Monday, August 31, 2009

Why I am a Presbyterian


I did not grow up Presbyterian.  In fact, I have no recollection of ever having met a Presbyterian until I was in seminary, where there were so many of them I immediately vowed NOT to become one.  In my world people were either some form of Baptist (which is how we categorized ourselves), or they were Lutheran or Catholic – everyone else was considered non-Christian or miscellaneous, (which was a polite way to say "probably non-Christian").
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I grew up a Midwestern Suburban Megachurch Evangelical (see the blog, “Stuff Christian Culture Likes” for a more detailed, and shockingly accurate, description).  Our modest Christian Missionary Alliance congregation grew from 250 or so when I was in preschool to a whopping 8000 attendees by the time I graduated high school.  Church was about youth group, VBS, short term mission trips, bible studies, youth conferences and being a pastor’s kid in a place that went from two pastors to a dozen or so in my childhood.  “Worship” referred only to the singing part of the service, which, after announcements, was split pretty much evenly between a sermon and songs, with about 40 minutes for each.  As a PK I saw all the ins and outs of church politics and watched some people and practices fall through the cracks as the leadership struggled to get ahead of the massive growth and continue to minister as faithfully as possible.  But mostly it was a great experience – God was an active part of my life and central to my identity.
I spent time traveling and had experienced church in many countries and forms before college, but my exposure to the mainline remained limited.  In my small Baptist college, “Calvin” was a four letter word, synonymous with “double-predestination”, and while I still hadn’t met a Presbyterian, I knew I was an Arminian and NOT a Calvinist (i.e., I believed in free will and not predestination!).  I attended a Methodist church off and on during college, and liked some of what they did in worship, but was mostly drawn by its urban, diverse feel and a great Sunday school class.  Beyond that, I didn’t really understand the difference between or need for denominations.
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The first time I heard the Apostle’s Creed was in seminary.  I arrived in southern California with a suitcase, class schedule, roommate and few other connections, and began a journey of exploration into what “church” really was.   I spent the first 18 months or so visiting every different kind of church I could: United Church of Christ, Evangelical Free, Catholic, Mennonite, Episcopalian, Methodist, Covenant and Presbyterian.  I loved the Catholics’ Stations of the Cross and Ash Wednesday service, the Mennonite’s practical social activism and simple sharing, the Episcopalians had my favorite services for Christmas Eve and Easter.  I experienced the power of liturgy, bond of community, different expressions of the sacrament of communion, and worship as more than just singing and a sermon.  I shared more deeply in a few congregations and my definition of “church” stretched and grew and flourished.
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As graduation approached, I was faced with a dilemma.  What denomination would I choose?
I went into the denominational studies office of my ecumenical seminary and flipped open the three ring binder of one page summaries, a kind of “Cliffs Notes” on each denomination.  I immediately eliminated all those that did not ordain women.  By this point in my journey my criteria had begun forming itself.
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-       I wanted a denomination that had a polity with connection and accountability
A hierarchical polity would not work for me, but with a congregational polity I had seen too many maverick, cowboy pastors with dynamic up front presences and little accountability.  And I had lived through enough personal trauma with the church that could have been prevented, or at least greatly reduced, if pastors had more oversight, and churches supported one another instead of figuring out on their own how to deal with conflict and leadership problems.  I liked leadership shared with elders and deacons elected by the congregation, and the idea that the discernment of God’s will may happen better in groups than by individuals. (In other words – bring on the "decently and in order"!)
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I wanted a denomination that was going to make me work for ordination – I wanted to be second-guessed and challenged along the way.

 My childhood church and own family had suffered some recent great losses and deep pain publicly, my somewhat well-known ministry father had a “fall from grace” and my strong Christian family had crumbled around me.  To say I was hesitant about ministry at that point would be putting it mildly.  But there was still this sense of calling to contend with, so I needed it to be affirmed and tested in a communal process, (no internet ordination for me!)  If I were going to go into this whole mess called the “Church” in a formal way, I wanted a denomination that held me accountable.  I wanted lots of steps and lots of work -  a process with stages and safeguards, and people involved with feedback and opinions all along the way.  I had lost all illusions that individuals could go at it alone, or should.   (In other words – I was pumped about the Book of Order!)
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-       I resonated deeply with Reformed Theology. 
A phenomenal professor (the late, truly great Ray S. Anderson) had introduced me to Barth and made me fall in love with Bonhoeffer.  I still wasn’t sure what to do with T.U.L.I.P, but I was warming up to Calvin; and the sovereignty of God and emphasis on grace was balm to my overachieving and now disillusioned self who had always felt my faith was in my own hands.  I knew enough to know I wanted to know more.
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-       I loved preaching.
and Presbyterians know a little something about that…(Barth’s threefold Word: AMEN!)

