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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On Turning Inward and Turning Outward
Nehemiah 8: 1-3
Luke 4: 14-21
September 12, 1999
I am about to ask you a number of questions, but don’t worry. This is not a quiz where you have to hold up your hand and get a grade. But, if you answer these questions, it will put this morning in a better perspective. Here goes.
When the scripture was read, both the Old Testament and the Gospel, were you listening? Or did your mind wander?
Did you notice any differences between the passage from Nehemiah and the passage that Jesus chose for the text of his first sermon in his hometown?
And finally, as you listened to the Bible being read, did you wonder what the preacher would do with those texts?
The people sitting in the synagogue in Nazareth. probably were doing similar things as many of you. Some are doing grocery lists in their heads, some day-dreaming, others planning the next week others thinking about the coffee hour. Few were very attentive, and it wasn’t until Jesus stood up to preach that they became much aware of the problems in their religious life.
The people of Nazareth were comfortable, in sync with the words of Nehemiah, and therefore the passage from Isaiah went right over their heads, or as we often say, it went in one ear and out the other.
Let me give you a little historical background so that you might grasp the contrast between the two passages. Our ancestors had been conquered and sent into exile for 50 long years. It wasn’t until a Persian named Cyrus conquered the Babylonians that the people of Israel were allowed to return home.
When they finally got home, they were dispirited and feeling adrift. What did they need to do, now that they were beginning again? It’s like having been away on a long trip, and when you come home, everything seems different. You have to regroup and set some new priorities.
Our ancestors had many voices giving advice during troubled times. There was no lack of people, writers, preachers, prophets, and politicians, all willing to share their insights. One such person was Isaiah, who wrote what we often call the servant songs. These songs suggested that the people of God must act like servants to the world around them. Isaiah argued that there was only one God, so there must be only one people; and those who knew God best should live their lives for others.
This message of turning outward, reaching out, and becoming involved in the world was heard, registered, and quickly forgotten; whereas, the words of Nehemiah, which are really the work of two men, Ezra and Nehemiah, became the dominant philosophy of the day. Their influence was felt, not only religiously, but also in the culture as a whole. Ezra was a religious teacher, a priest. Nehemiah was the governor of Jerusalem. These two men recognized the difficult time. It was a time of transition where everything was being called into question. They counseled turning inward. They argued that in times of transition, people ought to care for themselves, look out for number one, to concentrate on ritual and rules while they waited for the Messiah. They said that there had been too much intermarriage and that the Jewish people were losing their identity. Furthermore, the religious practices were becoming lax. Their prescription was to call for a renewal movement of personal, private piety and to encourage a sense of isolation from the world’s problems. Keep your hands clean and don’t get involved in the messes of the world, was their considered advice. They counseled a strategy of withdrawal. Nehemiah built a wall around the city to keep out the undesirables. Ezra had all the foreign spouses ejected so that people would live with only their own kind.
Ezra and Nehemiah had their advocates then as well as now. There are many voices today that say we’re living in a time of transition and the answer is to turn inward, withdraw from the noises of the world. It’s more important to study the Bible than to know about the situation in Kosovo. Preachers ought to separate religion from politics. Church members ought to concentrate on proper liturgy rather than talk about marginalized people, or equitable wages and minimum wage scales.
But that wasn’t the message that Jesus preached in Nazareth. His text came from Isaiah as he began his ministry. And many people hardly registered the words when they were read.
All of a sudden, the preacher stood up and said, “God has anointed him to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release for the captives, to let the oppressed go free.” The morning’s sermon was about turning outward. He saw that Isaiah was right. Ezra and Nehemiah were wrong. Leaders can make mistakes. Even the best-intentioned of us can be wrong about what is right.
Good people, as we come together at the beginning of our year, when we learn about our many activities, I ask you to take seriously the words of Isaiah. I ask you to consider turning outward and not just turning inward. There are many ways to do this. Today I ask you to sign up to build a house, whether you know how or not. I ask you to build a house in the Old Pascua Village section of town for some people who may not look like your neighbors or the person in
the next pew. I ask you to build a house this year under the direction of Habitat for Humanity. This is a concrete way to proclaim “The Year of the Lord,” to act out a servant ministry It’s my dream that every member of this parish be involved in some way in the building of this house. It’s my dream that at the end of the year, we as a parish can proclaim that this truly was an acceptable year of the Lord
Proclaiming Isaiah’s text was what Jesus did. And the people must have heard the sermon, if not the lesson. At the end of the sermon, the church people didn’t simply shake his hand and say nice things – things like, “Good sermon, Roger. Are you going to publish those words?” No, instead, they rose up and threw him out of the church and were going to throw him off a cliff. That’s never happened to me. Maybe I’ve been preaching too much like Nehemiah??
Amen -
Labor Day
September 3, 2000
First, let me say how pleased I am to be here and see Liz. We miss her, and I really think you are most fortunate to have this talented priest as your first woman rector. I look forward to hearing how this wonderful parish has progressed under her able leadership. I also commend you all for your support during the difficult times during Ernie’s sickness. I know his loss has been extremely hard, but the good news is that a parish like this can actually be brought closer together through such tragedies.
The last time I was here was at Ernie’s funeral, but before that, it was with Leland Jones. How many were here during Leland’s time? How many remember him and remember what he accomplished during his rectorship here? How soon we forget.
A woman I spoke to recently told me about her father. He was head of a large manufacturing concern. He led them for twenty years during some of the most difficult times.
Ten years after his death, she told me that she visited the company and almost no one had ever heard of him. How quickly we are forgotten.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when I returned to Connecticut a few years after I arrived in Arizona. I was walking down the street in Wilton and ran into the husband of an active member. He didn’t attend church, but his wife and I worked closely for about five years, and I had counseled the whole family. Anyway, when I met him, I must have said something about missing the old town. To which he said, “Aren’t you still the Rector here?”
