The Stomach Knows Best

My family and friends have playfully enjoyed making sport of me since reading my recent interview with a local weekly paper in which I mentioned my general preference for officiating at funerals over weddings. "Dr. Death," my son now calls me. Never mind that what I really appreciated was how much more authentic and present people tend to be in the remembrance of loved ones who have died -- the stories, the appreciations, the laughter, the tears -- in contrast to the melodrama and superficiality that so often swirl around weddings. At funerals it is all about the people -- or at least about the person. At weddings, more often than not, it's all about the pictures and the party afterwards. "We don't care about the vows; what we really want to know is how close the videographer can stand?"

I know weddings are not all like this. I have officiated at several that raised a lump in my throat -- whose tenderness and sincerity, made palpable by the widened eyes and the hushed and careful responses, made emotions rise and tears fall and confirmed the fact that what was being solemnized among us was infinitely larger than all of us combined.

It just doesn't happen very often. And today's newspaper brought me some smug validation. Unfortunately -- tragically and even unforgivably, it seems -- a wedding reception a couple of years ago had some problems. Guests got sick. Tainted salad was blamed. The couple sued the restaurant, and now the verdict is in: $50,000 the restaurant will be required to pay the unhappy, devastated couple. They had asked for more than 8-times that amount, and registered their dismay that the jury didn't compensate them for "future emotional distress."

Please. Future emotional distress? Are you really going to spend the rest of your life sucking on this sore thumb? I can't be too optimistic about a marriage inalterably bent and scarred by viral radishes and radicchio. Get over the reception and get on with your marriage.

Besides, while tainted salad may have played some part, my sense is that stomach cramps are fairly common place at weddings, even when nothing has been consumed. Those aren't, after all, just words that are spoken; they are breathtaking promises exchanged that will fundamentally alter the course and character and alignment of lives. Even if the couple and those closest to them aren't particularly mindful of the epochal implications, stomachs usually are, having enough sense to tie themselves up in knots.

Just to be smug about it I could add that I've never heard of this sort of thing happening at a funeral -- heartache, to be sure, but no stomach ache -- but I'll restrain myself. After all, I would hate for the church ladies who prepare those funeral luncheons to get sued. They are haggard enough as it is.

Political Fundraising and the Myth of Scarcity

I'm clearly not very effective. Every church I have served has sooner or later -- and often both -- bumped up against the hard reality of financial limitations. Our missional aspirations outpace our fiduciary obligations. We tighten our belts, we eliminate staff, we do more of the cleaning ourselves; chastened, we rein in our field of vision.

We are in good company. Every non-profit I know -- food pantries, counseling services, after school programs, emergency assistance agencies -- struggles to navigate the monthly journey from hand to mouth -- often failing in the endeavor. Non-governmental Organizations working in war-torn or draught-stricken or AIDS-crippled or hurricane-bludgeoned regions experience the same: too much to do; not enough with which to do it. An abundance of" will"; a scarcity of "way."

I ponder that sad and perennial reality as I read the report in today's Wall Street Journal about political fundraising. The first quarter reports are beginning to trickle in from Presidential candidates, and so far the indications are that the candidates are doing well. There are many more to be released, but what we know so far is that Hillary Clinton has set a record for early fundraising, taking in $26 million in the first three months of the year (and hopes to raise $70 million by year's end). John Edwards, while financially far behind, has nonetheless recorded more than $14 million in the same 3-month period, and Bill Richardson has drawn a respectable $6 million. We haven't yet heard from Barak Obama, but his campaign hopes to raise between $15 and $20 million. On the Republican side, John McCain, Mitt Romney and Rudy Giuliani each hopes to raise about $20 million. Assuming they are all successful, that amounts to $126 million raised in three months. Pretty soon, to paraphrase the late Senator Dirksen, you are talking about real money.

I don't begrudge the candidates their "war chests." I suppose I have different feelings about those who have filled them. Think of all the other things that we, as a people, could do with that money -- even a tithe of it.

We have evolved an odd set of financial priorities. Which is to say that I'll have a hard time nodding my head the next time someone -- a politician, a Board member, a congregant -- tells me "we just don't have enough money." The truth is, we have plenty of money. We just have some screwy ideas about where to put it.

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Less "Off" Than "Open"

Monday is an odd day of the week for a preacher who isn't scheduled to preach on the next upcoming Sunday. Most Mondays are usually spent reading more carefully the designated bible reading and revisiting the sermon title listed on the sign in the lobby and beginning the Sisyphean project of rolling the next homiletical stone up the hill. It is a character-building regimen, often exhilarating and sometimes wearisome.

But next Sunday is laity Sunday for our car on the ecclesiastical train, and by some novel stroke of providence, a layperson from our congregation is actually filling the pulpit. My pulpit services will not be needed. So without the press of an impending sermon to prepare, what do I do?

The list, given any thought at all, isn't hard to populate. Since, as my retired minister father once pointed out, "Sunday comes around with ruthless regularity," I could always get started on the following week's pulpit offering. Or I could give some attention to the seasonal planning that routinely gets denied. Or there is the pile of books that only gets taller. Or...

As the Personnel Committee would be quick to remind me, it's not like preaching is the only thing I do. There is, I might defensively assert, plenty to keep me busy. There are calls I could set up -- visitors to connect with; absentees to check in on, grieving and convalescing I could comfort or encourage. I could actually push back from the desk, back out the car and head over to any one of the many care centers where members unable to "come to church" would be thrilled to see the church "come to them."

Or I could, in the midst of it all, recall that my worth is not integrally linked to my pastoral production, close the door, bow my head, and center into the leading, enlarging Spirit of the one who called me here in the first place; the Apostle's admonition to "pray without ceasing" having received about as much attention lately as the shut-ins.

And who knows, that same Spirit could even waft into my soul some clue about which, of the many options available, might beckon my renewed energy, passion and attention...
...first.

Weddings, Snowy Chapels, and New Year's Resolutions

We found ourselves talking about weddings. Having discovered the tidy little amphitheatre in the woods behind this cozy Vermont inn (www.weathersfieldinn.com) -- a perfect matrimonial setting -- we inquired of innkeeper Dave on the subject. "We're selective," he responded. When prodded for an explanation, he hinted that, after a series of unpleasant experiences, he and Jane now virtually interview those who inquire about booking their nuptials at the inn. "We mostly do older couples who have their act together."

I nodded with understanding. "When I was graduating from seminary, I couldn't wait to do weddings, and dreaded doing funerals."

"But that quickly flipped," Dave interrupted.

"Yes," I confirmed. "People involved in funerals tend to be genuinely present and focused on large questions and attentions. They are interested in substance rather than show."

"While young, first-time brides," Dave dryly interjected, "are all consumed with whether the mashed potatoes will match the wedding dress, and whether the bridesmaid's' dresses will coordinate with the table cloths."

And so went our commiseration about the nonsensical distractions of youth. But I suspect we both knew that inane preoccupation with what simply doesn't matter is a malady without respect for age.

As I point my wheels into the untracked expanse of a new year, my first resolution is to lighten up, and seek a tighter discrimination between what matters and what simply doesn't. And second, to be more patiently forgiving of those who, like me, often get the two confused.

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