the
penitent returnee, but where does it say that such provisions include a
banquet with music and dancing? Yes, let the prodigal return, but to bread
and water, not fatted calf; in sackcloth, not a new robe; wearing ashes, not \
a new ring; in tears, not in merriment; kneeling, not dancing. 2
j
i
i
The best robe would be the father's own. The ring, a signet, confers I
power on this wastrel. The boy not only receives the necessities of j
survival but is honored, glorified. It is the father's surprising joy that
dominates the story and captures our imaginations. The son is for- j
THE WISDOM OF STILLNESS 95 J
given before he can even repent, and his scheme to save his own life
by becoming a slave is thwarted by his father's action.
The younger son can no longer live as the one who indulges himself;
instead, the man [father] becomes the one who indulges him. By indulging
his son, the man has incorporated him into his own programme of having
2
a son. *
The parable "redefines the conditions under which "family" can

29
happen." Family is not property; family is not earning, deserving.
Family is when this giddy one runs out to meet us.
The Fate of the Older Son. Verses 11-32 complete the unity from
which we may not subtract without damaging the story. During the
party, the son is characteristically "in the field," working, productive,
the ultimate do-gooder. "He lives-outwardly-with his father, but not
30
inwardly," as Schweizer n o t e s . Considering the younger son's re
quest, the older son's claim is telling: "I have served (=been a slave)
all these years." Scott pinpoints his ironic misfortune: "The elder fails
to recognize that the father is always on his side, and he need not
earn his father's approval. He has made himself a slave for something
31
that was already his."
Why is the older brother so angry? Self-righteous indignation?
Failure to be invited to the party? Yet one more case of parental
favoritism toward the younger, and more roguish, son? Exasperation
over the father's shameful humiliation? The answer may be more
mundane. The younger son is hungry not for spiritual nourishment,
but for bread, potatoes, beans. Whose food would he eat now that he
has been welcomed home? And whose sandals would he wear? All
these good things by implication now belonged to the older brother.
And the father simply takes some back to redeem this lost brother.
Here is the clue to the whole story: for the lost son to be redeemed,
the older son has to part with some of his own goods. The father had
divided his property between them. Elsewhere in Luke, God takes
sides with the poor--literally the poverty-stricken. The irony of it all
is that the elder brother's own joy hinges on his willingness to share
what is rightfully his. Admittedly, he has worked hard and earned his
psssessions. But the redemption of the lost brother, as well as his
own redemption, depends on his willing sacrifice. There is fodder
here for a creative preaching angle: persons in your congregation
need to be reminded that they need to part with some of their goods
for the sake of the lost and that they need to part with some of their
goods for their own joy and fulfillment.

The Role of Christ in the Prodigal Son. Where is Christ and his
redemptive work in this story? For Jerome, "the going out" of the
Father is the incarnation, a thought echoed by Helmut Gollwitzer, j
who suggests that "Jesus is hidden in the kiss which the father gives
2
his son." Ambrose saw Christ in the fatted calf (an identification j
resurrected recently by Robert Farrar Capon, who sees the calf s sole
purpose in life being "to drop dead at a moment's notice in order that
33
people can have a party." Karl Barth construed the younger son
christologically: "Without ceasing to be true God...God went into the
far country by becoming man." Having ventured into this far country
of human corruption and perdition, taking the place of all lost sons,
taking on the sin and shame, as if having committed them himself,
34
he returned home, so that humanity too might return h o m e .
Of greatest significance is the fact that it is Jesus--or rather, God's
son, the clearest image we have of the life of God here on earth--who
tells this story. It is his story, and in it no one is brought to his knees J
in shame or remorse, there is no father to demand penitence, no tri
umphal older brother. And it is most concretely a story, for life in the
kingdom is not to be captured in propositions, in theses, in metaphysi- i
cal speculations. Rather, life in the kingdom is only revealed elu-
sively, indirectly, in story form-just as real life is lived. The story has
;
no "moral," no real conclusion. The futures of the sons and the father
are open-ended. Instead Jesus tells a story to show the joy of the
kingdom, and in capturing the imaginations of his listeners offers an
irresistible invitation to find it.
Luke 22:14-23:56 or 23:1-49

The Passion Narrative
Luke's Passion narrative bristles with interesting details. His Last

Supper account is much longer than Mark's or Matthew's, carrying as
it does Luke's fondness for evening meal discussion (chapters 13-14).
It is Luke's version of the last meal that includes the debate over who
is the greatest (beautifully captured in the movie In Remembrance,
by Evangelical Films), which Jesus silences with a stiff "No more of
this!" (22:49-51). Luke adds a vivid detail to Peter's denial of Jesus:
just after the cock crowed, "the Lord turned and looked at Peter"
(22:61). Herod Antipas puts in a cameo appearance (linking the sham
11
trial to the known murderous intent of "that fox in 13:31), And only
Luke tells us that Simon of Cyrene carried the cross "behind Jesus," a
rather obvious summons to discipleship (9:23; 14:27).

