Hands On

My birthday cake back in February should have been emblazoned with 50 candles. . .  if the local fire codes would have allowed it. . . and although some middle-aged people regard the sight of such a cake as a horror,  to me it is a wonderful symbol for all that one amasses in the course of a long life.  It’s as though each of those lit candles represents one more blessing – one more lesson learn – one more path explored – one more adventure taken – and yes, one more ache or pain in the joints.   As you get to be my age, it can be tempting to think of life as one long decrescendo . . . a gradual unraveling . . . the slowing and wobbling and eventual toppling of the spinning top.   That birthday cake with all the candles atop it represents just the opposite.

I mention all that not to regurgitate the tale of my 50th birthday – old news by now, in more ways than one – but as a segue into the story of this past Sunday’s celebration of my dad’s 50th anniversary of being an ordained Lutheran pastor.  The typical pastor is usually well into their retirement when they reach this particular landmark (if they reach it at all) but in the case of my dad,  his ministry is still quite vibrant, thanks to the substitute preaching and teaching he does plus his storytelling, which is very much a part of his ministry.  And not that long ago,  my dad was still busy as an interim pastor,  dispatched by the local bishop to a succession of different congregations who in various ways were struggling and/or hurting – and doing some of the most important work of his entire career.   So while some pastor’s my dad’s age have spent a decade or more perfecting their putting,  my dad is still about the business of pastoring.   And although time dims certain memories and causes certain relationships to fade in importance,  that same span of fifty years leaves one with a very bright array of candles and a rich legacy of grace.

Some random thoughts. . .

1. ** *I am so grateful that my dad’s wife Sonja took this milestone so seriously- because I know that it was a very meaningful and important milestone to my dad.  But I know that if it had been left up to him,  he would have felt awkward hiring brass bands and baton twirlers for his own celebration and insisting that the rest of us kick up quite a fuss.   But Sonja embraced the task at hand and really put together a lovely celebration which consisted of a Sunday morning service, reception,  musical program, and luncheon. I will always appreciate what she did.

1. ** * One of the only things I contributed to the proceedings, aside from playing piano for the Sunday service,  was one important idea.  It was I who remembered that someplace there were photos from dad’s ordination service and my suggestion that they be located and put on display sent my dad to the closet to find his box of photos and mementos.  And what fun we had sifting through its treasures before eventually finding what we were looking for-  photos of dad, surrounded by fellow clergy,  with his own father officiating at the installation.   And there was a picture taken that same day at that church in Gonvick, Minnesota  with dad, his folks, my mom, and ME – just a few months old – none of us having any real idea of what was ahead.

* * * It was wonderful to read through the cards which dad had received for the occasion- and many of them were incredibly eloquent.   In many cases,  the person in question wrote about very specific memories, and sometimes these involved moments from nearly a half century earlier – and while some were the kind of life moments that feel quite important at the time, others were moments that my dad had no idea had left such a deep and lasting impression.   One odd thing is that you cannot predict who will write for such an occasion.   Certain people we would have fully expected to write did not . . . while many of the people who did take the time to correspond were an immense surprise.   One really big source of bewilderment is that from one of dad’s previous congregations we received one card from one solitary person.  In the end,  it’s best not to think to much about such things but to just be grateful for each and every person who took the time to write and share whatever was in their hearts.   One thing was certain after reading those cards:   my father has touched a lot of people’s lives with his ministry, and often in ways that he himself did not even fully appreciate and understand.

* * *I was honored that Advent Lutheran Church – the congregation in which Dad and Sonja are members – chose to do my liturgy “O the Joy” for the occasion.  This is an amazing church and when they sing, they raise the roof like no other Lutheran congregation I’ve ever heard.  And I was grateful to have a lineup of two guitarists, two flutists, and a clarinetist to join in the music-making.

1. ** *One intriguing facet of the service was that it combined my dad’s 50th anniversary celebration with a celebration of that congregation’s high school graduates who would soon be leaving for college.  There was something profoundly touching about that juxtaposition – seeing those young people with so much of their life story yet to be written and seeing my dad with the vast majority of his life story already lived.  To share in both those celebrations on the same morning made them all the more moving.  It’s one of the reasons why I sang “Caleb’s Song” – something I wrote as a graduation gift for a former student of mine but which I’ve also sung for the funeral of my good friend Playford Thorsen – and for other important events as well.  “Did I make a difference?  Did I share some light?  Did I bring some comfort in somebody’s night?  Did I plant some flowers?  Did I sow some seeds?  Did I help a stranger? Did I see another’s need?”   Wherever we are in the arc of our life’s journey,  these are the kinds of questions we need to ask ourselves.

1. ** * At the moment in the service when my dad’s ministry was celebrated,  Pastor Jeff Wild shared some lovely thoughts about my dad and then invited any family members and special friends to come forward for a time of prayer- and he had us form what amounted to a sort of human chain- a few people laying hands on my father, and others drawing near and laying hands on them- and if you looked back into the sanctuary, you saw the inspiring sight of everyone there literally connected,  joined together in prayer.   It was a beautiful image, and I can only imagine what it was like for my dad as the centerpiece of such a chain.

