Presbyterians and Presidents
I don’t plan to post every church newsletter column, but this one seems blog appropriate. Whatcha think?
Pastor’s Column, November Newsletter
A church member asked me on Sunday if I knew anything about a historic link between Presbyterians and public service. She had heard that Presbyterians more often hold elected office than those of other denominations and wondered what wisdom I had on the subject. Well, at the time, I didn’t contribute much at all. “Ummmm,” I think I said. But since, I’ve did a bit of research and found that, indeed, Presbyterians are very well represented in elected office, surprisingly so. Another question then follows: why?
First, though, a bit of history. Ten Presidents of the United States have been Presbyterian, and twelve Vice Presidents have claimed the denomination. So, roughly 25% of our country’s Presidents or Vice Presidents have been Presbyterian! Presbyterians nowadays make up roughly 2% of the U.S. population, and even accounting for a higher percentage in years past, we have been extremely well represented in the White House. Today’s U.S. congress includes 44 Presbyterians, 11 Senators and 33 Representatives. Not bad at all.
Why such a high proportion? Well, I can only speculate, but here I go. First, Presbyterians tend to be of higher socio-economic classes and have access to the strong education and means to run for public office. Second, though, and more compelling is the fact that Presbyterians have always made a strong connection between faith and action. Presbyterian tenets of faith tend to be public, not just matters of the heart but about how to live one’s life too. This makes us a thoughtful and active bunch. Third, and maybe this is a stretch, but our doctrine of sin holds that we all sin and fall short of God’s best intentions. We can’t fix that, it’s just who we are. Maybe our strong view of sin makes us want to work to help organize society in ways that mitigate sin’s effects on the world. And what better way to serve those goals than by holding public office?
That’s all conjecture, but I do know for certain that the way our church government functions is very similar to how our national and many state governments function. Presbyterians send commissioners to our gradually larger governing bodies – session, presbyteries, synods, and the General Assembly – sort of like government representatives in a town, a state, and nation. An individual church can offer a resolution (sort of like a piece of legislation) that can affect a presbytery, synod, or even the national church. This means each governing body is connected to the other. It also means church wide decisions are made by the body as a whole rather than by one bishop or pope. Church governance is almost, then, like democracy in action.
Presbyterians aren’t just active in government; they serve God in many vocations. Some are a bit more famous than others – like Mr. Rodgers (a Presbyterian minister), John Wayne, Andrew Carnegie, or Pam from The Office TV show– but we all seek to serve God together. So thanks for the question last Sunday. It got me, and I hope you, thinking.
Sermon: God the Farmer, Psalm 65
FPC Hallock
October 25, 2009
Harvest Festival
God the Farmer
Psalm 65
Psalm 65, A Thanksgiving for the Harvest, rouses us this morning. Verse 11 can be translated a number of ways:
“You crown the year with your bounty, and your carts overflow with abundance” -NIV
“…and thy paths drop fatness.” -KJV
“…even the hard pathways overflow with abundance.” -NLT
“…your wagon tracks overflow with abundance.” -ESV
Literally the verse reads, “The tracks of your chariot overflow with fat.”
Now the “RHT” translation, the Revised Hallock Translation of Psalm 65:11 would read something like:
“You crown the year with your bounty, even 175, 75, County Road 1, and I-29, overflow with sugar beets abundant.”
Round about the 1870s, the town of Hallock began to take form. Charles Hallock, for whom the town is named, came to our area in 1880 all the way from New York City. Charles Hallock did not come to farm — his fortune was already made — but instead to enjoy the great outdoors, the hunting and fishing abundant in the area.
And so, throughout the 1870s, 80s, 90s and past the turn of the century, word must have spread about a new bustling community with rich farmland and good hearty people.
We can imagine the difficult conversations so many families must have had — to sell what few possessions they owned and uproot themselves from another place, then load up a wagon with what they had left, and come to farm in Hallock.
