Last week (January 18-25) was the designated Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. It probably didn’t receive quite as much attention (not that it usually does in the grand scheme of things), since we seem to be a bit more infatuated with the rampant disunity ensuing in so many parts of our human operation. Nevertheless, our Northeastern Ohio Synod (ELCA) staff insisted on making a concentrated effort on recognizing the near-miraculous unity that lives in Christ’s church on earth.
And so, last Thursday, January 23, we gathered at Christ the Redeemer Lutheran Church in Brecksville for an ecumenical worship. As the sky darkened, and a light snow began to fall, perhaps further symbolizing the chaos thriving on the outside, bishops and other leaders of numerous faith expressions started coming in the main entrance to the church: Roman Catholic, United Church of Christ, Presbyterian (USA), United Methodist Church, Episcopalian, and our own Bishop, Laura Barbins. But they didn’t gather begrudgingly, as if it was just another obligation on their just-as-packed-as-anyone-else’s calendar. Instead, they wholeheartedly embraced each other. Some of them knew each other well, yes, but others met each other for the first time. There were authentic bright smiles, contagious laughter, hope-filled joy, as they conversed in the narthex area, before doing a quick run-through of the worship. It was as if there was this near-miraculous unity in a world that didn’t seem interested in such a Pollyanna-thing at all. That amongst Christians who may not agree on Biblical interpretation or church structure or God only knows what else, there still was this…relentless hope. It didn’t make any sense at all amidst the fearful backdrop.
Part of the celebration that night was recognizing the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicea, which was responsible for the Nicene Creed: the somewhat lengthier proclamation of faith we’re asked to speak together on Easter Sunday, Christmas Eve, amongst other larger-scale worships. But for this particular evening, candles were handed out as people walked into the sanctuary, eerily similar to the December night when humanity falls in love with the idea of peace and hope and love and maybe even some near-miraculous unity along with it. Before it came time to speak the ancient Creed, those candles were lit, after Bishop David Bonnar (Roman Catholic Diocese of Youngstown) said, “We receive this light from Christ through one another.”
Sometimes the Nicene Creed seems to drag on a bit (even a pastor can admit that), but not that night. It was as if with each word was another connection to someone or something from the past near two millennia. As if we could believe in the same God, the same Jesus Christ, the same Holy Spirit. And that amidst disunity felt over carpet colors and hymnal switches and pastoral transitions and parking lot repavements and roof replacements and budget cuttings and schisms felt over Biblical interpretation and church structure and God only knows what else from Galilee to all over the world; in spite of all that…1700 years later, we could still gather in a little church in Brecksville, Ohio, and wholeheartedly proclaim and embrace the words: “We believe in one, holy, catholic and apostolic church…We look forward to the resurrection of the dead, and to the life in the age to come. Amen.”
But that worship made me further believe in a new life already unleashed now in Jesus Christ, no matter the bleakest backdrop. We don’t have to wait for the heavenly finale. There still is hope, joy, love, and the never-ending light of Christ for us to share now.
Before we were dismissed to “Go in peace to serve the Lord,” all those bishops and leaders of numerous faith expressions stood in one line in front of the altar, to bless us with a unified benediction: “May he who is our peace and has made us one, grant that we may present one another to the Father in the one Spirt. Amen.” A helpful reminder amidst the captivating disunity: that God envisioned one humanity, one body in Christ, one collection of fallen-short-of-glory’s but set free in grace.
Perhaps perfectly fitting for the wondrous hope amidst the outside reality, we sang “God of Grace and God of Glory” (Evangelical Lutheran Worship #705). Although, I greatly appreciate the imagery in the third verse, “Cure your children’s warring madness,” I think second stanza hit just the spiritual-longing spot:
Lo! the hosts of evil round us
scorn the Christ, assail his ways!
From the fears that long have bound us
free our hearts to faith and praise.
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage
for the living of these days,
for the living of these days,
Amen (so let it be)!
In Christ,
Pastor Brad