Dr. William A. Ritter
First United Methodist Church
Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: Hebrews 13:1-2, 12-16
January 11, 2004
A colleague who has spent his entire ministerial life pastoring in the South, writes:
I remember the first church I served as a student. They had a fund called the Emergency Fund which had about $100 in it. They told me I could use it at my discretion, provided I dispensed the money according to the conditions. So I said: “What are the conditions?” The chairman of the committee said: “Under no circumstances are you to give money to anybody who is in need as a result of laziness, drunkenness or poor management.” I said: “Well, what else is there?” As far as I know, they still have that money.
Which, if true, is not all that surprising, given that there is a very human tendency (for institutions as well as individuals) to draw very tight lines around very good instincts.
Consider this business of hospitality, introduced by this morning’s text. Traveling the church circuit (as I have done for nearly forty years), I have yet to encounter a congregation that set out to practice inhospitality. Every church believes itself to be friendly, welcoming, warm and open. Almost every church has a sign out front (or a notation in the bulletin) that reads:
Come as you are.
Our home is your home.
Strangers are simply friends we haven’t met yet.
Or, as we Methodist-types have been admonished to advertise:
Open minds, open hearts, open doors.
We may worship a Savior who is alleged to have said that he “had no place to lay his head.” But the rest of us will gladly provide pews in which to park your posteriors….padded, no less…. unless, of course, you want to park them near the center aisle when somebody is already sitting near the center aisle.
Back in the days before I traded short pants for long, my nursery school teacher taught me the hand motions to:
This is the church, this is the steeple,
Open the doors and see all the people.
Although it took a lot of practice on my part, given that my fingers were assembled at the end of the model year when somebody dipped deep into the finger barrel with little thought as to which matched and which didn’t. Which explains why I will never be at home in a digital society.
But, from the first day of finger play, it was clear to me that churches had doors as well as steeples. And, to the degree one opened them widely, one could expect to see a considerable influx of people. Which, from time to time (and place to place), proved to be true. But which, in virtually every place, was deemed to be desirable. Very few churches have been heard to say: “What we could really use around here is fewer people.”
Every church wants more people. And many churches, having read all the right books, attended all the right workshops and, after posting all the right signs at all the right entrances, wonder why, week after week, there is so much space between the bodies. And so they gather informally in the parlor to play little games with names like:
If only,
Remember when,
(or) Ain’t it awful,
while a few gather formally….as the Personnel Committee….generally in the minister’s absence….to play:
If it wasn’t for him.
But new ministers seldom guarantee new faces, even though everybody knows new faces are out there….and wouldn’t it be nice if a few more of them were in here.
The letter to the Hebrews is written to a church suffering from depression. Churches do, you know….suffer from depression, I mean. I’ve heard estimates as high as seventy percent. Whatever be the case, the church in this letter has a confidence problem. Once they had it. Now they’ve lost it. They’re shrinking. And drifting. They thought it was going to come easy….happen faster. Now, some are falling away. They can’t wait forever. If you liken this letter to a sermon, picture it being delivered in the parking lot….out behind the church. The preacher is preaching patience. After all, he tells them, the faith is filled with people who trusted the promises of God (beginning with Abraham), but who did not always see delivery on the promises of God. “So don’t go,” he tells them. “Give it time. Give God time. Lift your drooping hands. Strengthen your weak knees. Get your feet moving in a straight path” (Hebrews 12:12). In other words: “Stay tight. Hang tough.” Followed by:
Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers. For you never know (adds the sermon’s editor) when some of those strangers may be angels.
Meaning that some of them may be God’s messengers to you. Which is an interesting thought for me as a preacher. Because when I thought of God’s message as it related to strangers, I always figured I had it and they needed it. It never occurred to me that maybe they had it and I might need it. Imagine that. Strangers might have something to teach me.
I don’t know what that says to you. But it suggests to me that I need to watch the boundaries I set and the lines I draw. Even more important, I had better be careful in delineating insiders from outsiders. When it comes to churches, I am the ultimate insider. The church is my comfort zone. I doubt I have ever gone two entire weeks without being inside one. And that may very well date from the time I was one (as in “years old,” I mean).
