“Measuring One’s Spiritual Temperature”
John 1:35-39, 43-50
October 2, 1994
A friend tells the story about his wife, who was a member of her local school board. The board voted to have a silent auction. They wanted to raise funds for a library. Members of the board began volunteering various services which were to be offered to the highest bidder. One person who was a banker volunteered to examine investment portfolios. Another said her spouse was a lawyer and would donate one hour of free legal advice. Another couple offered to act as a waiter and maid for a party. When it came to this woman’s turn, there was a noticeable pause. Everyone knew she was the wife of a clergyperson. In a very matter-of-fact way, she said her husband would be glad to give an assessment of a person’s spiritual condition
This offer was greeted with a burst of laughter. Somehow it seemed absurd to mention (in a normal setting) that people have a spiritual temperature, much less to suggest the possibility of assessing spiritual conditions just as we assess investment policies or the way we should stand legally or the way we have eye exams.
This morning, at the risk of incurring your laughter, I will attempt to provide you with some tools to measure your spiritual temperature. I do this because I believe strongly that this hour on Sunday is to be more than simply a time of listening to magnificent music or a sermon. Sundays are days when we can listen deeply to our spiritual lives, to the voice that is calling us out of the depths of our souls to the Christ calling us to be followers of the way.
So the question we are looking at is – where are you on the way? What is your spiritual temperature? What is the condition of your soul?
First, I would ask you to measure your spiritual temperature against The Great Commandment – the commandment to fully love God, your neighbor, and yourself. As a spiritual director, I’ve observed that when we have difficulty loving the people around us, it lowers our spiritual temperature. Parishioners sometimes come to me and want to talk about theological problems — problems with the Creed, the sacraments, the organization of the church. They are often disappointed when I shift the conversation and begin asking them how they feel about the person in the next pew, their neighbor. Or do they care about the person who sings off-key? Or what have they done lately about the homeless? Do they know what it means to love their God, their neighbors, and themselves?
There is a quiet, but unforgettable moment in Dostoevsky’s novel, The Brothers Karamazov, in whenh a woman comes to Father Zosima asking for help in recovering her lost faith. “How can I believe in God again?” she asks. “You must,” he says, ”learn to love. Try to love our neighbors – love the person next to you in church. Love them actively and unceasingly. And as you learn to love them more and more, you will be convinced of God, and the immortality of your soul,”
What an unexpected twist Dostoevsky gives to life in the spirit. Not first you must have faith, but rather first you must have love, and then you will have faith.
In this morning’s Gospel, the uninformed embryonic disciples ask a bunch of theological questions. And Jesus cuts through all the verbiage. He replies: “Come and see.” Come and let go of all your preoccupations. Come and link your life to those around you. Come and love, and your spiritual temperature will soar in ways you’ve never dreamed.
The second way we might measure our spiritual temperature or assess our spiritual condition is to put it up against The Great Commission. Episcopalians mostly seemed to have missed hearing The Great Commission – the commission to go into the world and to reach out to those not part of your immediate community – to go beyond our boundaries – to actively seek out those who are beyond our comfort zone and bring them into the Body of Christ.
Unfortunately, we have labeled all of that “Evangelism,” which in the Episcopal lexicon means a distasteful act done by some fringe groups like Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses, and is thought of as comparable to hunting for sheep. But is that so? Have we not trivialized The Great Commission? Have we not turned our backs because deep down inside we know the risk and are fearful of being embarrassed or resented? What would happen if we seriously took to inviting people to come see? (What then?)
One of my favorite authors is a Roman Catholic priest by the name of Michel Quoist. He wrote a long poem, which is more like a prayer. It has been a part of my meditations for many years. It serves, for me, as a springboard in measuring my own spiritual temperature. Let me share a few parts.
“Lord,” Quoist writes, ‘Why did you tell me to love all my brothers and sisters?
I have tried, but I come back to you frightened.
Lord, I was so peaceful at home, I was comfortably settled.
It was well-furnished, and I felt cozy.
But, you have discovered a breach in my defenses. You have forced me to open my door –
I did not know they were so near,
in the house, in the street, in this office, my neighbor, my colleague, my friend.
God, they are in the way, they are all over. There’s no room for me at home.”
“Don’t worry,” God says. “While people came in, I, your Father,
I, your God, slipped in among them.”
Measuring our spiritual condition is more than measuring how many times we have been to Church or how many times we have said our prayers. Measuring our spiritual temperature involves assessing how often we have let people into our hearts, how many times we have reached out, how many times we have said: “Come and see.”
Ultimately, that is the real test of our spiritual condition * the way we live – the way we link our lives to those around us the way we love.
Over and over again, the great religious teachers have said that we can never know God – be spiritually alive — have a mature faith-by sitting in our comfortable pews or by studying God or by not moving beyond where we find ourselves. As they say down south, “Let me stop preaching and start meddling.” Have any of you grown spiritually in the past six months? Have any of you gone beyond what you were taught as youngsters?
One problem is that we are content to be as we are. We laugh at people who are concerned with the state of our souls.
And therefore, when we hear the words: “Come and see,” we become as deaf persons or say to ourselves that Jesus must be directing the challenge to some people in beards and a bathrobe: in the Bible.
The invitation – the call – is to each one of us: “Come and see. Come and grow up to Christ. Come and raise your spiritual temperature so that you may be alive to The Great Commandment and The Great Commission.”
“Come my way – my truth, my life. Such a way as gives us breath.
Such a truth, as ends all strife.
Such a life, as killeth death. AMEN
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“Acknowledging Our Lostness”
Isaiah 55: 6-9, Luke 15: 3-10
October 3, 1993
In another week, we will be celebrating Columbus Day. Unfortunately, I shall be in Connecticut next weekend and cannot be here to preach. So I’ll take advantage of your good nature and begin our thoughts with where I might have started next Sunday.
A week from Monday, many of us will be acknowledging the anniversary of when Christopher Columbus was discovered by the Native American people of the land. (I have a Native American friend who tells me that all our problems stem from the original inhabitants of this country having a very lax immigration policy!)
Anyway, returning to a week from Monday, the central theme of that day ought to be that Columbus was lost. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know when he arrived. And he didn’t know where he had been when he reached home. The point I want to hold before you, as you think about the coming holiday, is that Columbus, when he came to America, was essentially lost. And we could conclude from all of this that being lost is not all that bad.
Our experience tells us just the contrary. The world says to avoid being lost at all costs. Seek to make life feel secure. The message from the world is to make your life feel homey.” “Homey” is where it feels safe and predictable. It’s where we feel protected and comfortable. It’s where we know where we are and know where we are going. It’s when the rules are quite dear and we feel that we belong. We’re at home.
Let’s be honest – we want to feel “at home” wherever we are. In the workplace, we want to feel “at home.” At home, we want to feel “at home.” And even in church, we want to feel at home. Last year, the greatest innovation introduced was the breakfast at 8:00. Not just because of the terrific food that the Crowley’s serve – although that’s there. And not just because of the opportunity it affords us to meet new friends around a table- although that’s certainly there, too. The breakfast is there because it gives off a smell throughout the “Church campus.” And that smell is associated with “home.” Visitors receive an instant subliminal message: “The church is like home.” (That’s called marketing the church – ain’t it grand?)