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-       I wanted deep roots and wide connections.
I didn’t feel I had inherited any real historical Christian roots.  There was a jump in my Christian family tree from the disciples to me, from scripture to my own congregation, and I longed for something more.  I wanted to benefit from a history, from centuries of Christians working out what faith meant for them and passing it onto me.  (In other words – I was psyched about the Book of Confessions!)
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-       I wanted a denomination with a spectrum of beliefs, views and worship styles
I had dabbled in enough different denominations by this point, and been labeled and prejudged personally by liberals and conservatives alike, to know there was value in (and room for) many perspectives.  I wanted a denomination that valued this as well. Truth, I had come to believe, is not held completely by one particular perspective, and is rather found in the tension between, the commitment to wrestle and wonder, the process of faithful searching, and the support for each other despite differences.  If all churches were just like the one I grew up in, a whole lot of people would be missed, and there would be great gaps in our understanding and experience of God and how we live out our faith.  But the same was true of the much more liberal church I attended on Easters.  It was church to a certain group of people, faithful to its context and calling, but not, in and of itself, the complete picture of the church.  We need each other.  We need people that believe differently than we do. We need people that worship differently than we do.  We need the quiet contemplatives and the rowdy contemporaries and time-honored traditional types.  We need those who are committed to uphold scripture as God’s word and cultivate personal faith in Christ above all else.  We need those who emphasize living out faith in social contexts, fighting for justice and working for peace.  The church can only be the church if we are all in it together – despite (and because of!) our differences.   I loved this about the Presbyterian Church – that its name was on church buildings on both ends of many spectrums.
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After making the decision and beginning my journey, it was another six and a half years before I was ordained. Years spent traveling, working in churches, supplementing my education with Presbyterian classes, completing hurdles, passing exams, meeting MANY more Presbyterians and learning all along the way.  By the time I was ordained in 2006, I could say confidently, as I do now, (though still with not a little surprise): I am a Presbyterian.

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Rev. Kara K Root
Ordained Minister of Word and Sacrament, and Certified Christian Educator, in the PCUSA

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Sabbath Sharing



Sunday evening we gathered together to reflect on our first ever sabbath rest weekend. I was nervous as I drove to the church - our first Saturday service had been a bit rough and clumsy, and I didn't know how people would be feeling after the whole congregation skipped church on Sunday.

I walked into the room and immediately sensed something in the atmosphere about the way people were engaged with each other. There was a tangible spirit of peaceful joy about the place. No exaggeration. People trickled in and added their pans and covered dishes to the bounty lined up on the counter, and joined the circle where others were already gathered talking with one another.
We started sharing what our day had been like - everyone had felt strange about it. It was strange NOT to go to church.  For some it was more difficult than others.  But the other strange thing about the day was that it did not feel like other days, there was something different about THIS day. Then the stories started coming - listening to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir together while the sun came up, coffee and a book on the front porch, a long drive singing along to Vivaldi with spirit soaring, a breakfast reunion with a beloved but estranged relative, a meaningful conversation with a coworker, unexpected time alone in the car with a kid all grown up, long walks around the lake, instead of cleaning and sorting, visiting the butterflies and garden exhibits, forgoing laundry for a destinationless stroll with happy dogs, biking in the sunshine and breeze, rediscovering the sacrament of napping...

As the stories unfolded, so did the growing awareness that the feeling was similar for all of us. This day was different. It was richer, more intentional, more meaningful. Even in its awkwardness, and the unknown of how to enter, it turned out to be a special day. God met us each and met us altogether.

We also realized that part of what made it so is that although we were separated from one another, we were connected to each other all over the city doing the same thing - being. On purpose. Being open, being human - instead of doing busy or doing work. And sharing our stories was a reminder that we are connected, that what we do certainly does not have to be done alone - "Come and have coffee on my porch with me next time," one person said. "Next time we should have breakfast together!" another excitedly suggested.

What started out as an idea is becoming an experience.
We are beginning to learn and discover what it means to live in sabbath rest, as a community and as individuals. We are all in in this together! And on Sunday night we were delighted and surprised to discover that even though we SAID we believed God would meet us in this space we've created, God actually DID meet us, separately and together.
We rejoiced and then we ate, and we left feeling connected and fed.