In the early days, wagon tracks came from the North, bringing English and Scottish immigrants who would soon found this church, the first congregation in the new town. But wagons came, too, from the south and east, as over the ruts and dusty roads settlers came to make Hallock their home. Later they could even travel by Ford’s amazing automobiles or the new train that came straight through town.
Farming in those days, I don’t need to tell you, was bone-tiring work. If the frost cooperated, and the rust stayed away, and the grasshoppers didn’t bother you too bad, and the price of grain held up, and your creditors cooperated, you could maybe squeeze by. But it wasn’t easy. And so the new farms sheltered hopes and dreams, as well as tears and disappointment.
Though Charles Hallock first came looking for an outdoorsman’s paradise, it was the farming that made Hallock tick. The Centennial History Book puts it this way:
Without mutual support of the town of Hallock and Hallock’s farmers, one wonders if Hallock would be celebrating a Centennial. The community of Hallock, which extends far beyond the city limits, has always recognized the vital role of agriculture in its history and in its future. -p. 231
Agriculture and Hallock are almost synonymous. So, on this Harvest Festival, it only makes sense to celebrate with a Psalm of Thanksgiving for the Harvest. Surely we’ve got that covered, don’t we?
Looking at the psalm… … Continue Reading
The Craziness is FINISHed: I ran a marathon
26.2 miles is a long way. A very long way. A very very long way. But I suppose I can now say that I ran that far. Not quickly, not prettily, not without some pain, but I got to that darn finish line. I ran a marathon.
The weather for the race was pretty good: chilly, partly cloudy, and not too much wind. The Siouxland Marathon in Sioux City is a smaller race — about 800 participated one way or another, I think — but that comes with a bit more intimacy and midwestern charm. The race expo consisted of getting your race packet, getting a cup of water, and that’s about it — no vendors peddling their wears, no last minute gel pack offers. But that was fine. My goal was to run a marathon, and after the Twin Cities Marathon didn’t work out schedule-wise, the Siouxland would do just fine.
The course was well marked and scenic. The first six miles were on asphalt trails (in the dark at that point) in South Sioux City, Nebraska. After crossing the bridge back into Iowa, the trail continued alongside the river for a good long way. It reminded me a lot of running the Greenway in Grand Forks, actually, but the Greenway is prettier as it’s more open and not so close to an interstate.
I ran the first six miles about right, slightly over 10-minute miles. I was at 2:14 at the halfway point. Perfect, I thought. I’ll just keep this up a and come in under 4:30. Boy was I wrong.
I did manage the next several miles about the same time, I think, but by 17 or 18 I was struggling. (Typical for first timers, I hear.) Of course, this is also when the only noticeable hills on the course started showing their ugly selves. This summer I trained in the mountains which would make these hills look like pathetic, but running for two months in Grand Forks made me weak. I started walking quickly at points.
The last six miles were pretty painful, I’ll be honest. Okay, pretty darn painful. My energy level was shot, but at the same time I knew I would finish and the euphoria of that realization kept me going. Also — and I wouldn’t have guessed this — seeing other folks struggle over the last few miles was really helpful. I’m sure this will make a sermon illustration one day, but the race was also runnable by teams of five runners who ran a relay. So by the end, there were some of us who had been running for four hours at the same point in the course with folks who had been running for four minutes. I might have coveted some of their energy and bounce, once or twice. But you could also pick out those of us who had run the full marathon ourselves. Watching those folks struggle those last miles, encouraging each other as we passed, was a great comfort and kept me going.
At about mile 20, I realized my time wasn’t going to be pretty. Every book and person I talked to while training said, with your first marathon, don’t worry about time. It’s a freaking marathon, the goal is to just FINISH. But still, I had run a half marathon in 2:06 and didn’t want to run a full too terribly much more than double that. So, when after a few calculations at mile 20 I realized I might not even make it under 5 hours, I kicked it into high gear. Hmm, well, I did in my head at least. I think my legs maybe moved a tiny bit faster.