But back to the sermon. (I don’t want to give away too many of our secrets today.) There are some wonderful lines from a Christopher Fry play that go like this: Margaret: ‘Have you seen that poor Child, Alison? I think she must be lost.”
Nicholas: ‘Who isn’t? The best thing we can do is to make wherever we are lost look as much like home as we can. Now don’t be worried. She can’t be more lost than she was with us.”
“The best thing we can do is to make wherever we are lost look as much like home as we can.” We minimize our sense of lostness by ordering, managing, and fixing up our lives to appear as much like home as we can. I really believe that’s what the consumer mentality is all about. It’s not that we’re greedy – or even uncaring for the rest of the world. It’s simply that we’re desperately attempting to appear “not lost.”
I ran across a new item at the car wash the other day. It was a fake cellular phone. If you can’t afford to buy a cellular phone, at least you can appear to have it by carrying around this phone. But in the land of unreality, the bills pile up. If we have to keep making our lives appear to be with it -if we have to continue to cover up our lostness – someday we will have to wake up to our real situation.
There is a great line from a Romanian poet that reads: “I wanted to wake you up, but you are dreaming this merry nightmare so deeply.” Our merry nightmare that we dream is that we can fool ourselves into thinking we’re not lost. Or we can consume enough or carry around fake cellular phones so that it appears as if we are at home.
The biggest problem Jesus faced in New Testament times was to wake people up. The conflict he had with the Pharisees and other religious people stemmed not from their sins, their bad deeds, or their lack of ethical standards. Instead, it came from their many dreams, which made them feel they were at home with God. Reality would have told them they were lost like everyone else. In today’s terms, we might say their middle-class morality made them feel comfortable and kept them from being receptive to the Gospel. Jesus kept repeating again and again: ‘I have come for the lost, ‘ and I sincerely believe this is why so many religious people were never able to see and understand Jesus.
Good people – oops – I’m perpetuating the myth. Lost people – remember – the beginning point, the start of experiencing the Gospel of Jesus Christ – is acknowledging ‘lostness.” Often it takes a lifetime to admit to ourselves – let alone to anyone else – that we are lost and need to be found. I recall seeing a T-shirt a few years back, and it said: “Don’t follow me -Fm lost.” Maybe we all ought to wear one of those on a Sunday. At least it might be the beginning of honesty. Remember this, if nothing else from this sermon-if we can’t acknowledge that we’re lost, then we can’t be_ found.
The parables which we just read of the lost sheep and the lost coin, according to Fred Buechler are the “fairy tales” of the Gospel. They are pretty word pictures that begin with bad news. They begin with lostness. Then they demonstrate that if there is no lostness, there is no foundness. We could even go so far as to say they commend lostness as a necessary starting point for us all.
If the one sheep had had the good sense that the 99 others had – and not been adventurous, and gotten lost – there would have been no need for a rescue by the shepherd. And no joy when the animal had been found. If the coin had not slipped and rolled into some dark recess of the house, the housewife would not have gone crazy looking -nor would she have rung up the neighbors to share her joy when she recovered it.
So in a sense, the central characters of the story are the lost sheep and the lost coin. Without their lostness, the story would have no meaning. The problem today is that we hear a parable like that and we think we should identify with the shepherd, or the woman who searches for the coin. Not so – the parable is about us. We are the sheep – we are the coin. We are like Columbus, who, without being lost, never would have found America.
The great spiritual writers from Paul to Augustine have always taught that the essence of the religious life does not occur when we obey the rules. Nor does it happen by studying the Bible (however salutary that may be). The essence of the religious life starts by acknowledging your lostness. In practical terms, the great spiritual writers suggest that we be committed to truth-telling – owning up to being less than perfect, beginning with the fact that we haven’t got it all together – admitting our brokenness. It’s only then that you are open to being found.
In AA meetings, I’m told, the speaker begins by saying: ‘I’m so and so – and I’m a drunk.” Maybe we could start our church meetings, or our sermons by saying: ‘My name is Roger and I’m lost.”
Let it be, Lord – let it be.
Amen -
Discipleship vs Membership
Luke 9:57-62
October 4, 1992
My text for the Loyalty Day Sermon comes not from the Bible, but rather from a line in Robert Ballah’s new book, The Good Society, ‘The issue,” Bellah says, Por the local parish is whether membership has a claim on one’s very sense of self – involving a loyalty that can persist through difficulties or whether membership is merely instrumental to individual self-fulfillment and, like some current conceptions of marriage, can be abandoned as soon as it doesn’t meet our needs.”
The other day, a family came to my study for a prebaptism interview. It’s our policy to see parents before baptizing their children. I had never laid eyes on these people, and they quickly communicated that I would probably not see them again except next Sunday at the baptism. I got quite bold and asked them why they wished to have their child baptized. They said everyone did it, and they had finally gotten around to making the decision to get it done. I replied that baptism wasn’t about a decision, it was about a life, and I interpreted the promises they would be making in terms of one’s life in the church. The parents got up, thanked me for my time, and said they would be thinking about what I had mentioned, but not to count on them for baptism next Sunday.
Several years ago, an old member of the parish asked if I would stop by. She said she was upset with the parish. she felt there were too many new people and the clergy had too many new ideas. Back in the good old days, the clergy were there to serve us, should serve us in our spiritual needs, and this meant visiting her a few times a year at least. She understood there were so many people, but still felt if we didn’t spend so much time on community problems, we would have more time for the real members of the parish.” I replied in as loving a way as possible…that Jesus called us for service…not to serve… us – meaning present members. And the clergy’s role was to train and empower people to be owners of the Christian mission, not customers of a club named St. Philip’s. I’ve never seen her in church since that afternoon.
One of my favorite advertisements is the one for a credit card. It goes this way: “Membership has its privileges,” and so it does for credit card holders and for SL Philippians, For Christians, the membership privileges are symbolized by the words of Jesus when he says “Come unto me…all you who are heavy laden,” (that’s me – O Lord — that’s me) and what a privilege it is to be part of spiritual home, a place where we
can be comforted. But we often forget that Jesus is more He’s more concerned with obligations than privileges, with a life than with a decision, with the long haul than with a short-term gain. Membership has its privileges, but discipleship has its cost. And that’s probably why we have so many members, but so few disciples.
A while back, I read a short story called Summer People. It was about a young mother who took her son back to her hometown for his first visit. Her hometown was a beach community that swelled during the summer. Her son got to know many local people and visitors during their stay. As they left, the son observed that he had been treated differently when people found out he was her son and not what the natives called “summer people.” ‘What does ‘summer people,’ mean?” the boy asked.” ‘Summer people’ are the ones who go home before the responsibilities set in,” the mother said. ‘They are the ones who don’t fight the battles, bear the weight, pay the price.” On this Loyalty Day, the task of the preacher is to convert people from summer people to natives. from casual members to committed disciples, and it is difficult when people can abandon the church when we make great demands.
