First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan
Scriptures: I Peter 3:13-17 and II Peter 1:3-8
February 1, 1998
Over forty years ago, I declared myself as a candidate for the Methodist ministry. Thirty-three years ago, come June, I received my first Methodist appointment. In those years, I had only two negative thoughts about my denominational affiliation. I thought I would have to move often….and far.
Neither of which turned out to be true. I have moved seldom….and near. I have served just four churches in 33 years. And none have been outside the metropolitan area. Either nobody outstate wants me, or the Bishop has chosen to keep me on a very short leash (where he, or she, can keep a watchful eye on me).
I have, however, been sought after by other congregations, bearing other names, wearing other stripes, who (by dint of a looser form of government) were free to come looking. So they did. And I returned their gaze. Occasionally, the process stretched over months, complete with trips, dinners, interviews, pulpit committees visiting secretly, and other cloak-and-dagger stuff that is part and parcel of the wooing and hiring process. Of the four churches that came looking, I could have had one. Maybe two. In one instance, Kris and I went so far as to talk to realtors and check out schools. But I could never bring myself to go. More to the point, I could never bring myself to leave.
But why? I wasn’t locked into Methodism by family. I wasn’t locked into Methodism by history. I certainly wasn’t locked into Methodism by money. Nor was I locked into Methodism by unbreakable friendships. Theologically, I could have been something else. Governmentally, I often wished I was something else. But I’m not. I stayed. Because I discovered that the sign on the building was also a stream in my blood. I suppose the sermon two weeks ago, and this one today, are my attempts at saying what that is….or why that is.
As you will remember, I started talking about Methodist “style.” Not history. Not theology. Not governance. But “style.” How do we feel about ourselves? How do we come across to theworld? How do we seem….look….fit….and firm up? I promised six ideas. In reality, I pared six ideas to six words. Three last time. Three this time. Each balanced on the word “all”….given that we Methodists are big on the word “all.” We are not big on the word “some.” “All” fits us better.
Last time, three privileges.
All may come.
All may receive.
All may enjoy.
This time, three obligations.
All must learn.
All must serve.
All must share.
First, all must learn.
It is widely understood that John Wesley loved the image of the “warmed heart.” But never at the expense of an empty head. Consider the waterfall of books that poured from his pen. Consider the emphasis on teaching (both children and adults) that characterized the early days of his movement. Consider the colleges and universities….over 120….that Methodists have launched in this land. Then consider the seven years of education that Methodists have required of those who would preach the word….in an age when many church bodies try to keep their ministerial candidates away from higher education, claiming that “it only ruins ‘em.”
I will never forget how exciting….how energizing….and (yes) how liberating it was, when (in my first college course on religion) I reexamined my Sunday school understandings in a greater light. To be sure, I learned some things that shook me. And maybe even shocked me (for a week or two). But it was never in the spirit of contradicting truth previously learned, but in the spirit of building a bigger castle wherein truth might dwell.
To be sure, those who would “think” their way to God will probably never get there. Sooner or later, faith will require an act of trust. A “leap” of sorts. But that leap will always be in the direction of….rather than in opposition to….the best work that the mind can do.
All over this country, there are preachers who are afraid to tell their congregations everything they know….fearing (in the words of one colleague) that if we ever let “the little people” look at the frontiers of our thinking, it will destroy the fragile fabric of their faith. I have never held that fear. And I have never treated you like “little people.” I don’t water down my material to fit any audience. In classes and sermons, I say the same kind of things to you that I would say to a cluster of theologians. For Methodists are not afraid of thought….are not afraid of disagreement….and not afraid to follow the quest for truth, wherever it leads.
But how does one balance trust with quest? As a model, let me suggest the would-be climber of telephone poles. He (or she) wears a belt that goes around the pole. Also worn are shoe spikes capable of sticking into the pole. In order to climb, one must lean back against the belt….letting go of the pole in the process. Those who don’t trust….those who can’t lean….those who won’t let go….inevitably slide back down to the ground. Leaning is essential.
But once you lean, you must also climb. This is done with the shoe spikes, one foot at a time. Onward and upward. Higher and farther. So it is with all who would know and follow Jesus. They must lean with the Spirit and climb with the mind, all the while giving thanks for a church that doesn’t require them to check their brains at the door while passing through the narthex. All must learn.
Second, all must serve.
Methodists have always been as concerned with “walking the walk” as with “talking the talk.” In addition to being a heart and head trip, we Methodist types have long believed Christianity to be a hands and feet trip. Who are we touching? Where are we going? What difference, if any, is faith in Jesus Christ making in the way we spend our time….the way we spend our money….and the way we spend our lives?