The course ends in downtown Sioux City, and about three miles from the finish you can see the skyline of downtown. It looked like it was really far away. Too far. But taking one step at a time, it got closer and closer even though the running wasn’t much fun at that point — back and forth across annoying pedestrian bridges, up and down levees and the like.
Finally, though, I got to the streets of downtown. After I saw the sign for mile 25, I could taste the pizza at the finish and wanted so much to get there. I glanced down at my watch and saw, if I just kept going fairly smoothly, I’d make it under 5 hours. So I just kept it up. And, finally, I made the turn onto 4th Street to see the Finish Line. I had made it. Finished. 4:57:54.
The rest of the day was fairly painful. After the pizza and beer at the bar near the finish, six hours riding in the car back to Grand Forks. Frozen peas for my knees. Gatorade and frequent rest stops. It wasn’t until that night that I saw a bruised toe nail and realized it might just fall off before too long. But the pain — and even the lost nail — is part of the package, really. Running a marathon is an absolutely crazy idea, so it ought to be a bit painful.
Ask me now if I’d run another, and the answer is a clear, “no.” Half marathons are much more enjoyable for me (and my body), and training time is much more reasonable for a busy schedule. That said, I’m very glad, even proud, to have run a full marathon. Call me crazy, but call me a “marathoner” as well.
"It's All Sermon Prep to Me"
When I was in high school and chatting with a teacher about our churches, he said “I don’t think I could ever respect a pastor who didn’t know Greek and Hebrew.” That statement stuck with me. Heck, it probably kept me going through some rather challenging times in both my Greek and Hebrew courses.
For a few years now, however, I’ve been wondering how much credence my teacher’s comment really has. I preached about forty sermons in Scotland two years ago without my Greek or Hebrew resources over there (I opted to take golf clubs, not books 
). I didn’t get too many complaints from church members about my lack of declining Greek nouns or parsing Hebrew verbs.
Now, though, I have my Greek and Hebrew books on my new pastor’s study bookshelf, but I haven’t been inclined to pull them out. Sure, I could check out a perplexing phrase in a text if I really wanted to, but I just rarely ever want to. So I wonder, what’s the rub: am I a sermon writing slacker or reality claiming time-manager?
The point, I suppose, is not that one uses Greek and Hebrew in one’s exegesis necessarily, but that sermons are well planned and delivered, deeply grounded in the word and call others to do the same. I’d never want to intimidate someone with knowledge of Biblical languages (what little knowledge I have), or put someone off with a flippant Greek or Hebrew remark in a sermon. On the other hand, I wonder what was the point of all those sweat and tears in Greek, Hebrew, and exegesis courses? Maybe they were supposed to teach me how to think, and did that. But how, also, might my sermon direction change if I took the time to read the original language each week?
When I have a conundrum, I often try to solve it with technology. The problem is, technology isn’t always the answer. (I don’t want to become like another Adam and blame my Weight Watchers struggles on the lack of iPhone app.) I do wonder, though, if investing in a good Bible translation program might provide me the added boost to work more with the original language? If you think so, what program for my Mac would you recommend?
And, in any sermon prep discussion I always wonder: and how might I involve our congregation more in the exegesis?
image by Renaudeh
Sermon: "A Priestly Function" Heb 5:1-10
FPC Hallock
A Priestly Function
Hebrews 5:1-10
During my first year of seminary a famous theologian came to campus to give series of lectures on theology. He had written many books — one I would be assigned the next year — given hundreds of talks, and published dozens of articles. A professor at one of the foremost seminaries in the nation, this speaker was big stuff. So I eagerly anticipated his lecture, and got there in plenty of time because I knew the hall would be packed.