“I’ve moved to Arizona,” I said. But then I was unable to keep some of my disappointment from leaking out. I said, “I can see all of you have been terribly broken up since I left.” How soon they forget.
In four months, I shall be retiring, and so this subject is close to my heart. I’m sure I’ll be saying the same thing in a year or so. How soon they forget.
Most of us, if we haven’t retired, know that we will spend most of our lives at our work. And if you’re a typical American, you will have put a great deal of yourself into your job. So on this Labor Day, I’d like to raise with you a question I’ve been wrestling with for the last couple of months.
Do you think you will be remembered for what you have accomplished in your work?
We have some biblical help with a deep question like this. Let’s turn to the middle of the Old Testament, to the Book of Ecclesiastes. It’s an older man who speaks. We don’t know his name. He’s simply referred to as ‘The Preacher.’ This fellow begins a painful process of looking over all that he has done, all his work life, all that he has accomplished over the years. And, he wonders whether it will be remembered and was it important?
Listen to his words, “I consider all that my hands had done and the toil I spent doing it, all was vanity, and a chasing after wind, for there was nothing to be gained under the Sun.” (Ecclesiastes 2: 11)
The entire chapter of this biblical book is a consideration of the result of work. The preacher tells us we work hard, we toil, creating, pursuing the almighty dollar, building, achieving. But what does it all add up to? In the words of Ecclesiastes, “All our work, despite our best efforts, is mostly vanity, or more accurately, a chasing after wind.”
I wonder if most of us, most of the time, don’t feel that way. Much of what we do is just chasing after wind. And soon it will be forgotten.
A friend of mine, several years ago, was preaching on this text, on the subject of work. And he suggested to his congregation that all work was chasing after wind, and instead of calling in sick, and then sneaking a few days off, they ought to call in well, and then take a few days off and contemplate how much of what they do will be remembered.
I want to tell you that it didn’t go over at all. He was attacking the core of what justified most people’s existence.
Let me probe a little further as we think together about work. I wonder if the preacher’s words haven’t gotten you thinking about the dull, repetitive, boring parts of your work life. We all have those parts – we don’t often admit it. Most of us aren’t involved in an assembly line, but perhaps there is even greater boredom in computer terminals and parts of our jobs that we continue to do year after year with little psychological payoff.
The other day, I ran into a bit of wisdom that could have come from the writer of Ecclesiastes, but actually came from a Divorce Recovery group that we have in our parish.
There on the blackboard in one of our meeting rooms was written, “If you always do, what you always did; you’ll always get what you always got.” That’s true in human relations as well as in the world of work. Most of us always do what we’ve always done, and we often end up bored and restless with what we get out of work. Deep down, we’re scared that the past years of work were simply chasing after the wind. And how soon we will be forgotten.
The writer of Ecclesiastes is cynical about work. He looks at life with a jaundiced eye. But maybe we have to hear that message on a day like this. Possibly, most of us are too attached to what we do. We think our work will last forever. We think our work is what gives us life. But somewhere buried in our subconscious, we know that we soon will be forgotten.
The purpose of this section of Scripture is to remind us that each of us must learn how to live a life that is more than making a living.
Only God knows what we do and what it will finally all add up to. We don’t have to keep anxiously asking ourselves, “What will last?” Time and again in Scripture, we are told that the only thing that lasts is love. In the end, all we can count on is that we have loved and have been loved in return.
Let me close our thoughts this morning by quoting some lines from one of my favorite writers, a man named Raymond Carver. He died in 1989 after struggling throughout his writings with the question of what is important. Finally, in his later life, he conquered his alcoholism and other problems and began to sort out the difference between what was transitory, soon forgotten, and what was lasting.
In the last volume published after his death, at the very end are these words.
And did you get what
You wanted from life, even so, I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth.
Amen -
Kick-Off Sunday
James 1: 17-27
September 7, 2000
Last weekend we went to Phoenix on our Labor Day holiday. Each year we spend part of this time in that great American pastime, shopping.
This year, we stopped at the new Nordstrom. While waiting for Peggy to try on some clothes, I struck up a conversation with one of the salespersons. I asked how they were able to handle the vast Labor Day crowds. He shared an idea that he had suggested to the management. It was a novel way to be helpful to customers who wanted assistance without offending those who were there to just browse. This was the plan. Upon entering Nordstrom’s, a person was asked to attach one of two available pins. One pin was red and said, “Please wait on me.” The other was green and said, “Just browsing.” Not a bad idea. I think we ought to adopt it for Sunday mornings.
Our ushers could greet worshippers in the doorway with an invitation to choose a pin. One would be red (for the names of Pentecost) with the words “I want to be turned on to ministry.” The other would be green and would say, “I want to hear the music and sermon, but I’m just browsing. Don’t disturb me.”
Our text for this morning comes from the letter of James. It’s an appropriate passage for our Kick-Off Sunday, the day when we’re invited to go to the Gallery and sign up for a variety of ministries and other activities. It’s a text that isn’t complicated. It says it plain and simple, “Be doers of the Word.” We are urged to be doers and not hearers. This letter reminds us that we can listen to religious talk all day and never discover what it’s all about. It is only when we act, when we do the Christ-like thing, that we will know what Christianity is all about.
James points out that we can deceive ourselves. We can fool ourselves into thinking that hearing is enough. My secret fear about church-going is that it seems like an inoculation for many. A couple of shots, and pretty soon, we become immune to the Word of God. We say to ourselves that because we’ve spent a little time in church, that’s all that matters.
Maybe we should print Garrison Keillor’s caution at the bottom of our Sunday bulletin. Keillor once wrote, “You can become a Christian by going to church about as easily as you can become a car by sleeping in a garage.” Or, as James would put it, “Be a doer of the word and not just a hearer, deceiving yourself.”
