Lutheranism and Other Cultural Awarenesses

Before my folks left me at college, they went through the church brochure that was in my mail box and insisted that I make at least one visit to the University Lutheran Church (a church which cements its claim as the "university" church by explaining its location in proximity to the pizza place: "next to 'Noch's!"). And when I did attend that first Sunday morning, wandering past the early lunch crowd eating pizza and subs, it seemed that I had found a very appropriate place for worship. First, nearly everyone there was from the greater Middle West. This was later confirmed by actually conversing with the various individuals, but that first Sunday morning, when the pastor asked for prayers from the congregation and I heard those long, soft vowels, I forgot about my unfamiliarity with praying aloud and relished in my lucky find. (Oh Lord, thank you for these familiar souls!) Second, as it was full of Midwest Lutherans, the University Lutheran Church never started on time. "Worship at 11:00" the sign in front of the church read. But when I arrived at ten past, the congregation was still standing in the aisle, the organist was still playing the prelude, and the Sunday school classes were just opening their doors to release the students. Sometimes it was 11:20 before we started singing the first hymn! I was at home at the Uni-Lu: comfortable accents and reasonable start times--I know my kind and my kind knows me.

To digress: eventually, I became disenchanted with the University Lutheran Church and started attending the Memorial Church at Harvard. Sometimes, while we were singing at Uni-Lu, the organist would, for some reason, simply quit. Until he resumed the song, there was a confusing and unpleasant muddle of voices, wondering where in the verse they were, wandering through the words at a tempo anywhere between leisurely and frantic. At the Mem Church, on the other hand, there was a well paid student choir to lead the congregation in the hymns, to inspire myself and the other monotone angels to make joyful, (if not wholly pleasant), noises, and to perform the sacred works of renowned composers. Most important, though, is that at the University Lutheran Church, the Lord's Prayer began with "Mother, Father, Sister, Brother God." Fortunately, the Memorial Church says the right Lord's Prayer. (Unfortunately, they say the Prayer following the first hymn in the service. If you aren't in the sanctuary and seated by four minutes past eleven, you must wait behind closed doors in the foyer, muttering the Lord's Prayer with the group of other tardy church goers, sharing faith and shame at being too late to join the congregation while an usher on a power trip guards the heavy old doors until the second hymn begins. I guess you can't have it all...)

While I was still attending the University Lutheran Church, though, I was fairly active in the student group. Every couple of weeks we would meet and quite often we received emails detailing the events at the church: work at the homeless shelter, upcoming concerts involving the organist (as though I would go to see him in concert--like as not he would leave a good many songs unfinished), photo displays of the plights of the farm workers in California or the poverty stricken children in Pakistan. University Lutheran prided itself on being progressive, welcoming, and diverse. Once I received an email with the headline "Lutherans to host Hindus, Episcopalians." Hindus _and_ Episcopalians! I suppose it doesn't get any more diverse than that...

When we were in New Orleans last July, as part of our service project at the ELCA Youth Gathering, we went into the schools to read with the students, encourage them, listen to them, and complete an "important book" with them. I sat in a tiny chair, with my knees peeking over the table top to look at the African-American second grader telling me about the important things in her life for her important book.

"Bills are important, because if you don't have them, you don't have lights or water. School is important, because you learn important things there. My Grandma used to be important, because she gave us food and cake."

I intercede, "Isn't your Grandma important anymore?"

"No, she passed."

"Oh," (brilliantly reassuring.) "Did this happen recently?"

"No, she passed a while ago." (Actually, it was quite recently.)

"Well, you could still put her into your important book, because she is still important to you, right?"

"Fine." she says and begins to fill in the important blanks on the dittoed template. And then, in the box where the illustration belongs, she draws a sky of blue and grass of green and a collection of geometric back drops.

"Will you find me the crayons to draw my Grandma?" she asks and so I hoist myself out of the tiny chair to search for crayons that would match her own dark skin.

When I return to the table with a collection of dark colored crayons, I find that she has already drawn her grandmother using peach and yellow. I am surprised, but unfazed. (I am, after all, a well trained anthropologist who briefly attended the University Lutheran Church at Harvard; I am welcoming to diversity and objective towards all cultures unfamiliar.)

"Is... that... your grandma?" I ask.

"No, I decided to draw you instead. You're dead and in her coffin. And look, you have red shoes. And a red bow in your hair." Oh, well maybe you can have it all.