During the speaker’s introduction I got even more excited, as the professor introducing the professor expounded on all his amazing accomplishments and accolades. I couldn’t wait for the talk to begin. And then, finally, the speaker took the podium and began his lecture. I think I was lost after paragraph two of his address. After five minutes, I had utterly no idea what he was talking about. After fifteen minutes, I just wanted the whole thing to be over.
This experience came to mind, I confess, after reading the book of Hebrews in worship for a few weeks now. I don’t know about you, but after several weeks of Hebrews readings my basic reaction still is, “Huh?” I hear the words, they are vaguely familiar — priest, sacrifice, Melchizedek, and of course Jesus — but it’s so easy to get lost in the writer’s fancy argument.
I suppose that’s because, the writer of Hebrews did not have First Pres Hallock in 2009 in mind when he wrote the letter (or, actually, most folks think of it more as a sermon than a letter). Scholars believe the writer of Hebrews is addressing an audience in the second phase of the early church. After Jesus’ death and resurrection, the apostles had spread the good news about Jesus around the middle east. Paul took the message of Christ all over the place and, after a time of excitement and eagerness, believers started to have more doubts. The new Christian communities of faith turned out to be just as troublesome as the old Jewish synagogues. And many abused the new Christians. So after a time, it got pretty hard to take. The writer’s audience is a bit disheveled and lacking much direction or energy — sort of like what happens to any opponent who faces Kittson County’s Bearcats football team. So the writer of Hebrews explains, one more time, what this Jesus guy was all about. And he does so in terms particular to his community: he speaks of Jesus as high priest.
Nobody really knows why the writer of Hebrews harps on the priest metaphor so much. (Hebrews is unique in the New Testament for it.) But the point is clear: just like a first century Jewish priest, Jesus makes a sacrifice of atonement for sin, shows compassion toward the weak, and intercedes for people before God. [see http://www.enterthebible.org/Bible.aspx?rid=58 ] Now, Jesus isn’t just some normal high priest but the big kahuna high priest, the holy one chosen by God. But, in a lot of ways the writer says, Jesus functions just like a priest. So in this morning’s reading from Hebrews 5, the writer is explaining just what kind of high priest Jesus is. The reading is about Jesus’ priestly status, but, it’s also about us.
If we are to follow Jesus and be Christ-like, if we are to be Christ-bearers in the world, if we are Christ-ians, Hebrews 5 is about about us as well about Jesus. Now it’s important to always keep things clear: Jesus is Jesus, we are not. We are not the high priest extraordinaire; Jesus is. It’s like those “What Would Jesus Do?” bracelets that were really popular a few years back. On the face of it, that’s a great question to ask. But, ultimately, we’re not Jesus. We can’t heal people by touch or raise folk from the dead. We’re not Jesus, but we are to be Christ-like. So, when the writer of Hebrews describes Jesus, we can take very careful notes about how to act ourselves.
First, Hebrews explains, Jesus is chosen. “Every high priest is chosen from among mortals” he writes. And a bit further, “And one does not presume to take this honor, but takes it only when called by God, just as Aaron was.”
Jesus did not wake up one morning and say, “Hey, pops, why don’t you make me savior of the world, that sounds like fun.” Not at all. Jesus was chosen and appointed by God. As many of us have noted over the years, you don’t choose your parents, it doesn’t work like that. Jesus is chosen.
So, if Jesus is chosen, what does that say about us trying to be Christ-like? Well: God chooses us first. We can respond, but God’s love beat us to the punch. Love chooses us and God’s grace chooses us, and God’s spirit chases us until we cannot escape it. As another biblical writer puts it: “We love because God first loved us.” The only appropriate response to being chosen by God is loving and serving God in return.
On November 22, our congregation will hold its annual congregational meeting for the purpose of electing church officers. At that time, the nominating committee will present a slate of officers for the session, board of deacons, and endowment committee. As a congregation, you will vote as to whether you believe these would-be officers are chosen by. Do these members have the gifts and graces to serve God and the congregation, and is that God’s will? That’s why Presbyterians vote not on who they like best, or even on their own opinion, believe it or not. Presbyterians are to vote on Christ’s will for the church. Who have we discerned that God has chosen to serve?