Let me illustrate. For 33 years I have sat in meetings where Methodists have argued whether it is better to feed the near-by hungry or the far-away hungry. But, over those same 33 years, I have never sat in a meeting where Methodists have argued about the necessity of feeding the hungry. We have known, seemingly from day one, that the quickest way to see Jesus (Matthew 25) is in the face of the neighbor who needs us….while the quickest way to miss Jesus is to pretend that there is no neighbor, or that there is no need.
Whatever our theological persuasion (evangelical, fundamental, neo-orthodox, post-reformational), our missional stance is always going to stick us with the name tag “Bleeding Heart Liberal”….because “doing good” flows through our Methodist blood….and being “liberal” is simply one way of describing how willing we are, rather than how “leftist” we lean. Methodists may fight, to the nth degree, over who should benefit from our worldly zeal. But Methodists have never debated whether “zeal” is a good thing to have, or whether the “world” is a good place to express it. In my wildest imagination, I can’t fathom a group of Methodists assembled on some mountaintop, waiting for a spaceship to liberate them from this awful Earth, for the purpose of delivering them on to glory.
Twenty years ago, a group of evangelical Methodists became upset with the Mission Board of our denomination. At issue were matters of policy, program, placement and funding. Especially funding. Their dissatisfaction led to division, much to the chagrin….and pain….of a lot of us. But note what the splinter group did when it split. They promptly formed an alternative mission society. The debate, you see, was over the nature of the work, rather than the value of the work. The work went on….and the work goes on….under a pair of somewhat similar umbrellas. But even now, as tensions rock the church on other fronts, those two umbrellas appear to be inching closer and closer together….to the degree that while First Church’s apportionment dollars support projects of the mainline group, our work team in Costa Rica (even as we speak) is toiling under the auspices of the splinter group. Not that our work team knows that….or cares about that. And it makes no difference to the Costa Ricans either. At the end of the day, need is need, sweat is sweat, and those who match sweat to need in the Lord’s name, do the Lord’s work….receive the Lord’s favor….and look, for all the world, like Methodists.
I applaud the fact that new congregations are popping up all around us, many of them with no denominational ancestors, whatsoever. We welcome their help in doing the Lord’s work. There is room for us all, even if many of the “new kind” do not look like “our kind.” But I worry about “the vision thing”….or the lack of it….in these new congregations. I believe that God is being praised there. I believe that Christ is being offered there. I believe that the Bible is being read there. And I believe that the needs of a whole new generation are being served there. But I hope that these new God-praising, Jesus-owning, Bible-reading Christians are serving somebody besides themselves. And, if they are, the proof will eventually emerge in the pudding. For we will be able to see it in their budgets, read it in their newsletters, and measure it in “second miles” traveled, food baskets given, and honest sweat generated on behalf of the forgotten friends of Jesus.
But my greatest concern is not with navel-gazing churches, but with navel-gazing Christians. I am talking about people who embrace a gospel of minimal demand, scaling down the great claims of our faith to the level of what is convenient, easy and non-sacrificial.
A little surplus time for Jesus? Why not, I’ve got a slightly lighter week.
A little surplus money for Jesus? Why not, it’s been agood year.
A little surplus food for Jesus? Why not, I can’t finish everything on my plate anyway. Just have the waiter wrap it up and send it on down to the church.
Friends, this was not Wesley’s way. Nor has this ever been our way. Methodists have always preached that “service” isn’t worthy of the name, until it cuts below the surface and slices into the self. And Methodists have always believed that the phrase “going on to perfection” has social dimensions, every bit as much as personal ones.
I am glad to see kids running around in tee shirts proclaiming “Just Say No.” Sounds good. Sounds wise. Sounds prudent. Sounds clean. Even sounds half-Christian. Why half? Because we Methodists are also interested in what kids say “yes” to. We want to know what they have chosen to take on, as well as what they avoid taking in.
Let me illustrate with an adult example. I preach a lot of funerals. I preach good funerals. That’s because I preach personalized funerals. I am willing to tell people’s stories at funerals. But before I tell them, I first have to learn them. So I spend a lot of time with family members…. asking questions….listening to answers….writing down what I hear. And among the things I hear from virtually every family….about every loved one….is this: “Uncle Herman (Aunt Elvira) (Grandma) (Cousin Louie) never said a bad word about anybody.” But given all the bad words that are said about people, I find myself wondering: “Who buries those folk?” It must be Matt, Melody or Bill. It sure isn’t me. I only bury the sweet talkers.
But even if that’s true about those I bury (that they “never said a bad word about anybody”), I find myself asking: “Did they ever say a good word to anybody?” Who did they speak up for? What did they stand up to? Or did they just keep their mouths shut, noses wiped, lawns mowed and slates clean? Which would make them decent, law-abiding Americans. But which would make them lousy Wesleyans.
