by Dan Baumgartner

If you have much history with Presbyterian churches, especially in the more eastern reaches of the U.S., you probably have heard the jokes about stiff Scottish ancestry, very cerebral worship services and a passion for forming committees that do things “decently and in order.” “Frozen Chosen” can still be fairly descriptive of many Presbyterian Christians, describing both a frigid emotional state and a high theology of God’s sovereignty.

Allow me to describe a scene at the November 13th Bethany Session meeting, our monthly elders meeting. Matt Royston, one of the current elders, was to be interviewed as the first step in entering the process for ordination as a pastor in the Presbyterian denomination.

This is a part of the Bethany community that I truly love. In the nine years I’ve been at Bethany as pastor, we have had the great privilege of walking with an amazing group people, helping them discern where God was calling them to ministry. Some have completed the ordination process, some are still in it, some have found another calling: John Chase, Eric Dyrhsen, Susan Forshey, Justin Glessner, Sarah Hanson, Bobby Harding, Chad Marshall, Liz Marshall, Chris Murphy, Jeremy Sanderson, Gary Talbert, Ryan White. These friends have absolutely blessed our community.

So Matt Royston was following in some impressive footsteps. Now, try to imagine this scene. Matt is well-known and loved by his session colleagues. They listened carefully to Matt and Holly’s sense of calling, and the steps already being pursued of leaving a business career and beginning seminary studies. They thought about Matt’s leadership at Bethany in worship, and as the elder for the Wednesday Night Dinner ministry. They asked him challenging questions. Matt’s voice shook a little - it was, after all, an immensely important life step and a holy moment. At the end of the interview, following orderly and decent protocol, Matt was asked to leave the room for a few minutes so Session members could talk in private and vote.

It was clear to everyone that exploring a call to full-time ministry was absolutely the right step for the Roystons. So after a couple of minutes of conversation, I asked if someone would invite Matt back in the room. Suddenly, an idea sprang up: “Let’s give him a standing ovation!” Yes, great idea, let’s do that. Then a better idea was shouted out (no names, but it was Linda Cutshall!)- “No, let’s do what parents do at the end of kids soccer game, let’s make a tunnel for Matt to run through!” “Yes, yes, an Elder Tunnel!!” It didn’t sound either orderly or decent…but it sure sounded fun.

The door was opened. Matt stepped back in to the parlor. His mouth fell open. He didn’t know what to do (their kids aren’t old enough to be playing soccer). The elders were spread out in two lines across the room facing each other. Each pair of elder hands were upraised, clasping a partner’s from the other line to form a “tunnel,” and everyone was shouting and laughing and chanting his name and encouraging Matt to run through. It couldn’t have been more festive or alive if we’d ordered in balloons and loud music. What a greeting! To my knowledge, it’s the only “Elder Tunnel” in the history of the Presbyterian Church U.S.A.

Now it’s a couple of weeks later, December has come, and we walk into Advent. On the one hand we step quietly onto this holy ground. We come with the Church of 2000 years, remembering and watching for the arrival of Jesus Christ. We remember a quiet, obscure birth without lights or fanfare. We watch for the time when He will come again. We wait in the in-between. We sing solid carols, hear God’s Word, light candles, soak in the beauty.

And yet. We know where this story goes. The Christ of God enters the world, heaven and earth kiss and we receive our calling, our identity and our assurance of God’s presence forevermore. Somehow our quiet holy moments ought to merge into a raucous party with balloons and tunnels and shouts and clapping. The holy and the boisterous belong together: He is Coming! He is Here! He will come again!

So here’s my paradoxical invitation to you for this Advent, and Christmas: Enter in. Quietly, reverently, somberly, and run rejoicing through the tunnel, reveling in the presence of God.