A casual inquirer came up to a missionary requesting to be baptized. “Maybe if I am baptized and become a member of the church, I will be able to know God,” he said. The missionary took him down to a nearby river, put his head under water, and held it there for almost a minute. The man began to struggle. Finally, the missionary let him up, half-drowned. The inquirer said, “Why did you do that?” All I wanted was to be baptized.” The missionary said, “When you want God as much as you wanted that air, you will find him and become his disciple!”
I know that stories like the last are not popular. Demands, high pressure, and pressing for a long-term commitment are not the “in” thing on the religious circuit. We live in an era where we have pampered athletes, pampered citizens, and pampered parishioners. We’re not ready for a costly anything. We’ve reduced our Christianity to its easiest form, and we kid ourselves into thinking that God simply wants a half-hearted response. Good people, the deepest tragedy of life is not the foolish things we do or the many wise and good things we fail to do. The deepest tragedy of life is when we settle for membership when Jesus calls us to be disciples.
In Matthew’s version of our Gospel, the first person who speaks to Jesus was a scribe, a very important figure, a key community leader, a good person to have supporting your cause. He’s the kind of person churches generally are careful not to offend. And the man actually volunteers, “I will follow you wherever you go..” And do you recall what happened? Jesus puts him off. “Foxes have holes in the ground, and the birds of the air have nests, but the son of man has nowhere to put his head.” In other words, it’s not going to be a cake walk. I’m only interested in those who are in for the long haul. (You’ll notice that Jesus didn’t say, “Well, if you can’t join me, at least put a token donation in the plate.’)
And so it went. As each person volunteered to become a member of his group, he upped the ante. One said, “Lord, let me first go bury my Father.” A reasonable request, but Jesus said, “Let the dead bury the dead.” And still another said, “I will follow you, Lord, but first let me say farewell to those at my home.” And Jesus replied, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of heaven.”
That’s heavenly marching orders for you. We want to gradually ease into being Christians, and Jesus says, “I want easy and Jesus says, “Run – do not walk – to the kingdom.”
In hard times like ours. It’s much more difficult to establish what is universal in loyalty to our Lord. As someone recently said, “We are faced with a period of recession, not only in our economy, but also in our Christianity.” There are a lot of unemployed Christians, and the cost of discipleship seems to be inflated.” it doesn’t cost much to be a member, but the price for disciples seems to be ‘ spiraling.”
On Loyalty Day, we talk about discipleship, commitment, loyalty, and following Jesus. The task of the preacher is to issue a challenge to the congregation. And I don’t think I’ve ever heard it done better, in a contemporary way, than in a speech made by Jill Fluckelhaus at a national women’s political caucus. One or two words might be changed, but it’s a magnificent challenge. Listen to her words: ‘We are Asking you,” she says, ” to come in for a very, very long haul. I am asking everything you have to give. You will lose your youth, your sleep, your arches, your strength, your patience, your sense of humor…and occasionally, the understanding and support of the people that you love very much. For return, I have nothing to offer you, but your pride in being a woman and the certain knowledge that at the end of your days, you will be able to look back and say that once in your life, -you gave everything you had for justice.”
I think I might change two words and give that as my days, you will be able to look back and say that you gave everything you had for the sake of Jesus. For remember, remember, ho said, “No one who puts his hand to the plow (or joins the church) and looks back is fit for the Kingdom.”
Amen -
How are You?
James 2: 14-24
October 5, 1980
I went east by plane this past spring. As soon as I boarded I picked up a book and became oblivious to the rest of the world. I’m afraid I was not listening as the stewardess went through the routine instructions on exit and crash landings. But all of a sudden, a few of her words filtered down and this is what I heard, in case of emergency your mask will appear.
I wrote these words down on a leaf of paper for my book and all through the summer they echoed in my head, in case of emergency your mask will appear. The one discovery I have made is that we don’t need an emergency for our masks to appear. Most of the time we wear masks whether it is an emergency or not
how are you, hello and goodbye, thank you, are simply buzzwords declaring that the masks are in place. This series we have been exploring how we might redeem these common sayings and thereby get beyond the mask to the person who lies in back of the polite chatter let us pray.
Lord give us a tender heart, let us do loving things that surprise even ourselves. Let us stop to talk to people who need a good word and fix what is broken, and touch with needs to be loved. Amen
do you remember the old rhyme that went this way? People stop you on the street, don’t talk of your digestion, remember, how are you is a greeting, not a question.
Do you believe the sentiment behind the rhyme? What does it mean when people stop you and say how are you? What do you mean when you say it to others? Is it as simple greeting? Does it signal that the masks are to appear? Or is it more?
Lately I have been responding to people’s how are you? By saying, do you have an hour or two? Then we both smile with our masks on and go our way.
For the most part, how are you? Is a greeting with the expectation that the conversation will go no further. A few banalities, a polite handshake, perhaps even a hug and the two ships passing in the night. No one is hurt, nothing happens and we simply miss another opportunity for reaching beyond the mask.
Several years ago I ran across a letter from a 17 year old boy. It expressed so well the cost of wearing masks and the frustration of 1 youngster who was denied the opportunity to go beyond the flight round, I have kept it as a reminder of the terrible price we pay. Let me share a part of it with you:
Thank you for everything, but I am going to Chicago and trying to start a new life. You asked me why I did those things and why I gave you so much trouble and the answer is easy, but I am wondering if you will understand. Remember when I was about 6 or 7 and I used to want you to listen to me? I remember all the nice things you gave me for Christmas and my birthday. I was really happy with the things for a week but the rest of the time during the year I really didn’t want presents. I just wanted you to listen to me like I was somebody who felt fabulous. I remember I even when I was young I wanted to share some of my feelings, but you said you were too busy. Mom, you are a wonderful cook. You had everything so clean, and you were tired so much from doing all those things that made you busy. but you know something? I would have liked crackers and peanut butter just as well if only you could have sat down with me and said how are you doing? Tell me about it so that I can understand. I think all the kids who are doing all the crazy things are simply trying to say will you listen? Will you treat me as a person? If anybody asks you where I am tell them I’ve gone looking for somebody with time because I’ve got a lot of things I want to talk about.
The terrible cost of not listening! It’s not that we don’t want to listen to our kids or our friends. It’s just that other things seem to have priority. I just have too many things to do, to buy, to remember, to write, to arrange Donald bills to be paid, people to be met, kids to be sheltered houses to be kept up, too many things, too many demands, too many pressures for high priority. And then we become too busy, too tired, too hurried, and we pay the cost.
Even industry is beginning to understand this cost. At least reading between the lines, I can tell that they are busily trying to play catch-up and teaching their employees to listen. If industry is doing this, should not the church be even more concerned? Every Sunday, we are admonished in one way or another to listen. Let me show you what I mean by paraphrasing our epistle this morning.
If a brother or sister is hurting, and you say to them peace, or how are you, or some other greeting without really listening to them, what does it profit you? Even so, faith by itself, without real love, is dead.
Can you hear what Jesus is saying? Love means listening. Caring means going beyond the mask. Concern more than polite gestures. There is a wonderful story suggested by Martin Buber, the late, great Jewish theologian. Bieber has a profound effect on much of contemporary theology. The story is a little parable on love.
