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1517-2004: A Long Period of Convalescence by Christa Buswell In the manner of a certain preacher at St. A's, I too, like to put things into their historical perspective. What do you think of when you think of Germany in religious terms? Martin Luther, of course and a Lutheran country. It might surprise you to know that before the mass migrations following World War II, the country was almost evenly divided between Catholics and Lutherans, something like 49-51%. I remember a historical atlas used for history lessons, showing a crazy quilt of religious affiliations: purple for Protestant, pink for Catholics. I grew up in a purple city, Nuremberg. (That accident of geography, by the way, deprives you of a lot of holidays available in pink sections like Munich and the Rhineland.) When all my Lutheran classmates were being confirmed, the few lone Catholics at school were forbidden by their priests to attend even the secular part of this pat mitzvah-like rite of passage. So much for Christian unity. When Martin Luther nailed those 95 theses to the church door in Wittenberg in 1517, he did not intend to split the church, only to reform it. Hence the term Reformation. That it did not happen is one of the great tragedies of Christendom, from the 30-Years War, the Inquisition, the Counter-Reformation to mutual distrust, if not hatred, to a metastasis-like sectarian division of the Evangelical churches. During one of the many detours of my spiritual journey, I attended a Lutheran Church for a couple of years. Even taught Sunday School, let's hope I didn't produce little heathens by so doing. I remember Sankt Johannes Church well; a stark building, unadorned by statuary or icon, with the prominently placed pulpit proclaiming Luther's sola scriptura-scripture alone-admonishment. The liturgy was equally Spartan, and the pastor wore no other vestments but a stark black one, with two strips of white at the neck. What was not Spartan, though, was the music: Bach, glorious Bach, and an organ designed to thunder "A mighty fortress is our God." As compared to the more wimpy Catholic ones, meant to sing to gentle Mary. So that's what I expected to find when I walked into St. Paul's the evening of Maundy Thursday. Instead, after having been warmly welcomed by a parishioner, I found a church not unlike ours in ambiance, color and welcoming warmth. And that was just the beginning. The service began, and the pastor wore vestments, just like Hartshorn's and Joyce's. And then Joyce, preaching from a pulpit. And a liturgy rich in meaning and significance. As always, the foot-washing ceremony was deeply moving-I'm told that the St. A's people surprised everyone by turning out en mass for it. Personally, I found great benefit in having a formal pronouncement of absolution-makes it seem more real, somehow. The stripping of the altar, always so symbolic of what would happen if Christ were ever to leave us. There was nothing strange or unfamiliar at that service, and I was struck with how we are more united than apart. By the way, the St. Paul's people did something we need to emulate: helped us find the right hymnal, saw to it that we were not lost. Then, Easter Vigil, that most glorious of services. It was the first one I ever attended, and it was made even more meaningful by sharing it with our brothers and sisters from St. Paul's. I spoke to a number of them, hugged some of them at the Peace, and felt that they, too, shared my joy in having this experience of celebration and reconciliation of our so-called differences. I cannot tell you how thrilled I was to have Pastor Boline give the homily, and a splendid one at that. To partake in the Eucharist, just as his parishioners did. And he did ring that bell with a vengeance! I was asked to write something about what the experience of worshipping with the Lutherans during Holy Week meant to me as a member of St. A's. And I thought of a line from Jane Austen: "Mary wished to say something profound, but she knew not how." So, what I have shared with you here is certainly not profound, but it is sincere and filled with sincere gratitude for the leadership of the clergy of both churches to bring about this much-needed return to what it is that unites us. And that is Christ, and our common prayers. I hope that this was but the first step in a journey of sharing and unification. I know it's June, but "Happy Easter, and Alleluia," once more with feeling.
Copyright © 2004 St. Augustine by-the-Sea
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