The political situation was tense when the Continental Congress met for the first time on September 5, 1774. It was moved that the Congress should be opened with prayer. Following debate, the motion carried, and two days later, Jacob Duche, an Episcopal clergyman in Philadelphia, read Psalm 85 and prayed. John Adams wrote later that to see George Washington and others kneeling and praying for Boston, whose port had been closed by British troops, “was enough to melt a heart of stone.”
Today, the tradition of prayer at the opening of Congress is carried on by James David Ford. Ford became chaplain of the U.S. House of Representatives in 1979 and has been re-elected every two years since. He also counsels and calls on members of Congress.
Preparing him for that role, Ford served as pastor of a country church in Minnesota and as chaplain, for eighteen years, at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point. He was the youngest person and the first Lutheran to hold that post.
Leadership editors Kevin Miller and Marshall Shelley met Ford in his Washington office, once occupied by Henry Clay, to talk about being faithful in the midst of power and conflict.
What do you hope your invocations for the House will do?
Ford: I have a problem with trying to measure these things. My mother died at age 60, and I had prayed she’d be healed. I lost a brother at age 5.
I don’t pray to God because of the results. I pray to God because I know God. God created me. I pray with Christ who redeemed me. That’s what’s important.
In the spring of 1976 I sailed the Atlantic Ocean with a couple of friends. In a thirty-one-foot vessel, we sailed from Plymouth, England, to New York-5,992 miles. During the trip, we hit a real hurricane-some of the waves were thirty-five feet high-and frankly, I was scared. My father had said, “Don’t go. You have five children. Wait till they’re grown.”
The hurricane went into its third day, and I thought of my father’s words about the children. I thought, Why am I out here? Was this thing that I thought was courage and adventure really just foolhardy?
The skies were black, and clouds were scudding by. I wanted to pray for God to stop the storm, but I felt guilty ’cause I’d voluntarily gotten into this. I didn’t have to go across the ocean. We’ve got airplanes to do it now, and I was going across at six miles an hour.
So is God obligated to save the foolhardy?
Thank you for putting it in a nutshell. Finally I came up with a marvelous prayer, seven words: “O God, I have had enough. Amen.”
Within half an hour of that simple prayer, the sky in the west lifted like a screen in a theater, and there was blue sky.
Was my prayer tied to the opening of the sky? I don’t worry about it.
Wait. What made you decide to sail the Atlantic?
On my fortieth birthday, I was with friends, and somebody said, “What are your goals?”
I said, “I’ll give you four goals I’ll meet in four years.” Without thinking about it, I listed four things I was going to accomplish.
I said, “I’m going to learn how to play chess.” My son and I now play chess, and we get one point for a hundred games. It’s tied one to one.
“Two, I’m going to do crossword puzzles.” I now do two every day.
Three, I said, “I’m going to learn to ride a unicycle.” I went out the next day and bought a unicycle. The first forty minutes were very difficult. You don’t believe you can do it. You think it’s totally impossible. But you do ride the thing.
Then the fourth goal was, “I’m going to sail an ocean.” The next day I got some sailing magazines and started reading. Eventually, I went to England, bought a boat, and sailed across the Atlantic Ocean with two other fellows. They’d never been in a sail boat.
You recruited two people who had never sailed? That’s good recruiting.
(Laughter) Good point. It raises a serious principle. The two people I went with were not sailors, but both were West Pointers and Rhodes scholars.
When you go across the ocean, what’s most important in your life? Is it the boat? Is it the money? Is it the resources? Is it the route? No. It’s the crew-the people you take with you. When you go across the ocean in a small boat, you don’t pick sailors and teach them to be good people. You pick good people and teach them to be sailors. That principle is basic to any type of activity.
When you pray for the Congress, how do you pray?
I remember the three-day debate on the Gulf War. The Congress was trying to determine whether to give the President power to go. It was the most intense debate in my eighteen years here. And I had a son over there, so it was terribly difficult for me.
I offered prayer in the midst of that, and it was so simple: “May God’s blessings be upon us and give us wisdom.” In such a moment, that’s about all you can say.
In fact, generally my prayers are not related directly to the Congress.
Why not?
Sometimes guests get up and say, “O Lord, we pray for these men and women who are the great leaders of America.” It is true that we should pray for our leaders, as Romans 13 emphasizes, but if you focus on the representatives too much, they begin to think, I’m really something. But part of the judgment is to say, “In the eyes of God, you’re a sinner.”