It recently occurred to me that if there is to be a hell for anybody….of short or long-term duration….I expect it to be full of Methodists. Not because they have been sentenced and banished there, but because they boarded a yellow bus in heaven that was going there….for two weeks stints….in order to take Bibles to hell….foodbaskets to hell….ice chips to hell….or simply to live (for awhile) among the hellions….for the purpose of raising hell….so that some of the folk who live there, might yet rise from there. Which sounds ridiculous. But, then, that’s who we are. All must serve.
Third, all must share.
Now don’t squirm. I’m not going to talk about money. Although I could. I’m going to talk about talking, rather than giving. I’m going to talk about passing on to others what someone once passed on to you. I’m going to talk about sharing your story….inviting someone to join your journey….or telling some starving brother or sister where you are currently finding bread.
Methodists have never privatized their faith. Instead, Methodists have believed that faith is too hard a thing to live alone, and too fragile a thing to keep to oneself. “Share it or lose it,” could very well have been Wesley’s motto. Which is why he put people into those small groups he called “class meetings.” And which is why we create, in this church, every kind of group imaginable (social groups, study groups, support groups, singing groups, covenant groups, D-groups, work groups, play groups, camping groups and retreat groups….the better to weep with the weepers, rejoice with the rejoicers, encourage the faint-hearted and strengthen the weak).
When it comes to telling our story….or his story….all of us have differing levels of comfort. Which we know. And for which we need not apologize. On the biblical list of spiritual gifts, evangelists are one sub-classification. Not all of us fit that title. Not all of us need to. Some of the best witnesses for Jesus I have ever met, have been those with a “spiritual gift” for listening….which Paul doesn’t mention, but I will, claiming (for it) every bit as much authority as Paul did for the gifts on his list.
But before I let you off the hook too easily….about speaking your faith, I mean….let me put in a good word for verbalization, uncomfortable as that may seem to those of you who are more stumbling-of-tongue, than you are silver-of-tongue. And that good word is this. Most of us only learn what we truly believe when we attempt to articulate it. And few of us know how passionately we believe something, until we are forced to defend it.
I’ll speak personally here. I suppose my tongue is more “silver” than “stumbling.” But I do not always know what to say. Neither do I always know how to say it. When I stand by someone’s bed….or sit in someone’s living room….I occasionally field hard questions (or face gut-wrenching silences) that leave me wondering what, if anything, I do have to say. But something always seems to come. And what comes is often incredibly honest and deeply revealing….given that some strange combination of the moment and the Spirit conspires to pull it from me, even when I doubt its presence within me. I am not saying this very well, but somehow I think you know what I mean.
Other times, in the midst of delivering a sermon, I will surprise myself with the passion and urgency of my delivery. Later, I’ll say to Kris: “I didn’t feel it that strongly when I wrote it. In fact, I don’t really know where it came from.” What does that mean? It means that if I weren’t forced to speak, I might not know what I know, or understand what I feel. Putting something into words becomes a way of recognizing and owning what is internal, that might otherwise go undiscovered. Sometimes Kris will say: “You really ought to listen to yourself preach.” Not because she thinks I’d behave better if I did. But because I’d understand myself better, if I did.
And before I leave this business of sharing, let me put in one last word about the content of what we share. I’m talking about Jesus Christ. For few of us are bashful about telling our story. But lots of us….let’s be honest here….are bashful about naming his name. We will gladly give a cup of cold water to a thirsty stranger, but we will twist, uncomfortably, over whether to add the sponsor’s identity (as in): “This water is being offered to you by a friend of Jesus.”
Thirty years ago, I would have said that the water speaks for itself. Now, in a world where so many thirsty people have no idea of the thirst-quenching power of our Lord, I have changed my mind.
Sid the writer of I Peter to a more-than-mildly persecuted group of Christians in Jerusalem: “Always be ready to answer anyone who asks you to account for the hope that is in you.” Which assumes three things.
1. That you have hope in you.
2. That you know where it comes from.
3. And that you are willing to name the source out loud.
All must share.
* * * * *
Methodists! Two weeks ago, I started out this little exercise by saying that I thought there was more to us than the fact that, once upon a time, we wouldn’t dare be caught dancing. Last night, when I left the Cass Church awards dinner at the Westin Hotel….plaque in hand for exemplary Christian service….a dance band was playing and some very good Methodist people were dancing. The lateness of the hour (coupled with the need to appear awake and intelligent in this pulpit at 8:15 a.m.) kept me from expressing the rhythm in my feet. But as Kris and I walked into the cold night air, we smiled and gave thanks for a church that still feels like home, along with a denomination that (on good days) no longer majors in minors.
