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The Chain



This is the time of year for ordinations and installations, and when new district presidents both take their offices and begin to officiate for others.

Ordinations are solemn occasions, installations also, but less so.

An ordination is a link in a long chain that began with Jesus and the apostles. It has meandered through men of unknown times and places: one link at a time, one ministry at a time, one lifetime at a time - through times of peace and times of turmoil, through persecutions and wars and plagues and controversies, through a parade of continents, of nations, of the rise and fall of empires, and even of languages emerging and going extinct. Through it all, the chain survives and binds us to all who came before, as well as those yet to be born. And the chain is almost all unknown to us. We know Jesus “breathed on His disciples” (John 20:22-23) and we know that He sent them out to baptize and to teach (Matt 28:19-20). And we know that these eleven - plus Matthias who replaced Judas, plus Paul, “as to one untimely born” (1 Cor 15:8) - were all directly ordained by Jesus. And we know that these men ordained other men (e.g. Sts. Timothy and Titus), and they did the same.

And we pastors know who ordained us, and perhaps even the man who ordained the man who ordained us. But it is not likely that we know anything about where that chain went in between Jesus and a couple of links before us. And obviously, we don’t know where this chain will go in the future, nor who will be bound by it in generations to come. But we know it will end where it began: with Christ.

But just because we cannot name the links between Christ at the head of the chain and Christ at its fulfillment doesn’t mean that the chain doesn’t exist.

It exists.

Pastors don’t ordain themselves. Hands are laid on our heads as part of the chain. And this rite is so synonymous with a man being put into order into the Holy Office, that it is used as a synecdoche, a representation of the whole by the part. “The laying on of hands” is used interchangeably with the word “ordination.”

We are told that the Holy Spirit was given through this manual action (1 Tim 4:14).

And so everyone involved in ordination - the candidate, the district president or other minister of ordination, the other assisting clergy, the congregation - everyone - should hopefully acknowledge the presence of the chain: the organic human connection, hands to head, stretching back to the very breath of Jesus upon His apostles.

Chains are weighty. Chains are also a source of strength. The chain of ordination is like a phalanx that draws the power of Jesus at the head of the chain, and binds us to our fathers and heroes who willingly bound themselves with the same chain spanning time and place. Jacob Marley wore the chain of avarice that he forged in life. But this chain of ordination was forged by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus to bind us to the Office that He forged as His plan of salvation from before the foundation of the world.

I remember my own ordination, that it was joyful, the culmination of years of study and hard work. It was exciting and humbling, as the church was full of people there because the chain was being extended to include me. I was ordained by the Rev. Douglas Punke at Zion Lutheran Church in Fort Wayne - hundreds of miles from where I would be serving as a campus pastor in the New Orleans area. This accommodation was granted to me so that my family members would be able to witness my being chained.

I remember the laying on of hands, both of Father Douglas and of the other pastors. In one sense, it was a comforting feeling, like gentle hands of a father patting the head of a child. Of course, my fathers in the faith knew that I would need their comfort and the strength of the Holy Spirit, and of their own chains being shared with me. But when Pastor Punke’s hands were laid on my head, and when he spoke my name, saying, “I ordain and consecrate you into the Office of the Holy Ministry of the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic church” and he made the sign of the cross over me, the chain was placed on me. The burden was palpable. It is symbolically represented by presenting the newly-ordained with a stole: the yoke of his office. I was also vested in a chasuble to celebrate my first Mass, and presented with a pectoral crucifix around my neck - a cross that I had actually received at the age of sixteen, but one that now represents the chain of ordination, and my own link in the ancient chain.

Over the years, I’ve witnessed and participated in a few ordinations. I have helped lay the chain on other men. It is solemn. I know that the burden of the Office will be heavy, but paradoxically, Jesus’ burden is light (Matt 11:30). I know that the chain - like the church - is one, holy, catholic, and apostolic. The chain begins and finds its end, its telos, in Jesus - the Alpha and the Omega. The chain is a symbol of slavery - and yet in our servitude to Christ, we find our freedom - especially for us who are called to His service.

But too often, it seems like the pastors and the ministers of ordination do not recognize the gravity, the gravitas, of the chain - or even the chain’s existence at all. We leave the chaining of men, the duty of ordaining pastors, to district presidents who are often no longer comfortable as celebrants of rite, having typically been called away from altar, font, and pulpit to an office of administration of paperwork rather than the administration of Word and Sacrament by means of liturgical action. Sometimes the results are more like a train wreck than a train that extends through space and time.

I’ve seen district officials read the rubrics in brackets rather than understanding that these are not to be read (remember: say the black, do the red). I’ve seen ministers of ordination facing the altar and making robotic signs of the cross, clueless of the rite and what is happening. I’ve heard the words flubbed, and seen men dressed like slobs.

As the kids say, let’s “be better.”