Once there was a rabbi renowned for his piety and wisdom. One day a youthful follower came up to him, and a burst of feeling the young disciple exclaimed, master I love you! The ancient teacher looked up from his books and asked his fervent disciple, do you know what hurts me my son? The young man was baffled. Composing himself he stammered, I don’t understand your question rabbi I am trying to tell you how much you mean to me how much I care for you and you are confusing me with strange questions.
My question to you is not all that strange or irrelevant, said the rabbi, or if you do not know what hurts me, how can you truly love me?
Maybe when we ask a simple question like how are you? Maybe we are asking where a person hurts. Are your joys? Where are your sorrows? Remember, if you do not know what hurts me how can you truly love me?
Our gospel lesson this morning uses a fascinating analogy. Jesus is asked to describe the relationship between people. He uses the image of a vine with many branches, all connected, all intertwined with one another. How different that is from the typical picture of life as we know it. Polite, separated, alienated people all wearing masks going through motions, but no connections!
But let me challenge you as we draw this series to a close, I challenge you to go beyond the masks and make some connections. I guess This is why I have preached this series. My purpose was not simply to redeem the common sayings, not simply to sensitize your listing. My purpose was to begin the awesome task of connecting one to another period for that’s really what the faith is all about, connections. The connections between God and man, between man and man. John Fletcher tells a remarkable story which I can readily identify. It was an unforgettable occasion in the church in Washington DC. The Bishop was there for confirmation and as he began to preach, people became bored, restless and confused. His sermon was a vague theory about worship, and in 5 minutes, he lost everyone. Finally a young man stood up and quietly interrupted him with the words, Bishop I’m not sure if I’m alone, but I have not been able to follow a word that you have been saying.
A chorus of support and amens broke out all over the congregation. With that, the Bishop said, “I should have known better than to stay up until three this morning and come here today, especially when I am not prepared. Now let me tell you about my life and some of the pressures that I am under,” Then he began to describe the agonizing conflict he suffered, and as he preached he asked help both human and divine,
The extraordinary part of that story is that the young man who spoke out, the audience itself reached out beyond the masks of the Bishop and flock. Those masks are there so that we may feel sympathy, but rarely do we take the risk to go past that point. Rarely do people’s hurts become our hurts. Rarely do we more than observe.
John Fletcher’s story is about one branch of the vine awakening to the fact that another part of the same vine is in trouble. It has to do with sensing the oneness of the vine that binds and feeds us, it has to do with making connections, putting aside the masks.
For remember, remember, the words of our Lord: I am the vine, you are the branches. As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love. These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.”
Let it be, Lord. Let it be.
Amen -
Handling Anger
Ephesians 4: 26-32
Matthew 10: 21-35
October 3, 1999
I would like to talk to you this morning about something we all have a fair amount of – about something we’re not very successful at managing. We often deny we have it, bury it, bottle it up, and sometimes it explodes at inconvenient times. Some people get sick over it and even die from it. Have you guessed what I’m referring to? Anger, that emotion which most of us are not very good at handling.
Yet, St. Paul, in our text, recommends that we exercise our anger. He writes in the imperative mood. It’s a command, and I think he says this because it’s important to recognize the naturalness of anger. There is nothing inherently wrong with anger. And Paul would have us believe in effect, that anger is a gift from God.
In pre-marital counseling, I often spend a great deal of time trying to convince couples to see anger as a healthy emotion, something to be expected, and even welcomed. I often say, “The closer you are to a person, the more occasions you will find for anger.” The problem with anger comes when we fail to recognize our anger and then respond in inappropriate ways. Paul acknowledges this, for the whole sentence in Ephesians is, “Be angry, but do not sin.”
You see, it’s not anger at issue, but rather, the way we respond that is the occasion for sin.
Dr. Rex Julian Beaber, a clinical psychologist at UCLA, writes, “There is a reservoir of rage that exists in each person waiting to burst out.” He claims it’s natural to fantasize about killing the guy who takes your parking space, or arresting the person who has cheated you in business, or exposing to the world someone who has lied about you. Beaber then says, “Only by growing up in a civilized society of laws can we learn appropriate responses to anger.”
While the good doctor is right about the reservoir of rage that exists in each of us, I would question his thesis about appropriate responses. We live, I think, in a civilized society of law; yet we’re surrounded on every side by inappropriate responses. In the past five years, there has been a term that has become common in our vocabulary, “Road Rage.” This term doesn’t simply refer to incidents like what happened a week ago on Grant and Campbell. We use the term to refer to the cycle of violence that touches us all. Let’s face it, we live and breathe in a litigious, judgmental, unforgiving culture.
Paul, our guide for today, suggests that anger can be managed. We can overcome our so-called civilized society. “Be angry,” he tells the Ephesians, “but do not sin.” How can this be done? How can we respond and still avoid sinning? Let me suggest three steps to which our Christian faith points.
Before giving you these, let me freely admit that I’m preaching to myself (as I do in most of my sermons), and that it’s easier to preach than to do. Only with God’s grace can we hope to put these three things into practice.
The first step is to acknowledge the anger within. The beginning of wisdom is knowing and admitting to oneself that there is a reservoir of rage that we often, consciously or unconsciously, tap into. When we fail to recognize our own anger, we tend to focus on what others have done to us. We often see ourselves as the blameless one, or the innocent victim, and we paint the other as the worst of sinners.
There is, in the wedding service, a prayer which asks that “God give us the grace that when we hurt one another, to acknowledge our own fault.” Acknowledging your own fault is, in effect, recognizing that anger, sometimes rage, lies deep down inside and plays a part in most conflict situations. St. Augustan writes, “Imagine the vanity of thinking that your enemy can do you more harm than your enmity, than your own anger.
The second step in learning to handle anger is in learning to give it away. This may sound simple, and it is; but it is not easy. Giving away our anger means giving away the memory of whatever has made us angry. It doesn’t matter who is right or wrong. It isn’t a case of justice versus injustice. It is simply learning to hand the whole situation over to God.
Now, we’re not very practiced at giving much to God. (Next week we start our canvass, so let me get a leg up and say, “If you can’t give your money to God, the chances are that you’re not likely to be able to give your memories to God.)
But back to anger. How is it that some of us can wrap up our memories and hand them over to God, and others describe ourselves as elephants who keep rehearsing supposed wrongs? How is it that some people are forgiving and others are not? it sounds so simple. I wish I could make it more complicated. It’s like giving away a worn
/x out pair of shoes that you no longer desire to wear. Some of us hold on to those shoes in our closet even after they are no longer useful or stylish. Or it’s like a wound that we have incurred. Some of us keep rubbing it, so that it never heals. But remember, Christ said that he would take away the burden of sin. The burden of anger was included. So learn to be generous and give it away Give it to Christ, learn to forgive, and let God worry about justice and fairness and all the legalities.
Finally, there is one more step in the process of managing our anger. That step is re-imaging the person or situation. We must, in effect, make a new association with the person or event that has triggered our anger. What I’m calling for here is the ability to see persons who have wronged us in a new light. No longer can we see that person as simply a miserable sinner. Now that person is seen as the object of God’s love.
