Yesterday morning I came to school early to meet with a student. I was running a bit late as I had hit the snooze button a few too many times and as a result my day had not gone as planned. I threw my routine out the window as I hurriedly ran around the house in the hopes of making my appointment on time. I accidentally spilled coffee grounds on the counter. I had forgotten that I needed to fix the hem on my pants so I used a piece of scotch tape instead. I couldn’t find the right color socks so I decided to wear my boots to cover them up rather waste time searching through a stack of homeless laundry. I hopped in the car with almost enough time to be on time.
I parked beside Sohlberg Hall, grabbed my computer bag and jumped out the car. I made a beeline to my office only to remember I hadn’t updated my ID on the scanner and so had to run back up the stairs and down again to open the door. The student was gracious with my tardiness and we soon settled into our conversation.
I breathed a sigh of relief confident that even without following my routine that I had not forgotten a thing. I held a cup of coffee in my hand. It tasted OK even though its grounds had been scrapped off the counter before being placed in the pot. I glanced at my hem; the tape was holding and no one would even know that my boots were hiding funky argyle socks. Even without a routine I seemed successful. I had not forgotten anything.
At 9:00, an hour after I had arrived at my office, my coworkers Grace and Tony asked me if I had forgotten anything this morning. I thought it an odd question but proudly said, “Nope. I think I’m all set.” Curiously they asked again. “Are you sure you haven’t forgotten anything?” I looked down at my zipper to see if that was their polite way of notifying me that I was revealing more of myself than a pastor ever should. Finding myself zipped I sat down and said simply, “I’m all good,” but I could sense that they knew something I didn’t.
“Bishop,” which is how my Director Tony often address me, “This morning when I came into the office I noticed that exhaust was coming from the tailpipe of your car. I assumed you were gathering your thoughts for the day, but when I got into the office there you were in your chair already speaking with a student while your car was idling in its parking spot on the side of Sohlberg. Don’t worry,” Tony said, “it was unlocked so I shut it off for you and here are your keys.” Apparently routine is more important than I realized.
I grew up in a fast growing church in the suburbs of Minneapolis. When my family first started attending the church the congregation ascribed to a more traditional liturgical style. I remember joining in Calls to Worship, passing the peace and passing the basket, reciting the Apostle’s Creed, singing hymns and hearing preludes and postludes before and after services. As the church grew some of the patterns of worship shifted. There was a desire among the 30-somethings (now 60-somethings) to have the service be more organic and less routine. I participated in that shift as a school aged child and as I grew up I grew into a preference for a more informal liturgy.
This preference was challenged when began dating my husband. In the early stages of our relationship Jeff joined me on a trip to Minnesota and we attended my home church on a Sunday morning. After worship he told me he enjoyed the service but was wondering why we didn’t read Scripture. I was immediately defensive and said, “The pastor used scripture.” Jeff responded, “That’s true, but we didn’t get to hear the passages for the day.” And at that moment I realized that in letting go of the routine there are often important things that are forgotten.
My husband was raised in a church tradition that follows the Revised Common Lectionary and is committed to the corporate reading of scripture in every service; an Old Testament text, a Psalm, a Gospel reading, and New Testament text are read out loud every single Sunday. The texts are prescribed in a three year rotation and the pastor preaches the text that is prescribed each Sunday. In a three year period, if you came and listened every week, you are promised a solid telling of the entire story of the Bible. In this liturgical tradition the Word is heard even on days that the preaching is poor and the routine makes sure that the story of God doesn’t become slanted toward particular points.
I continue to have a preference for a more informal liturgy but I do recognize that its lack of routine can mean that sometimes important things get set aside and replaced with a pastor’s preference for preaching particular passages and a congregation’s hunger for hearing something wholly designed for them. I wonder while our entire culture develops a desire for the next new thing what it would look like for more of us to ask the questions, “Is there anything we have forgotten?” or “Is there a routine or a discipline that needs to be resurrected?” Perhaps for you that won’t mean attending a church with a traditional liturgy, but it might mean that you commit to a deeper and daily reading of scripture that goes beyond sound bites and that over time offers you a more thorough telling of the story of God.
