The Installation of Tim Rogers-Martin at North Avenue Presbyterian

Tim Rogers-Martin, our former associate pastor, was installed last week as an associate pastor at North Avenue Presbyterian Church, and Susan and I got an opportunity to attend.

The installation was woven into the regular 11 a.m. service. I think that’s because North Avenue isn’t so much a neighborhood church as much as it’s a citywide church, so once people leave for the day, it’s more difficult to get them back for a midafternoon service than it is here.

I’d never been to North Avenue. They have what I think is a great asset for a church in their location; a parking deck underneath the church. The sanctuary is similar to ours, large, with an elevated choir loft but with no privacy rail.

Julie and all of Tim’s kids were there, Jacob unshaved and sleepy. He’s a freshman at GSU—typical. Tim’s mom and dad were there too, up from Florida. Bo and Maureen Emerson (with Joey in tow, cleaned and pressed, I might add) were seated when we got there as were some folks related to persons Tim had asked to perform certain parts of the service. You remember Jane Hubbard. She had a part in the service, the charge to the congregation.

I had more than idle curiosity about the choir and the music. There was a processional, in red robes, and I’d say there were about 20 singers, seven of which were men. Susan says she thinks Julie told her they have a couple of paid section leaders, and given the number of men you can almost guess that one would be a tenor. At 900 members, a ringer as a section leader becomes an affordable luxury.

I’d have to characterize the music as diverse, almost like touching all the bases; “Shine, Jesus, Shine” as the introit, “All Hail the Power of Jesus Name” as the opening hymn, followed by “Spirit of the Living God.” There were a couple of special anthems presented, Faure’s “Cantique de Jean Racine” and something evangelical, “The Prayer” which was performed beautifully by their praise music director. She had a voice like Kay Potter’s granddaughter. To finish up we sang, “My Hope Is Built on Nothing Less.” So it seems that there was something for everyone, the hymns were all easy to sing, and the sound filled the space.

Over the years, David Flick, der choirmeister, has drug me screaming and kicking to certain music that on my own I would’ve never been exposed to. Especially the French stuff. Well, the Faure piece I mentioned above has become one of my favorites. The French love their tenors to get the mustardy parts and their paid section leader earned his money on this one. There were two other tenors with him but I could hear him clearly even though he wasn’t belting it out like I would’ve been. You see, there’s a part to that piece where the Lord is being implored and the tenor part floats throughout it, all longing and sadness like Dido on the shore of Carthage abandoned. Oh, my friends, music will preach! He gave us this gift to lighten our load in this dark world.

The whole installation thing was joyful. The main pastor there is a fellow who’s been a prayer partner of Tim for years and his charge to Tim demonstrated his regard for Tim both as a man of God and as a human being. And Jane, you’ve come a long way baby. It was great to share Tim’s joy.

They had a guest preacher too, and to be fair, sometimes I only hear what I’ve walked in with. But his sermon about “loving Jesus so much you can’t help but talk about him all the time” left me discouraged and doubting because my spiritual experience didn’t parallel his, and I didn’t hear him acknowledge the “many rooms” idea.

Sometimes I think of PC-USA as spiritual triage. People like me, maybe you, and (I know) some of my friends can come, be exposed, and somehow find their way despite the heterodoxical thinking we walk in with. Grant it, sometimes I long for the robustness of 5—point Calvinism, and chafe under the “God’s Community Group Speak” which seems to be our specialty at times. But at least I know all—the good, the bad and the drunks—are encouraged to continue to seek the Lord, The Linguist.

And bottom line: the gospel is sometime an anvil to me, defying my efforts and wish for personal righteousness. I am thankful—besides all my theories and confabulations—that there exists that one tiny mustard seed of hope.

And that was the point of the last hymn,

“My hope is built on nothing less, Than Jesus’ blood, and righteousness;
I dare not trust the sweetest frame, But wholly lean on Jesus’ name.
On Christ the solid rock I stand, All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.

Man, I sang that like my life depended on it, Susan looking at me out of the corner of her eye, shaking her head, wondering “what next?”