Viva La Revolucion

A few months ago, our congregation switched to the new hymnal. For Lutherans, this is a very big deal. Very big. With the exception of a few supplemental books here and there, we haven't switched for 30 years (meaning that, the last time a new hymnal was introduced, I was in the cherub choir). So it was time.

For the most part, we've done very well. The fact that this switch brought us from two hymnals to one made a lot of people happy; fewer things to juggle during worship on Sundays. We like the red cover. It has neat art. The print is a little small, but we put so much of it in the bulletin that this hardly matters anyway. There are lots of great hymns (about 900 in all). We even managed to slide into using the "new" version of the Apostles' Creed without much fuss.

But then there's the Lord's Prayer. And lo, there is much weeping and gnashing of teeth.

You would think I had actually demanded that they gouge out their eyes or chop off their hands, given the fervor with which some people approach this change. I overstate a little; in fact, most people have been fine with it. Or, at least, they've kept their not-fineness to themselves, and sighed about how things change, and moved on. I really expected it to be a bigger deal than it was. But a few people seem to think that the version we've been praying was the actual original, the one Jesus prayed his very own self, and my pointing out that it's actually quite different in the gospels (not to mention that Jesus himself was more of an Aramaic speaker than we tend to be) has not taken the edge off it.

(My mother-in-law particularly detests this new version. I love my mother-in-law. And she is not a member of my congregation. so it doesn't particularly bother me that she mumbles the old version to herself during worship on Sundays. I did finally tell her, only half-jokingly, that she needed to complain to her own pastor about it because I had enough grumblings to deal with on my own. She hasn't mentioned it since.)

But I digress. A few months ago, I wrote about a staff situation which was creating some conflict in our congregation. Short version: we changed from multiple part-time music positions to one full-time position, and two of the part-time people took this personally. Their leaving was quite ugly, mostly by their own actions. The choir director and her parents, in particular, left in a huff. Interestingly, the choir director's younger sister and her family remain. Let's call her husband Rick.

During one of the "All About Worship" classes I taught last spring in preparation for the new hymnal, we discussed some of the changes we would be making when it arrived. New liturgies: fine. New version of creed: okay. New hymns: great. New Lord's Prayer: thou art kidding, no? Rick, in particular, was unhappy about this change. Not in a mean way, and not truly angry, but simply wistful - wishing that we wouldn't change just that one thing. Certainly he wasn't the only one; his wife felt the same way, but many others did too. They understood intellectually all the good reasons I gave, but emotionally, it's a different thing. And, believe it or not, I understand that too. I know that "Our Father who art in heaven" will always be my default version. On my deathbed, that's probably how I'll pray it.

Rick and his wife were in church on Sunday after some weeks of absence, during which I had begun to wonder if they had joined the rest of their family in another congregation. But it was great to see them, and we chatted for awhile, and they talked about how much they liked our new music director, and all seemed well. Worship that day went without a hitch: confession and forgiveness, music, prayer, scripture, sermon, creed, prayers, peace...time for communion.

I always bring my bulletin with me to the altar when I preside, because a number of the prayers change seasonally. But when it comes time for the actual communion bit, I use the altar book. The print is big, for one. But mostly, I prefer the heft and weight and significance of a book. Bulletins feel a little flimsy for the moment, for what we are really doing at that point. Everything was going fine. Then I invited the congregation, as I always do: "gathered into one by the Holy Spirit, let us pray as Jesus taught."

I began: "Our Father in heaven..."

And the congregation began, "Our Father, who art in heaven..."

You have never heard a congregation pray anything with as much verve and power and determination as they prayed the old version of the Lord's Prayer. It took me about 2 seconds to realize this was happening. Here is an approximation of the monologue in my head which followed:

"Is that the old version? Are they actually doing this? What happened? Why are they so loud? [Editorial note: seriously. They were almost shouting it.] Do they really hate the old version so much? And why can I hear Rick so well? Is is possible...did he and his wife...did they actually convince people to pray the old version? Is this some sort of bloodless coup? Oh, God. Oh, it is. Oh, they hate this prayer and they hate me and during coffee hour they totally decided, 'SCREW THE PASTOR, we hate this prayer, let's just do it the old way.' I cannot believe this is happening. How could they do this to me? What am I going to do? I can't force them to pray a certain way if they don't want to, right? Oh, God. What am I going to do? HOW COULD THEY DO THIS? I'm going to have to leave. That's it. I'll have to take another call. Oh, God. Oh, no."

I kid you not. In the, oh, forty seconds it takes to pray this prayer (not that I was actually praying, obviously), I concocted an entire revolution in which the whole congregation had conspired to overthrow my liturgical changes and reinstate the traditional version of the Lord's Prayer, all potentially led by a couple who had remained in the congregation not - as I thought - because they disagreed with their family's departure but as covert spies just waiting for their moment to strike. Liturgical Shock and Awe.

And then I looked at the bulletin to check and see which version of "Lamb of God" we would be singing during distribution.

And I noticed, for the first time, that the secretary had accidentally printed the old version of the Lord's Prayer.

They were just reading it.

Somebody find Woody Allen. It's time for a feature film on the world's most neurotic pastor, and I've got his star right here.

Viva la revolucion. Let them eat wafers.