That Dumb Preacher and the Gift of Embarrassment

“That Dumb Preacher” and the Gift of Embarrassment

Fifty years ago this past summer I was provisionally ordained as a Methodist pastor.  Young and determined to change the world, I was “set aside” for ministry by Bishop Richard C. Raines in a pomp-filled ceremony in the Indiana University Auditorium.

I. U. Auditorium

I was ready to change the world — and I was so little aware of the way the world would change me.  Now there is time to look back, to reflect, to laugh and learn anew.

These past five decades as a clergy person have been filled joy and sadness.  All in all, it has been good ride, especially as I came to value the whimsy in life.  It has been good, in part, because of many moments of embarrassment.  Yes, I said embarrassment.   It keeps one humble.  One sees in these times both the stodgy excesses of organized religion and one’s own foolish efforts at vocational perfection.  Here is my top ten list — memories of times I played the role of “that dumb preacher.”

  1. One Saturday in June, presiding at the fourth wedding of the day, at the point of exchanging the vows, I heard myself say, “Will you Jennifer, take Mike, to be your husband.”  Even before I saw the confused and terrified look in the bride, Susan’s, eyes, I knew that she was not “Jennifer” and he was not a “Mike.”  And, I couldn’t remember their names.  I searched papers tucked in my Bible.  It took an eternity — probably 20 seconds before I could match the couple with their true identities.  I suspect that for years following, maybe even these decades later, Susan must have thought, “that poor, dumb preacher.”
  2. Rushing to complete my daily visits on another day, I decided to drop by the funeral home, speak words of condolence to members of my congregation who had lost a loved one.  I was not presiding at the funeral, but as pastor I wanted to support these folks.  I entered the visitation room, circulated, greeted several folks not recognizing anyone.  As I met the grieving widow and children it became clear that this was the wrong visitation — I was even at the wrong funeral home!  Turning to make a quick exit, the daughter asked, “How did you know my father?”  No words came for several seconds.  Then I muttered, “Oh, I knew of him.”  Blushing, I made my rapid exit.
  3. Oh, friends, this is an all too familiar experience for me.  More than once I have stopped by a hospital room to visit with a patient only to discover I was engaging the wrong person.  Often, in a shared room, I prayed with the roommate before learning he or she was not the person I had intended to visit.  I still smile thinking of the nice Jewish man who, after I had prayed, said he appreciated the prayer and knew his rabbi appreciated it too!
  4. Then, there are the multiple misadventures with cordless microphones.  On more than one occasion, I continued to “broadcast” when I should have turned the darn thing to “OFF.”  Let’s just say that needing some relief, I quickly slipped out of one service as a colleague was praying.  Moments later the congregation heard a great flushing sound.  These were not the rushing waters from Elijah.  These waters poured across the sound system drowning the prayer!
  5. Rarely was I more embarrassed than the time I received a call from a couple in a nearby state park who, with family and friends, waiting for me to officiate at their outdoor wedding.  We had visited earlier, done counseling together, and… yes, all was ready.  Except, I had the wrong date on my calendar!  Fortunately I was able to rush to the park (almost an hour away) in time to confirm what a non-ordained uncle had already done pronouncing them married.  I greeted everyone, heard the story of the improvised ceremony, asked the uncle to “say it again” and then confirmed it by shouting “yes, to what he said!”  I prayed a prayer, signed the wedding license and was the brunt of multiple jokes as we enjoyed slices of cake.
  6. We were celebrating the 70th wedding anniversary of a dear couple on a Sunday.  I broke my unwritten rule of never offering an open microphone to another.  This seemed safe enough.  Speaking to the couple in front of me I said, “It must be great to have 70 happy years together?”  The woman grabbed the mike and before I knew what was happening she said, “Well, actually, he ran around a lot on me during the first years of our marriage.”  The congregation roared with laughter.  Too late.  Nothing else would be remembered by any of us that Sunday.
  7. And, what could go wrong with wearing a new suit to worship?  Well… somehow the tailor didn’t tie off the knots along the leg seams.  As I greeted folks after the first service, I felt a breeze along my leg up to the crotch.  It was, so to speak, open territory.  What to do?  Fortunately we wore robes in the next two services.  Not many noticed my alabaster legs beneath the robe.  I wore a robe all the way home that day!
  8. I was a guest pastor, covering worship for a friend who served in a more liturgical tradition than my own.  On arrival, I was surprised to learn that I was not only to preach but also to preside at the eucharist — at all five services!  Let’s just say I wasn’t prepared.  At the first service, I realized too late I had consecrated an empty chalice.  More to the point at the end of the morning I learned that I didn’t need to empty the contents of the chalice after every worship service!  I don’t recall much of the sermon in service number five — I am certain it was brilliant, even if some words were slurred.
  9. Advice to young pastors — don’t attempt an infant baptism if your hands are already full.  As I recall there was a microphone, hymnal, the baptism certificate, a candle for the family, and… oh yes, the baby!  I thought it was all balanced and ready just as the baby’s pacifier fell out of her mouth.  Just above the baptismal font I reached to catch the pacifier.  The baby came down as well.  She was baptized on the wrong end!  The certificate, hymnal and microphone were also baptized that day.   I did catch the pacifier — after all, what is truly important?
  10. Sitting on the steps outside the door of our core-city congregation, I was waiting for a ride home.  Before I knew it three small children were beside me… then crawling over my lap and shoulders.  Snotty noses and grimy fingers were running through my hair.  The papers in folders on my lap were opened and explored.  I tried to engage the children, offering a pen to draw on my papers.  One little girl who had plopped beside me looked up and said, “You don’t know what to do with us, do you?”  Somewhere today that little girl, now an adult, must think back on “that dumb preacher.”
Wesley UMC, University of Illinois

Much has changed over the past fifty years.  Mainline denominations, like my own, are regarded by many as more and more “sidelined” denominations.  We grow anxious, serious, more determined.  We focus on the latest organizational/leadership development programs designed to help us avoid decline.  Meanwhile we miss the larger movements of the Spirit that reach over decades.  We fail to see the basic demographics of our social settings and, mostly, we miss the joy and humanity all around, and within, us. 

