Talking About God When People Are Afraid. Группа авторов
Partners in Preaching.
An Experiment in Preaching
A Challenging Time to Preach about God
Early in the evening of April 4, 1968, Doctor Martin Luther King Jr., thirty-nine years of age, was shot and killed in Memphis. A short time later that same day, Senator Robert F. Kennedy consoled a mostly black assemblage in Indianapolis who only then were hearing the tragic news. Two months later, on the evening of June 5, Senator Kennedy was shot at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles after winning the California presidential primary. He died the next day. These murders were but two of the fear-inspiring events during one of the most tragic years in American history.
During those tumultuous months, I was in Seattle, serving as visiting minister-theologian at University Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). Living, working, and ministering in this vibrant, complex, controversial, and liberal university community was a life-shaping experience for me. At the close of the academic year 1967–68, significantly changed, I returned to my faculty position at Christian Theological Seminary in Indianapolis.
Everything I did that year was shaped by the challenge of presenting the Christian gospel to the increasingly skeptical, irreligious, anti-war, and hippie constituencies who seemed to dominate the University District where I spent most of my working hours. Questions were easy to state. Who is Jesus? What is his relationship with God? And what about God? What good is a God in heaven when the world that this God supposedly created and cares for is in such a mess? What does the church, with its quaint ideas and fussy ceremonies, have to do with anything, anyway? After church on the Sunday following Dr. King’s death, a black barber made the question personal when he asked me: “Now, professor, what can we do to keep people from smashing my windows still another time?”
These issues consumed the mind, heart, and work of Robert A. Thomas, senior minister of the church. In his sermons week after week he dealt seriously with conditions in the world and proclaimed the relevance of the Christian faith to a world that seemed to be falling apart. I had never heard preaching like this before. His liberal theology had been formed during his studies in the Divinity School at the University of Chicago, one of the nation’s most prestigious and influential seminaries. He believed that science, history, and the Christian faith could live together and that insights drawn from these streams of thought could be united in our efforts to resolve the social and personal crises of human life and society.
Bob wrote his sermons in serious, declarative prose, long sentences, complete with dependent clauses. He included quotations from the Bible, scholars old and new, and current news sources, convinced that in an academic community, sermons had to be intellectually persuasive.
Standing tall in the high pulpit, dressed in his black academic gown with wide sleeves, he read the sermons word for word, with full voice and animated style, his arms flailing the air. Week after week, I felt a rising tide of excitement as sermon time drew near.
Midway through the fall season, Bob invited three of his clergy colleagues to join him in planning and preaching a series of dialogue sermons during the Advent Season that would begin a few weeks later. One other member of the ministerial staff, Mary Elizabeth Mason, was not invited to be part of the team even though she was a seminary graduate and previously had headed one of the divisions of the denomination’s United Christian Missionary Society based in Indianapolis. Even in liberal congregations like University Christian Church, women were not yet allowed to serve as elders, and it was rare for a woman’s voice to be heard from the pulpit.
Bob proposed that we choose a theme rooted in the Christmas story and relevant to the tempestuous world in which we lived and then preach a series of dialogue sermons. Although the writings of Reuel Howe1 had popularized a dialogic approach to preaching, Bob had his own ideas about how the four of us would work together, and in the first sermon of the series he explained this understanding of dialogue to the congregation. These sermons would be “the product (in some ways, at least) of all our minds in dialogue.” They were not “some kind of phony “conversation” but, instead, carefully prepared and scripted proclamations of the gospel. We called them dialogue sermons, but a better term might have been collegial sermons because four colleagues fully shared the responsibility for shaping, delivering, and evaluating these pastoral addresses.
We met two or three times to develop the format for the series, select the topics that the five sermons would proclaim, and assign the preachers. Bob and his dialogue partner would then prepare a sermon, in full manuscript, and preach it. Each week the four of us would evaluate the sermon just preached and discuss ideas that might go into the next Sunday’s sermon. We invited the religion editor of one of the Seattle newspapers to join us for one or two of our weekly planning sessions. There was no question about who was senior partner in this collegial relationship. Bob was several years older than the rest of us, and he was pastor of the church, the one who carried primary responsibility for worship, preaching, and congregational well-being. His was the single voice in two of the five sermons.
We agreed that Bob would begin the series on November 26, the Sunday between Thanksgiving and the beginning of Advent. He would explain the experiment, announce the theme, and describe the challenges of our time that we believed the Christian gospel could help to overcome. During each of the next three weeks, Bob and one of the younger clergy would describe one aspect of our human condition and point toward the Christ-centered response that the Christmas story offers. On the last Sunday of Advent, which that year was December 24, Christmas Eve, Bob would in his morning sermon proclaim the miracle of new life that Jesus brings to the world. Although this sermon concluded our series, we knew that the liturgical climax would come that evening. An hour before midnight, a vast assemblage crowded into the large sanctuary. Sitting in the balcony with our children, I was overwhelmed by the beauty and spiritual power of the choir, with my wife in the alto section, as it processed through the church singing Benjamin Britten’s A Ceremony of Carols. The celebration of the birth of Jesus and candlelight communion expressed a deep sense of joy and wonder.
Developing and preaching these sermons was exhilarating for the four of us and well-received by the congregation, enough so that early in the new year, we decided to do it again on the Sundays in Lent, beginning March 3, 1968, and culminating on Easter Sunday, April 14. We gave titles to these series: Advent: Born to Set the People Free; Lent: The Tragic Vision; and the two sets combined: Dialogues on the Incarnation.
Walter Hansen, the church’s business manager, typed the scripts for us each Sunday, and a carbon-copy set has been tucked away in my files these many years. As part of my remembrance, fifty years later, of that tragic year in American life, I transcribed these sermons— all thirty thousand words—and reflected upon the gospel that four preachers in the U District of Seattle proclaimed in a time when the world was in turmoil.
During that year in Seattle, I was reading steadily in a wide range of theologically oriented writings in scholarly monographs and journals of opinion, giving special attention to Ernst Cassirer’s philosophy of symbolic forms and Susanne Langer’s writings on the philosophy of artistic expression. It was one of the most fruitful periods of my life as professor of worship and pastoral work. As the year drew to a close, I wrote a book—still my favorite of the ten that I have published—that was based on the year’s research and my serious conversations with church people: its title, Liturgies in a Time When Cities Burn. As frontispiece, I used a paragraph from one of Susanne Langer’s books in which she wrote that we are living in an anxious world that is going through “a transition from one social order to another.” Although the old order is still with us, “its form is broken,” and we cannot yet see what the future will be. “We feel ourselves swept along in a violent passage, from a world we cannot salvage to one we cannot see; and most people are afraid.”2
Half a century later, those words are still true. The old order seems even more precarious now than ever. We have little sense of what is still to come. Langer’s words, that “most people are afraid,” continue to be true. It may be that people today are even more anxious about the future than we were half a century ago when these sermons were preached. The dialogic pattern and the homiletical style we used were uniquely designed for that time and place. The specific issues we addressed differed in detail from those that confront us now