Prairie Pastoral

April 14, 2025 | Leave a Comment

Heading into Holy Week. Together.

Our town’s Ministerial Association has shrunk. Many of the churches in it have shrunk. So the crowds at our Friday-night Lenten worship services have shrunk too. People usually show up to their own church when hosting, but otherwise I can pretty much predict who will be there: the small huddle ofNazarenes, the little crowd of Methodists, rarely anyone (a little embarrassingly) from my own church. I can’t quite figure that out. We may have doctrinal differences with the Catholics, for instance, but they’re the loveliest of people. Oh well.

Speaking of the Catholics, the final service before Holy Week is always at their place, and it’s always the Stations of the Cross. For the last several years, it’s been Deacon Doug leading us. Every year I overcome my Protestant uncertainty–do I really have to kneel?–and follow along. On this Friday before Good Friday, it’s become my entry into Holy Week.

The Catholic Daughters handed out the prayer guides this year, while the bell ringers warmed up. They played “Near the Cross.” I whispered along.

“In the cross, in the cross; Be my glory ever. Till my raptured soul shall find, Rest beyond the river.”

I changed the lyrics in my head, though. (I am the person who sang, “Later on, we’ll perspire as we dream by the fire,” in the second verse of “Winter Wonderland” for years.)

So, “To the cross,” I whispered Friday night, “to the cross. Be my glory ever. Till my restless soul shall find, Rest beyond the river.”

We’re headed to the cross, after all. And my soul often feels restless. Someday I’ll be raptured, but not yet. First I’ve got a class to teach and three sermons to write, so the rapturing can wait for now. Restless fits me better.

We’re headed to the cross, and there I was headed to it with my Baptist and Nazarene and Methodist and Pentecostal brothers and sisters, as it should be.

I was reminded, sitting there, of reading I’d done recently in postliberal theology (big words, sorry) and a theologian by the name of George Lindbeck in particular, who believed that our best response to Christianity’s waning hold on the ethics and imagination of society is to dig into our unique identity.We’ve got to speak our language. We’ve got to love our rituals.

But it’s not enough to do this living and speaking and loving as Presbyterians apart from Baptists apart from Catholics apart from Pentecostals. We’ve got to speak as one, just as much as we can, or our witness to and in this society gets even weaker.* In other words, occasions like a small town Lenten soup supper is a chance to say well and proudly that we’re all in this together. All of us.

And that could not be more important than this week as we’re heading into when we tell the strangest of stories about a man who was God who gave up his human life and rose again to remain God-with-us forever.

“Because by Your cross, you have redeemed the world,” we repeated fourteen times, once at each Station.

Those are special words for a special week, and we’re not speaking them alone.

At the end of the service, we concluded with the 15th Station of the Cross: the resurrection. Deacon Doug acknowledged it was unusual but appropriate since the 15th Station includes the reciting of the Apostles Creed, or “the creed we all share,” as he put it. He’s right. Sure, I mumbled “small case ‘c’” to myself when I affirmed my faith in the holy catholic church, but the faith that unites us–minus that difference in capitalization–is far greater than anything that divides us.

The prayer books that my husband and I received on Friday night were photocopies of the printed prayer books that some others held. The problem with our photocopied prayerbooks was that the copy machine cut off about an inch of text on every right hand page.

But the great thing was–Catholics and Protestants alike–we all did a pretty good job filling in the blanks. We know Jesus, and we know His story. The words came easy. I think George Lindbeck would have been proud. And maybe Jesus too.

To the cross, friends, to the cross, with our restless souls. Let us go.

*”George Lindbeck: Theology and the Eclessial People of Witness,” in The Trial of the Witnesses: The Rise and Decline of Postliberal Theology [Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006], 57-100.

March 15, 2025 | Leave a Comment

Work and (sometimes) jobs in the Kingdom of God

It was May 1991. I had graduated from college but still making application to grad school. I had a boyfriend who’d soon be a fiance, and I simply didn’t know what I was doing with my life. I needed a job, and Bookmans hired me as a cashier.

Bookmans was a local phenomenon in Tucson. It was a bookstore/music store/news stand/hangout. The wildest cast of characters shopped there. I sold a Sunday edition of Le Monde to Faye Dunaway’s driver and a rare edition of some title I can’t remember to Larry McMurtry. Barbara Kingsolver shopped every now and then. She was a terrible customer, so we all ducked when she came in the door.