Our institutions have much to be embarrassed about.  In fact, too often we seek to measure our value by the wrong metric.  Last winter I was fortunate enough to preach at one of the grand old churches of our denomination — Wesley UMC at the University of Illinois.  I had just attended an event where there was hand wringing about our need to be a global church and about worship attendance in the U.S. continuing to decline.  All of this is true.  Still, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud after the sermon in Champaign, Illinois, as dozens of international students came by to visit with me after that worship service.  I was aware that our global reach might be wider than our limited vision could see.  Too serious, too anxious, we should be embarrassed by our clumsy failures to hear the words, “you don’t know what to do with us, do you?”

I would not argue that we should not seek to be relevant.  I would, however, suggest a much lighter touch.  Some laughter might be good for the soul of the church — some acknowledgement of our embarrassing moments.  Maybe more humanity and a focus on awkward, surprising, relationships could help.   A little less certitude and a little more embarrassment is in order.  I have shared ten of my own embarrassing moments — there are dozens more I could offer.  This will do for now.  Enjoy… and consider what the little wiggly girl sitting on the church steps said.  I think she is right.   We just don’t know what to do with all the vibrant and bouncing protoplasm all around us.  I think we may miss our embarrassment of riches.

Good News for the Embarrassed

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Picture this — my most embarrassing moment, well most embarrassing for this week, at least.  I am in worship.  It is holy communion.  The liturgy begins and bread and wine are set before us.  The Great Thanksgiving proceeds: The Lord be with you.  And also with you.  We respond.

The sacrament is being made ready for the congregation.  Just as the Sanctus is to be spoken, “Holy, Holy, Holy…” I recall that I have not silenced my phone.  Quickly I retrieve it from my pocket.  Earlier that morning I had been turned into a nearby NPR radio station, listening to the news.  Earphones on, I had walked my daily path.  The news was about politics and the latest incendiary language from the campaign trail during this extraordinary and troubling year.

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My intention on Sunday morning was to make certain the phone was silenced.  By now you have guessed what happened.  Somehow, instead of placing the phone on silent mode, I turned it on.  Let’s just say the reception was excellent in that chapel.  Loudly, across the pews and bouncing off the stained glass, one could hear the broadcaster say and “And now, we have this breaking news…” 

I fumbled, I pushed every button I could find on the phone.  Nothing seemed to silence it.  Beside me Elaine persistently whispered, “walk out, walk out.”  However, I was certain just one more button would end my terrible, awful, horrible, embarrassing moment.

Words from the newscaster about Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton spilled across those who were in prayer preparing to receive the sacrament.  A few nearby chuckled.  Some turned around staring with considerable displeasure.  Finally, after what was only a few seconds, but seeming like an hour to me, I silenced the phone. Too late.  I was outed… an NPR listener!  Someone too decrepit to know how to use a cell phone responsibly.  At any moment I was expecting to be escorted from the chapel or to be charged with a religious felony — perhaps for disrupting the sacrament.

I hurriedly received the communion elements when our aisle went forward but I did not stay for the closing hymn or benediction.  My embarrassment was too great.  The holiest of moments for many that morning were disrupted by my clumsy fingers.  As you might guess, I have dozens of other stories about embarrassing moments during holy communion.  However, none of them are so blatantly self-inflicted — well, there was that time I downed an entire cup of wine during a Lutheran liturgy several decades back, but I digress.

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Broken for All the Breaking News

Such embarrassment could not be redeemable, I was certain.  And, there you have, good reader, the nugget of awareness, the first stirring of the good news I realized that day.  Of course my clumsiness was redeemable.  It took a few hours for me to consider it.  By lunch time, I was chuckling at my plight and regretting the foolish desire to run away from the table and congregation.

I was aware of the significance of “breaking news” being layered on top of the breaking bread of the eucharist.  Breaking news is precisely what needs to be addressed by the of breaking bread.  We remember even as we are being re-membered.  We remember as we are made whole again at the table of the Lord.  As we remember we are re-membered in community with others who may differ in hundreds of other ways.  We remember and are in this action again demonstrating that we are made one in Christ.

Where can we better find a way to understand and move through these troubling times than at the table of the Lord?  Breaking news is best heard in the context of breaking bread.  To my fellow worshipers, those who had sacred time and space interrupted by my mistake, I apologize.  Not only for the interruption but more for my running away.  I received only a part of the body of Christ that morning.  To any of you who think I am belittling or diminishing the sacrament of Holy Communion, please know that this is NOT my intention.  It remains that remarkable mystery of faith that continues to inform, guide, and yes, stand as a saving ordinance for my faith.  

The embarrassment is passing — the remembrance continues.  It is good news above and beyond all other breaking news.