The city of Waterloo, Iowa got its name when one of the earliest founders asked to establish a post office for a fledgling population. When filling out the requisite paperwork to complete the process, there was no name listed for the city. Tradition has it that Charles Mullan was invited to choose the name! It seems he looked at names of other post offices in the country and stumbled across the name of Waterloo. He liked it and chose it. Thus, the city best known for Napoleon‘s final defeat, became the name of a growing prairie community on the banks of the Cedar River.
The railroad stretched into Iowa in the late 1800s, enabling industry to grow. The population boomed going into the early 20th century. Now known for the development of John Deere farm equipment, the earliest predecessor was the Waterloo Gasoline Traction Engine Company. (“Tractor” sounds a lot easier, doesn’t it?!) A meat packing plant added jobs which drew even more people. Growth was fairly steady until 1960 thanks to the presence of the Illinois Central railroad. A time of financial struggle hit in the 1980’s with a farm crisis that decimated rural Iowa. Family farms were abandoned. Residents moved to cities. Driving through the city this past weekend I saw countless elegant buildings that were constructed with pride in the first half of the 20th century then vacated in the 80s. Many of them await adoption by residents who appreciate their architectural beauty and are up for a challenge.
One of the initiatives in the last 20 years to attract people to their town has been the establishment of the Iowa Irish Fest. I happened to be arriving in Waterloo that weekend but for a different purpose. Around the breakfast table with friendly conversations, I learned everyone else was there for the Irish Fest. I sat next to a dulcimer player one morning who travels far and wide for the opportunity to play in an Irish band. These guests wore green shirts with shamrocks and Irish sayings. They praised the previous night’s performance when wistful tunes moved them. They signed up for classes that expanded their knowledge of Irish history and customs. They reminded each other to stock up on coveted brands of whiskey before heading home. They boasted of the strength of their children who competed in the Highland Games (which included hurling a bale of hay into the air, flipping a log, and lifting a heavy stone off the ground-no thanks!).
While I enjoyed their tales around the breakfast table, I had nothing to contribute to the conversation. So they asked if I was there for the same purpose. I told them I was in town for the ordination of a friend and colleague. Many of these guests were warmhearted Christian folks who were intrigued about this sacred rite that was happening just a couple of blocks from the inn. The ordination weekend began with a curious blend of holy and human endeavors.
Since Brandyn and his wife, Kenzie, moved to Iowa to begin pastoring the church two years earlier, it had been at least that long since I had visited with them. It was wonderful to have time to reunite and meet their mothers who carried such a sense of pride for what this couple has already accomplished in the church. The ceremony was held in his congregation: The First Congregational Church, United Church of Christ in Waterloo. It is a gorgeous, well-maintained facility that dates back to the early 1900s. 
I was able to walk to it from my bed-and-breakfast, which was graciously set up in the mansion of Henry Weiss. (He developed packaging for shipping eggs safely by rail throughout the country at the turn of the century.)
I was struck that his church is situated among many old, beautiful and historic churches of varying denominations. Some seem to be doing better than others, but all of them had worshiping congregations meeting on a weekly basis. That is no small accomplishment given that older church buildings repel more than draw younger believers. It’s clearly a neighborhood with financial struggles. Brandyn assured me that they work together as clergy in these different churches, willingly crossing denominational lines to promote the gospel through merciful outreach.
When the time came for clergy to gather for the sacred occasion, I was moved that several area clergy from outside the United Church of Christ were present and robed, ready to process in for the service. Representatives from various mission organizations with whom the congregation partners were present as well. Two couples had traveled from Michigan to Iowa to bring the affirmation of his previous congregation (my former congregation!), even transporting a bouquet of Michigan flowers chosen for the front altar.
The most powerful part of the ordination ceremony is when people surround the ordinand, laying hands upon him. As not everyone can be close enough to touch him, concentric rings of people lay hands on each other, joining the prayer that anoints him as an ordained minister. How beautiful to have present his wife, mother, brother, parishioners, denominational leaders, clergy colleagues from multiple faith groups, and community leaders who receive mission support through Brandyn‘s congregation. I firmly believe that the Saints beyond join in this celebration, pouring their own blessing on the one courageous enough to accept a call into Christian ministry.
Following the ceremony, which was filled with music, scripture, and traditional liturgy, a meal was served in the church basement where folks got to know one another around tables. Photographs were taken and emotional hugs were exchanged in a spirit of celebration. Just a mile or two down the street, folks partied with Irish beverages in hand. Musicians played traditional Irish music while we sang familiar hymns that have become part of our faith constitution. It seemed a fitting dichotomy for one who is entering into the sacred task of carrying the holy into a very human world.
With the ordination celebration over and the Irish festival completed for another year, I was able to drive into downtown Waterloo to check it out. I was astounded by the number of churches that were established over the decades to guide these Midwestern townspeople in their faith. I was also struck by the cleanup effort that was putting the town “back to rights,“ as my grandmother would say. A large cement planter full of flowers was being moved by a Hi-Lo from the bandstand back to its proper place in town. Numerous townies were out and about, reclaiming the streets as their own. They sat in groups, talking and laughing loudly like they owned the joint. Some pedaled their way lazily down quiet streets on bikes or glided by on motorized scooters. Others walked the streets with an air of ownership.
Meanwhile, the guests who traveled to Waterloo for the ordination scattered to their homes by car, camper, and plane. Pictures of the weekend were posted, inviting others into the joy of the ordination. Clergy hung up their robes and tucked away ceremonial stoles the color of fire until the next high holy day. The church custodian vacuumed up crumbs from the holy feast and neatly organized hymnals in sanctuary pew racks.
The new Reverend slowly makes his way to the church office, where an ordination certificate awaits placement amidst his theological resources. He sits at his desk, with memories of the weekend so fresh he can almost feel the weight of those hands still upon him. With the breath of a prayer he turns his attention to a new week. How will he carry the gospel into the world this week? Like Moses leading his people through the wilderness, he will do it one day at a time, one challenge at a time, with the help and blessing of those who call him pastor.
Preaching Life 