Philosophers have noted the development in our society of what they have named, ‘The onlooker consciousness.’ Onlooker consciousness is a way of being in the world characterized by detachment; a studied disengagement adopting the guise of a perpetual tourist. Just passing through, just browsing, is what we often say to the world. The trick in our day is to keep detached, keep our distance, don’t get involved.
But Jesus would say to us, “If you want to know about me, you must follow, be immersed in ministry.” Jesus didn’t say learn about me. He said, “Follow me.”
We have a great number of courses offered in this parish. I dare say we offer more educational opportunities than most churches. But let me say this as plain as I can. If a course that we offer doesn’t motivate, train, or inspire you to some action, to some outreach, we’re wasting your time as well as our own. On every blackboard, newsprint easel, we ought to write, “Be ye doers of the Word and not hearers only.”
Through the years, I’ve had many conversations with parishioners about what they look for in sermons. Often I hear them saying, “I really like a sermon that makes me think, that teaches me some new way to look at the text.” And I might add that as a preacher, the fun really comes in taking a complex, difficult passage and carefully exploring it. But the letter of James doesn’t need much explaining. It’s very straightforward. Listen. Religion that is pure and unblemished before God is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction. “To be a doer and not a hearer of the Word.” It’s hard to earn my pay as a preacher with lines like those. They don’t need a lot of explanation. But maybe, on this Kick-Off Sunday, we don’t need a lot of words from the pulpit.
Have you ever heard the old saying, “I would rather see a sermon than hear one?” (I’m sure that wasn’t directed at me.) But there is something in that saying, a nub of truth. The most powerful sermon preached at St. Philip’s will not be the words you hear from this pulpit. People have been listening to preachers for centuries, and for the most part, little has happened as a result of those sermons.
Good people, the most powerful sermon preached today is what you will do in the next hour, the next day, the next week. Who will you reach out to? What acts of Christian service will you do? That will be the real test of what is happening here. Will you be a doer and not simply a hearer?
Well, there you have it: the point of it all on this Kick-Off Sunday. We have come together to hear the Word. And the Word is a call to action, a challenge to each of us. “Be a doer and not just a hearer.” Don’t be deceived by simply sitting in a pew. That’s the point of our text. That’s the point of this coming year. James might have put it this way if he were here: “You are a minister. Now act like one.” Amen -
The beginnings of our Sacred Journey
Exodus 3: 1-6
September 10, 1989
Welcome back. Welcome back to this place where God speaks to us. Welcome back to this place where we wait, and watch, and wonder, and worship. Welcome back to this place where we are enabled to hear the voice of God.
Welcome back. You may not know it, but you’re on a journey. Our task this morning is to make you aware, conscious of your sacred journey, and have you joined hands with others as we travel together in the coming year.
Our pilgrimage starts this fall by focusing our attention on Moses, that seminal Old Testament figure whose life story is 1 long journey. We begin our study of Moses not at the start of his career, but with the youthful exploits of a young man driven by a sense of justice. No. You pick up the story at midlife for it’s here that Moses starts to discern the shape of his sacred journey. As some wag once said, youth is wasted on the young. I suppose I shouldn’t be saying this when we set aside this year as focusing on youth. But usually, young people haven’t the experience or insight to view life as a journey.
Many young people I talk with see life as preparation for a pilgrimage, or simply a series of random events. I suppose you have to have some pain and suffering, some Gray hair and bifocals before you can become aware of the nature of the journey.
But back to Moses. Our Old Testament lesson picks up the Moses chronicle when he is living in Midian. Moses is no longer the youthful fire-eater filled with vim and vigor, brimming over with concern for the downtrodden. by this time, Moses has married, has children, and made a place for himself in the community. He had settled into the mundane life of a sheep rancher. The causes that gave passion and excitement to life have been replaced by security, routine, and retirement.
But then one day, out there on the desert, Moses has an experience, an experience that makes him aware that there is more to life than meets the eye. Out there in the wilderness, Moses sees a Bush and within the Bush of flame appears to be burning, not a particularly unnatural happening. Scrub bushes often catch fire in the desert yet in this case, the flame doesn’t consume the Bush itself. A miracle perhaps, but most people would simply see it as a quirk of nature.
Moses, we read, turns aside to view this happening. The important part of the story is that he consciously makes a choice. There are many options. It was late in the day and he could have glanced quickly at the site and talked about it at dinner. If he’d had a camera, he might have snapped a picture and sent it to a magazine. Or, like many Old Testament figures he could have set up a shrine and invited his neighbors to worship. If you really want to let your imagination go, you could picture Moses as a BC entrepreneur marketing the miracle. Come to Midian in the fall when it turns cooler. See the sights. Taking a miracle. Sign up with Doctor Moses, the expert on burning bushes.
But no. Instead, he turns aside. He waits, he watches, he wonders. Somehow by God’s grace he realizes this is the beginning of a journey. Suddenly, the very ground he is walking upon becomes holy ground. The very moment becomes a sacred moment, and the sacred journey commences.
The first thing that happens when you’re on a sacred journey is that God speaks to you and more often than not you are given a task. And if you’re anything like Moses, you’ll try to weasel out of it, or suddenly you’ll become deaf. God speaks to me? Don’t be ridiculous.
Whenever I feel this way, I think of the magnificent lines from George Bernard Shaw’s Saint Joan. Joan of Arc is asked how she knows that her actions are the right ones. She replies, I know the voices come from God, whereas King Charles, who has been listening, interrupts in an exasperated tone, Ohh your voices, your voices. Why don’t the voices come to me? I am king? Joan responds softly, they do come to you, but you do not hear them.
The journey began for Moses at a place called Midian. It started with a burning Bush. Not a very remarkable incident, but for Moses it was the key moment, the moment he became aware of his sacred journey.