So, Jesus is chosen, and we’re chosen too. Second, the writer of Hebrews tells us: Jesus serves with great humility and is eager to learn. Verse 2, “He is able to deal gently with the ignorant and wayward, since he himself is subject to weakness” and later, “Jesus was heard because of his reverent submission. Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered.”
We often think of Jesus as all-knowing, with supernatural powers and forget Jesus’ humanness. Jesus did not know all. In fact, Luke says, “Jesus grew both in wisdom and in stature.” He grew up as a boy and had to learn the ways of the world as any child. That’s the point, says Hebrews, Jesus was our high priest, the savior of the world, and yet he himself was subject to weakness. As Susan Andrews puts it, “[Jesus] is also the humble slave, who endures and experiences every weakness, every testing that human experience can offer. And he suffers with us, not for us–not rescuing us, but strengthening us for the cruciform living that rests at the heart of our own baptized, ‘priesthood’.” [Feasting on the Word, pg. ]
Following Jesus in humility isn’t easy. We’re bombarded these days with exactly the opposite of humility: sports stars seeking the big buz for the big contract, celebrities basking in the spotlight just because they can, politicians watching their back first and caring about others a distant second–and even those who would fake their child set adrift on an spacecraft for the “fame” and publicity. Humility, true humility, is a scare commodity these days.
Humility is more about listening than speaking. It’s about learning from those with whom you deeply disagree. It’s about honoring one another because each person bears the image of God, just as much as you. About admitting you don’t have a corner on the truth, and that’s ok. Humility isn’t easy, that’s for sure, but if we’re to be Christ-bearers part of what we must bear is a humble disposition.
So, the writer of Hebrews says Jesus (1) is chosen by God, (2) humble/willing to learn, and (3) … obedient. “Although he was a Son,” Hebrews says, “he learned obedience through what he suffered.” Jesus was about as obedient to God’s demands as anyone ever can be: he followed God in life, obeyed God’s commandments without sin, and was obedient even to the point of death, death on a cross. How in the world are we supposed to follow that example?
Now, I don’t know about you, but when I think obedience I think about obedience training for, well, dogs. I was a deprived child and never had a dog growing up, but I was around them plenty and once watched with amazement how the behavior of a friend’s dog improved after obedience training. (Well, for this dog “improved” isn’t saying much, but the dog’s behavior did get a little better.)
I heard a story last week about whether dogs can tell right from wrong and therefore feel ashamed when they make a mistake. The piece included a bunch of interviews with dog owners who swore, if their dog did something wrong or got in trouble, and the owner scolded the dog, then the dog felt ashamed afterwards. You’ve seen a dog like that, I’m sure. Looking ashamed for a while, and timid. I, and all the owners in this story, were sure that their dogs understood they had made a mistake and were sorry for it.
Well, after a bunch of experiments, these scientists said they were pretty certain that wasn’t happening at all. The study showed that dogs can’t actually determine right from wrong, but what they can do incredibly well is respond to their owners. It doesn’t take long for dogs to figure out that when their owner makes some scolding noises and says “bad dog” then the best response for the dog is to act timid and sorry. The study said that’s not your dog apologizing, that’s your dog realizing it’s best to act apologetic for a while.
I hope to goodness, our obedience to God’s commands is quite a ways different from anything that study found about dogs. We do have the ability to distinguish right from wrong, and we have the call from God to respond in obedience to God’s ways. So what does obedience to God look like? Well, when we sense a call from God, we can answer it. When we have an opportunity to show our humility, we can seize it. We can follow God’s commands and stick up for the powerless, the poor, the oppressed. And when we don’t do any of that, we can confess our falling short, and try to be obedient once more.
