A Pastoral Presence without Words or Familiar Symbols
The issue of Liturgy dealing with “Liturgy and Identity,” guest-edited by Matthew Lawrence Pierce, looks at how liturgical practices form the identities of individuals and communities. What follows is an excerpt from Jane Buckley-Farlee’s essay on how the changing religious, ethnic, and racial makeup of the neighborhood (Cedar-Riverside in Minneapolis, Minnesota) has changed the church she serves as pastor, Trinity Lutheran (ELCA). –– Melinda Quivik
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It was January 1, 2014, when I first heard about the fire in Cedar-Riverside on the radio. It had just started. Assuming that the center of action would be the Brian Coyle Community Center, I changed into my clergy shirt and headed over. Having no idea who would be there or even why I was going, I knew that wearing a clergy shirt was like having a pass to enter. But for the families waiting for word about their loved ones that was not the case. Chances were fairly good that they had never seen a woman (or a man, for that matter) wearing such an outfit.
As I entered the Community Center, it seemed everyone had something to do. Firefighters were coming in from the cold to warm up, community leaders were doing what they could to keep people updated, the Red Cross was handing out all-beef hot dogs, and the media was trying to find a dark story where there was none.
In times of crisis like this, the priestly role of a pastor is often broadly understood. The clerical collar indicates that a person has come to pray with others, offer words of comfort, embody the presence of God. Such was not the case on this day. Even wearing a symbol that can mean so much at times, the families waiting for word on family members had no idea who I was or why I might be there. I sat with the families and tried to offer comfort and prayer, but I do not speak Somali and my words meant nothing.
It wasn’t the symbol I wore or the words that I spoke that mattered. Simply being in that space with them in the midst of all the worry and sadness and grief spoke volumes to those present. In the days and weeks that followed, as the neighborhood slowly recovered, we continued showing up at the many neighborhood meetings. The meetings were largely in Somali and seemed rather chaotic to my limited capacity of understanding. After sitting silently through several meetings, wondering again why I was there, Imam Sharif said at the end of a meeting, “Sister, we are glad you are here.” Again, the unspoken word of presence was most important.
Imam Sharif’s mosque, Islamic Civic Society of America/Dar Al-Hijrah, had been damaged by smoke and water and was not useable. They were without a home. Trinity’s lower level, newly rented by Augsburg University, was available. We invited them to use our lower level. Having partnered with Dar Al-Hijrah on a number of activities in Cedar-Riverside in the past had established a level of trust between us. Even so, this was a huge step for both of our congregations. Trinity [Lutheran Church] became their home for the next year and a half.
Ironically, perhaps it was through only a few words shared between us in those days after the fire that the Word’s presence was made known. It was a matter of being present, walking alongside and listening for how we might help.
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Please check into this website in two weeks for more from Pastor Buckley-Farlee’s experience of a changing neighborhood and a changing church. The full article and issue of Liturgy 35, no. 2 is available by personal subscription and through many libraries.
Jane Buckley-Farlee, Senior Pastor at Trinity Lutheran Congregation in the Cedar-Riverside, Little Mogadishu neighborhood of Minneapolis, Minnesota, writes a blog: seeinggodinlittlemogadishu.com.
Jane Buckley-Farlee, “Sent as Host and Guest in Little Mogadishu,” Liturgy 35, no. 2 (2020): 11-17.