Dear Memory Makers:

In 1997 the national denominational judicatories of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) and the Presbyterian Church USA (PCUSA) signed an agreement of full communion partnership. While the two denominations have always considered the other truly Christian, this agreement primarily recognized the mutuality of clergy. In other words, following the 1997 agreement, I was able to make Lutheran Sacraments happen, and vice versa. On a practical level this permitted local congregations to swap lists of pastors who could serve as Sunday substitutes for vacant pulpits. Neither denomination required ordination for worship leadership including preaching, but both require an ordained minister to preside over the sacraments. This was a greater problem for the ELCA as many of their congregations celebrated weekly Eucharist (Communion) whereas most PCUSA congregations celebrated the Lord’s Supper monthly.

At the time, I was teaching at the University of Chicago Divinity School, which left my Sundays free to provide pulpit supply. Not long after the PCUSA/ELCA agreement was signed, I received calls from Chicago-area Lutheran congregations needing Sunday help. While the basic structure of the service is similar, it took me a while to become comfortable with the Lutheran layout; it always felt like I was cooking in a stranger’s kitchen.

I received an invitation to preach and preside over Eucharist at the First Lutheran Church of the Trinity in Bridgeport. They had already reduced their Communion consumption to monthly, given the small number of clergy available to fill their pulpit.

I arrived at 31st and Lowe to encounter a massive Germanic edifice, the cornerstone dated 1913. To the west of the church building was a three-story brick school of similar vintage and a small parking lot. As I pulled into the lot, Rich Albrecht, the church administrator, came out and suggested I park on the street; if I was one of the first to park in the lot, my car would be blocked in for some time after the service, as about twenty cars would be packed into the space designed for twelve.

I was early enough for a quick tour. Rich, who prides himself on knowing the history of all things First Trinity, told me how this was the second oldest continuous Lutheran congregation in Chicago. The sanctuary boasted a Wangerin pipe organ suffering from respiratory failure and a magnificently carved alter imported from Germany before World War I. (For greater detail, I invite you to read a wonderful history online here.)

The upper floor of the school had been transformed into a coffeehouse affectionately called The Orphanage. Local artists decorated the space with found objects and created an aesthetic blending Narnia and Mad Max. Twice weekly performances by volunteer musicians provided an amazingly eclectic playlist of classical string quartets and woodwind trios, street rappers, folk singers, poetry slams and grunge bands. On the building’s first floor was one of the largest and best organized clothing distribution centers I have ever seen. Affectionately called “God’s Closet”, First Trinity provided both emergency food and clothing seven days a week, staffed by a raft of volunteers who were also clients of their services. At the same time, everywhere I looked there was evidence of structural deterioration wrought by decades of deferred maintenance. Folks wandered in from the street and fixed themselves meals in the church’s kitchen which were served to anyone following worship.

For the next thirteen years I served nearly every month. To suggest the congregation reflected the community’s diversity grossly understates one’s comprehension of diversity. The homeless, bohemian artists, elderly German immigrants, Hispanic families, transgendered outcasts, Protestant Asians from nearby Chinatown, recovering and unrecovered addicts gathered for worship. In the winter it was impossible to heat the main sanctuary, so we assembled in a school classroom transformed into a makeshift chapel. The people and the space were unselfconscious in their humility; it was, for me, holy.

Yesterday was the Lutheran Church of the Trinity’s last worship service. After 158 years of service and sacrament, time and decay had triumphed over waning hope. Inspectors could no longer avert their gaze; when a carpet’s color can no longer be discerned under layers of plaster dust, it’s time.

I attended the 3:00 p.m. worship service, a decidedly Lutheran event. A former member turned technician provided free tuning prior to the organ’s final breath, wheezing out “A Mighty Fortress Is our God” for the last time. Hugs, tears and laughter punctuated the afternoon. This past January, a catastrophic steampipe rupture had rendered the school building unsafe for entry and the Orphanage, the open kitchen and God’s Closet closed tight.

It’s easy to romanticize shoestring urban ministry, so much good flowing from so little. It was an honor to share a portion of the journey; but like the end-stop on the road to Emmaus, in the moment we finally recognize the presence of Christ, he’s moved on, leaving us only with a burning memory.  

Remembering, I remain,

With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor