Continuity and Change

By Oscar Cole-Arnal

With change swirling about us with barely enough time or breath to respond to it, it becomes understandable why we feel tempted to respond all too quickly in one of two opposite ways. Some of us fall back into the conservative stance of the status quo (“We’ve always done it this way”), or we adopt the strategy of being up-to-date and with it (“if we don’t keep up with the times, the world will pass us by”). And some of us, maybe even most of us, live awash in contradiction. I’m reminded of what my close friend Ed said to me over a recent leisurely lunch: “Ya’ know, Oz,” he chuckled, “I’ve never met anyone as politically and socially radical as you, nor anyone so conservative in his daily life patterns.” After I laughed with him, I acknowledged his observation immediately. He described me to a “T”. It has taken me many years to become comfortable in this contradiction, but I delight more and more in my recognition of this reality of who I am. It helps my discernment in important life matters, and it connects me to a piece of wisdom I gained from the renowned church historian Jaroslav Pelikan. He describes the history of our faith in terms of the dialectic he calls “Catholic Substance” and “Protestant Principle.” The first celebrates the continuity of tradition, the two millennia history of Christianity which makes us who we are. On the other hand, is that “Protestant” voice, challenging us through prophetic utterance to leap beyond our safe and staid comfort zone into the turbulent waters of change? So, over against my orderly everything-in-its-place personality, I hand over an article that I can only in good conscience call “Musings - Continuity and Change,” a “thinking out loud” piece. For now these “musings” around the push-pull notions of continuity and change focus on three items:

That "Protestant" voice, challenging us through prophetic utterance to leap beyond our safe and staid comfort zone into the turbulent waters of change

1. Liturgical and Worship Practice:
I continue to be intrigued that year after year my students in Lutheran Confessions debate much more passionately over worship practices than they do over such Lutheran central issues as justification by grace alone through faith alone, especially when such worship styles involve what the Confessions call adiophora (a Greek word meaning “indifferent matters,” or those areas in which things can go either way. Sadly and all too often, we choose a liturgical practice based on either antiquarian reasons or a love of popularity or novelty. However, interestingly enough our Lutheran Confessions reject both those arguments. For us, as Lutherans, the criterion remains the Gospel, the “good news” that contradicts and contravenes both our imprisonment to what we know or our unending passion for novelty. Above all, the Gospel contradicts the relentless message of our societal worship of growth, success, prestige, power and consumption.
In continuation of these musings and because of my own vacillations over the years with respect to the conduct of public worship, my best efforts at this moment call to mind a couple personal stories. 1). Certainly, one of the areas that stirs up passion between traditionalists and change advocates is communion practice. For years I resisted weekly Eucharist, fearing a move away from the centrality of oral proclamation (sermon) toward a clericalism and sacramentalism more characteristic of Roman Catholicism than that of a Reformation tradition. This was one possible Gospel-centered position; I still believe that was the case though I have changed my mind. Colleagues, who advocated weekly communion, pointed out to me that a greater frequency of communion underscored the sacrament as God’s meal for us, akin to the need for daily bread, as well as the profligacy and never-ending quality of God’s love. This too was a Gospel-centered position. I became an enthusiastic convert.

Above all, the Gospel contradicts the relentless message of our societal worship of growth, success, prestige, power and consumption.

I encountered a similar internal resistance to the practice of “communion of all the baptized,” which opponents called “infant communion” in a negative fashion. Once again, colleagues pointed out that at Christ’s banquet all are welcome and do not have to pass any test to be invited. Well, that Gospel-oriented point of view undermined my resistance in no time.
2). The second personal illustration I put forward revolves around reflections in preparation for my own funeral. Increasingly we are encouraged to muse spiritually about this and to work it through with loved ones. My wife Bonnie, when she served her parishes, had a profoundly effective ministry as she worked with the dying around their upcoming funeral. As I’ve reflected on my own funeral in my journal writing I began the process writing down all the unique things that highlight and reflect who I am. What would the eulogy sound like? Do I want a trade union contingency in the processional with banners unfurled? Do I want a photo and memorabilia room for people to see at the reception? Yet even in the midst of these musings, I decided that I wanted my former pastor and friend the Rev. Peter Lisinski to preach the sermon. My reason was exceedingly simple: I trust Peter to preach the naked Gospel– no more, no less. Peter would never wax eloquent with a eulogy. The sermon would not be about Oz (one iota); it would be about the Christ who died and rose again to free Oz and all people from life’s bondage's, including the last enemy– death. That’s why I chose Pete. He will preach the Gospel and nothing but. Then with the passage of time I began to question my earlier journal writings which led to my current position, worked out at a recent retreat. I want no eulogy, no banners that single me out, no memorabilia, nothing Oz-centered. I choose to have the funeral service in the Lutheran Book of Worship and so join the other faithful whose names are lifted up in the same liturgical setting. Yet, I must own up to the fact that I cling to two additional personal requests, one usual and one more unusual. I desire two hymns at my funeral, #429 (“Where Cross the Crowded Ways of Life”, LBW) and #702 (WOV, “I Am the Bread of Life”). The second request has to do with the casket: I would like the cheap casket that is given to the homeless and indigent, and I want my head pointed in church where the rubrics call for the laity to be placed. This last is because of my deep Gospel offense that there be any suggestion that the heads of clerically deceased be any different than the placement of the laity.