I’ve got to admit to you that this final step is the most difficult for me to follow. I and it hard to remind myself that those who have done me wrong will precede me into Heaven. And those people are the people for whom Christ died. But this is what our faith tells us. Forgiveness, healing, and reconciliation can only happen when we see the other person as loved and cherished by God.
Well, how is it with you? What do you say about your anger? Can you handle it, or does it control your very being? Remember! Remember, when you begin to feel angry, you stand at a crossroads. Are you going to manage your anger, recognize it for what it is, give it away, and let the light of Christ’s forgiving spirit shine on the situation? Or are you going to let the cycle of destructive rage that looks for vengeance and retribution have the last word? The choice is yours.
Paul reminds us this morning, “Be angry, but sin not.” It’s hard. It’s difficult. It takes God’s grace and support, but it is possible. So, be generous to one another and to yourselves. Be tenderhearted, forgiving one another as God in Christ forgives you.
Amen -
Driven People vs. Called People
October 5, 1997
There is a sign in an office I recently visited: “The people that work here who don’t have a hernia aren’t carrying their share of the load.” I could have written that sign.
There is a saying jokingly used by some: “Thank God it’s Monday.” I’ve often thought that way.
There is a type of person constantly on the go, wanting to do more, accomplish more, accumulate more. I know the type.
Some time ago, I heard of a man who went fishing. By the lake, there was a sign: “All the bait you can use – one dollar.” The man went up and said, “I’ll take two dollars’ worth.” I know that man.
Driven people aren’t hard to spot. They always seem slightly uncomfortable. They usually look harried. They tend to be worn out, and the people around them are often also tired
John D. Rockefeller was once asked, “How much does a person need?” His response was, “A little more than he has.” To those of you who can understand Rockefeller’s reply, this sermon is dedicated.
Now, let’s admit at the outset, it’s easy to see others as being driven. It isn’t easy to discern it in oneself. How do you recognize the difference between normal striving and being a driven person? How do you know the difference between doing a demanding job and losing your soul on a job? How do you recognize when you are making schedules and when schedules are making you? Some of us have spent so long and put so much energy into putting a good face on our drivenness that we actually have come to believe God wants us to be constantly in motion, striving, over-committed, and often exhausted. It isn’t easy to recognize one’s own drivenness.
Last Spring, I cut out an article from the newspaper that identified the driven people of the ’90s. It called them “Time Stackers.” Time Stackers, the article said, are busy people who juggle two or more tasks at once. It’s a sign, the paper said, of why many Americans feel they are racing full throttle through life and so often run out of gas.
Maybe some of you have found yourselves talking on the telephone and going through the mail at the same time. When you do that, you probably also have the television on and you’re planning the next day’s agenda. If you catch yourself acting that way, chances are you’re a “Time Stacker” – one of the driven people of the 90’s.
The problem with being driven, starting out working 40 or 50 hours a week and quickly moving up to 60 or 70 hours, is that it’s addictive. It’s one of the socially acceptable addictions in our society. The harder and longer you work, the more you are praised. Is it any wonder that the heroes of our culture are the ones who are most driven?
So, what do you do about it? How do you overcome this socially acceptable addiction? How do you kick the habit?
Probably the most common answer is to turn over a new leaf and begin to rearrange your life. We often try to convince ourselves that if we build in more time for recreation, for leisure, for family, we can suddenly become less driven. Some even believe that if they retire, they will be able to put aside their drivenness. (It’s strange, but most retired people I talk to tell me they are busier than ever.) Rescheduling, re-prioritizing hardly ever handles the problem. We can be just as much of a “Time Stacker” at home as we can on the job. Driven people don’t stop being driven, even on the tennis courts or golf courses.
The problem is not one of scheduling; its roots are more spiritual. Drivenness is a spiritual disease way before it becomes a physical or psychological issue. And the answer lies closer to seeing yourself in a different light, rather than rearranging your priorities.
We begin to approach the treatment of drivenness when we can see ourselves as being called. Our calling is not dependent on our accomplishments, our standings, our successes, or our accumulations. The secret is to understand that our calling happened way before we were born. The Psalmist put it this way: “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you.” The dialogue we heard between Nathaniel and Jesus highlights the fact that way before they met, Nathaniel was called. Callings are built into us – they are something that has always been there. Right from the beginning, God has called each one of us in a unique way. The real work of life is to discover the shape of our individual caring.
We sometimes get hung up on the word “calling.” We begin to suppose there is only one kind of calling: The calling to go into the church. Not so, there are many callings. More often than not, they have to do with the kind of professional we are, rather than the kind of profession we are in. (I don’t think God is into career tracks the way we are.) Callings are about the way we approach life, respond to it, and understand God’s purpose much more than how we earn a living. Most callings have to do with learning who we are and appreciating the gifts we have, rather than doing anything. Most callings are about doing less, leaving things rougher around the edges, and discovering more about oneself_ Most callings mean resisting the indulgence of our age that says we can do it all if we run our calendars a little tighter. Those who have a calling will worry less, travel lighter, and trust more that God will take care of things.
There is a scene in a novel called Father Melancholy’s Daughter in which a woman staying in a monastery is helping with the chores. One day, she helps the monk do the laundry. As their four-hour work period draws to a close, many baskets of clothes remain. She panics and works faster and faster, until the monk asks her what the rush is. “We’re never going to finish these baskets,” she says, almost in tears. “We don’t have to,” he tells her. “Someone else will finish them. All that is required is that we work steadily and for the glory of God. Our task is not to finish everything, but simply to be faithful to what we’re doing now. And to be open to God.”
The monk describes very aptly the nature of a calling. To be faithful to what we are doing now, and to trust God.
Good people, I’ve been preaching, as it were, against the grain. I have to keep reminding myself that our life’s task is not to accomplish anything, nor to accumulate more of what we have. Our task is to be faithful to our calling and to trust in God’s mercy.
It is simple, putting aside our drivenness. It is simple to choose a calling instead of an addiction, which we sometimes label as a career. It is simple, but not easy. My hope for all of us in the weeks ahead is that we catch a glimpse of our calling and put aside the busyness of our lives. Then, God willing, we will hear with new ears the lines that go, “Take from our lives the strain and stress, and let our ordered lives confess the beauty of thy peace…” Amen. -
The Addictive Power of Money
Matthew 6: 19-21, 24-33
October 20, 1996
I want to talk to you this morning about an addiction. This addiction is fairly common. The more we have of the addictive substance, the more we want it. The reason (if we’re to be perfectly honest) is that we like what it does for us. It’s pleasurable. We often say to ourselves: “It’s better to have this addiction than not to have it.”
This addiction starts, for many, when we’re quite young. At an early age, it begins to shape our lives. Our society condones and even encourages us to be an addict. And soon we find ourselves measuring our self-worth by how much of the addictive substance we use and accumulate.
After awhile, we become completely hooked. We need more and more to satisfy our craving. We also begin to plan our lives around our addiction. It often becomes so important, so much a part of our life, that we sacrifice family and friends to feed our addiction. Cigarettes, alcohol, drugs are all pikers compared to this addiction. The amazing thing is that Jesus understood this. Almost 2000 years ago/ Jesus spent a great deal of his time teaching and warning us of the destructive nature of this addiction. Listen to his words from our Gospel this morning. “You cannot serve God and Mammon.”