In many churches, the pageantry, special music, dramatizations,
and other liturgical celebrations of Palm Sunday can squeeze out the
time allotted to the sermon. Certain significant details of Luke's Pas
sion account, however, are worth looking at more closely for the pur
poses of a sermon.
The Devil's Role in Luke's Passion Narrative. Luke places the

devil's dark role in broad daylight. It is the devil, manipulative and
deceitful, who enters Judas (compare John 13:2!); indeed, he would
"sift" all the disciples (22:31). It is not merely that one disciple has
gone astray. Superhuman forces o f evil are taking the field against
1
the Lord's anointed one. Like Hitler's "Operation Greif through the
Ardennes Forest in December, 1944, when the Allies had hemmed in
the forces of the Third Reich, the devil's assault is frightful,
desperate, and has an air of finality. If Lent is a time of testing
(peirasmos, used in Luke 4:13; 8:13; 11:4; and 22:28), then Holy Week
is really about mortal combat with evil.
Jesus at Gethsemane in Luke. More than the other evangelists,

Luke has a didactic intent. Jesus is serving as a model for Christians
who will be harrassed and persecuted, as Acts will begin to show.
Readers will be familiar with Heinrich Hoffmann's painting "Christ in
Gethsemane," copies of which have adorned countless Sunday school
classrooms (the original hangs in Riverside Church, New York).
Hoffman's sentimental painting shows Jesus as pious and composed;
he may as well be saying his bedtime prayers.
The Jesus of Luke's Passion account appears to be contained, but
he is actually profoundly "still," not meek and mild. The text includes
only one hint of Jesus' deep inner turmoil. As he prays ( w , 43-44),
Jesus sweats drops (not "of blood," but "like blood")--and even these
verses are missing in many important manuscripts, including the Bod-
mer papyrus, Alexandrinus, Vaticanus, Origen and Ambrose! Based
on other authorities, such as Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, Jerome, and
other ancient versions, the majority of scholars defend their authen
ticity. Luke has an angel minister to Jesus. But the impression of
Jesus given by this passage is of a brave man bearing utter agony,
who will not collapse in his pain (as he does in Mark 14:35; Matt.
26:39; and which finds its way into film so effectively in The Last
Temptation of Christ). Jesus' courageous response to his peirasmos is
to be emulated by Christians who are put to the test (Acts 20:19,
where pez'rasmos--[test] occurs once more). "One who has a dis-

ciplined life of prayer need not writhe and fall on the ground before
36
that final hour (of trial)."
Gethsemane is the first moment of the matchless suffering borne
by Jesus. Lest our well-polished, empty crosses allow us to forget this,
we may do well to meditate upon greater works of art, such as Mat
thias von Gruenewald's famed Isenheim Altarpiece (in which a
gruesome Jesus bears a thousand points of pain) or even the stunning
1930 bronze by Floriano Bodini.
Jesus and the Compassion of Women. In 23:27, Luke alone notes

that many women followed Jesus as he staggered along the via
dolorosa, weeping for him. We have already encountered the motif of
weeping (see the lection for Lent 2, Luke 13:31-35), As the women
mourn, Jesus recalls once more the ominous fate of the city of
Jerusalem. According to the Catholic tradition of the Stations of the
Cross, at the sixth station one of these women, moved with compas
sion for Jesus, breaks through the cordon and wipes his face with her
veil. Legend has it that this veil, purportedly housed in St. Peter's
Basilica in Rome, has forever borne the imprint of Jesus' face. The
name traditionally given to her, Veronica, means "true image." A
small gesture, this wiping of his face. But she did what she could.
Karol Wojtyla, before his elevation as Pope John Paul II, wrote that
"the Savior leaves his imprint on every single act of charity, as on
37
Veronica's handkerchief."
While it is admittedly a tangent to the text, the preacher may ex
plore gestures of love that bear the image of Jesus, The ministry of
Mother Teresa, celebrated as extraordinary, consists merely of small,
ordinary gestures, such as wiping faces. A tale is told of an atheist
being moved to faith simply by observing one of Teresa's sisters bath
ing a man pulled out of the gutter. He claimed in that moment to
have seen Jesus. A probing Lenten question: do our small, daily ac
tions, as individuals and as a Church, show traces of the face of Jesus?
Or do we merely line the streets, never comprehending the drama
that is played out?
The Last Words of Jesus. On the cross, Jesus is once more focused
and calm in comparison to his behavior in Mark and Matthew.
Throughout Luke's Passion narrative, Jesus is in silent command of
the situation. Jesus' last words are not screams of dereliction. He
pleads forgiveness for his executioners (v. 34; a vignette missing from
a few ancient manuscripts, but probably to be retained). No more
awesome word is conceivable (compare Acts 7:60; Isa. 53:12)! Among