1. ** * The program after the reception did not emerge from weeks of careful planning and thought,  I’m embarrassed to admit.   It sprang almost entirely out of the moment itself.  Randi, Matt, Kathy and I sang a Navajo Prayer to get things started –  and then my precious nephew Kaj sang a lovely little song (a cappella) about this Pretty Little Planet we all live on.  I”ll never forget the sound of that pure, exquisite little voice- or the sight of Kaj singing without the slightest trace of shyness or hesitancy.   Talk about a tough act to follow!  But follow it we did with a simple children’s song, “Fisherman Peter,”  which featured Nathan.  This was a way to step back more than thirty years to when the Bergs joined forces with our good friends the Martinsons to form a group called His Gang- and when we sang this song on those concerts all those years ago,  my brother Nathan was the 8 year old little boy who stole the show.   He doesn’t do all that much singing anymore,  and he especially doesn’t sing solos in front of people,  so this was an incredibly moving moment…  and he rose to the occasion beautifully.

1. ** * The centerpiece of the program was when my dad shared what he characterized as a short version of his life story-  and it was masterful.  He really did an amazing job of taking us through the essentials of who he is and how he came to be who he is- and where his 78 years of life and 50 years of ministry have taken him.   He talked of being born in Casper, Wyoming and of how his earliest childhood was lived against the sorrowful and even frightening backdrop of the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl- and he recalled that anyone who ever came to the parsonage asking for help was never turned away empty-handed. . . even though they had very little in material possessions.    He recounted the story of the fire which destroyed their house one cold wintery night, consuming their every earthly possession.  He took us through the years of Augustana Academy and St. Olaf College,  his time teaching in Germany,  his study at Luther Northwestern Seminary, and his brief tenure as an adjunct religion professor at Augustana College.  One of the best lines in the whole thing was when he said – and I think he meant it in all sincerity – that he learned more in that one year of teaching at Augustana than he had learned in his previous eight years as a student.

Then of course came the years of his pastoral ministry, beginning with Colton, South Dakota. . . and he shared at that point a story which I think brought a tear to the eye of just about everyone present.   Just weeks after my dad began his ministry in Colton, a fairly young man in the parish committed suicide, leaving behind him a wife and children – and a bewildered and heartbroken congregation.   As my dad prepared for that funeral and the sermon he would deliver,  he wondered how on earth we would find anything meaningful to say to the mourners who had gathered there – feeling a tremendous weight of responsibility on his young and narrow shoulders.   But as he stepped into that pulpit, he looked out at the congregation and only saw looks of concern and compassion on the faces of those parishoners, who were obviously concerned for their brand new pastor (28 years old) who had been burdened with such a massive load so soon after coming into their midst.  And as he looked out and saw their faces,  he realized for the first time that they were all in this together. . . that is,  ministry would mean that they ministered to him as much as he ministered to them, and together they would experience and share in the grace of God.

From there,  it was on to his years in Decorah, Atlantic, and Luther Valley – the interruption of his ministry – and then its resumption when the bishop encouraged him to seek reinstatement and subsequently assigned him to several interim positions.   Along the way, there was his marriage to my mom (he says he instantly fell in love with the beauty of her shorthand) – the birth of four children – my mom’s death – his marriage to Sonja – and many important and meaningful experiences along the way, right up to the present day.

It was all beautifully crafted and delivered,  and it just underscored for me what an exceptional gift my dad has for putting words together. . . not in a way that is flowery and flamboyant – or pulpit-poundingly mighty – but rather in a way that quietly yet powerfully touches the heart.   My fumbled, bumbled words during the program were so amateurish by comparison and I almost regretted having said anything at all, except that in trying (and pretty much failing) to say anything worthwhile or meaningful,  it just underscored for everyone there how masterfully my father expresses himself.

When the applause for dad’s remarks finally subsided,  I couldn’t imagine doing any other singing aside from the Doxology. . . Praise God from whom all Blessings Flow. . . because nothing could have better embodied what was in our hearts at that moment.  And we sang it the way the Bergs prefer to sing it . . . .   SLOWLY . . . .  as if we wanted that moment to never end.

Because that’s exactly what we wanted.

pictured above:  the moment right before the laying on of hands.  In the front row, left to right:  my sister Randi, my nephew Kaj (almost totally obscured by the candles), Sonja, dad,  my brother Nathan,  Kathy and me.  Just behind Kathy you can see her dad.  I was so touched that Bob wanted to drive all the way to Madison to be part of the celebration.  And behind Sonja were a number of her family members, who had a huge day thanks to a graduation party for one of Sonja’s granddaughters.  But even with all that going on for them,  they wanted to be there for dad’s celebration.  We were immensely touched by that gesture.