Jesus deliberately chose to use an Old Testament term for money. He called it “Mammon.” In those days, people were more realistic about the addictive power of money. Money was taken seriously. It was recognized as a demon, or another God, depending on your theology. And once you were hooked, people understood that it was impossible to have any other loyalties. That is the nature of an addiction. Mammon took over your life and ate away at your soul
I noticed recently a fascinating article in The Wall Street Journal. A financial manager made this statement. “Money,” he was quoted as saying, “is more important than friends. Friends will let you down.” That man believes in the temporary nature of friendships. “Friends will let you down.” Only a god, something indestructible, someone you can count on, he says, deserves our loyalty, our devotion, our trust, our addiction. Mammon, you are present today as well as in the Old Testament days.
Of course, we’re much too sophisticated to call money Mammon. We don’t usually give names to the dark forces that inhabit our lives. The truth is that we’ve become experts. Money, we tell ourselves, is a neutral thing. Old sayings, like “Money is the root of all evil,” we laugh at and say, “That’s a product of Victorian thinking. Something only preachers might warn us about.” But is it? I sometimes wonder what would happen if the Surgeon General printed warnings on all our money like: “This bill can be injurious to your health,” or “Watch out. This can be addictive. You may end up relating to this substance closer than you do to friends and family. Closer than to your God.”, . or “You may be losing your very soul by holding on so tightly to this bill.”
I want to suggest a parable for us to think about this morning. I believe if we listen closely to it we will gain an insight into our addictions and the problems that can arise. The story is a fable told to children, but it’s anything but childlike.
Once upon a time, the fable goes, there was a beautiful nightingale. This nightingale used to soar through the night, singing its song of love throughout the countryside. One day, a peddler appeared who was selling worms.
Just one feather from its wing was all the peddler asked in exchange for a worm. It was a painless kind of transaction. After all, one feather didn’t seem like such a big deal. Of course, the plot is fairly routine, and you can easily predict the crisis. After a while, the nightingale becomes hooked on worms. And the more she got, the more she wanted. Eventually, we find that she had traded so many feathers that she could no longer fly. And then the fable gives a twist to the old story – which makes it a scary parable of life.
One day, as the peddler made his rounds, he found the nightingale standing by the road. She had become aware of her addiction to the worms and wanted to reverse the trend. And so she worked through the night and had assembled a bunch of worms to trade back for her wings. But the peddler only laughed. “What do you think I’m in this for?” he said. “My business is worms for feathers, not feathers for worms. You’ll just have to learn to live with the fact that you can no longer fly because of your addiction.”
That’s Mammon’s game. Its business is to blind you to your addiction until it is too late. To make you think this is the most important part of your life and neglect other parts. To help you deny your addiction until you can no longer fly. The fable reminds us to watch out. You may find that the trade cannot be reversed.
Jesus said it clearly. “You can’t serve God and Mammon.” Did he want us to give away all our money? Go on welfare? I think not. Jesus spent time, accepted gifts, and went to parties with the wealthy as well as the poor. It was not money that concerned him; rather, it was the addictive quality of money. He warned us that money had power and could get between you and God. The issue he alludes to in many parables was not about how much money you had or did not have; the question he raises with us is about your relationship to your money. Does your money allow you to fly? Or does it simply allow you to buy more worms?
Gordon Cosby, one of my heroes, who is the pastor of the Church of the Savior, in Washington D.C., made these statements, which might be helpful for us to ponder in the weeks ahead. First, he said, “To give money away is to win a victory over the dark powers that oppress us.” And second, he said, “What would happen if we were to judge persons’ self-worth not on what they have but on how much they have been able to give away?” Could this be the beginning of breaking the power of money?
This sermon isn’t really about the Every Member Canvass. I’m even going to commit the unforgivable sin and tell you that whatever you pledge will be just fine. The Vestry will form the budget on whatever you give. The issue really is your relationship to your money, not to a church budget.
I often meet a person who thinks I’m after their money. What I’m really after is their soul. Whomever has ears to hear… let them hear.
Amen -
How do you approach communion?
First Corinthians Chapter 11 verses 23 through 32
October 4th, 1987
A friend of mine once confided that of all the things that happened during worship, the part when we receive communion was the least meaningful. What got to him, he said, with the long empty spaces when we administered the bread and wine. When he stood in the aisle waiting, he had nothing to do and therefore was almost forced to watch the faces of his fellow worshippers coming and returning from the rail
.They all look so blank, so bored, so weary, that he lost interest in the whole process
I was really not too surprised to hear such words. This person was reflecting much of our culture. After all, from the moment we get up in the morning until we’ve gone to bed at night, the majority of us are pulled and pushed by a frantic pace at events. Our senses are bombarded by all kinds of stimuli. We have very few occasions for personal, quiet time, so we really aren’t equipped to deal with silence.
I must admit, when we instituted silent periods after the epistle and after the sermon, we did it with fear and trembling. I was sure I would get a lot of flak. We naturally want to fill up our empty spaces.
I have a friend who, whenever he reads the scripture in church or preaches, always ends by saying, Listen for the word of God. Maybe that’s better than saying, the gospel of the Lord, or here endeth the lesson. Listen, be quiet, wait on the Lord, for I’m convinced it’s at the quiet times when God speaks the most to us.
Going one step further with my friend’s comments, he said the people looked so blank, so bored, so weary. I hesitate to mention this because I don’t want you to feel awkward or under scrutiny when you are coming up to receive communion or leaving the rail afterward. And I certainly don’t want you to put on a religious face. Maybe that’s our problem. We’re so caught up with decency and decorum as Episcopalians that we don’t let the spirit shine through.
I recall a story. It happened at Trinity on the green, New Haven CT which is a pretty staid New England parish. One Sunday, a fellow came into church and he was pretty scruffily dressed. The ushers who were experts at suddenly placing people, put him in the back pull away from the regulars. When the service started, this guy kept claiming in during prayers and at the sermon with loud exclamations like Amen, brother! Thank you Jesus! And praise the Lord! Finally, the head usher couldn’t stand it any longer. He walked up to the man and said, Excuse me, Sir you will have to leave. You’re disturbing our parishioners. The man was nonplussed What’s wrong? He said I am just praying to Jesus. The head Asher drew himself up with all his dignity and said, Here at Trinity on the green, we don’t pray. We worship.
I love it. We don’t pray, we worship. How Anglican! Friedrich Nietzsche once said, speaking to the Christian Church, You will have to look more redeemed to believe your Redeemer. Let me translate that into terms my friend might say to the church now. You’ll have to look more radiant, more excited, more spirit-filled if I’m going to believe that communion means anything. Do you recall, in the book of Acts, the early church was accused of being drunk after worship? The only thing we can be accused of is sleepwalking.
Let’s face it, the way we leave or approach a table is usually reflective of what we’ve been eating or expect to eat. Was it to be a feast, a banquet, a celebration where the food was fantastic? Or was it a diet meal, good for you but bland and uninteresting? Our expectations color our approach.
