ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
The Rev. Glen Thomas had a devilish task in front of him. He was giving the sermon Tuesday evening at the Assignment of Calls service at Concordia Seminary.
This is a most drama-laden night for seminarians and their wives. It is the night they are called — assigned — to their first church. The Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod has churches in all 50 states and Canada. For reasons that perhaps only Lutherans understand, many of these churches are in very cold places.
The LCMS is split into 35 districts. There is a Minnesota North and a Minnesota South, a Wisconsin North and a Wisconsin South. Meanwhile, California shares a district with Nevada and Hawaii.
So as Thomas looked out at more than 100 anxious seminarians and their equally anxious wives, he understood that most of them, despite their appreciation of a good homily, just wanted to get on with the program. Where would they be going? How cold would it be?
Yet if Thomas were to glance to his left, he could see assembled the officials of the church, including the presidents of the 35 national districts. Stern-looking men, I thought. Men who have looked winter in the eye and not blinked. Some of them had traveled a long way for this, and they probably expected a full-fledged sermon.
Perhaps recalling his own anxiety when he wore a seminarian's robe in 1982 — he was called to Mascoutah — Thomas opted for brief. He spoke of the joy the seminarians would feel when they fed the flock the pure spiritual food of God's word, but he kept the sermon light by building it around the words of Yogi Berra: It isn't over until it's over.
Then the Rev. Gerald Kieschnick, president of the LCMS, rose from the ranks of the church officials. He looked stern, but was not. He acknowledged that seminarians on the cusp of Call pay scant attention to sermons. I can't recall who was in the pulpit or what he said at my Call, Kieschnick said. I think he talked about sin, and I think he was against it, he said.
By the way, Kieschnick was called in 1970 to Biloxi, Miss. His wife, Terry, told me that her mother-in-law had leaned over and said to her, "That's where the hurricanes come in."
Then it was time for this year's Call.
The Rev. Robert Hoehner did the honors. He is Concordia's director of placement. In March and then again in April, he gets together with church officials and the placement director of the other LCMS seminary, in Indiana, to fit the men to the churches. Actually, not just the men. Hoehner and his colleagues try to take into account the wives, too. Some have careers or educational opportunities that must be factored into the placements. But in the end, a pastor goes where the church needs him.
Hoehner understands that. He was hoping for a missionary position in Europe when he was called in 1972. Instead, he was called to Linn, Kan., a town of about 400. The church lacked indoor plumbing. In fact, church officials were thinking of closing the church. They did not, and last year, Hoehner placed a man at his old church.
By the way, there are two tracks. A man can go to a small church and be the pastor, or he can go to a larger church and be part of a team ministry. Churches that are looking for associate pastors are allowed to interview candidates.
The first call Tuesday night was to a church in Ohio. Then Texas. Then California, Michigan, Missouri, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Nebraska, Louisiana and Minnesota.
Next up was Stephen Carretto. I had spoken with him earlier. He and his wife, Jessica, were hoping for Florida. After a seminarian's second year of academics, he does a vicarage — sort of a pastoral internship — at a church for a year. Carretto had done his at a church in Boca Raton. "It was great," he said. But he had been interviewed by other churches, as well, and had no guarantee he'd go back to Florida.
Now it was his turn. He was called to Boca Raton.
Another man I had spoken with earlier was Todd McMurry. He's from St. Louis and was a firefighter before going to the seminary. He said he was on track to be a solo pastor. His wife, Kristin, is an optometrist. They were hoping for an urban area so she could more easily find work. Also, no place too cold.
Now it was his turn. He was called to Brooklyn Park, Minn.
That's a nice-sized city, and it's close to Minneapolis. Not exactly warm, but McMurry was smiling broadly as he shook hands with the officials, and I recalled what he had said earlier. "God will use us for his purposes."
That could have been the theme of the evening. There was an undercurrent of good-natured laughter when one man was called to Juneau, Alaska, and another to Fairbanks. But there was an overwhelming feeling of excitement and anticipation as a new batch of pastors prepared to enter the far-flung world.
"We'll miss all of you," said the Rev. Dale Meyer, the seminary president, who was called to Venedy, Ill., in 1973.
