Smiling Madonna - Chapter One

a mystery with church, and monks, and all
in Seattle
weeklyupdates

CHAPTER ONE
It was an unusual statue to find outside a Lutheran pastor’s house. But it wasn’t exactly outside a Lutheran pastor’s house – it was outside the house of four pastors, all ordained in the Lutheran tradition. Whether or not you expected the black porcelain statue of a smiling Madonna and child on the porch, it did indicate something about the brothers – that is what they called themselves – who lived there.
“Brother” is one of the few acceptable titles a male protestant pastor could stomach being called. Father, friar, monk, these and others all meant too many things. This was a group of people who were only of late officially talking to the Roman Catholic church. Rumor was that there were actually quite a number of people who were Lutheran, or other Protestant flavors, living in Roman Catholic communities. This fact made the existence of this house of Lutheran brothers (or monks) all the more tenuous and surprising.

George was to meet the bishop of the Western Washington Synod at his office. The church that housed the synod offices was near the bus tunnel, so it was easiest to walk to and from the bus. George carried his black leather briefcase which his last congregation had given him. It thumped against his hip, slung low across his shoulder and chest as he stepped up onto the metro bus, and took a seat looking east in the bright afternoon sun. As the bus started again and merged into traffic on highway 99, Green Lake, then Woodland Park passed by. The park was one of the largest areas of the city that turned colors in the fall. Most of the Evergreen State, or even the Emerald City didn’t change color much. Today was unusually sunny, George thought, clear blue skies offset the fiery yellow and orange leaves, that turned to deep reds as the Stone Way exit passed by. The bus moved out across the Aurora bridge to Queen Anne Hill, past old and new apartments and the few remaining businesses fronting the highway.

George’s thoughts turned to his meeting with the bishop. It ought not be difficult. It ought to be a time for the bishop to express any concerns he had about a Lutheran monastery being part of the synod. In fact, he could do little to influence the ministry of a congregation within ‘his’ synod. George was one of two Lutheran clergy already in place, serving Green Lake Lutheran church. In fact, most congregations did not ever see a need for the synod until they had trouble of some kind, or needed another pastor. George knew that a bishop spent most of their time when those two criteria coincided, usually with abuse, or other inappropriate relationships by a pastor. George imagined that was from where the bishop’s concerns would come in today’s meeting.

As the bus drew nearer the metro station, George gathered his coat and briefcase together and stepped around the floor to ceiling hand-rails for one size fits all steadying. He moved to the rear of the articulated bus and out the back door, behind a girl and young boy wearing a red superhero backpack. George followed them up the steps to 6th Avenue and back over to the synod offices at the church whose sign read, “Emanuel Lutheran at Denny Park”.

George skipped the odd steps to the synod office entrance, catching a glimpse of himself in the glass door before entering. He saw his pressed khaki pants, ¾ length tan overcoat knotted at the waist, over a white button down and black sweater. George had wondered about a tie, but decided on just keeping the top button buttoned. Bishop Robert and he had known each other for several years from synod committees and from being in the same church. That Robert had been elected bishop was not a complete surprise. Now in his third year of six, George believed he would be able to have this meeting and it could be what it needed to be. The only question George was coming in to talk about was whether the synod would sign off on this new ministry of Green Lake Lutheran Church – a religious house of study and spiritual formation – by another name a monastery. That status would allow the other pastors to keep their rostered status as pastors within this synod without a vote of the congregation.

George took off his jacket and hung it on a hanger in the entryway closet space. As he turned around to the first desk, that of the receptionist, he heard a familiar voice. It was the dean of the Aurora conference, the group of about 15 churches in George’s part of the synod. With all the Scandinavians who settled in North Seattle, this conference was one of the largest number in so small a geographic area. Which is not to say that the dean’s job was anything desireable. It was considered a chore by most people, and to be passed around in turn unless a pastor could escape it – perhaps by having shouldered other synod work already. George had done his share already in two conferences, but not yet in this one. His dean was in the last year of her three year term. This meant she was concluding her role, unless the other clergy could convince her to serve again.

“Jodi, how are you?” George inquired when Jodi Lindquist stepped out of the assistant to the bishop’s office on the other side of the room. Jodi looked toward the voice, Her face, full of concentration changed at seeing George.

Recognition dawning, gears shifting, thought George, as Jodi’s eyes focused on him, and she smiled, “Hi, George!” she said warmly. “How are things going?”

Jodi knew that; 1) George and Travis led one of the most healthy congregations in the conference, 2) George and three other men were already living together in community, and 3) George was at the synod office to meet with the bishop about recognizing this ministry of community. In fact, Jodi had experienced a bit of the community’s life together and knew some of what it meant to the vitality of the congregation they served.

“Good,” Said George evenly. Jodi thought she saw the gritted teeth of someone trying a new thing in an old institution, even though technically, their branch of the Lutheran tree of Protestant Christianity was not even 15 years old.

“Greetings Bishop!” said George.
“Hello, how are you George?”
“Good! Very well.”
They shook hands and George sat opposite the bishop’s desk in a fairly comfortable brown leather chair that put his on the same level as the bishop’s eyes.
“What’s news at Green Lake Lutheran?”
“Not much really new – or at least unexpected. That’s good.”
“Yes…” said the bishop.
“So this is our meeting about the official recognition of the ministry that four of us are living out over at Green Lake Lutheran and in the community in the neighborhood.”
“Right. I guess the point to which I want to get is recognizing the whole mission you four are living out there..”
“at this point however, the four of us are looking for the synod just to sign off on the three other calls. We want to get full recognition and some place in the understanding of committed religious life, but that is down the road. We realize that.”
The hard part for me,” the bishop paused, “The difficulty is solely from that end. I don’t sign off on calls that do not come from a congregation – not unless they are in some recognizeable specialized ministry.”
“You mean like chaplaincy in a hospital or prison.”
“Yes.”
“That is of course, where we want our roles or ministries to be included.”
“You’re clear I don’t have authority to make decisions like this on my own,” said the bishop.
“Right. The synod council needs to be involved.”
“Yes, but its even larger than that, “ Bishop Robert said. “The conference of bishops has been tightening the range of specialized ministries which don’t include word and sacrament. That’s for pastors – of course there are many more opportunities for rostered leaders who are Associates in Ministry…”
“But we’re talking about pastors – ministers set apart for the ministry of word and sacrament – who do function in that role pretty regularly. The goal is for them to develop this practice for the future.”
“You have probably already asked the congregation about extending calls to the other three men?”
“Of course, living in Simpson House helped us have that discussion long ago. It was decided that – without going into the details – the pastors could be tentmakers part-time and pay the required health care and retirement costs, passing funds through the congregation. It seems more honest and helpful to invite the synod to ratify this ministry instead of just filling out the proper forms and passing money around.”
The two sat in silence for a moment, then the bishop leaned forward and made his suggestion – his position clear.
“George, I want to say again that it’s my goal you are recognized for the whole mission you are living out there. And right now… How soon is one of your number’s status as rostered clergy coming up for review? I assume he’s on leave from call now.”
“Yes. Stephen’s the first. I understand that what happens is that his name would just drop off the official list – in 18 months. The date is actually right after the synod assembly the year after next. That means if there needs to be action we have either two chances beginning in two months, or 14 months and no second chance, if the proposal were defeated.”
“Clearly you’ve spoken with Sarah.”
“Yes, since she coordinates the timelines for the synod assemblies.”
“George are there any other groups – men or women - doing this thing in the church?
“No one with more than four people living in one house. There are families living in apartments and near one another, but no other Lutherans, in this Lutheran church, in the United States or Canada doing the monasticism thing.”
“I am afraid the best I can offer you, is to keep working on possibilities.”
“One option I wanted to mention has to do with declaring our mission as a co-synodical ministry, like Lutheran Social Workplace, or even the Political Advocacy Group. Not quite a congregation, but empowered to minister within the synod’s borders.”
“I’ll take that under consideration. It has some possibilities.”
“Good.”
“Thank you for coming in, George,” said the bishop standing up.
George held his feelings. Stood up, thanked the bishop for his time and walked to the outer office space. The bishop’s office had been sort of stuffy, so it was good to breathe more easily. George thanked the receptionist and picked up his coat, putting it on before leaving to walk back to the bus station.
The ride home was uneventful. The colors of the leaves were fading from their afternoon brilliance, now that the sun was behind some clouds on the horizon and sinking towards the Olympic mountains. Much more of the ride looked like the color of pavement, but perhaps that was George’s head facing more downward.