For each of us there is a different moment. We see burning bushes in different ways. We have different tales to tell of where and when and how our journey began. Perhaps there was no single incident, but rather a series of moments that started us off. For me, there was an incident, a small moment in time, when a scraggly black youngster slammed his books on my car. It took place on the Lower East Side of New York. I was there looking for a temporary job teaching kids, working as a social worker for a few months in between college and the Air Force. A boy, obviously poor and angry, saw my shiny car and this affluent white do-gooder who didn’t belong in the neighborhood, sitting there snoozing. And so he took his tide up books, struck the hood with all his might and dented the car. It was as if he were saying, I’ll never have a car like this. Or, why don’t you stay Uptown?
I could have honked the horn, jumped out and grabbed him, called a cop for telephone my insurance person. Instead, I looked into the youngster’s eyes. I can’t remember what was contained in them, but from then on I knew I was on a sacred journey, a sacred journey that began 36 years ago on the Lower East Side of New York.
Moments like this, and others no less small and insignificant, are the stuff of a sacred journey. Who knows where it started for you? Sometimes, only your unconscious registers will start. Sometimes when you sit quietly and meditate, you can remember where the burning Bush and God spoke, and you were on holy ground.
I know most of the psychological theories about my experience of mine. I have done my share of analyzing and rationalizing of that happening over the years, but the turning aside, that day, and seeing into the youngster’s eyes is still a part of me. It wasn’t a very big beginning, nor was it terribly dramatic, but I’m sure, sure as anything, that I began a sacred journey.
This summer I reread Frederick Buckner’s The Sacred Journey. It’s one of the great books on a person’s religious pilgrimage. Let me share with you a brief passage.
There is no event so commonplace that God is not present within it, always hidden, always leaving you room to recognize him or not. Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that he is. In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and the gladness, touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it. Because in the last analysis, all moments are key moments.
So on this wonderful day of welcome, when you come to claim your parish church, I ask you to look around. Look at the mountains. Look at the desert from within the window, and see it covered with burning bushes. Look at your neighbor and see her for him as a fellow traveler, a Pilgrim. And look at yourself and realize you are on a sacred journey.
Amen -
Who are the Good Guys, and How can you Tell the Right Ones from the Wrong Ones?
Numbers 11: 4-6, 10-16, 24-29
September 29, 1991
A number of parents experienced A traumatic moment this month, they watched a child leave home, either for college or maybe for first grade. I imagine as they watched them leave the house, they wandered to themselves, have I prepared them adequately for all they will face? Because, none of us do the parenting tasks perfectly. It is not unusual that sooner or later these same children will come back and ask, Why did you not tell me this or that? I never heard a word about that as I was growing up. The world out there is large and confusing.
This happens to ministers as well as to parents. People come up to us and say, Sunday school and confirmation classes didn’t prepare us for the world out there. Why didn’t you help me in distinguishing the good guys from the bad guys, or at least aid me in thinking ethically?
This is the third in our series on the questions that life raises. This morning, we’re focusing on how to distinguish the good from the bad, the right from the wrong, the good guys from the bad guys.
In our Old Testament lesson, we have a fascinating account about two people named Eldad and Medad, they sound like an old time vaudeville act. Instead of a song and dance combination, we’re told they were prophets, and they began to say important things when Moses was away from camp. To make matters worse, scripture tells us, they hadn’t gone to the tent. A moose translation of this would be that they hadn’t been to seminary, and they hadn’t been properly ordained. And therefore, Joshua says to Moses, Go forbid them, they are not of us.
The same thing happens in our New Testament lesson. John reports to Jesus, we saw a man casting out demons and we stopped him. He was not following us. In both these instances, the validity of the act depends upon the legitimacy and the correctness of the person. So what’s right and what’s wrong? According to Joshua and John, it depends on one’s resume. The ins are the only ones who can be counted on to do or say the right thing.
Saint Anthony of the Desert writes, The time is coming when men will go mad and they will see someone who is not mad and they will attack him, saying, you are mad, you are not like us. That’s the kind of madness I see characterized by the Johns and Joshuas, the madness of not being able to recognize the good, not being able to discern the prophet, the minister, the healer, unless he or she looks, acts, and believes in the same things as we do.
This summer I was in California near Disneyland. Whenever I’m out in that part of the country I always find something that speaks to my sermons. I wasn’t disappointed. While walking along the street, I saw a T-shirt with the words, 3,000,000 lemmings can’t be wrong.
Well, they can. We can all suffer from a madness that can’t distinguish the good from the bad. we can plunge forward into self-destruction, fail to listen to our voices, and fail to discern the prophets of our day.
I read some interesting words this week, from a woman by the name of Mary Hatch. She’s radical, and thought by many to be beyond the pale in Christian circles. She’s quoted as saying, what is wrong with the mainline churches? In a nutshell, is that they give out the worst schools in the culture. The preaching and teaching people get in church simply underscores what they get from newspapers and television. They tell people that what it means to be a good human being, a good Christian, is to fit in as best they can. In short, the church stifles the imagination and pacifies people’s emotions and therefore, church people often miss the prophetic word.
The world calls us out of our narrow, stained glass box hall to a wider vision of the world. We should be more concerned with bringing together the broken fragments of our society than in arguing the relative merits and personal morality. The merry hatches of the world are more concerned with good society than with good sexual conduct. The merry hatches of the world are part of the prophetic minority as opposed to the moral majority.
Let me be very personal here. I believe we can’t hear the Mary hatches and other prophetic voices because we have opted for privatized, individualistic, paternalistic morality. Doing the right thing means not doing harm to others and letting others be. Doing the right thing is completely divorced from any public agenda, any societal goodness.
By and large, salvation for church people consists of taking care of our soul and making sure we’re good enough to get through the pearly gates. But what if, what if there were more? What if getting into heaven is dependent upon your getting there also? If my healing depended upon your healing? What if we really believe we were cells interconnected to a great body? What would that mean toward a global perspective toward pushing out our horizons?
Can you see how we’re getting into hot water here, how we’re leaving the private sector and going into the public arena? Can you see how the prophets are those who look critically at the institution of the day and look to more than individual goodness? Can you see how that makes church people nervous?
