“Congregations are shrinking and in decline in the United States and elsewhere” (xiii). Michael Plekon (Emeritus Professor of Baruch College), begins the introduction to his new book, Ministry Matters, with this matter-of-fact statement, not to frighten Christ-followers or cause undue despair, but to set the stage for us to see clearly the work God is doing in the Church today. It is apparent to most people that we are living in anxious, even perilous, times; however, according to Plekon, there is hope for resurrection from death. This is one of the themes of Plekon’s previous book, Community as Church, Church as Community (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2021), which carries over, in part, to Ministry Matters. Although the two books complement each other, Plekon’s latest work moves on from inquiry about church decline to inquiring about “the vocation, lives, and work of pastors today” (xiii).

There are two major ideas running through the book: that “pastors are among us to bring God to the people and the people to God” (xv, 15 times in alternate forms), and “we will listen” to others (xvi, also another 52 times in alternate forms). That Plekon gives these ideas a place of prominence in his research should be enough to inform the reader as to where this book is leading them. God in Christ remains at the centre of the Church, and we, whether ordained or lay, must be willing to listen closely to others who have something to say about being fellow servants in the service of the Lord Jesus and our neighbours. For this study, Plekon chose several well-known pastor-theologians to listen to and engage with: George Keith, Nicholas Afanasiev, Cathie Caimano, C. Andrew Doyle, David Barnhart, Andrew Root, Sam Wells, Barbara Brown Taylor, Nadia Bolz-Weber, Sarah Coakley, Rowan Williams, Henri Nouwen, Pope Francis, and Will Willimon.

So, to return to one of the main ideas that Plekon’s friend, George Keith, developed in one of his sermons, an answer to “what is a priest?” is provided in a simple, yet profound way: “someone who takes God to the people and the people to God” (15). For the author, this is the “most fundamental” characterization of a priest’s function (16). But this definition is just the beginning of a journey through the ministries of Plekon’s other conversation partners. From Pope Francis’s appeal to all clergy that they should have “the smell of the sheep” (126), to Rowan Williams’s understanding of the ordained “as a witness to God’s solidarity with us” (108), Plekon provides his readers with a veritable treasure trove of valuable insights into what it looks like to be a minister of the gospel of Jesus Christ in the twenty-first century.

I have read slowly, listened carefully to each voice, and continue to reflect deeply as a means to learn well and dismantle a plethora of biases. Coming from a rather conservative, Protestant background, I found some of the material foreign, other parts challenging, and a few sections somewhat deficient. If you are of a similar ilk, then you may understand and agree; otherwise, you will be hard-pressed to find fault with this book. For example, a Protestant reader unfamiliar with tradition-specific terminology such as icon, priest, rite, parish, or Eucharist may feel a bit lost while traversing the pages. Some may be challenged in mind and spirit when they read about Sarah Coakley’s experience with transcendental meditation (99), or Plekon’s inclusion of Latter Day Saints as members of the body of Christ (67), or Will Willimon’s insistence that there are no “‘ungodly’ forces [that] have declared war on Christianity” (152). Finally, given the limitations of space and the nature of research, Plekon did not listen to Baptists or Pentecostals, two large and stable groups whose voices would have added much to the overall conversation. Regardless, this book is a treasure trove of wisdom regarding the multifaceted experiences of the ordained. I strongly suggest that it to be read and digested by any Christ-follower who has an interest in the Church and the ordained, and who believe that ministry still matters—especially in a season of congregational shrinkage and church decline. The need for faithful pastors and laity is greater than ever before.

Reviewed by Joseph R. Fiorentino

Publisher’s page: https://wipfandstock.com/9781666789959/ministry-matters/

This review also appeared in Didaskalia: The Journal of Providence Theological Seminary, Volume 32, pp. 121-124 (2025), ISSN #0847-1266.

“There is a time for everything… a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance …” Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

The day after the gruesome massacre at L’Simcha (Tree of Life) Synagogue in Pittsburgh, PA, we lament the loss of 11 precious lives who died and the 6 people who were wounded. We detest the repulsive and malevolent evil that fills a person’s heart to carry out such execrable violence. Senseless violence that is contemplated, attempted, or inflicted remind us that evil is utterly destructive; hate is absolutely repulsive. And, the ramifications are catastrophic and self-defeating.

