Christmas Eve at St. Mary
Finding a confessional Lutheran congregation in the Des Moines area is tough. My ex-wife and I had to join an LCMS congregation in Knoxville, Iowa- half an hour away- some time back, and our attendence wasn't what it should have been.
So I recently joined a young independent confessional congregation, St. Mary, on the North Side of Des Moines. It's a truly tiny little band of believers, with about five family units, mostly composed of refuges either form the Missouri Synod's ongoing methobapticostalization or the plunge of the ELS into a Wisconsin Synod-style denial of the divine origin of the pastoral office.Our budget is just fine, thank you, and we have quite a few resources, talent-wise. We're keeping our synodical options open, being in communication with the Association of Confessional Lutheran Congregations.
Somewhere along the line we decided to do a full-court neighborhood press to encourage visitors at our Christmas Eve candlelight service. We burned a rather professional CD with recordings of Christmas music and a message urging listeners to remember Christ at Christmas, and put copies- together with invitations to the candlelight service- on doorknobs all over the immediate area. A sudden and unexpected pastoral vacancy recently had occured at St. Mary's, and I was asked by the congregation to fill the Office as an emergency measure at least until a call meeting early in January.
When the appointed hour arrived, some twenty people filled our little sanctuary. A few were visitors, relatives of members. But not a single person from the neighborhood responded to our invitation.
Macht nichts. Jesus promises to be present wherever two or three are gathered in His name- and, as I told the congregation, we had a quorum. He was present, moreover, in the Word (we won't be celebrating the Sacrament until that call is issued). And He was present among us in a tiny, unpretentious place somehow reminiscent of the place where He Himself was born on the first Christmas night. The congregation was even smaller then, and some of those present were rumored to be cattle and donkeys.
As somebody whose first two calls included congregations not much bigger than St. Mary, I've always felt sorry for people forced to worship on Christmas Eve in cathedrals and mega-churches.
The emotional climax, as is usually the case, came when- the lights turned out, reading our hymnbooks only by the light of the candle in each worshipper's hand- we sang Of the Father's Love Begotten and Silent Night.
Our "marketing effort" had failed. Yet God, as He always does, had gathered His people in His own way. Maybe our inability to generate much of a response in the neighborhood wasn't such a bad thing; maybe it was a reminder that congregations, like the children of virgins, are born not of the will or agency of man, but soley by the loving, sovereign will of God.
So I recently joined a young independent confessional congregation, St. Mary, on the North Side of Des Moines. It's a truly tiny little band of believers, with about five family units, mostly composed of refuges either form the Missouri Synod's ongoing methobapticostalization or the plunge of the ELS into a Wisconsin Synod-style denial of the divine origin of the pastoral office.Our budget is just fine, thank you, and we have quite a few resources, talent-wise. We're keeping our synodical options open, being in communication with the Association of Confessional Lutheran Congregations.
Somewhere along the line we decided to do a full-court neighborhood press to encourage visitors at our Christmas Eve candlelight service. We burned a rather professional CD with recordings of Christmas music and a message urging listeners to remember Christ at Christmas, and put copies- together with invitations to the candlelight service- on doorknobs all over the immediate area. A sudden and unexpected pastoral vacancy recently had occured at St. Mary's, and I was asked by the congregation to fill the Office as an emergency measure at least until a call meeting early in January.
When the appointed hour arrived, some twenty people filled our little sanctuary. A few were visitors, relatives of members. But not a single person from the neighborhood responded to our invitation.
Macht nichts. Jesus promises to be present wherever two or three are gathered in His name- and, as I told the congregation, we had a quorum. He was present, moreover, in the Word (we won't be celebrating the Sacrament until that call is issued). And He was present among us in a tiny, unpretentious place somehow reminiscent of the place where He Himself was born on the first Christmas night. The congregation was even smaller then, and some of those present were rumored to be cattle and donkeys.
As somebody whose first two calls included congregations not much bigger than St. Mary, I've always felt sorry for people forced to worship on Christmas Eve in cathedrals and mega-churches.
The emotional climax, as is usually the case, came when- the lights turned out, reading our hymnbooks only by the light of the candle in each worshipper's hand- we sang Of the Father's Love Begotten and Silent Night.
Our "marketing effort" had failed. Yet God, as He always does, had gathered His people in His own way. Maybe our inability to generate much of a response in the neighborhood wasn't such a bad thing; maybe it was a reminder that congregations, like the children of virgins, are born not of the will or agency of man, but soley by the loving, sovereign will of God.
Comments
Norman Teigen
ELS layman