Going back to those two prophets with funny names, we read that they prophesied. We don’t know what they said, but we can be sure it was more than just fit in. Or, be a good person. Then Joshua, the minister of Moses, one of those with the right credentials, said, Shut them up. But Moses said, are you jealous for my sake? Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets if the Lord put his spirit upon all of them would that they all would do battle for the Lord’s sake.
Moses understood that if you become concerned with who’s in and who’s out, who’s legitimate and who’s suspect, who’s right and who’s wrong, you inevitably begin to narrow your vision. Moses reminds Joshua that doing the Lord’s work, establishing the Kingdom, is not an exclusive job for chosen people. Ministry is wildly inclusive. It’s the work of us all and the test of rightness and wrongness is not in Regency but rather in service to the wider community.
In England, in the 19th century, when the industrial revolution began to grind down, the poor church people used to say, Isn’t it a shame that those mills existed. But no one challenged the institutions and society that produced that situation. And then a dreamer, a poet, a Mystic, a prophet by the name of William Blake had his words put into music, it’s always been my favorite hymn. Let’s let Blake have the last word, maybe we can stretch our vision
Bring me my bow of burning gold,
bring me my arrows of desire,
bring me my spear, ohh clouds unfold,
bring me my chariot of fire.
I will not cease for mental fight,
nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
till we have built Jerusalem in England’s green and pleasant land
Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets
Amen -
Why are we Here?
James 2: 1-5, 8-10, 14-18
Mark 8: 27-38
September 15, 1991
Let’s begin this welcome back Sunday with some personal questions. Actually, during the next few months I want to raise with you a few of the basic questions of life. Questions we often ask in the middle of the night. Questions we raise while looking into a mirror in the morning, questions we raise at midday but rarely do we answer.
As we start this sermon let me share one of the oldest stories in the preacher’s barrel. Many years ago there was a poetry competition. It was to find the shortest possible poem. The contest was nearly won by an entry entitled fleas. The verse went, Adam had em. The winning poem was not only shorter, but it touched deeply into the question that we often ask ourselves. It went this way, I, why?
My guess is there’s not one here who has not raised that question in one form or another period I cannot lie? Why am I here? What is my reason for being?
We often raised the question in a whiny, complaining sort of way. Why me? Why me? I know that’s the way the question sounds when my day has turned sour, why me ohh Lord? But in the back of that grousing stands the basic bottom line, why am I here?
If we listen to the wisdom of the world, we’re here to consume, to spend money, to live the good life. And a lot of us live with all the gusto you can come on you can only live or come this way once. Let’s be honest as we come together in the beginning of the fall season most of us would like to win the lottery. We’re not selfish God will even split it but we would like a little more. We’re consumers at heart. And for the most of us, the trick is how to be a consumer without appearing to be greedy.
Get scripture, our epistle and gospel ask us, challenges us. For what does it profit a person to gain everything, what does it profit a person if he can’t love his neighbor? Who are you becoming? Why are you here?
Scripture time and time again says you can’t have it both ways. You can’t have both. That’s the message. And the answer to this challenge is dependent upon how we see ourselves.
TS Eliot in his magnificent poem, the rock, writes, when the stranger says what is the meaning of this city? Do you buddy together because you love each other? What will you answer? We all dwelled together to make money from each other or this is a community?
These are the fundamental questions we must wrestle with as we begin our year together. What is the meaning of our coming together question why am I here?
Jesus said Cortana you can’t win the whole world and lose your soul without relationships. Why am I here? To be with you and you with me.
Now that’s a radical gospel it’s saying we’re not here to learn more about scripture. You’re not even eared to have a wonderful worship experience. We’re here not a relationship with each other period do you believe that? I think if you really did every one of you would make a beeline and join a cell group or some other organization in our parish where that’s what it’s all about, relationships.
Someone recently asked me what I would be if I were not an episcopalian. And frankly it gave me pause. After a while, I found myself saying, probably a member of the Society of friends, better known as the Quakers.
George Fox, one of the great Saints of that movement, once wrote about his religious experience in these words, as I was sitting in a friend’s house, I saw a great crack go through the earth and after the crack there was a great shaking. He went on in his journal to say that the earth was people’s hearts, which were to be shaken before the seed of God was raised after the earth. And so it was Carmel for the Lord’s power began to shake them. It was from this understanding people started calling them shakers, and then it evolved into Quakers. I sometimes wonder what it would take to shake us up, to crack U.S. Open, to make us Quakers, to help us become a Society of friends
Episcopalians are often referred to as God’s frozen chosen for some good reasons. We desperately need to be shaken up. I think George Fox would have said, we need to find out who we are and why we come together. And then, God willing, we may become a Society of friends.
The great secret of the Society of friends is that they come together not as a like minded individuals, not as a homogeneous group, not as the frozen chosen, not even as a group with a hierarchy of clergy. They come together as Quakers who recognized the seed of God which lies in each one of us, those who see each other as ministers, and those who are ministered to. Their greatness lies in their relatedness. I , why? Because of you, because of me. Because we are friends.
It has been said the two most important days in a person’s life are the day of which they were born and the day on which they discover why they were born. My hope for each of us is that the second day will come and we will discover why we were born.
I, why? Why am I here? To become a Society of friends
. Let us pray. Ohh God, help us to live more fully, to see more clearly, to listen more completely, and then to love more deeply. Check us up, and then draw us together in a more intimate relationship so that we may be here for you, and for each other. Amen -
Can Human Nature Change?
Genesis 27: 1–4, 18-36a
John 3: 1.-8
September 21, 1998
Never ask a child a rhetorical question in public. I recently heard of a church school teacher’s trial. She had just read the section from Jeremiah that goes, “Can the Ethiopian change his skin or the leopard his spots? Turning to the class with a big smile, she asked, “Well, children, can a leopard change its spots?” Everyone shook his head, except Johnny. He piped up with a loud “Yes! ” There was a long silence. The harried teacher, looking up toward heaven, said, ” All right, Johnny. Tell us how a leopard can change its spots. ”
Young John replied, “I don’t see why not. If a leopard is uncomfortable with the spot, can’t it change to a different spot?’
