Lent 7: Statements of Faith, 2003, 2018

For Lent, I'm writing here about memories of significant moments from my life in faith. 

Every January we gather the deacons and ruling elders of the congregation for a little-more-than-a-half-day retreat, for the purposes of education, training, and allowing those who are more experienced to mentor those who are new in these roles. I always do a piece about the scriptural foundations of our church officers (it is a point of pride in the PCUSA that all our offices are biblically based).

Also, we eat. We gather around tables to enjoy breakfast treats and coffee, and then soups and salads and desserts provided by volunteers. There is nothing wrong with a time of fellowship and bonding over delicious food.

I've always enjoyed this event, and each year I've tried to add something new or different to spark interest, to help folks go deeper. Last year we watched a couple of videos. This year I shared a couple of articles, including one called "Ten Lessons the Church Can Learn from Harry Potter" (you can find it here... I really love it.)

A couple of years ago, for the first time, I asked all attendees to come with a Statement of Faith they had prepared. I stressed that there was no one right answer, that there were many ways to express their faith, and they could be as long or short as they liked (but I encouraged them to keep it to a page or less). Sure, there are undoubtedly some wrong answers possible for Presbyterians serving their church-- my mind goes to someone waxing lyrical about flying spaghetti monsters, or casting a circle using jeweled daggers-- but my confidence in my people was high.

I did this because I wanted to try something new, yes. And also because I remembered that the process of writing my own statement of faith prior to being ordained was a surprisingly tender and powerful experience (as opposed to being a dreadful hoop I resented having to jump through).

But I did it for another reason: I think mainline Christians struggle to articulate their faith, and we need more practice. Our evangelical sisters and brothers seem to have a far greater level of comfort with what some might call their "elevator talk"-- as in, two minutes in an elevator with someone (or at the water cooler, or in line at the grocery store)-- and you have what amounts to a few sentences to say something designed to persuade them to visit your church. That wasn't really my goal for this exercise, though if any of our folks ended up with such a product, I wouldn't mind. Quite honestly, my goal was intimacy. We were gathering together as the spiritual leaders of this little corner of Christ's body, the church. Our commitment to that work meant we had to be able to talk with one another frankly, we had to know a little about each other, and we had to develop trust in one another. I thought this might help with all those.

When I was writing my own statement of faith sixteen years ago, I had to share it with a committee of folks representing different churches across the presbytery, in preparation for sharing it at a meeting of the entire presbytery. I had to figure out how to articulate my left-of-center belief system in a way that could be both understood and affirmed by people who were on other points along the theological spectrum. I ended up having intense conversations by email with one particular pastor who was fairly conservative theologically. He challenged me on several passages in my statement. In one or two instances, his challenges caused me to re-evaluate what I believed. In another few, it solidified my already-expressed beliefs. It was such a gift, and such a help. I grew as a result of that process.

We weren't going to do that with our statements at Deacon-Elder training, of course. We would simply listen to one another. Everyone was a little nervous at first (including me: would this process have its desired effect, or the opposite?). But finally someone plunged in. "I'll go first."

The statements we heard were astonishing in their variety. Some people had statements that began, "I believe..... " and credal points they expressed. Others talked about their memories of being baptized, what it had meant to them, and how their faith had grown since. (We have a significant population of former Baptists). A few people talked about their favorite hymns, reading lyrics aloud and telling us what they meant to them. One woman said, simply, "Jesus is Lord." We heard stories of life-changing illnesses and inspiring Sunday School teachers. And I swear to you, the more people spoke, the more the entire group hungered to hear what they had to say.

I'm not the same person I was the day I stood up in the pulpit (of the church I serve now, as a matter of fact) and read my faith statement to a full gathering of the Susquehanna Valley Presbytery (and was questioned on it afterward). And I certainly wasn't the same person that day as I was when I was confirmed at age 12, or received my first communion at age 7. But like everyone on the board of deacons and the session at Union Presbyterian Church, my statement of faith is more or less my life story-- my life in faith, the God of my longing and my salvation.

My own statement is longer than I recommended to my deacons and elders. Here, I'll share just two passages. Like all the other parts, it is a prayer.

Disrupting Spirit, you were breathed on the frightened disciples by Jesus, and you were unleashed upon the whole world at Pentecost, giving birth to a little pilgrim church which, despite its flaws and waywardness, nevertheless cannot be stopped, and which depends upon you for its very life. It is by your power that we pray, that we have faith, that we are stirred to answer God’s call to service; it is by your insistence that prophets rise up to speak your Word, which always calls us from our places of comfort and out into your world, where the powers of fear still seek to overwhelm your voice; it is by your inbreaking presence that we can even begin to conceive of the possibility of forgiveness...

Commissioning Spirit, you send us, and send us, and send us again. You send us out of our offices and our sanctuaries and our living rooms and our cars. You send us into streets that frighten us and landscapes too familiar to interest us. You send us where your people are—to listen, to learn, to pause, to pray, and to say, “What does God want us to do here? And here? And here?” And then to set our shoulders to that blessed wheel of your work.

Detail, Tree of Life/ Burning Bush Quilt
An Ordination Gift from friend and artist Janet Rutkowski