Three weeks ago, during a time when white Christian nationalism seems to smite America in ways unrecognizably Christian, I did something that may strike progressive friends as daft. I joined a new church.
More precisely, I changed my church congregational membership to Holy Cross Lutheran, in Wheat Ridge, Colorado, part of the ELCA, for those who know their Lutherans. I’ve been an ELCA member 45 years: First Lutheran (Findlay, OH); Zion (Iowa City); St. John’s (Bloomington, IL); St. Paul’s (Denver); and now Holy Cross. Before then, I was baptized and raised in the Lutheran Church, Missouri Synod, which is a whole different ballgame: Grace (DeWitt, IA) and St. Paul’s (Iowa City). Monica was baptized in Grace, Andrew in St. Paul’s.
Enough autobiography. Why a church now?
It’s a fair question when the popular image of American Christianity is an exclusionary, judgmental, censoring, hell-consigning, Trumpastic/Hegsethian, gospel-of-wealth-driven, selectively Bible-thumping (heavy on the Old Testament) terrain, populated with people who look like me. Folks in that image are eager to seize the news, certainly. The Pew Research Center’s monumental Religious Landscape Study tells a more complex story, something we know from those images of pastors and priests getting peppered and tear-gassed at protests against ICE. Pew shows that 23% of Americans are “Evangelical Protestant” and 11% are “Mainline Protestant” (that’s me; clearly I’m not on the winning team). 19% are Catholic, and remaining Christians are strewn among other traditions. Of course, 38% of Americans aren’t Christian at all, and supporting Jews, Muslims, atheists and agonistic was something the nation’s Founders thought essential in adopting the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment.
At Holy Cross last week, Pastor Libbie Reinking, a vibrant and theologically-astute woman a few years younger than me, led an opening prayer that included our confession:
“We remember that you sent Jesus to Earth not only to be with refugees, but as a refugee himself. You made yourself known in human form as a migrant, born to a poor young woman who was forced to flee all that was familiar and dear. Remind us, oh Lord, that as we welcome refugees and immigrants, we welcome you. Forgive us for all the ways we have individually and collectively fallen short to do this holy work of welcome.”
Not exactly the creed of White Christian Nationalism, right?
Part of the church’s attraction, I’ll confess, is less theological than aesthetic. I like singing hymns, and I like the patterns of the liturgy. Last week, the closing hymn was “Jesus Still Lead On” or, as I know it best, “Jesus, Lead Thou On” or as I sang it as a solo many times at Grace Lutheran, for an annual German service, “Jesu geh voran auf der Lebensbahn.” My interests in hymns and liturgy seem quaint, even off-putting to many people, I’m sure. I’ll even admit impatience with newer hymns written for unison, with repetitive texts. I try to do better.
But the heart of the church experience is the weekly gospel and its explication in a sermon. (I’m an English professor, so I’m probably more invested than most in passages and their interpretation.) The assigned gospels have been challenging this fall, and I’ve appreciated Pastor Libbie wrestling with them thoughtfully, not trying to glaze them over. Last week’s, Luke 18:1-8, was a little more straightforward and timely. It’s the parable of a widow seeking justice from an “unjust judge,” as Luke puts it. Inevitably as I sat in the pew that morning and every Sunday, I thought hard about the historical moment when the gospels were written and their resonance with the present.
I’m happy to gather with other people willing to ponder such things, grappling with ancient gospels and aspiring to enact a Christian vision greatly at odds with what’s being touted by contemporary Pharisees who aspire to dominate America’s temple.
I’ll reflect more later on mainstream church traditions–and yes, yes I know how the Lutheran church in Germany was too often complicit with Nazism, even as pastors like Martin Niemoller weren’t. But let me end this with a statement from Holy Cross as a Reconciling in Christ church. If you’re in Denver and want to learn more, just contact me:
“Holy Cross Lutheran Church welcomes all who are seeking God’s grace and love in an open and affirming congregation. We welcome people of all sexual orientations, gender identities, and gender expressions; of every race, ethnicity, and culture; and of every socio-economic situation. We are committed to racial equity and our doors are open to all regardless of religious background, age, abilities, or life experiences. We affirm the sacredness of all those who have experienced exclusion, whether by family, church, or society. We are a Reconciling in Christ Community. You are most welcome here.”