I worked my way up from cashier to bookbuyer. I was promoted to assistant manager. Eventually I got a few shifts in the rare book room. I loved it. I mean, I really loved it. I made the dearest of friends, met the most amazing people, and read every book I could consume. Had my new husband not moved us to St. Louis, I suspect I would have worked there for years to come.

The last time I was in Tucson, I decided to drive by the store for old times’ sake. It wasn’t there. There was just an empty lot and a Starbucks. It fell victim to a street widening project in the late 2010s.

It turns out that jobs come and go, even the good ones.

Over the last few weeks, I have found myself in multiple conversations with men and women who have lost their jobs or fear such a loss. The loss of a job is a terrifying limbo for most of us, wondering if we’ll be able to pay our bills and support our families. More than that, there’s a sense of shock and a questioning. Why is this happening? Could I–should I–have acted differently? Why did God let this happen?

The parable of the laborers in the vineyard (Matthew 20:1-16) is just that: a parable. Jesus told parables to make a point. A single point. It was John Chrysostom who wrote of parables, “wherefore neither is it right to inquire curiously into all things in parables word by word but when we have learned the object for which it was composed, to reap this and not to busy one’s self about anything further” (quoted in Frederick Dale Bruner, The Church: Matthew 13-28, Rev. and Expanded Edition, 318). In other words, keep it simple when interpreting parables and stick to the point.

The point of the parable of the laborers in the vineyard is the sovereignty of God in dispensing God’s grace upon His people. Still, along the way, this parable draws the contours of a Christian understanding of work that could serve us well when the security of our jobs is in question.

The basic narrative of the parable is straightforward. A landowner goes out early in the morning to hire day laborers. He hires the first crew of workers for a denarius, which is generous pay for a day’s work. He goes out four more times throughout the day to hire more laborers, promising a fair wage each time. When it comes time to pay them, he gives them all the same wage.

Not a preacher past or present hasn’t commented on how seemingly unjust the wage is for the day laborer hired at 5 p.m. Of course, the workers who’d been there all day grumbled! And, of course, the landowner defends his freedom to pay whatever he wants to pay. “Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ (Matthew 20:15).

Appropriately, the message is a simple one. God is free to lavish his grace–even salvation–on whomever he chooses. Comparing ourselves to the disciple down the pew does no good for anyone. Our only appropriate response is gratitude to the sovereign God who bestows it. John Chrysostom would be pleased.

Yet, the setting for this message too is significant. It’s about laborers who’ve come to the marketplace in search of work. We call it a job hunt for a reason. We are hunters, looking for the right work, the right pay, the right location, the right future. When we get the call back, when we pass the performance tests and hear, “You’re hired,” there’s relief and joy and hope. When the call doesn’t come back quickly or at all, though, when we’re waiting for the call, checking our email hourly, and wondering, there’s fear and worry and self-doubt. It was as true for those laborers as it is for us today.

The context of the parable speaks volumes about our relationship to our work.

Work is a gift from God for the sake of His kingdom.

Work, paid and unpaid, like all of life, is a gift from God. The laborers in that vineyard worked the land, and the land provided for the community. The work that matters never ends with us. God gives us work to use our gifts, and the gifts bless others. “The Christian disciple is, by definition, called to be a Christian worker” (Bruner, 319). Even back when I was working the cash register at Bookmans, I used to say that the work I did that really mattered was work I’d do even if I wasn’t getting paid. Sure, I took the money and ran the credit cards because it was my job, but I would have helped the teenager find the book he needed for school or sold the auto repair manual to the single mom for free. I was serving them. That’s discipleship.

We are called to work, not a job.

God provides work, but He doesn’t guarantee a particular job. Some of the laborers had a job for a day, others for an hour. There’s no mention of work the next day. Businesses, enterprises, and workplaces come and go. Some last longer than others, but none of them are permanent. “ And the world and its desire are passing away, but those who do the will of God abide forever” (1 John 2:17). Jobs go away, even dream jobs. New jobs emerge. If we’re doing the will of God by loving both Him and neighbor, it matters little where and how it’s happening.