the eloquent comments on this forgiveness, we may choose Douglas
Ottati's:
The innocent one who suffers at the hands of the power of sin in our
history is not driven to ask that his suffering be avenged; neither does he
withdraw into stoical detachment Instead, by asking that his executioners
be forgiven and that the malefactor receive new life, he turns the tragedy
of his own crucifixion into the lasting occasion for repentance that hangs
3
over all other occasions of innocent suffering.
The irony of the death scene is rich: the mocking ascription of
Jesus as innocent describes Jesus accurately. We began Lent seeing
Jesus refuse to exploit his power, and we finish Lent on the same
note. Jesus extends the promise of paradise to the criminal, a stun
ning detail unique to Luke. And just before breathing his last, Jesus
quotes not the anxious lament of Psalm 22 ("Why have you forsaken
me?") but the expression of trust in Psalm 31 ("Into thy hands I com
mit my spirit").
The Acts of the Apostles will continue to demonstrate that, like
Jesus himself, Luke's community would be severely tested. Called to
suffering, even martyrdom, for the sake of the gospel, these Chris
tians would join the prophets of old, bearing witness in the face of
death.
Notes
1. Charles H . Talbert, Reading Luke: A Literary and Theological Commentary on the
Third Gospel (New York: Crossroad, 1982), 4 5 . A good place to start with Luke; familiarity
with the whole Gospel is essential.
2. Gerald G. May, Addiction and Grace (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988), 86-9.
3. Thomas Merton, Spiritual Direction and Meditation (Wheathampstcad: Anthony
Clarke, 1975), 8 5 .
4. Andrew Canale, Understanding the Human Jesus: A Journey in Scripture and
Imagination (New York: Paulist, 1985), 3 4 .
5. Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamozov, tr. Andrew H . MacAndrew ( N e w
York: Bantam, 1970), 00.
6. Ernesto Cardinal, The Gospel in Solentiname, tr. Donald Walsh (Maryknoll: Orbis,
1976), 36-41. T h e preacher should be familiar with Third World exegesis, introduced well
by Robert McAfee Brown, "Unexpected News: Reading the Bible through Third World
Eyes (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1979).
7. Wendy Farley, Tragic Vision and Divine Compassion: A Contemporary Theodicy
(Louisville: Westminster/John Knox, 1990), 4 4 . This is a brilliant, quotable analysis,
especially helpful on Lenten themes.
8. See the recent analysis of this question by Susan R. Garrett, The Demise of the Devil:
Magic and the Demonic in Luke's Writings (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989).
9. C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters, 00. T h e popularity of this book cost Lewis his
chair at Oxford; see the biography by A . N. Wilson, C. S. Lewis (New York: Norton, 1990),
246.
10. Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamozov, 304-313.

11. Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamozov, 3 1 3 . i
12. Farley, Tragic Vision, 121.
13. Joseph Fitzmycr, The Gospel According to Luke, Anchor Bible, vols. 28, 2 8 A
(Garden City: Doubleday, 1983, 1985), 0 0 .
14. Eduard Schweitzer, The Good News According to Luke tr. David E. Green (Atlanta:
John Knox, 1984), 249.
15. Maggie Ross, The Fountain and the Furnace: The Way of Tears andFire (New York:
Paulist, 1987), 38. This is a profound book especially worth reading in Lent.
16. See James R. Brockman, Romero: A Life (Maryknoll: Orbis. 1989), chapter 10.
17. Kenneth Bailey, Through Peasant Eyes (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1980), 77.
18. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison ed. Eberhard Bethge (New
t j
York: Macmillan, 1971), 3 6 1 . Compare Luther's warning against "gallows penitence": "A 1
contrite heart is rare indeed and an eminent gift of grace. It is not attained by contemplat-
ing sin and hell, but only by receiving the inpouring of the Holy Spirit. Otherwise, Judas' [
contrition would have been the best, for he thought of his sin with great sorrow. A n d a [
forced and imagined contrition is very popular, as experience shows, for many confessions 1
are made in Lent and yet there is little improvement in men's lives" L W 3 2 , 35-36. !
19. Soellc's in-depth analysis of this subject, Suffering, tr. Everett R. Kalin (Philadel- t
phia: Fortress, 1975), is of great value.
20. Farley, Tragic Vision, 118-9.
21. James Weldon Johnson, God's Trombones (New York: Penguin, 1976), 21-25.
22. James Breech, The Silence of Jesus: The Authentic Voice of the Historical Man
(Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 189-209. This book is highly intelligent, creative, and
iconoclastic. A must-read.
23. C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory, rev. ed. Walter Hooper (New York: Macmillan,
1980), 3-4.
24. T. S. Eliot, The Four Quartets, "Little Gidding," in The Complete Poems and Plays:
1909-1950 (New York: Harcourt, Brace & Co., 1974), 145.
25. Bernard Brandon Scott, Hear Then the Parable: A Commentary on the Parables of j
Jesus (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), 117. j
26. George Balanchine, New Complete Stories of the Great Ballets, ed. Francis Mason (
(Garden City: Doubleday, 1954), 3 3 2 . }
27. Fred B. Craddock, Luke (Louisville: John Knox, 1990), 56.
28. Breech, The Silence of Jesus, 198. \
29. John R. Donahue, The Gospel in Parable (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1988), 157. \
30. Schweitzer, Luke, 2 4 9 . j
3 1 . Scott, Hear Then the Parable, 121. :
32. Quoted by Robert T . Osborn, "The Father and His T w o Sons: A Parable of j
Liberation," Dialog 19 (1980): 204-209.
33. Robert Farrar Capon, The Parables of Grace (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988), 141.
Colloquial and wild at times, Capon is never dull.
3 4 . Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics IV.2, 20-25.
35. A very helpful, theologically alive study of these passages is Donald Senior, The \
Passion of Jesus in the Gospel of Luke (Wilmington: Michael Glazier, 1989). i
36. Craddock, Luke, 2 6 2 .
37. Karol Wojtyla, Sign of Contradiction (New York: Seabury, 1979), 189. j
38. Douglas F. Ottati, Jesus Christ and Christian Vision (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1989), j
190. Ottati's fresh, illuminating Christology will help to make Jesus understandable.

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Quarterly Review/Spring 1992 S5.

Ecclesial Vision and the Realities of

Reading to Feed the Imagination

Ronndtable Discussion on Clergi/ Morale

The Language of Public Prayer

Lloyd R. Bailey Robert C. Neville

Editor, Sharon J. Hels

A Publication of The United Methodist Publishing House

QR is printed on acid-free paper.

Copyright o 1992 by T h e United Methodist Publishing House

Reading to Feed the Imagination

Quarterly Review Roundtable Discussion on Clergy Morale

The Language of Public Prayer

The Minister's Bookshelf: Worship

Despite the fact that I am an innumerate-a mathematical illiterate,

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W ith these words of their 1990 pastoral letter, the Council of

table of contents with chapters, the book follows a pattern of wor

The Response Process

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The Fabric of Congregational Life

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Issues for Transformation

survey instrument offered a completely different approach. Par- i

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"middle of the road," where extremist advocates of either orthodoxy

list those issues as specific challenges to the congregation's mission. |

Congregations and Social Assumptions. The congregations'

Spiritual Poverty and Hunger. The response form asked con

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TolerantBut Private-Congregations. In the congregations'

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Some congregations proudly told stories of the vitality of their

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Our survey identified a critical need for transformation in the

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O ne often hears laments about the deplorable reading habits of

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Literature in Service of the Church

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READING TO FEED THE IMAGINATION 21

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...being clever, brilliant, even what gets called "well-educated'"is not to

Professional scholars and church bureaucrats may be especially

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READING TO FEED THE IMAGINATION 25

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READING TO FEED THE IMAGINATION 27

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READING TO FEED THE IMAGINATION 29

A Quarterly Review Roundtable Discussion

O n October 16-17,1991, a group of United Methodist clergy men

Defining Happiness and Finding Community

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