Accounting for the Unforeseeable
Wedding vows. Supreme Court decisions. Church bylaws. In the backdrop behind the communities that make up our society we can detect, but rarely discuss, norms and rules of engagement. This week, that backdrop moved to the foreground for me in ways that make me want to look closer as the summer begins to unfold and a new fiscal and academic year begin.
Wedding vows: as I wrote last week, I recently had the privilege of presiding at the wedding of my niece Kennelly and her now-husband Brian. They wanted their wedding ceremony to include traditional vows, and for that I was glad. In 27 years of ministry, I’d only officiated one wedding where the couple wrote their own vows, and I allowed it (1) because they insisted; and (2) David is an English Professor and Geoff an attorney, so I figured they were more qualified writers than most.
I prefer traditional Christian vows because they take into account the kinds of challenges marriages face over time, most of which a young, engaged couple would not have thought about: sickness and health, wealth and poverty, death. At least, they wouldn’t have thought about them yet.
Supreme Court decisions: I find the Supreme Court depressing. Back in the days of hanging chads, I felt disillusioned when the Court split down partisan lines; I was just as mad at those of my own political persuasion as those from whom I differ. It had never occurred to me before the Bush-Gore Presidential decision that the Court would split the way they did, handing an election to a candidate based on party. I thought they would at least try to look neutral. Sigh. I don’t expect that anymore.
I become more afraid than depressed when the Court makes decisions that leave our nation ill-prepared for worst-case scenarios. The whole job of interpreting the Constitution is to ask what it’s saying about the world now, and where it might go next. The court’s decisions in this recent session about guns, the environment, and Presidential immunity will fail to protect us from our capacity to ruin ourselves in the future. And the future might be sooner than we think.
Church bylaws: after considering the lofty lands of marriage and Constitutional interpretation, church bylaws might sound like small potatoes. It just so happened, however, that I gave a presentation this past Wednesday to the Michigan Conference of the United Church of Christ on this very topic. I found preparing for that presentation to be cathartic. I’m not an expert on church bylaws, but I write and teach about congregational polity, the governance style of the UCC and other locally governed faith traditions. I presented alongside a pastor who’s guided several churches through the process of liberating themselves from unhelpful bylaws.
Bylaws are policies we use to guide how we’re going to be together and share leadership in our communities. In my presentation, I told the group that it’s wise and faithful to try to think through and account for any and all foreseeable issues that might affect them: who has to to be involved, and where will the buck stop? What procedures will they follow? What will they do when something new and previously unforeseeable arises (and something new and unforeseeable always arises)? Now I want to ask these questions everywhere, but doing so can be exhausting.
Nick Carter served as President of Andover Newton Theological School, whose successor institution I now serve as Founding Dean, from 2004–2014. One of the many expressions he used that has stuck with me was, “We need to deal with what’s staring us in the face before it hits us in the face.” I want to deal with all that’s staring us in the face, but there are some challenges that hurt my eyes to look at. In seasons of overwhelm, I find comfort in reassessing and tightening up my own spheres of influence. As I sing whenever peace is hard to come by, “Let it begin with me.”
In my job, I can work to ensure that my institution’s policies and rules of engagement are codified, clear, and consistent with our values. The summertime cleanup after the hectic academic year provides some breathing room to look back on what’s been learned and ensure that the learning is built into our programs going forward.
In my relationships, I can remember my vows, not just to my spouse but to those closest to me. What practices guide how I stay connected with loved ones, and what boundaries help create room to breathe for everyone? In my relationship with my ministry, I can take the summer’s reflective space to assess and prioritize how I’m stewarding my time and resources.
Psalm 121 is the one to which I turn in times when I feel like, if I were a Peanuts cartoon, the thought-bubble over my head would look like a squiggly line: “I look to the hills from which my help comes.” This “Song of Ascents” was one that pilgrims sang together on long journeys. When their feet hurt, they’d remind each other to look up, not down. Look to God, not to each other, and definitely not to ourselves. 3000 years of relating to our God tells us that our trust in God will save us, and our trust in anything or anyone else is likely to mess with our heads.
The Supreme Court depresses me. Church bylaws bore everyone. Marriage vows are not about the fun parts of a life together. These institutions all matter, and they all have it in them to let us down. Not so with our faith, not so with God, so it’s there I have to place my faith and trust so that all other relationships fall into their appropriate places in this blessed, imperfect life.