Let me suggest 2 expectations regarding the communion. They may not have changed your approach but they may have helped me in different times in my life
The first comes from John Calvin, whom I have a tough time understanding in seminary. But one thing I did understand was his commentary on the communion service. Calvin said, the communion service is like a handshake, a visible, tangible sign. You can walk down the street, and someone across the other side says, Good morning. How are you? It’s great to see you! But there may be quite a crowd of people moving on the same St. and you’re not sure he’s speaking to you. But then the man crosses the street and shakes your hand, and you know the greeting was meant for you. Just so says Calvin, in the pulpit, the redeeming love of God is proclaimed, but you are not certain it is addressed to you. Then in the community, you come to the rail, eat and drink, and there can be no doubt. This is God’s handshake. He’s putting his arms around you. Confirming his love, saying to you personally, you are my beloved. I was in the Sunday school Class A few years ago, and I asked the youngsters what the Eucharist what the community, meant to them. There was that awful silence when as a teacher you say to yourself ohh no, I’ve asked the wrong question. What do I do now? Finally, 1 little child piped up, I know! It’s God’s show and tell. That’s terrific theology. When you’re at the rail you’re coming to God show and tell. It’s as if to say he has to let you know he cares.
Another expectation is to see the communion service through Thomas Cranmer’s eyes. Kramer was the Archbishop of Canterbury responsible for our first prayer book. What Cranmer did, other than putting it together, was to give the stage direction. The stage directions are what are called rubrics, and they are very important. Not only do they tell you what to do, but if you look closely at them, they imply why you are doing what you are doing.
In the directions for communion, Cranmer specified that the bread and the wine should be eaten in both hands, and the bread is to be placed into the hands of the people. This was no accidental choice of words. Cranmer knew that the verb to ordain meant word for word to place into the hands. In fact, a Hebrew priest was ordained by having the holy things placed into his hands. Kramer understood that every communion service was a service of ordination. When we are being ordained. We are made a Kingdom of priests. When you approach the altar, you are becoming a minister, a priest, an ordained person in God’s church.
Remember that when holy things are placed in your hand, or on your tongue. Remember who you are and what you are becoming.
You know, we live in an era of exaggerated speech. We are being bombarded on all sides by the media, and among the most common claims heard on radio and television are, you are what you wear, or, you are what you drive, or even, you are what you eat. All of these statements make a point and the point is that what we take on is, to a large or small measure, what we become.
And so this morning, as we think about our worship, I would remind you that we are what we need. Please think about that when you come forward to the rail. Come with joy, come with anticipation, come with excitement, for this is the bread of life, God’s blessing on each of us. Saint Augustine said it well. Just before his smile, the leaguered congregation was to come to the rail, he turned to the altar and pointed to the bread and wine, and said, See what you are. Be what you are.
A minister! A priest! An inheritor of the Kingdom, a son or daughter returning home, is what you are.
Amen -
“Giving – A Blessing Or A Curse?”
Acts 4: 32 – 5: 11,
Luke 16-21
October 16, 1994
Today is the official beginning of our canvass. Actually, the clock started ticking last night. The time for St. Philip’s is now. But I will let you in on a clerical secret. This is the worst time of the year for most clergy. It is the time when parishioners seem to be at their pickiest. It is the time when we lose sight of our generous selves and bring out our critical selves.
One of the most fascinating parts of Holy Scripture is that we can usually find ourselves mirrored in those ancient stories. Even on a day like this, there are to be found characters with which we might identify.
Take the story as found in the Acts of the early church. They, too, had financial problems. We tend to idealize our picture of these early times, and, for the most part, it was a Utopian time. There was an openness, trust, and generosity that was hard to describe. Most everyone looked after everyone else. Yet, like any institution, they still needed money for the mission of the church. And they still had deficits.
One of the first people we run across in the story of the early church is a man named Joseph, also known as Barnabas. Joseph must have been a well-off member of the church. And when he was told there was an economic need, Joseph immediately sold a piece of property in his native Cyprus and came with all the proceeds of the sale, saying to the disciples: ‘Disperse this money as you see fit.”
It was an electrifying act of generosity. It was a public sign that Barnabas really understood that he was a part of a community of abundance, and not living by a philosophy of scarcity.
It is simply amazing how an act like that of Barnabas can greatly influence and change the climate of a community. Every year I hope we can convince people to be more open about their generosity. People pledging five or ten or twelve thousand a year ought to go public about their support. But every year, people say to me: “Oh, I wouldn’t want to be boasting, or it might make others feel bad.” Well, whatever happened to the notion of encouragement? That’s what the name Barnabas means – “Son of Encouragement.” And thank God we have his witness. Believe me, I’ve never had anybody feel bad or guilty because someone can give more, as long as they are doing the best they can. It’s only those who give token amounts who object to knowing that someone is contributing more. I wonder how many Barnabas’s we have here at St. Philip’s.
Now, there was a couple in that early congregation who were greatly moved by Barnabas’ witness to generosity. They probably came home from church saying, ‘You know, what Barnabas did was magnificent. The church still has more needs – we’d like to do the same, not as much – a small piece of property over on the west side.”
They proceeded to sell a piece of their property to do what Barnabas had done. But somewhere between their intention and the actual deed, they began to experience some internal conflict.
And here I’m influenced by Elizabeth O’Connor, who reminds us that no one is a simple self. We are made up of many selves. She uses these words: ‘We are a parliament of persons.” Our personalities are made up of a whole bunch of ‘selves.” And so in my imagination, I would guess – since the Scripture doesn’t go into details – that Ananias and Sapphira began to have a conflict of selves.
The heroic or generous self applauded the act of generosity. But somewhere between the selling and the giving, the fearful self began to rear its head. ‘How do you know,” the fearful self would say, “that you’re going to be able to meet all your other expenses? Who’s going to take care of you when things are scarce and you get too old to earn a living?”
Or maybe it was the artificial self that emerged_ the critical self that says: ‘How do you know that the church leaders are going to spend your money wisely? There seems to be an awful lot of waste and mismanagement. Why should you sacrifice when you don’t agree with where all the money goes?”
Or maybe the jealous self rose to the surface. The jealous self who compares what you do with others. The jealous self might say something like: ‘Why should I give so much when my neighbor isn’t doing his share?” Or, “I will not receive the same credit as Barnabas did, and therefore it’s not worth the sacrifice. He was made a hero and written up – put on the ruling council – that won’t happen to us.”
Well, I believe that’s what happened to Ananias and Sapphira but I wonder if there is anyone here who has not been plagued by these same negative selves, particularly at canvass time. Let me go even further out on a limb – for during canvass sermons I usually end up offending someone, or so they tell me. If you have felt these negative feelings, you probably are not making a real Biblical pledge. For Scripture is a mirror into all our souls.
But, back to the Ananais and Sapphira story. This, is you’ll recall, is a story of tragedy. Not simply because they let their inner negative selves win the day. Not because they chose the low road and held back a significant portion of money. This is a story of a tragedy because of their dishonesty. They tried to pass off their pledge as a significant gift when it was only a token. The story goes that Peter confronts Ananias with what he is doing, and the shock of it is so great that he keels over and dies.