One of the subjects with which each of us must come to grips is human nature. Can it change? Can we, figuratively, change our spots? is it Feasible for human beings to become radically different? Or are we so locked into our past, by our gales, by our former ways of doing life, that we keep repeating ourselves?
The story of Jacob, in the Bible, certainly raises this basic question. During the next three weeks, we will be focusing on this scriptural superstar. Hopefully, tr) together we can look at sane prior assumptions about ourselves and perhaps learn more about God’s ways.
Turning to the Genesis account of Jacob, we see that the scriptural writes ” let it all hang out. ” They don’t spare us any of the sordid details. To teenagers, I would remind you that you don’t have to read Rolling Stone, or even People, to learn the dirt about superstars. Just read your Bible!
We first hear of Jacob through his birth. He is the second twin of twins , and because of the unfortunate uterine placemat, he misses out on the inheritance which goes to the older brother, Esau. at best, is a traumatic experience , but when you combine it with losing one’s legacy by a matter of a far minutes, you can see how this might color one’s existence.
Graphically, the Bible pictures Jacob as crawling out of Rebecca’s womb hanging on to esau’s heels, and we could say that his entire life consisted of grabbing clutching and trying to gain what was lost by his unfortunate placement at birth. Can’t you imagine the National Enquirer headlines for this youngster? We get an insight into jacob’s characters. Somehow he manages to be in charge of the food supply, and when his brother he saw his starving Jacob holds on until he gets him to sign over his inheritance. Not a very brotherly act but one of the themes of biblical history is that brothers, starting with the first pair, Cain and Abel, seemed always to be at odds. Maybe that’s why we have so much bloodshed throughout the Old Testament?
Getting back to Jake then. A few years later, following some bad maternal advice, Jacob tricks his blind father into giving him a blessing that was to go to esau. Does this by wearing a disguise of sheepskin. This may be the origin of the same, pulling the wool over someone’s eyes. Not surprisingly, after this scam, Jacob had to leave town and flee for his life. But Jacob, the flimflam artist is never one to let temporary setbacks dictate his future. He goes to his father-in-law and bilks him out of much of the family wealth. Jacob then returns and settles down to become one of our forefathers. It’s like having a horse thief in the family tree. You know he’s there but you don’t mention him in polite company.
In broad generalities, these are some of the scandalous facts about our grandfather Jacob. If we stop here, however, the real value will be missed. There are lessons to be learned beyond the gossip this morning, I want to concentrate on some insights about human nature.
Psychiatry since Freud has laid such great stress on the beginnings of human behavior that we can scarcely believe that our natures, basic personalities, can be transformable we may argue over whether it’s environmental or natural, but no one questions that somehow the past determines our future behavior.
I am reminded of the old fable of the turtle and the scorpion. The scorpion, being a very poor swimmer, asked the turtle to carry him across the river on his back. Are you mad? Replied the turtle you will sting me while I’m swimming and I’ll drown. My dear turtle, laughed the scorpion, if I were to sting you you would go down and I will go down with you now what’s the logic in that?
You’re right, cried the turtle hop on! The scorpion climbed aboard and halfway across the river gave the turtle a mighty sting and they began to sink in the depths. The turtle, with quiet resignation said, do you mind if I ask you something? You said there would be no logic in stinging me. Why did you do it? The drowning scorpion sadly responded, it has nothing to do with logic, it is just my nature.
Ohh don’t we think this is true to life? Our past determines, shapes, and molds our actions in the future and human nature pretty much stays the same isn’t that what we believe?
Ohh wait! As the old porgy and Bess song goes, it ain’t necessarily so. Particularly if we are dealing with God. One of the first lessons we learned, if we would relate authentically with the God of scriptures, is that change is always a possibility. When God is in the picture we cannot foreclose on any life or any situation. It is Christian to believe that human nature can be changed, how it works I do not know. I don’t believe there is any single way or stereotypical process. It can happen to thieves and princesses. It can happen in times of prosperity and times of want. It could happen 6000 years before Christ to a desert nomad, or it can happen 1986 years after Christ’s birth to a city resident. This I do know, change happens by the power and glory of God’s action.
The Greeks called this process or action, metanoia. The turning around of an individual by God’s grace. We often call conversion, although I am going to turn and leave it for television preachers, but by whatever name we want to label it the result is a new beginning, a complete change about, a change of personality in the process of being reborn.
The Christian faith affirms that we don’t simply mature or ripen away all of the Jews. Most of us, deep down, believe in maturation. What the gospel tells us is that people are lifted to a higher different, changed the way of life through the miraculous action of God. It is not a matter of doing more of the same, or better. This has to do with becoming other than we are.
Rudolph Volkswagen, the theologian that many of us studied in seminary put it this way, metanoia calls for understanding the discontinuity involved in life. Conversion, another name for this, is something more than A person being improved. And means that we received a new origin.
It’s difficult to analyze what happened to Jacob, as he is to understand what happened to Saint Matthew, to Saul of tarsus, to nicodemus, to Augustine, to Francis of Assisi to Martin Luther or to CS Lewis to name a few. They changed. They experienced metanoia. The love of him, the spirit of God, the glory of God touched their lives and they became different turned around people. The question today I would raise is do you believe in metanoia? Do you believe this can happen to you today or tomorrow or next week?
Martin buber has reminded us that there is a radical difference between the past and the future. We learned this lesson if we look closely at Jacob. His past didn’t dominate his future, at one point in his life, God reached out to the person who had defrauded his brother, deceived his father, and cheated is in law. God reached out, turned him around and said, you will be blessed and your descendants will go on forever. And you will be known as the grandfather of my people.