A district president does not have to perform the rite of ordination if he is not comfortable in the shoes of one presenting a two thousand year old golden chain to its newest recipient. And he need not delegate it to one of the vice presidents either. Now, the district president may perform this responsibility well, and the same may be true of his lieutenants - but if not, please find a pastor who can do the moment justice. Better yet would be for the district president to learn, to rehearse, and to seek counsel of his brothers who do know the conduct of the services and how to officiate properly, with dignity and decorum. Old dogs can indeed learn new tricks - if the old dog has sufficient humility and is willing to work.

When the children of Israel were being consecrated to receive the Ten Commandments, God instructed Moses to tell the people to launder their clothing (Ex 19:10). When God established the chain of ordination among the Old Testament priests, he established the use of vestments (Ex 28). And our New Testament vestments continue today, having become part of the chain that winds its way back to the Reformation and well beyond. But how often do we see “that guy” in the photograph who refuses to wear vestments - or perhaps passively-aggressively wearing a red stole over street clothes - like a bride contemptuously and mockingly putting a white veil over ripped jeans and a low-cut tee shirt.

Can you imagine a soldier, sailor, airman, or marine deciding to stand out from the others by mixing civilian and street clothes for a Changing of the Guard ceremony? And what commanding officer would allow it? If a pastor shows up to participate in an ordination without proper vestments, the district president should not permit him to participate or appear in photographs. Such men dishonor the chain - and by doing so, they dishonor Christ at the head of the chain.

Indeed, the military understands the importance of the chain of tradition that binds the present day men in warrior service to their brethren in antiquity. Obviously, a marine in a foxhole isn’t wearing dress blues. But he also understands when the ceremonial uniform is appropriate - and he is not ashamed to wear it, nor does he try to make a statement decrying tradition at a time when a solemn rite is happening - one that demonstrates that the military is indeed bound by a chain. The marine knows that he is bound to the Corps, the corpus, the body. He is but a member - a link in the chain.

The Church Militant is also bound by such a chain of tradition. And it is typically the anti-traditionalist in the photograph making himself stand out by his lack of decorum: often being a pastor of the megachurch that doesn’t use the liturgy. He shows his contempt by his attire. He should be treated like the inappropriately clad character in our Lord’s parable (Matt 22:12-13).

The beauty of tradition is that it reminds a man that it is not about him.

And there is also a reason it is the “laying on” of hands, not the “holy hover.” I was taught in seminary that if the district president doesn’t make contact during ordination, to reach up and force his hands to touch your head. I don’t know why some are so squeamish about it.

The ministry is not a sanitized office. It is tactile. The pastor is not unlike a dental hygienist in the sense that at least once a week, he will put his fingers nearly into the mouths of his parishioners when he communes them. Pastors cannot be stand-offish about physical contact. I attended an installation Divine Service recently in which the celebrant refused to place the body of Christ on the tongues, or even in the hands, of the communicants. Jesus commanded him and all pastors to “Feed my lambs” (John 21:15). He did not instruct us to bring around a bowl and make people pick one out as if it were Halloween candy. If you don’t have the stomach to put Christ into the mouths of men, women, and children at the rail, and if you are afraid to touch the heads of the men you are bound to chain by virtue of your administrative office, then delegate that responsibility to someone else.

Obviously, installations are not ordinations. There is no laying on of hands. The chain of the laying on of hands is already in place. But there is a solemnity in these rites as well, as a man’s ordination vows are called to mind and repeated - vows which remind everyone that the pastor is bound by his confession and office to the Bible and the Book of Concord, as the canonical Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, as well as the individual ecumenical creeds and evangelical confessions are mentioned by name - and the pastor confirms the existence of the chain that binds him to the Word of God and to its correct exposition from our chain of confessional tradition.

This rite reminds all that it is indeed not about the man, but about the God-Man. The pastor is not chained by virtue of his own gifts, but rather by virtue of being called into the office that is bigger than he. The ritual of installation is like a Changing of the Guard ceremony - a public affirmation of rightful (and riteful) authority - not only the authority he bears, but the authority by which he is bound - another set of chains that are a source of strength and of service.

In our zeal to distinguish installation from ordination, we ought not treat it as a “nothing-burger.”

For even positions of authority in the congregation, district, or synod are likewise bound as auxiliaries to the Office of the Holy Ministry. Christ Himself founded the one office, and all other offices exist to provide support to the pastoral office, not unlike those who held up Moses’ arms during the battle against the Amalekites (Ex 17:12).

Serving as a minister of a rite takes work. It is an example of practical theology, theology as practiced, theology as praxis.

Let us all rejoice and be mindful of the chain - for the links are forged by the Holy Spirit and by the Word. This chain binds the pastor, but indeed, it frees the sinner. And the chain finds its beginning and its end in our Lord Jesus Christ!

Larry Beane2 Comments