Notice, carefully, that it was not that Ananias and Sapphira had to give anything. It was all voluntary. The problem was that they claimed to be taking the high road to generosity when they were really on the low road of fear, distrust, and jealousy. And so their gift, instead of being a stepping stone for growth in the Kingdom, became a stumbling block that led to spiritual death
Jack Benny, the comedian in the heyday of radio, used to have a routine that some of us who are a bit long in the tooth remember with fondness. It was about his tightness with money. You recall that Benny had a reputation for miserliness, and many jokes were made about his cheapness. On one occasion, the script had him being grabbed by a mugger who said: “Okay, Benny, your money or your life!” There was a long, long silence – Benny’s timing was always superb. Finally, the silence was broken by his saying: “I’m thinking, I’m thinking
Ananias and Sapphira stopped thinking and hoarded their money – and therefore, they died spiritually. Your money or your life. The time to make that choice is now. The only way we can do this is if we discern that a canvass has really nothing to do with supporting the work of the church. A canvass is a time of choice between the high road of generosity and the low road of fear and criticism. The choice is yours. The time is now. May your pledge be an instrument of blessing during this canvass. AMEN -
One Preacher’s Response to the Moral Crisis
Romans 7: 13-20; Matthew 18: 15-20
September 20, 1998
Last Friday I had a message on my answering machine. A reporter was trying to reach me for a quote on the situation in Washington. As some of you know, I’m not big on thinking up clever quotes for newspapers. I never called the reporter back.
As long as I’m confessing, I have to admit that I breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn’t scheduled to preach last Sunday. I like to spend some time thinking about a subject and its implications for our faith. This national moral morass that we’re going through certainly calls for more than a knee-jerk reaction.
Yet how can we avoid using the President’s situation as a backdrop for our thoughts on a Sunday? My dilemma is this: Is there anything that hasn’t already been said by the media, politicians, or comedians? But still, we have to admit that the President’s situation introduces a teachable moment for the Church.
Let’s face it. The events of the last few weeks have closed in on the country like a cloud of poison gas. We can’t seem to stop talking about it. We’ve become aware, like never before, of the declining moral morass of the country.
Several years ago, Alan Jones, Dean of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, made the following statement: “We live in a time in which everything is permitted and nothing is forgiven.” By this, he meant that as a nation, we’ve lost any common vision of good and bad, right and wrong. We can do just about anything we want and convince ourselves that if it makes us feel better about ourselves, then surely it is all right. (At least if it doesn’t appear in print.)
You may have seen a cartoon in The New York Times some years ago. It showed a new person being introduced to Hell. A friendly devil said to him, “You’ll find that down here there is no right and wrong. It’s just what works for you.”
This nation, I believe, because of the Clinton situation, is waking up to the fact that we can’t simply stew in our own private wishes and desires. What each of us does affects the moral climate of those around us. And, if everything is permitted and nothing is forgiven, we’re in for a rough number of years.
But having said that, we must as church people be very cautious, cautious about pointing the finger. The Gospel tells us to “judge not, lest we be judged.” And the great challenge of the last ten days is to see it as a teachable moment, rather than get drowned in a sea of disgust and anger at a flawed President. So the question I would pose this morning is: How can we, as a Christian community, become better, instead of simply becoming bitter? Today, I would ask you to go beyond those feelings of bitterness and disgust; beyond feelings of moral superiority, and begin to see your own participation in the moral climate of the nation. See your own responsibility in the moral chaos that is America today.
For who of us hasn’t misused power? And who of us hasn’t lusted in our hearts? Who hasn’t twisted the truth or given a spin to some story, so that we might appear more right or less in the wrong? is there any adult or adolescent who is a total stranger to such actions? CarrIe Marney, the great Baptist preacher, used to say, “It is too late to worry about innocence.” For most of us, that condition disappeared a long time ago.
How do we respond to the revelations of the past few weeks? One way is to cast stones. Another way is to look within ourselves and possibly discover that there is within us the capacity for sin. As St. Paul put it, in our Epistle: “I find within myself the tendency to sin, even though I know the right from the wrong.” So it’s more than guilt or innocence that we have to contend with. It’s something deeper and more pervasive: “The sense of evil, the darkness, that lies inside each of us.” Therefore, I would suggest that the place to begin is not with the President, or with any of the other characters in this modern-day tragedy/comedy (depending upon your outlook). Instead, begin with yourselves. Begin by saying, “It’s me. It’s me, O Lord, standing in the need of prayer.”
Secondly, we need in this country, and especially in this parish, to develop “a spirituality of imperfection” – a way of living that takes moral questions seriously, that honestly confronts what has happened, and yet goes beyond mere score keeping. The key to “a spirituality of imperfection” is forgiveness. Real forgiveness is the only way we Christians have for dealing with imperfection. Real forgiveness means acknowledging the hurt, not glossing over it, but also being able to see ourselves as fellow sinners. Someone once asserted that more relationships have been wrecked by an unwillingness to forgive than by wrongdoing. In an imperfect world without forgiveness, we are all lost . . . What Christ cares about is reconciliation and healing, not perfection. And anyway, it is too late to worry about perfection. Christ cares about our going to work on the imperfections that afflict all of us. The secret of doing this is to be honest and truthful about how we have fallen short of God’s standards – and then dealing openly with what seems to be wrong.
Now, some of you are thinking, “Sounds good, but how can dealing with my imperfections make a dent in the moral chaos of our country?” I would borrow a saying from our Buddhist friends: “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one small step.” And so the healing of a country begins with people like you acting out in small ways, a “spirituality of imperfection.” Remember the decision about reconciliation – the decision to be better, and not bitter, is up to you.
Let me end our thoughts with an account I read recently of a Palestinian minister named Elias Chacour. Chacour was sent to a small village to take over a congregation marked by divisions and hatred. Actually, the small parish accurately mirrored the whole village, which was rent with suspicion, anger, and generations of distrust.
In his early months, Elias Chacour labored in vain to bring some healing to the village. The problem was that everyone pointed out that the troubles stemmed from one neighbor’s faults. And anyway, the troubles had gone on for so long that it was impossible to change. Finally, on Palm Sunday, after the congregation had received Communion, Chacour could stand this bitterness no longer. At the end of the service, he walked to the back of the church and locked the door. Then he said, “This morning, while I celebrated the liturgy, I found someone who is able to help you. In fact, He is the only one who can work the miracle of reconciliation in our village. This person is Jesus Christ, and He is here with us. So on Christ’s behalf, I say this to you: ‘The doors of the church are locked. Either you kill each other right here, and I will do the funeral gratis; or you see this as an opportunity to be reconciled, and begin the healing of the village. The decision is now yours.”‘
Nothing happened for ten minutes. Complete silence.
Finally, an Israeli policeman stood up and said, “I ask forgiveness of everybody here. I forgive everybody. And, I ask God to forgive my sins.” With that, he and the priest embraced. Then the entire congregation, filled with people who hadn’t spoken to each other in years, stood up and exchanged Christ’s peace. This was the beginning of the transformation of that village – truth-telling, honesty, openness, willingness to look within, and then, forgiveness. These are the steps that lead to a “spirituality of imperfection.” Can we begin – right here – right now? The decision is yours.
Amen
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