The word of the Lord is very simple, but I believe his profound implications, particularly so as we anticipate the New Years ahead in our church life. The word that change is possible and human nature, for remember the God we worship is the God of Abraham Isaac and Jacob, as well as Jesus. And remember, the God we worship is the one who brings new life out of old. And remember, the God we worship brings descendants, you and me, from the most I’m promising forbearers.
So let’s close our thoughts with this blessing. May the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob be with us all, this day and forevermore. Amen -
Lostness and Foundness
Sept 17, 1995
Towards the end of Christopher Fry’s play, “The Lady’s Not for Burning,” we hear this strange dialogue:
Margaret says, “Have any of you seen that poor child, Alison? I think she must be lost.”
Nicholas replies, ‘Who isn’t? The best thing we can do is to make wherever we’re 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’re lost look as much like home as we can.” Is that what we do? Try to make it feel like home? Is this true of you and me?
As we begin our regular services and start our very busy year, I want to start by asking you an unsettling question. Are you lost?
For many of us, questions like that are at best unsettling. These are questions raised when the preacher stops preaching and starts to meddle. I have a hunch that our discomfort and our dis-ease come about because we are asked to give up on some of our cherished illusions – the illusion of self-sufficiency, the illusion of being in control, the illusion of security. There are very few forms of bondage that are more enticing and more devastating than holding to the illusion that we are safe, at home, in control of our lives
No wonder the God we worship is so small, so limited, so pathetic. We have no need for a Creator God, an all-powerful, all-loving God, as long as we cling to our illusions. All we need is a sort of cosmic bell boy who will come when paged.
Most of us, most of the time, perceive ourselves as self-sufficient, in control – heroes of our own autobiographies. Sure, we stumble once in a while, even experience failures. But basically, we believe that with a little bit of luck and a lot of hard work, we’re going to come out just fine. Thank you very much for asking.
Let me try to put it this way – it is hard for most of us to recognize the boundary line between “I can do it,” and “I need help.” Between “I’ll find my own way” and “I am lost.”
Our Gospel this morning contains a not very subtle hint that in order to find new life, we must start with death. In order to find a cure, we must first start with our sickness. The starting point for being found is to admit that you are lost. To come alive in ’95, we must start with the truth of our own helplessness.
Fred Buechner said it so well: “The Gospel is bad news before it is good news. It is the news that man is a sinner, to use the old word – that he is evil in the imagination of his heart, that when he looks in the mirror, what he sees is at least eight parts chicken, six parts phony, and a slob to boot.” “That may sound like tragedy,” Buechner continues, /but it is also good news because he is loved anyway – cherished, forgiven, bleeding to be sure, but also bled for – lost but also found.”
The parables that we read this morning, of the lost sheep and the lost coin, are stories about our own lives. They start with the lossness first – bad news. But they also show us that if there is no lostness, there is no foundness. If the one sheep had had the good sense that the 99 others had – not to get lost – there would have been no need for the rescue of the shepherd. If the coin had not slipped off a table and rolled into a dark recess, the housewife would not have spent the time or energy looking for it, not would she have rung up the neighbors to share her joy when she recovered it.
One of my tasks is trying to communicate what the church is all about. I do this by trying to figure out metaphors that might be useful for people who come up to me at cocktail parties and start off by saying, “Fm a Christian, but I don’t need the church.” The latest metaphor that I use is to say, ‘Well, the church is really the great lost and found department of God. It’s the place where lost people gather. And so, if you have already gotten your life together, if you’re in control of your destiny – then you certainly don’t need the church.”
Someone last Sunday, in the Gallery after church,
raised one of those zinging questions. I had just finished speaking about religion and how we needed to find it in our lives. ‘Well,” that person said, ‘Tell us where it was that you found religion.” The question was raised in a humorous vein, but it was one of those penetrating zingers that demands a response.
I think I would answer that question in two ways. First, I am still looking. And the other response is that I found religion when I began to tell the truth about my life. When I was younger, I thought that everybody was supposed to be self-sufficient. It wasn’t until I was able to stop clinging to my pedigree, or to my competence, or to my ego. (Incidentally, I recently read that e/g/o really stands for “edging God out.”) It wasn’t until I could put my ego aside and begin to tell the truth, giving up my illusions of immortality, wholeness, and control, that religion made any sense. And so, I would add a new way to describe the church. It’s a place of truth-telling – a place where we can be honest about ourselves. It’s a place where we come alive because we can be brutally honest with one another. Where we can admit that we are lost sheep, lost coins, sinners in need of mercy and forgiveness.
One last image – over the sabbatical, I spent a lot of time re-reading some passages from books that I had simply skimmed through. One of those books was Amy Tan’s delightful novel that was made, in part, into a movie called “The Joy Luck Club.” The book is a collection of stories. One of the stories is called “The Moon Lady.” It’s about a woman’s earliest memories – when she was four years old. She and her family were celebrating the Moon Festival. The legend says that on the night of the Moon Festival, you should tell the Moon Lady your secret desire or wish, and she will grant it. On this particular day, the little girl fell into the water and was rescued by strangers. Before being restored to her family, the little girl asked the Moon Lady that she be found. In the years that followed, she forgot her wish. But now, seventy years later, she says, “I remember everything that happened that day because it has happened many times in my life. I have felt lost and have earnestly asked to be found – and then I was found.”
Isn’t that it? The church is made up of people who are here to tell the truth about their lives, who can admit they are lost, and have a longing to be found. “Amazing Grace, How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind, but now I see
And all the people said, “AMEN.” -
Back to Basics
Mathew 16: 21-27
August 29, 1999
In the church’s calendar, this is the fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost. It is not a particularly dramatic moment in the church year, and it is totally overshadowed by the fact that this is also the Sunday after the opening of the Arizona football season. Now that is a date that we can really get our teeth into.