I suppose that’s easier to say than to endure when a job ends unexpectedly and the new job hasn’t been found. When we’re wondering how to pay the mortgage. When the bills are overdue. When our sense of identity is uncertain. Here’s when the simple point–God’s sovereign grace–matters.

Finally, God provides extravagantly.

This is the promise that makes the call to work and the uncertainty of our jobs bearable. We can trust that God will provide for us, somehow, some way. We trust and He gives so His name can be praised.

In my first church where I served as an associate pastor, money was often thin. Several Decembers in a row, when the elders sat down to make a budget, my salary was a topic of debate. Reduce it? Eliminate it? Keep it and hope for the best? I spent the weeks of Advent wondering if I’d have a job in January, and I hated it. One day I complained to a friend about the lousy timing of my job uncertainty during the season of shopping. She sympathized but then commented that maybe December was the most appropriate time for such uncertainty. After all, she said, isn’t Advent all about hope and God’s love?

Fair enough. I didn’t stop complaining, mind you, but I did it with humility.

My friend’s observation is as true in Lent as it is in Advent and all year round. Work is a gift. Jobs come and go. God provides always. And He makes it all possible for the sake of hope and His love.

February 15, 2025 | Leave a Comment

No means no…really

No is no No is always no If they say no, it means a thousand times no No plus no equals no All nos lead to no no no

They’re lyrics from an old They Might Be Giants song titled (appropriately), “No!” When our kids were toddlers and a little older, we sang it to them. A lot. That’s probably why they’re in therapy now. (Here’s the song.)

In the early 1860’s, John Brett proposed to the poet Christina Rossetti. Christina said no. John didn’t give up. Without a They Might Be Giants song to play for him, she wrote him a poem instead. It’s titled (also appropriately), “No, Thank You, John.” Here are a couple of its more memorable verses:

I never said I loved you, John:

Why will you tease me, day by day,

And wax a weariness to think upon

With always “do” and “pray”?

Let bygones be bygones:

Don’t call me false, who owed not to be true:

I’d rather answer “No” to fifty Johns

Than answer “Yes” to you.

Poor John. Maybe he needs therapy too.

Jesus had something to say about our yes’s and no’s. Early in his Sermon on the Mount, he’s teaching about swearing oaths. They’re not necessary, He said. Oaths, after all, are just a concession to the fact that we human beings like to tell fibs. We’re called to be different and better.

“All you need to say is simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’,” Jesus taught, “anything beyond this comes from the evil one” (Matthew 5:37).

“When a Christian says, ‘I will be there,’ the Christian will be there,” wrote Frederick Dale Bruner in his commentary on Matthew. “When a Christian says no, the Christian means no. When a Christian joins a group or enrolls in a course or accepts an invitation, the Christian fully means what that act entails and is faithfully there.”

In other words, a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ ought to suffice. Mistakes happen. We forget. But, we sincerely intend to do whatever we say we’re going to do. Yes. No.

Of course, many of us–maybe too many of us–have a hard time saying that no even when we know it’s necessary. There’s not enough time in the day or energy in one ol’ body to say yes to every little thing.

I’ve gotten better about saying no in the past several years. Being an instructor at our college helps a lot. Students actually appreciate a simple yes or no. They might not like it, but they know where they stand and what they need to do. Church members, colleagues, community folks, they might not be as appreciative, but they get it. If someone judges me for saying no to one more thing, then the judgment is on them.

It occurs to me, too, that there’s a flip side of this teaching. Followers of Jesus, if our simple yes or no suffices to say to others, then a simple yes or no ought to suffice when other followers say it to us.

This is hard too. Sometimes, I really need someone to say yes. Yes, I will usher this Sunday. Yes, I will help with youth group. Yes, I’ll organize the Rotary Easter Egg Hunt. Yes, I’ll cover your class for you when you’re out of town. Yes, I’ll send that email for you.

If the friend or colleague or church member I’m asking is honest and faithful enough to say no, when they know they don’t have the time or interest or capacity, then I’ve got to trust their answer and trust God that someone else will be available or maybe it (whatever it is) just doesn’t need to get done. I’m not above begging, granted, but I try to use it sparingly.

And, a final note, a final reading of Jesus’ simple instruction, is this. Sometimes God says no too. And we’ve got to take it for what it is, trusting again that His timing and His will are perfect.

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