As chaplain I take the message seriously and take the people seriously, but sometimes it’s important to laugh at their culture and never stand in awe of it. The culture stands in awe of the gospel. The culture stands in awe of the cross.
Is it appropriate to be prophetic in a prayer?
Surely. I think you can do it without saying there’s only one Christian response to an issue. I think we ought to honor our lay people more and leave up to them how to solve problems.
When I was a pastor in Ivanhoe, Minnesota-farm country-I stood one Sunday morning and said, “In today’s newspaper it says on one side that millions of people in the world are hungry. On the other side of the paper it says the bins in America’s food granaries are bursting because we have so much food.” I said to my farm congregation, “That’s a problem for Christians. But it’s not my problem; it’s your problem. I’m not going to tell you whether to work on it in the Farm Bureau, the Farmer’s Union, or the Grange. That’s your problem as lay people, and as a pastor I honor you by giving you that opportunity.”
So you don’t take sides on political issues?
If I were to comment politically about things, people would think I’m a commentator, and I’m not a commentator. I’m the chaplain.
A congressman once came to me right before a vote. He said, “On the congressional voting machines, they have three slots-yea, nay, or present. But when I think of that verse in the Bible, ‘What does the Lord require of thee but to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God?’ I wish God had given us another voting option: maybe.”
We people of faith can have different views. We can respect each other. We attack the problems of the day, but we’ve got to be humble in how we go about it.
How are people selected to pray at the opening of Congress?
We have guests every week. They are nominated by members of the Congress and invited by me.
What do you insist upon for someone who is nominated to pray?
They come as representatives of their American religious tradition. We expect a Baptist to be a Baptist, a Catholic to be a Catholic, a Lutheran to be Lutheran, a rabbi to be a rabbi.
I caution them about the length of the prayer: it’s not a full, pastoral prayer but more like a collect, a short, simple thought at the beginning of the day.
Would people from outside the Christian and Jewish traditions offer invocations?
Yes. We had a Muslim give the prayer about a year ago. About eight years ago a professor wanted to come who claimed not to be a believer in God but who wanted to offer a statement. And I said, “No, we have prayers here. If you want to make a statement, you run for Congress.”
For what do you get criticized?
Some people say we should have rotating chaplains and not a permanent chaplain. Those folks don’t realize the extent of the work. I’m here twelve hours a day, available for counseling and assistance to the ten thousand people working on the Congressional staff. Members come talk to me about a campaign pledge that’s too much or something that’s gone haywire. But whether pages or staffers or members, they sit on that couch and say, “Chaplain, I know you’re heard this before.”
Then I say, “But I’ve never heard it from you.”
About fourteen or fifteen years ago, Madalyn Murray O’Hair sued the Congress for having a chaplain. But the vote was 380 to 0 to support the chaplain.
What’s the difference between a chaplain and a pastor?
The chaplain is ministering to people on the go; the pastor has the full ministry of Word and Sacrament. For example, I don’t do baptisms here. If I do my job well, I get people into a church.
You can play golf in the living room on the rug, but when you really play golf, you go to the golf course, because that’s where it’s done best. And when you want to involve yourself in the ministry of the faithful, you go to a congregation. There’s no alternative.
You’ve been a pastor to a local church and a chaplain at West Point. What are the differences?
I came from a country church in Minnesota. We had an electric organ; when the Christmas tree lights were on, you couldn’t plug the organ in. The chapel at West Point has 172 stained glass windows and the largest church organ in the world, with 18,000 pipes (plus an organist and two people to work on it).
I went from a church where we had four Sunday school teachers to a place where we had 150 Sunday school teachers. General Eisenhower was a Sunday school teacher.
I’d had a choir of ten; at West Point we had 150 cadets walk down the aisle. When they sang “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God,” you got a tingle.
Despite the differences, and the fact I came in with no training, the second day I felt I was at full speed because I knew how to be a pastor. In fact, in some ways this new congregation of several thousand young men was easier. The problems they came to me for counseling about were limited in scope.
What problems does a West Point cadet come in with?
A cadet may say, “I’m nervous about being away from home. I don’t know that I can get through with all this pressure.” If you stay with the conversation long enough, you end up with a theological answer.
In fact, the same holds true with members of Congress. Even though people here are older and their concerns are different, there are really only five issues in life: forgiveness, faith, reconciliation, commitment, understanding.
What did you learn about ministry at West Point?
