There was one other pastor in my family, who I didn’t get to see all that much during my growing up years. He was serving a congregation in another state, but every once in a while, especially when his in-laws (my grandparents) were still alive, he and my aunt, would make the trek back to the home farmland. So, I may not have been all that close to him, but there was always a little more curiosity about him, a little more interest. Because the only pastors I knew would be the ones I only saw on Sunday. I wasn’t sure what they did beyond those morning hours. I guess I really didn’t care all that much then anyway.
And maybe there was something reassuring to see my uncle have laughter and enjoyment and wear normal clothes like the rest of us mere mortals; and whenever he was asked about church-related anything, he would respond with enthusiasm to be sure, but not the overly in-your-face kind either. Maybe there was some goodness seeing him humanly operate beyond the Sunday mornings. But along the way I further noticed his passion for ministry, for serving, for God, for the humanity: broken and beautiful all at once.
For 20 years, he served an ELCA congregation in Coon Rapids, Minnesota, located around 15 miles north of Minneapolis. And yes, I know that city name now carries…all the feels. I know it carries all the sides of political strongholds that refuse to be shaken. I know sometimes people hope the church can offer a part of our human experience to separate us from all that…too complicated and too messy part of our human operation. I understand, but then I’m drawn back to my uncle, who died from dealing with and fighting off cancer, coming up on five years now.
I wonder what he would do. I have a feeling if it was during younger years, he would go right in the thick of it. Some might think that would be going too far, but I have a feeling knowing only a glimpse of his passion for ministry, for serving, for God, for the entire humanity: yes, broken, but God-ordained beautiful all at once…I have a feeling he’d go right into it anyway. And the other holy problem is…I bet Christ would going in with him, and also waiting for him with the “others.” That’s the problem with this God: the Gospel goes too far for our human stronghold stomachs to bear.
And then I wondered last week if the Gospel managed to reach into my digital sphere, because I watched and heard and even felt this song from a neighboring congregation where he spent so many years of his ministry and all-around living. It’s a song I still can’t shake, and maybe I’m not supposed to; but for those who wish to have a view or a listen or a feel…God be with them all.
Sometimes Our Only Song Is Weeping
Text (written by Adam M. L. Tice):
1 Sometimes our only song is weeping;
our only sound is gasping breath.
Sometimes it seems that God is sleeping
while our brief lives are bound in death.
Who hears the song our sorrows swallow
and offers hope to calm our fears?
When all our words seem frail and hollow,
God heeds the prayers within our tears.2 Sometimes we catch the faintest humming,
a far-off tune our hearts know well.
Sometimes we sense the Spirit coming.
Our song returns; our voices swell.
The Spirit sings though we are shaken,
and Christ has shared our heartfelt cries.
Restored, our weary souls awaken
to join God's song that never dies.
In Christ,
Pastor Brad