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The
following remarks were shared at a Thanksgiving service which
combined congregants from Temple Beth El, St. Hugo of the
Hills Roman Catholic Church, and Kirk in the Hills
Presbyterian Church. They were offered in response to a
tribute bestowed upon Dr. Ritter commemorating forty years in
ministry and twelve years of pastoral leadership in the
greater Birmingham/Bloomfield community.
Rabbi Syme,
Dr. Pritchard and Monsignor Tocco, let me thank you for your
wonderful tribute. Coming from anybody, such words would be
welcome. But coming from colleagues I respect and admire, such
words are wonderful. And if there be any justification in the
singling out of one, given the worthiness of many, I am glad
it happened tonight in the midst of a worshiping congregation
that is so clearly and communally interfaith.
I am the
grandson of a German Lutheran and Slovenian Catholic. I am
married to a woman with multiple Jewish ancestors and an uncle
in the priesthood. And just six weeks ago, my daughter
married, of all things, a Presbyterian (whose father sings in
a United Church of Christ chorale). I was bred to be a bridge.
I was wed to be a bridge. And I have been led through forty
years of ministry, trying to rebuild bridges that some of my
colleagues are presently burning.
For it
occurs to me, as I look upon my tradition, that an inordinate
amount of time and passion is spent parsing the house rather
than enlarging the house. Far too many of my colleagues are
worrying about, even obsessing over, who’s right and who’s
wrong…who’s right and who’s left….who’s in and
who’s out…. who’s welcome and who’s not.
All things
considered, this is not terribly neighborly. Every four years,
it seems that some politician or another asks me if I am
better off than I was four years ago. Which is a rather
selfish way to look at things. For, as a man of faith, I
should be asking if my neighbor is better off than he was four
years ago….especially when the neighbor is (in the words of
the Founder of my Firm) “numbered among the least of
these.”
I can’t
let go of that wonderful image from the prophetic tradition of
Israel that describes all those people streaming up the
mountain….too many to count….too centered to divide….and
altogether too wondrous to credit to anyone other than God.
I know
there are as many different ideas of the journey’s end as
there are people in this room. And as to whether your
particular concept of “going home” includes some kind of
post-arrival accounting, I do not know. But in the event that
I am met by Maker, Master, Mediator or High Priest and asked
to account for my ministry, I expect my interrogator will
begin by noting the toiling I have done in my little corner of
the vineyard….row 53, to be specific….row 53 (the
Methodist row at the corner of Maple and Pleasant). But if
there is a question of accountability to follow, I do not
expect to be asked how it went with row 53. Rather, I expect
to be asked: “So Bill, how did the vineyard do?”
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