Continually creating
24/01/16 05:05
One of the joys of my job is that there is room for constant innovation and change. Even though I have worked with the same lectionary - the same three-year cycle of scriptures - for all of my career, no two worship services have been the same. Even when we were doing two services each Sunday morning, there were variations and changes that occurred. I enjoy learning from experience and using that learning to make improvements. The congregations that we serve are constantly changing.
There is a joke about the minister who kept a file of old sermons and when there was no time for preparation a previously-used sermon was taken out of the file and repeated. Perhaps there are ministers who have done that. There may even have been a minister that used that practice too often. I can’t imagine such a practice. Each sermon is unique to a particular time and place and a particular gathering of people. I have kept manuscripts of sermons that I have previously delivered. From time to time I read one of them. I am almost always disappointed. I have moved on from the ideas I was exploring when the manuscript was prepared. I wouldn’t say things the way I did when I prepared that particular sermon. These days I keep my research notes, to which I refer from time to time, but even though the computer has made it possible to keep all of the manuscripts that I want, I find that I almost never read my old sermons.
The same is true with these blogs. I have archives on my web site that go back nearly a decade and I have a couple of years prior postings that aren’t available through my web site. The truth, however, is that I don’t read them. I suspect that no one else does, either. This year, there was a ‘glitch’ in the software when I closed out 2015. Some of the blog archives aren’t accessible from the web site. I’ve been working through them, but there are several months that don’t show up when you visit my site. No one has written me an e-mail noting the missing blogs. I keep thinking that one day I will go through all of the old bogs and edit a volume of essays, but that is a task I’m leaving to some future date. It is likely I’ll never do it.
The self-imposed pressure to say something new doesn’t, however, seem like a burden. The continuing creation of this universe gives me plenty of new material each day.
Yesterday, I was writing words that I will use this afternoon at a graveside committal service for a member of our congregation. A graveside committal is a brief ceremony. We don’t have the time and we don’t have the setting for an extended sermon. Our book of worship has beautiful words for the committal service - words that I use over and over. There is, however, a need to personalize each service. No matter how many funerals at which I officiate, each is a once-in-a-lifetime experience for the grieving family. And it doesn’t take more than a few minutes’ looking to understand that the person whose body we will bury today was a very unique individual. He wasn’t just like his peers. He didn’t imitate others. He was filled with so many passions and interests and hobbies and likes that it was difficult for his closest family members to keep up. Obviously this is an occasion that calls for specially chosen words.
It is relatively easy for me to write a 1,000-word essay. I do it every day. I often forget how difficult that challenge is for others. A couple of times, I have assigned personal essays to students and watched as they struggled with the assignment. Writing something much shorter, however, is a difficult challenge for me. I have to write then cut out words then re-write and go through the process several times. Furthermore, writing words to be spoken out loud is a different process than writing words to be read on screen or on paper. Spoken words require a certain rhythm - a sense of repetition and flow. Reading poetry has helped me learn more about this process. I read poetry out loud every day. Recently, I have been dwelling with what might be called minimalist poetry - poems that use very few words. Many of the poems of Robert Lax involve a single column of words, often less than three words per line, with lots of repetition. At first glance they look silly on the page, and they often don’t spark the sense of the poet if one does not read them out loud, being attentive to the line breaks and the spacing between the words.
Putting together a few brief paragraphs for a committal service while at the same time being faithful to the traditional prayers and words of scripture that carry deep meaning for the family was a daunting and time-consuming task yesterday.
And here is the “kicker:” It is unlikely that the grieving family will remember any of the words I have so carefully crafted and that I will deliver as precisely as I am able. The journey through grief doesn’t give one a mental state that is conducive to remembering details and individual words. What I need to convey to the family is a sense of caring, of confidence in the future, of hope, and of love. They may in fact be more touched by the tone of my voice than by the content of the words I say.
The experience is unique. The next funeral will require different words. Having come up with a service with which I am pleased and which I think fits the occasion has taught me almost nothing about how to select the words for the next unique situation. My life and my work carry so much variation and innovation that I almost can’t understand people whose jobs are boring and repetitive.