I was at West Point during Vietnam. That was a most difficult time for me. The Class of ’66 at West Point took more casualties in the war than any other class. I sometimes did three funerals a week.
In the book on that table (pointing) is a picture of a young man. I confirmed him. I was at his wedding. I gave him Communion in Vietnam. Then he was killed a few weeks later. His wife was pregnant, and I baptized the child.
I was pastor in a congregation of young people, and I got to love them. I knew their foibles, their problems. They went to Vietnam, and then I buried them. The night before the funeral, I had to go to the hotel and meet the family. They would say, “Why? Why?”
I remember when one young man was killed. His brother was a cadet, and I had to call him out of a Bible study to tell him his brother had been killed. That was hard for me. In the thirteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians it says, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child. I thought like a child. But when I became a man, I gave up childishness.” I became a man during the Vietnam War.
I had to stand up and say, “I am the Resurrection and the Life” at certain moments. I realized I can’t take myself seriously. But I must take the message seriously.
What’s the difference between political leadership, military leadership, and pastoral leadership?
For more than thirty-five years, I have been associated with leaders. West Point is the school of leaders. And here, in Congress, everybody is a winner; if you don’t get 51 percent of the vote, you’re out. (Of course, I tell members of Congress, “You get elected every two years. Pastors get elected every week, because if the people don’t walk up those church steps every week, you’re out.”)
I’ve noticed that leadership comes in many different directions. It comes from the great orators and the people who aren’t great orators. We’ve got every profession represented in the House-lawyers, clergy, teachers, former Peace Corps people. It’s bewildering to try to figure out the common denominator in a leader.
I now think it’s this: a leader is one who accepts responsibility.
In our case as pastors, when we stand up, we’re taking responsibility for conveying a message that’s not ours. And that’s where we’re free.
As pastors, we lead not for political gain or military victory, though those may be important. We are called by a greater Source to be faithful to our task.
What are some ways people misunderstand pastoral leadership?
The motto of my seminary class was from Jeremiah: “Let him who has my word speak my word faithfully.” It doesn’t say “successfully.” The word success is a secular word that has little meaning to me, except in my selfish moments.
What’s success? I don’t know how you’d ever talk about a successful church or a successful pastor.
The word we have is faithfulness. Our leadership comes out of being faithful. That’s the greatest mental-health verse a pastor can receive.
Why?
We have only one responsibility: to be true and faithful to the Word. That’s the only thing. That’s a freeing concept.
The days of the pastor being the educated leader in town are over; others are just as educated. And the pastor doesn’t have power.
Sometimes I see pastors wanting power. They get interested in political power. The reason is because they have no power as pastors. But we’re not supposed to.
We have no power other than the power of the gospel. The gospel’s the power, not us. Our strength comes in being powerless-and to admit that and to accept it.
I remember as a young man sitting outside the country church in Rush Point, Minnesota, with a bunch of pastors. My father was a pastor, my grandfather was a pastor, and we kids sat and listened. The laughter of the pastors is what I remember. I think that true laughter is the opposite of sin, because sin is focusing on yourself, and laughter is turning out of yourself.
What has helped me more than anything is growing up with generations of pastors and realizing, You’re not the message. But you tell the message.
How would you express the message? What is the gospel message for someone serving in the House?
It’s exactly the same as in any place. I think we err on the side of relating to the culture and not keeping our distinctiveness.
When I started out, I probably was trying to be relevant. I remember I was in the sacristy of the chapel at West Point, and the acolyte came in and said, “Chaplain, President Eisenhower’s in the front row.”
I was about thirty years old, a very young chaplain, and a nervousness came over me. I thought, Will I be adequate? I was thinking of myself.
And then, as though the Spirit gave me the utterance right then, I was reminded that in matters of faith the president doesn’t know any more than the lowliest plebe. And in the sight of God, we are all the same. I calmed down and went about my work.
Cling to your distinctiveness and do not get too involved in the culture.
You’re here in the midst of the culture. Where do you see the Christian distinctive?
Well, recently I stood in the middle of Washington, D.C., near where my wife worked, and I looked around. In one building you have a club, and in order to get in, you have to be a member. At the Capitol, you’ve got to win election to go upstairs. And to get in another building, you have to have a badge.
Shouldn’t there be some place where, as the Scriptures say, “Come unto Me all”? And there is. It is the church. You can go in there, and everybody is welcome.
1996 by Christianity Today/LEADERSHIP, journal.
Last Updated: October 8, 1996