2. Gospel dialogue around differences:
In our hectic and massively driven society we receive the constant message that we must play constant “catch-up”: “Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!.” We struggle in conversation to fill the silences with a rush of words, and far too frequently when someone is speaking we spend far less time listening than we do formulating our own position in our heads so we will be ready to pounce as soon as the other person pauses to breathe. I call this the “yes, BUT” syndrome. Interestingly enough we can learn an alternative form of “Gospel” dialogue from the very First Nation peoples we despoiled of their lands and lives when the Europeans arrived. Native elders embody a spirit of waiting, watching and silence. It becomes almost impossible to fight when the pipe is passed around in a sacred circle. Just last Saturday my wife Bonnie and I went to a “caring conversation” event sponsored by our synodical conference. We attended a workshop where the facilitator advocated the aboriginal use of the “talking stick.” Only the person holding the stick is permitted to speak after which the stick is passed to the next person and then on to the next until the circle is completed. Also, in some talking circles, the person who receives the stick must repeat what the previous person articulated before he or she can continue the conversation. These Native American styles of “loving” converse place us in a listening and waiting mode that encourages us to see others as sisters or brothers rather than opponents. We called them pagans and savages and perpetrated genocidal policies upon them, yet they and their elders provide us with godly modes of discernment.

Even more appalling is the fact that the name of Christian is being used to justify such militarism, oil-grabbing and empire-building.

3. Musings on War and Liberty:
These days I look southward and weep at what transpires with my American neighbors as the juggernaut of war rolls
relentlessly over people’s basic needs and human rights. I focus on the latter and am appalled that a nation “conceived and born in liberty” has responded to the fear-mongering of an administration increasingly building the

Interestingly enough we can learn an alternative form of "Gospel" dialogue from the very First Nation peoples we despoiled of their lands and lives when the Europeans arrived.

apparatus to turn a democracy into an empire akin to that of Rome which crucified Christ. Even more appalling is the fact that the name of Christian is being used to justify such militarism, oil-grabbing and empire-building. International dialogue, diplomacy and community-building gives way to sabre-rattling. The Christian response to this in a world of “might makes right” demands both courage and clarity, especially in the American heartland. Already in Canada our peace movement heats up, but I know full well how much easier it is to denounce war over against another country than to stand up against one’s own nation, especially when that nation embodies so much power. American Christians face a formidable tide of patriotism, driven by fear and irrationality. At the same time the American peace movement picks up steam, as people fill the streets of U.S. cities clamoring against war, and towns, even in rural conservative Montana, declare themselves war-free zones. Senator Byrd’s history-making speech for reason represents a clarion call to resist the Bush government’s agenda by its sage references to the very historical values out of which the United States was born. And, in a burst of creativity, women across both our countries reach into the distant past to perform Aristophanes’ Greek comedy Lysistrata, a play in which the soldiers’ wives vow to lock their bedroom doors unless their soldier spouses drop their weapons of war. Here we have an ancient version of that decades old anti-Vietnam slogan, “make love, not war.”
So where do my musings lead? Actually, I am not entirely sure. At the very least, I have illustrated the tension between “continuity and change” by three illustrations. To my own benefit writing this piece reminded me of my own mix and contradictions between these so-called “Catholic substance and Protestant principles.” In terms of our relying on tradition or slipping into the risky waters of novelty, I suspect we all have areas where we cling to one option or the other. As well, I am convinced that within all of us reside contradictions between the two. So rather than go head to head perhaps the intrusion of some gentle humor and good “talking stick” listening is called for. In any event, we stand neither with tradition nor novelty. Rather we stand with and by that life-giving counterculture we call THE GOSPEL!

The Rev. Dr. Oscar Cole-Arnal
Waterloo Lutheran Seminary