It is the right life for me. I have been blessed with work that is continually challenging and continually fresh.
Between now and the funeral, there is another sermon that must be delivered. I’ve still got a little time to make a few changes.
There is a joke about the minister who kept a file of old sermons and when there was no time for preparation a previously-used sermon was taken out of the file and repeated. Perhaps there are ministers who have done that. There may even have been a minister that used that practice too often. I can’t imagine such a practice. Each sermon is unique to a particular time and place and a particular gathering of people. I have kept manuscripts of sermons that I have previously delivered. From time to time I read one of them. I am almost always disappointed. I have moved on from the ideas I was exploring when the manuscript was prepared. I wouldn’t say things the way I did when I prepared that particular sermon. These days I keep my research notes, to which I refer from time to time, but even though the computer has made it possible to keep all of the manuscripts that I want, I find that I almost never read my old sermons.
The same is true with these blogs. I have archives on my web site that go back nearly a decade and I have a couple of years prior postings that aren’t available through my web site. The truth, however, is that I don’t read them. I suspect that no one else does, either. This year, there was a ‘glitch’ in the software when I closed out 2015. Some of the blog archives aren’t accessible from the web site. I’ve been working through them, but there are several months that don’t show up when you visit my site. No one has written me an e-mail noting the missing blogs. I keep thinking that one day I will go through all of the old bogs and edit a volume of essays, but that is a task I’m leaving to some future date. It is likely I’ll never do it.
The self-imposed pressure to say something new doesn’t, however, seem like a burden. The continuing creation of this universe gives me plenty of new material each day.
Yesterday, I was writing words that I will use this afternoon at a graveside committal service for a member of our congregation. A graveside committal is a brief ceremony. We don’t have the time and we don’t have the setting for an extended sermon. Our book of worship has beautiful words for the committal service - words that I use over and over. There is, however, a need to personalize each service. No matter how many funerals at which I officiate, each is a once-in-a-lifetime experience for the grieving family. And it doesn’t take more than a few minutes’ looking to understand that the person whose body we will bury today was a very unique individual. He wasn’t just like his peers. He didn’t imitate others. He was filled with so many passions and interests and hobbies and likes that it was difficult for his closest family members to keep up. Obviously this is an occasion that calls for specially chosen words.
It is relatively easy for me to write a 1,000-word essay. I do it every day. I often forget how difficult that challenge is for others. A couple of times, I have assigned personal essays to students and watched as they struggled with the assignment. Writing something much shorter, however, is a difficult challenge for me. I have to write then cut out words then re-write and go through the process several times. Furthermore, writing words to be spoken out loud is a different process than writing words to be read on screen or on paper. Spoken words require a certain rhythm - a sense of repetition and flow. Reading poetry has helped me learn more about this process. I read poetry out loud every day. Recently, I have been dwelling with what might be called minimalist poetry - poems that use very few words. Many of the poems of Robert Lax involve a single column of words, often less than three words per line, with lots of repetition. At first glance they look silly on the page, and they often don’t spark the sense of the poet if one does not read them out loud, being attentive to the line breaks and the spacing between the words.
Putting together a few brief paragraphs for a committal service while at the same time being faithful to the traditional prayers and words of scripture that carry deep meaning for the family was a daunting and time-consuming task yesterday.
And here is the “kicker:” It is unlikely that the grieving family will remember any of the words I have so carefully crafted and that I will deliver as precisely as I am able. The journey through grief doesn’t give one a mental state that is conducive to remembering details and individual words. What I need to convey to the family is a sense of caring, of confidence in the future, of hope, and of love. They may in fact be more touched by the tone of my voice than by the content of the words I say.
The experience is unique. The next funeral will require different words. Having come up with a service with which I am pleased and which I think fits the occasion has taught me almost nothing about how to select the words for the next unique situation. My life and my work carry so much variation and innovation that I almost can’t understand people whose jobs are boring and repetitive.
It is the right life for me. I have been blessed with work that is continually challenging and continually fresh.
Between now and the funeral, there is another sermon that must be delivered. I’ve still got a little time to make a few changes.