Today, we mourn because we suffer together with the families and loved ones of those we lost. Our hearts break for the families, and we are intensely prayerful for the 6 people who are alive but wounded. We mourn with our Jewish sisters and brothers who feel the whiplash of lingering antisemitism that has plagued their community for thousands of years. Our nation, once again, has succumbed to senseless aversion and ferocity.

Another faith community (this time – a synagogue) is devastated, pulling the bandage off the emotional wound that lingers from the massacre at the Sikh temple in Oak Creek, WI, Mother Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC and First Baptist Church in Sutherland Springs, TX.

Sociologists have noted that congregational spaces (i.e. churches, synagogues, mosques, etc.) exist as beacons of hope for the people in our communities. Violent shootings in congregational spaces not only desecrate the sanctity of sacred space but are also an assault upon a community’s symbol of hope.

Every citizen of the world must condemn all forms of religious hate, racism, xenophobia, political violence, and any other manifestation of intolerance. We do not have to agree in order to be civil. We must not seek to champion a cause at the demise of other people.

Let’s strongly detest hate, cling to love, and pursue justice with all of our hearts and at all cost. We must not allow revulsions and massacres to prevail as a new norm. Let’s learn civility and honor. Let conciliatory efforts be our story and love carry us forward.

Let’s pause and take this time to lament. We cannot afford to keep repeating nightmares like the one before us today….

Peace,

Dr. Antipas

October 28, 2018

Part One: Three Questions

All churches come together to sing, and most Christians would readily affirm that this shared musical practice is a significant element in spiritual life. Yet the exact manner in which music exerts powers of spiritual formation may seem amorphous and elusive. I will approach the subject by asking three questions:

How do song lyrics affect us?

What kinds of musical experiences may subtly exclude some Christians?

What happens when music in the church borrows from music in the culture?

I will explore each of these and then conclude with suggestions for understanding theologically rich lyrics, inviting participation from all congregants, and innovating in areas where the culture may prove unhelpful.

Question 1: How Do Song Lyrics Affect Us?

Lyrics have the power to teach, but indirectly; there are very few songs that resemble a paragraph from a seminary textbook. To illustrate the point, readers may find it amusing to try setting the following doctrinal statement to music:

We believe in one God (eternal, omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent) existing as three persons – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, one in nature, attributes, power, and glory.

Songwriters will find this text unwieldy, and a congregation will find it downright clumsy, even with a nice melody.

In the same way prosaic theological propositions do not usually make good song lyrics simply because they are too direct and too plain. Songs, by their nature, require language evoking imagery and narrative rather than asserting abstract facts, and they teach by awakening the imagination to Kingdom realities.

Even the most theologically rich lyrics reach their best moments not in assertion but in evocation: they speak more profoundly in image than in proposition. For example, the unifying theme of Immortal, Invisible is the paradox of God’s immanence and transcendence—that he is both close to us and distant from us. The finest line of the first verse is In light inaccessible hid from our eyes, which is both a vivid image (that of blinding light) and also poetically ironic (insofar as light, normally the vehicle of sight, here precludes it). The second verse also peaks in a poetic line: Unresting, unhasting, and silent as light. The reader imagines the human states of repose and hurry, and then sweeps them both aside as inadequate to describe the activity of God. Light is normally silent, but here the simile illuminates the purity, energy, and life behind even God’s unperceived deeds: he is silent as light, not quiet as a mouse.¹

Holy, Holy, Holy is an instance of Trinitarian teaching in song. Nevertheless, the direct statement God in Three Persons, blessed Trinity, while edifying, comes off as static and formulary when compared with dramatic scenes like Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea. This latter line draws upon things we can imagine: we have not seen the saints casting down their crowns (let alone the glassy sea) but we do know what crowns are and we have seen the ordinary sea, so our imaginations can make the leap and the text comes to life in our minds.