Hebrews is a pretty difficult book, written with another audience in mind, but there’s still holy wisdom in those holy words. For Jesus is our high priest, interceding for us. Chosen by God, Jesus responded to the call. Showing humility and a willingness to learn, Jesus teaches us the way. Living in full obedience even unto death, Jesus sets us free to follow God now and forever. Now that’s a high priest we can all be thankful for. Amen.
Review: Hudson's "The Bones of Plenty"
Rarely, a good book puts me in the reader’s bind: it’s so good I want to savor every page, so I end up reading it very slowly, over several weeks. The Bones of Plenty by Lois Phillips Hudson, published in 1963, was one of those rare reads.
A few weeks ago, a friend who grew up in North Dakota sent me some book recommendations after he learned I moved to the region. The Bones of Plenty made the list, and I’m so glad.
The story chronicles the plight of a family of farmers near Jamestown in the 1930s. My depression era history is pretty weak, so the novel gave me some significant historical awareness. What I enjoyed most, however, was the depth of Hudson’s main character: George Custer, a farmer trying to get by despite drought and disease, his father-in-law’s close watch, and a less-than-kind landlord. Custer’s personality — both overly optimistic and antagonistic — only makes his character more believable and pitiful. The way Custer treats his wife Rachel also tags a so sad but so true hyper-masculinity. Furthermore, his disdain for his daughter being a girl (and not being able to take over the farm) is utterly heartbreaking.
The same thought had crossed my mind, so I wasn’t surprised that several online reviews compared Bones of Plenty to Grapes of Wrath. Hudson isn’t quite Steinbeck, but Bones has that same grasping unrelenting quality, the same humanity vs. the powers that makes Grapes of Wrath so amazing.
So, if you’re up for a novel to savor, pick up the Dakotan Grapes of Wrath: The Bones of Plenty.
Postscript: To Post a Sermon Online, or Just Move On?
To make a sermon manuscript public, or not, that is the question. I’ve had this blog for about two years now, and I’m still of two minds when posting my sermon manuscripts. For one, my sermons are so contextual that it feels weird to post them on the internets where they roam free without context or explanation. By posting them, it almost feels like I’m inviting a kind of voyeurism. These manuscripts are not written for the whole world, but for one particular community in a certain time with certain concerns in mind. A north Florida congregation would not understand the point of an Ole and Lena reference (to use an example from my most recent sermon), but such a joke in a northwestern Minnesota congregation might serve quite well. So, when I post, I always want to fill in the context, to type parenthetical notes — that line is for ______, I looked at so and so during this part.
But, then, I’m not naive (or faithless) enough to think the Holy Spirit does not take my preached words and do much more with them than I could ever do on my own. And I’m certainly not going to limit the Spirit’s movement to corporate worship. If I can post a sermon to WordPress, I bet God has WordPress scoped out pretty well. Also, several people just yesterday told me that they couldn’t attend last week’s service and enjoyed reading the sermon online. And a few students and relatives connected to the congregation can stay more connected still by reading posted sermons.
Since FPC Hallock doesn’t have a website as of now, my blog seems as appropriate a place as any to post them. (Though I’m never thrilled when they muck up my facebook page since I have wordpress and facebook connected.)
Posting sermons also brings both an intellectual honesty, and opens the door to intellectual dishonesty. By posting, I’m fully aware that any pastor joe blow anywhere preaching on the same texts can google a sermon and steal it — change it a bit, or not, and preach it in his congregation. Sadly, since there are too many instances of this going on even before google, one can only assume such intellectual and theological sinfulness is even more rampant today. On the other hand, posting sermons holds me to public account beyond our congregation. If I use an unattributed story, or preach less than my best, the account is out there for all to see. I also enjoy reading friends’ sermons and wrestlings with the texts I’ve worked with, so it’s only nice to return the favor.
So there’s that stated publicly now. I’m not sure I’ll feel any better before posting next week, but at least I’ve given a bit of a disclaimer. It was written for this context alone; please use it for study purposes only.
Connect Online
