I hadn't had any breakfast; it was a very early flight. As I walked down the terminal to find a cup of coffee, someone called my name. It wasn't a page over the airport PA. It was a male voice behind me. I turned around in search of its source. I recognized no one. I walked on.
He called again. "Carly!"
It couldn't be a family member; they would have called me by my given name, Carla. I still saw no one I recognized. I turned and walked on.
A third time the voice called my name.
It is unusual to hear your name called across the expanse in a strange place. I am alone in this airport and far from home. There is no one I would expect to meet in this place. But it is a holiday weekend. So it is conceivable that an acquaintance from some past existence is also traveling through this hub of an airport. But no one seems familiar within the realm of my vision. I walked on; who ever it was, he had to be calling someone else.
The narrative is reminiscent of Samuel's call in the Temple. God called and the child assumed that the old man, Eli, was calling to him in the night. Eli told him to go back to bed. The voice was unrelenting. Samuel heard his name called several times. Eli discerned the source and told the boy to respond with an appropriate response.
Is there an appropriate response to hearing your name shouted across an airport terminal? Should I have walked around seeking some familiar face? Should I have called back asking for its source to come forward? To where does one turn for direction in such a situation?
The Church finds itself in a similar situation. We are traveling through an unknown land called postmodernity, or if you prefer, a post-christian era. We hear the call to be the Church but we no longer know what that looks like. We don't recognize the faces around us, nor the voices calling to us. We are strangers in a strange land holding onto the promise of a future we cannot yet imagine.
For many congregations, the landscape is as alien as Mars; church members cannot recall a time when they didn't exist exactly as they exist today, when the role of the church in society was not dominant, when the norm was not for children to be raised in the faith. And yet today it would seem that our 1955 church no longer has influence in society and most young people have no interest and little knowledge of the faith.
For others, the change has been happening with varying paces...from a a gradual decline to rapid loss of members either through death or attrition of friends and members. All face financial challenges as the cost of maintaining a building outweighs the available sources of income; mission and ministry are hardly affordable while staff salaries are a luxury.
And still we hear the call to the future. Still our names echo in the halls of time to step forward in faith and be the church. Where do we turn for direction? Where is our Eli? Who will guide us in our response to God's call to thrive? How can we walk through this transitional terminal alone? Where are the familiar faces?
On the return walk to the gate with a strong cup off coffee in hand, I heard the voice again. This time, he called me "Pastor Carly."
The face was only vaguely familiar, and as he walked toward me it was clear that he knew I didn't recognize him. He stretched out his hand and told me his name. I had been the pastor that married him years ago when I served a church in his town. He recalled the amusing way I had introduced the "church rules" at the rehearsal, the care I had given him and his beloved in the premarital counseling, the way I had included the children from both previous marriages in the vows and unity candle. He remembered that I cared, that I was inclusive, that I embraced the diversity of his new family, that I didn't try to "cram religion down [their] throats;" he remembered too that the other churches in town refused to marry them. Because of their experience with their marriage preparation and ceremony, the couple had become active in that congregation, were raising their children there, were participating in learning opportunities, and were supporting its missions and ministries. I had brought him into the church, he said.
Despite the memories he shared, his wedding did not come to my mind. What he shared could have been any of the marriages at which I've officiated. What I thought was ordinary ritual and liturgy, he found to be meaningful and nurturing. My putting faith in action was what put faith into his own life.
The voice that called to me across that airport was the same voice Samuel heard so many years ago. In the voice of this former groom was the wisdom of God assuring me that this new era of the Church will carry forward the essentials of the faith, that the Body of Christ has a role in the worlds of today and tomorrow, and that we will find the answers that our Still Speaking God still offers to us. If we are open to listening and responding to the call of our names in unfamiliar places.
It couldn't be a family member; they would have called me by my given name, Carla. I still saw no one I recognized. I turned and walked on.
A third time the voice called my name.
It is unusual to hear your name called across the expanse in a strange place. I am alone in this airport and far from home. There is no one I would expect to meet in this place. But it is a holiday weekend. So it is conceivable that an acquaintance from some past existence is also traveling through this hub of an airport. But no one seems familiar within the realm of my vision. I walked on; who ever it was, he had to be calling someone else.
The narrative is reminiscent of Samuel's call in the Temple. God called and the child assumed that the old man, Eli, was calling to him in the night. Eli told him to go back to bed. The voice was unrelenting. Samuel heard his name called several times. Eli discerned the source and told the boy to respond with an appropriate response.
Is there an appropriate response to hearing your name shouted across an airport terminal? Should I have walked around seeking some familiar face? Should I have called back asking for its source to come forward? To where does one turn for direction in such a situation?
The Church finds itself in a similar situation. We are traveling through an unknown land called postmodernity, or if you prefer, a post-christian era. We hear the call to be the Church but we no longer know what that looks like. We don't recognize the faces around us, nor the voices calling to us. We are strangers in a strange land holding onto the promise of a future we cannot yet imagine.
For many congregations, the landscape is as alien as Mars; church members cannot recall a time when they didn't exist exactly as they exist today, when the role of the church in society was not dominant, when the norm was not for children to be raised in the faith. And yet today it would seem that our 1955 church no longer has influence in society and most young people have no interest and little knowledge of the faith.
For others, the change has been happening with varying paces...from a a gradual decline to rapid loss of members either through death or attrition of friends and members. All face financial challenges as the cost of maintaining a building outweighs the available sources of income; mission and ministry are hardly affordable while staff salaries are a luxury.
And still we hear the call to the future. Still our names echo in the halls of time to step forward in faith and be the church. Where do we turn for direction? Where is our Eli? Who will guide us in our response to God's call to thrive? How can we walk through this transitional terminal alone? Where are the familiar faces?
On the return walk to the gate with a strong cup off coffee in hand, I heard the voice again. This time, he called me "Pastor Carly."
The face was only vaguely familiar, and as he walked toward me it was clear that he knew I didn't recognize him. He stretched out his hand and told me his name. I had been the pastor that married him years ago when I served a church in his town. He recalled the amusing way I had introduced the "church rules" at the rehearsal, the care I had given him and his beloved in the premarital counseling, the way I had included the children from both previous marriages in the vows and unity candle. He remembered that I cared, that I was inclusive, that I embraced the diversity of his new family, that I didn't try to "cram religion down [their] throats;" he remembered too that the other churches in town refused to marry them. Because of their experience with their marriage preparation and ceremony, the couple had become active in that congregation, were raising their children there, were participating in learning opportunities, and were supporting its missions and ministries. I had brought him into the church, he said.
Despite the memories he shared, his wedding did not come to my mind. What he shared could have been any of the marriages at which I've officiated. What I thought was ordinary ritual and liturgy, he found to be meaningful and nurturing. My putting faith in action was what put faith into his own life.
The voice that called to me across that airport was the same voice Samuel heard so many years ago. In the voice of this former groom was the wisdom of God assuring me that this new era of the Church will carry forward the essentials of the faith, that the Body of Christ has a role in the worlds of today and tomorrow, and that we will find the answers that our Still Speaking God still offers to us. If we are open to listening and responding to the call of our names in unfamiliar places.
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