Monday, February 03, 2014

Call and Response

1 Corinthians 1:10-18; Matthew 4:12-23; Psalm 27; Isaiah 9:1-6
January 26, 2014
Many years, on the final Sunday of January when we traditionally hold our winter congregational meeting, I’ll use this time for a kind of “state of the kirk” address. I don’t want to ignore that, so I’ll just say, as evidenced by the second group of new members in the past three months, the soundness of the budget we’ll look at during the congregational meeting, and the numbers of folks we’ve fed during the past 12 months that the state of the wee kirk is strong and vibrant.
The state of the larger church, on the other hand, is something else altogether – at least in its North American context. You have, no doubt, heard the stats about the increasing number of “nones” – those who answer “none” when asked about religious affiliation on surveys. You have, no doubt, observed that young adults are the largest segment of the “nones.” Indeed, fully one-third of “millennials” claim no religious affiliation while for the whole U.S. population the figure is about 20 percent.[1]
So the wide angle view is challenging, while the close-up seems more promising.
Still, it remains to wonder what it is that we’re actually looking at when we consider the state of the church.
Do membership rolls and research questions tell us much about the life of the community of faith or about the faith lives of its members? Do such statistics tell us much about what happens when Jesus says, “follow me”? Or about what happens when communities experience conflict, such as was clearly the case when Paul wrote his first letter to the church at Corinth? Do they have anything to offer to our experience of waiting for the Lord, as the psalmist describes it in Psalm 27? Do they suggest anything about what it means to have walked in darkness, and then to experience a great light?
In a recent interview in the Atlantic, author Jennifer Percy, speaking about her decision to switch from her physics major to writing, observed
I don’t think human relationships are ever fully comprehensible. They can clarify for small, beautiful moments, but then they change. Unlike a scientific experiment with rigorous, controlled parameters, our lives are boundless and shifting. And there’s never an end to the story. We need more than science—we need storytelling to capture that kind of complexity, that kind of incomprehensibility.[2]
When I read that, I thought immediately about the question of Christian faith. Faith is, fundamentally, a relationship involving human beings, so it is never fully comprehensible, and it changes. Jesus clearly understood this, and thus he taught in parables – stories – rather than in theological arguments, he issued enigmatic invitations to fishermen rather than edicts about orthodoxy, and he built multiple relationships rather than a single systematic theology.
Paul also understood this, and it probably grated considerably against his logical, argumentative soul. But he understood it, and thus even to the fractious and equally argumentative church at Corinth he would say, “we belong to God,” and, eventually, he would tell them that the greatest gift of faith is the gift of love. Love is about relationship or it is about nothing at all.
So let me tell you a story about a relationship: me and Jesus. He calls, I ignore the call … and he doesn’t stop calling. Sometimes Jesus is like the most annoying telemarketer in the world. He simply won’t take no for an answer. Believe me. I’ve tried.
There are days when I still want to tell Jesus to take a hike, but he always says, “sure, I’ll take a hike … but why don’t you come with me and I’ll introduce you to some friends.” So, in the company of Christ’s church I have taken a hike or two, and those hikes have led me to some amazing places: the hills of Appalachia to restore houses and meet the people who live in them; shelters in Kentucky to feed the homeless and meet them in the breaking of bread; the gates of the White House to pray for peace and seek shalom with people of many faiths; the steps of the Supreme Court to call for justice with rainbow-flag-waving folks from all over; the living rooms and dining rooms of the faithful to break bread and share our lives over simple meals. Following Jesus has gotten me fired and arrested, it’s left my family technically homeless for a few months and economically marginal for more than a few. Following Jesus has taken me face to face with some of the people and situations our culture most often tells us to be terrified of, but it is precisely in those moments when I have learned the most important thing about following Jesus: we are never alone, and we have nothing to fear because nothing, nothing, nothing can separate us from the love of God that we find manifest in Jesus.
For me, this is what it means to follow Jesus; this is what it means to be a member of the church of Jesus Christ.
The gift that the church still retains, and that it is called to share with the world, is the simple gift of relationship with the One who reveals God for us, and with all of the ones who seek to follow the path of trusting the God revealed along the way.
When Jesus said, “follow me,” he was not inviting the disciples to a single church service, he was inviting them to a life of service, and of deep relationships that form the foundation upon which lives of service are built.
At Clarendon we center our lives around the fellowship of the table because, as Jesus knew and as he lived and demonstrated, there is no better way to build relationships that in the breaking of bread, the sharing of a meal, simple fellowship around a common table.
But we don’t build relationships simply for the sake of joyous fellowship. That is an important part of it, to be sure, and nobody wants to be part of a dour group of terminally unhappy people.
But if all we do is enjoy good times and good food, we’ll then we’re the corner pub instead of the church of Jesus Christ. Moreover, if our own joy is the chief purpose of our gathering then when we experience setbacks, trials, and times of brokenness, we’ll fly apart at the seams. Disagreements within faith communities are nothing new under the sun, as Paul’s letter to the church at Corinth should remind us.
If we’re only pursuing our own happiness, then the disagreements that are inevitable in any community will split us apart. But the way through our own differences, our own brokenness, our own suffering, is by way of the suffering of others.
If we’re only following Jesus to make ourselves happy then we’re pretty foolish. There are simpler paths to personal happiness that ask far less of you than does the way of Jesus.
You see, the church exists not for itself but for others, and the way of Jesus takes us straight into the suffering of the world. There are 1,001 self-help books out there promising happiness but none of them invites you to share in the suffering of the world for the sake of the world. And yet, there – in the broken places – there is precisely where we build lives of distinction, of purpose, of meaning.
We cut off the reading from Matthew that opened our worship this morning, but it’s important to note what comes next. Jesus doesn’t call the disciples just to bring together a good group. He calls them for a purpose. Immediately they put down their nets – their means of livelihood, the tools of their trade – and they followed him. Then they went out teaching, proclaiming the good news that everyone is welcome to the household of God, and curing people of everything that ailed them.
That’s what Jesus calls us to do: proclaim good news, heal those who are sick, give rest to those who are weary, teach compassion as we practice compassion, build deep relationships around this table – with each other and with the One who calls us to this table – invite others into deep relationship as well, and live rich, full, lives with passion.
Jesus calls us still. What shall be our response?
Let us pray: O God, in Jesus you call us to lives filled with compassion, to lives lived for the sake of the world, to lives overflowing with love for one another and for you. Give us the courage to set aside our nets and follow. Amen.


[1] Pew Research Center data widely reported in 2012, including in Religion Dispatches here.

posted by David Ensign at 7:04 AM