On the Sunday after the beginning of our football season, the coaches are talking about getting back to basics. Blocking, tackling, and running are on their mind. So, in the spirit of the season, I would like to talk to you about some of the basics of our faith. I want to briefly say something about God, Jesus, and the church.
First, about God. Many people in and out of the church have come to the conclusion that there is a God. People have figured out that if there is a creation, there must be a creator. And many non-church people have found some sort of pattern in the universe. Therefore, they are willing to conclude that there must be some hand that shapes it all. But after this step, trouble begins to brew. The next question often raised is, ‘What kind of a God is it that fashions our world?” For some, whose world is pretty secure, this God is all about peace and joy, and goodness. These people often come to church to give thanks to God. But for others who are less fortunate, homeless, or are victims of hatred or deprivation, they have come to the conclusion that if there is a God, he is indifferent or irresponsible, or maybe even downright cruel. They often absent themselves from church. The data on God seems too confusing and unpredictable. We often feel lost and hazy in an attempt to make sense of this God. When we come to church, preachers attempt to tell us that God understands our confusion and therefore has given us a hint. The church word for that hint is revelation. We know that God is beyond our understanding, but we have a hint in Jesus. As Jesus said about himself, “When you have seen me, you have seen the Father.”
All of this sounds really good, except that the Jesus we often are shown has been distorted or made complicated and theological to fit our prejudices. Well-meaning preachers have tended to confuse our picture of Jesus. It’s as if when we come to church, we are looking to learn about the simple multiplication tables, and we are handed a lecture on quantum physics. And we often walk away saying, “Yes, I believe in Jesus. I just don’t know what I believe about him.”
But today we’re going back to basics. And in order to do that, I would share with you three things I have learned along the way about Jesus.
First, whatever else Jesus was, He was a human being. He wasn’t God dressed up as a person. If that were the case, God would have been play-acting, and all the suffering and agonies would have been unreal, a show, and not worth talking about.
No, Jesus was human, just like you and me. Which means he was not in control of the events around him. In today’s Gospel, we see that He sensed that he was headed for trouble in Jerusalem, yet there was little he could do to change the feelings of the religious leaders who resided there. We often think or hope that doing God’s bidding will make us content, successful, or happy, but it didn’t work out for Jesus, for he couldn’t alter the course of some events, and neither can we. God reveals to us that even Jesus was unsuccessful, for he was as vulnerable as we are to events and people.
Second, Jesus didn’t have all the answers to life’s questions. He gave no philosophical explanations to why there is pain and suffering. He was never able to explain the nature of evil – why evil sometimes triumphs on the throne and goodness ends up on the gallows. He didn’t have neat answers to a lot of questions we raise today. You must always remember that many of the issues that we face in our post-industrial age were not part of the thinking of a first-century Jewish man. Even though Jesus didn’t have many answers, this didn’t stop him from growing and expanding as new situations presented themselves. A case in point was his encounter with a Samaritan woman at the well. Male Jews of that day did not talk to women in the streets, and certainly not to a loose-living Samaritan woman. But Jesus did, and through that dialogue, He changed his understanding of God’s love. It’s not so much that Jesus provided us with answers. Rather, we were able to see that He was able to risk struggling with difficult questions of his day. We can also see that as he struggled, he grew as a person, which should give us all hope to struggle with the difficult issues of our day
The third thing I’ve learned about Jesus is that he wasn’t very interested in doctrines or rules, or in being particularly pious. Beliefs and morals have their place. We need to have certain rules, certain boundaries, if we are to live together. This is why the Ten Commandments make sense, even today, when so many people think that anything goes as long as you feel good.
For Jesus, the only rule that had total validity was the rule of love. Others are helpful, but without love, all the regulations, all the habits of piety, all the sacramental rites, all the biblical studies, don’t amount to anything but wasted motions. Loving and being loved, this was at the heart of life.
These, then, are some of the basics about Jesus that I learned later in life. Now, you might be asking (at least I hope you might), how can we learn more about this enigmatic hint of God? And a quick answer might be, “Come to church.” Watch out. We preachers are always slipping in commercials.) But seriously, I’m more interested in warning you that coming to church will not necessarily do it. Jesus and the church are not the same thing. The church is where Jesus hangs out. But this wildly, inclusive, loving, risk-taking person is a far cry from the exclusive, status quo Christianity that often characterized churches.
For centuries, the church has been telling people that God does not love them unless they were baptized, belonged to a particular denomination, understood the Bible according to specific interpretations, and lived in certain ways. And this just isn’t true. When the church does that, it is wrong. It has become a distortion of Jesus. And when it acts in this way, we have to remind ourselves that the church is not Jesus. Yet, we have to say that the New Testament writers saw the church as an extension of Jesus’ life. He said it himself. “When two or three are gathered in my name, I will be in the midst of them.” So, however we may distort the picture of Jesus, this is where we will encounter him.
Well, there you are. Some of the things I’ve learned through the years about God, Jesus, and the church. Some of the basics that often get misinterpreted or misunderstood. Even in the church, we forget whom we have come to meet. Even in the church, we often begin to think we are the creators, and God is our creation.
During the summer, I read a book of meditations by a wonderful, feisty, Roman Catholic nun, Joan Chittister. In one of the chapters, she shares a little parable. “Sister Rachel had a dream”, she starts off. “There was a great mail-order catalogue from heaven. In it, you could order Jesus by mail. Jesus came in two kinds. One in a long golden robe, with a Godlike, serene, holy look in his eyes, and lights emanating from his ethereal-looking body, and another in a blue robe, with a pointed hat that had written across the words, The Answer Man. In this dream, you could send off for the Jesus of your choice. There was, however, a catch. You never got what you ordered. Instead, you got the real thing.” And this, Chittister suggested, is what made sister Rachel’s sleep so restless. Pray in the months to come that we may be made restless and be presented with the real thing. In the months to come, may we gain an understanding of God, Jesus, and his church.
Amen
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