A journal of my journey to Holy Orders in the Episcopal Church

These are a series of reflections on moments in life, shared from time to time, through out the year.

Pastor James Lokken was a pioneer. When I arrived at St. Francis Church in the Fall of 1982, Jim was already there, beginning to leave his mark. Now, on the 23rd of September 2006, I have received a phone call informing me of his death last night around 11:00. I will miss him greatly. And I am saddened, that after I left Saint Francis, I didn't make a greater effort to keep in touch with him. Knowing Jim, my mea culpa would be most certainly met with an absolvo te.

Jim preceded me. In 1983, he was called by Saint Francis Church to be a non-stipendiary assistant pastor there. I followed him in Lent of 1984 - and so began our pastoral collaboration under the leadership of Pr. Jim DeLange. I remember Pr. Lokken especially at Worship Committee meetings, which were held at the residence of the late Betty Kretzmann. At one session, the question was posed as to how to bring greater unity to the members of St. Francis Church. Jim didn't miss a beat, and quickly announced. "There is only one way to bring community to a parish and that is the Holy Eucharist." Thus began the tradition of a weekly Eucharist at Saint Francis - the greatest gift that he imparted to that church.

Jim loved to joke, and was known to repeat them to his audience. "Did you ever hear...?" was usually met by a willing audience who delighted in hearing the story once again, as Jim laughed heartily in the retelling. A great deal of them revolved about his experiences in New York, where he worked the Lutheran Council, and later in Washington, where he worked with the Liturgical Council, a liturgical interest group made up largely of Roman Catholics and Lutherans. Jim was a proud Norwegian Lutheran, who understood the pietistic movements that swept out of Northern Europe in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. He was also a catholic, who loved the liturgy and especially the hymnody and music of the Lutheran Church. An organ buff, he would often deposit in my email, interesting stories, and web casts of organ music. When the organ at Saint Francis was refurbished in the '90's, he served as chair and primary motivator of that committee.

I remember so many things about Jim:

How we shared work in the secular world, he working for a publisher of legal opinions and case law. He ran the computer systems for that group, and could talk technology with the best of them.
How he served as a mentor in all things.
How many Easters he would sing The Exultet at the Great Vigil of Easter.
How many Maundy Thursdays he would sing Psalm 22 from the rear of the church as the altar was being stripped. At one such service as he sang:

I can count all my bones -- they stare and gloat over me;

they divide my garments among them, and for my raiment they cast lots.

But thou, O LORD, be not far off! O thou my help, hasten to my aid!

Deliver my soul from the sword, my life from the power of the dog!

a dog from the street below climbed up the stairs to the narthex, where Jim was singing, and began to sniff around Jim's behind, as he sang about the "power of the dog." He loved to tell about that moment.

Jim loved the restaurant Mecca, and loved to generously take his friends there.
How Jim worked so diligently with Lutherans Concerned, and how he pioneered the notion of being openly gay clergy in the Lutheran Church.
I remember one sermon he preached in which he talked about the mystery of the universe, and then unfolding a recent map that the National Geographic had published, simply announced, "and there it is!"
In the midst of the AIDS crisis, Jim or I would be asked by some family to lead funeral rites for their son, or brother. Once we both served at such a funeral, where others were asked to come up and offer prayers. Soon there was a young man standing at the lectern in front of us offering a prayer to Venus and Diana. Jim and I looked at one another. He laughed and muttered under his breath, "Whatever!"

Jim moved quietly out of his ministry at St. Francis, but still sang at the choir there. Often he went to St. Mark's just to hear the choir and organ there. He, however, was very much a part of St. Francis, self-effacing, yet powerfully present in his witness and in his ministry. I will miss his laugh, his privacy, and his stories.

Resquiescat in pace, amicus meus, et lux perpetua luceat tuo.

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