Sunday, August 23, 2009

How I spent my first "Day of Rest"

9:28 AM
My "Day of Rest" began 2 hours and 43 minutes ago. There is still time to make it to a church service somewhere... in about 92 minutes I will be in the clear, out of the "hour of power," or whatever, where the possibility - however slim- remains that I might at any moment throw on appropriate clothes and shoes and dash away to some worship service to ease the itchy combo of Christian guilt, vocational habit and genuine longing.

When I woke up, my 4 year old bouncing on me, I had the familiar searching feeling with adrenaline rush, What day is it? What do we have to do today? I was all ready to pull myself out of bed and launch into whatever demands the day would hold. And then it flooded over me like sweet warm chocolate sauce - Today we had...nothing. On purpose. For the whole day. The church where I am minister held our first bi-monthly Saturday evening worship service, intentionally creating this hole, this open space, for "sabbath rest."
Waking up this Sunday morning meant nothing, nothing to do, nowhere to go, no demands, no expectations. What I am SUPPOSED to do today, is just be. I scooted back under the covers taking my wiggly son with me and we waited for the two year old to realize it was morning - (she just moved to a toddler bed two days ago, and she can get now climb in and out of bed by herself, but it is a new discovery every morning, and it gives us great delight and anticipation for the moment after she awakens when she figures it out and comes to join us all on her own) - so we huddled in the covers and waited for little sister to come padding in with her bear to join dogs, daddy, brother and mama in bed.

Breakfast was oatmeal, because we had time for it. We gradually migrated from pajamas to clothes, as each person felt so inclined - a dramatic difference from every other day in our lives, where clothes are the prerequisite to every other thing but cereal.

After a while I got in the shower - a very utilitarian routine, but half-way through it I realized that what I really wanted was a bath, so I filled the tub and sank down in the warm water and closed my eyes. Several peaceful minutes later the door banged open and a tiny voice said, "Mama! Where are you?" Small hands pushed back the curtain and a giggly girl peaked her head over the tub and exclaimed, "Oh! You're taking a BATH?!" And I realized that in her conscious memory she's never actually witnessed this. Everybody knows baths are for kids and dogs. She found it hysterical. When her giggling stopped I asked her if she'd like to join me. Two minutes later, kid jammies lay in a heap on the floor next to grown up jammies, and my relaxing bath had turned into a "deep swimming pool" filled with rubber froggies and sponge cows, and the ladies of the Root house splashed, soaked and gabbed until our fingers were pruny and the water turned cool.

11:01 AM
We took a family walk - just left the house and started walking with no real destination.
We passed a church building with the cars parked outside and the worshipers all closed up inside.
Now everyone is laying around all tired and contented with a post sunshine & exercise buzz, still smelling like fresh air.

1:40 PM
An impromptu playdate has occurred, and there are two boys playing air-hockey in the family room and a little girl napping upstairs. That's where I just was, too. Napping. Yup. Just got up, in fact. For lunch I fed the (then) royal kings and tiny queen organic mac & cheese (again, because we had time to wait for water to boil), hot dogs and blueberries, and was told "This is the best lunch EVER!" because it wasn't PB&J again. Now I am about to bake something. Because I can't really help it, and there is a potluck in a few hours so I have an excuse.

2:00 PM
I keep checking the mail and then remembering it's Sunday.

2:33 PM
This isn't really a whole day, since we're gathering at 4PM at church to talk about how this weekend went, but I feel like I have had a good day of rest. The Jews are onto something here. It has been harder than I thought just taking a breath, taking it slow, being intentional about what I do and why, instead of running on the fuel of obligation, pressure and external demands. I can see where it would be easy to create extra pressure to "rest" right, to pack the day with things that I don't get to do other days and wish I did - journaling (kind of cheated with this blog), going through photos, cleaning out cupboards (not really sabbathy, but it was an urge I had to suppress), praying some certain way, taking up some new skill/habit like knitting. But all in all, the hard "work" I have done has been to exist in the here and now. To live fully in the present, in each moment. And I have been keenly aware of my own gratitude throughout the day. It's the only today I will ever have. And even though it was not a "productive" day, it felt very faithful. I felt like I lived in my day completely.
I would like to live every day a little more present in the present.
Not to get all preachy and ministerish about it, but it is, after all, the one place where Christ can actually meet us - not the past, not the future, but right in the here and now.

How to Repent (It's not how you think)

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