But it is also quite possible that, with the exception of my wife, no member of my extended family is present in a house of worship this morning. Not that they’re heathens. I am not related to heathens. Most regard themselves as Christians. Most live as Christians. Most act as Christians. But one cannot always find them in the places where people gather as Christians. So are they strangers? To me, they’re family. But some churches might consider them so…. strangers, I mean.
Concerning First Church, I’d like to believe that we practice an open door policy better than we proclaim one. One advantage of having a busy program with a lot of traffic in the hallways is that we lock precious few doors….and then, only for a few hours out of every day. Being in a relatively secure neighborhood helps. But I can’t tell you the number of times when, in some strange city or town, I happened upon a church building that captured my interest, but couldn’t find a door that wasn’t bolted or a bell that might get me admitted. In this building, you’ll generally find the entrances unlocked, the switchboard manned, and most staff doors open (unless the staff members are deep in prayer or confidentially in conversation). One of the reasons I have not moved upstairs is so that I can maintain a presence near the major traffic flow.
But, in addition to being physically available, we who work here try to be pastorally amenable. We will do virtually anything for anybody. To the limits of our personal schedule (or space in our building), we will counsel you, visit you, marry you, bury you, baptize you, and feed you whenever we preside at the table of the Lord.
Has that ever been a problem? No. Has that won a great many friends for our ministry? Yes. Is it possible that some have taken advantage of our kindness? I suppose so. Does it indicate a total disregard for spiritual standards? I don’t think so.
Speaking personally, when I stand before the Lord’s table and say:
Ye that do truly and earnestly repent of your sins and are in love and charity with your neighbors, and intend to lead a new life following the commandments of God, draw near with faith and take this holy sacrament to your comfort,
I mean it.
And when I ask those bringing their children for baptism if they accept the lordship of Jesus Christ for themselves, will live it out in the presence of their children, and will raise their kids under the ministry and guidance of Christ’s church until the kids are old enough to take such commitments personally, I mean it.
The issue is not whether I’ll ask such questions. The issue is whether I’ll stand in judgment upon the answers. Which I won’t. As I said in a sermon several years ago: “I will do a great many things for God. But I won’t guard the gates for God. God can guard his own gates.” My job is to maximize the number of times I say “Come,” and minimize the number of times I say “But”….or “Except”….or “Not so fast there, buddy.” I am never going to stand between something God offers and you want.
Not that I’m a pushover. Not that I can be everything to everybody. And not that there aren’t times when, as a representative of this church, I have no choice but to tell people we can’t meet their need. But even after delivering such messages, people tell us that we were nicer to them (and tried harder to go the second mile for them) than any church they called. Which is often followed by as many horror stories about churches in general as my secretary is willing to sit still for.
Evangelistically speaking, funerals may be the best thing we do. Followed by weddings. So doesn’t it make sense that the way we conduct ourselves pastorally will be the way we conduct ourselves programmatically? Of course it does.
Shortly after we cut the ribbon on our brand-spanking-new Christian Life Center, we were the subject of a front page article in the Detroit Free Press. Which beats a sharp stick in the eye. And which, as someone said, was no small victory to see a church featured on the front page of a major metropolitan newspaper for some reason other than its choir director downloading pornography.
It was a good article, written by an Ann Arbor Methodist named David Crumm. David’s father was once my pastor, 46 years ago in Detroit. But David was quite candid with me, telling me that our building was newsworthy, not because it was big….not because it was beautiful….not because it was brand new….but because we viewed the building as one more way to say to many more people: “We’re here for you and we’re ready to welcome you.” Or, in a line borrowed from my November 23 sermon: “This building will stand as an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual conviction, that we occupy this space, not so much as a clubhouse but as a guesthouse.” And why wouldn’t we? In 1821, we started as an inn. And by God….thank God…. we are still an inn.
The Free Press article made most of you proud. You enjoyed seeing your church on the front page, even to the point of calling your friends and neighbors. But the article also made some of you just a little bit nervous. “What if too many come too often, leaving too little room for those of us who built it, financed it, and have every reason in the world to call it ours?”
Which is most understandable. A little bit territorial. But understandable. You have a point. The building is ours. And we will retain the rights as well as the responsibilities of ownership. Already, ninety percent of the people who have walked through the CLC doors have come to a worship service we led, a program we created, or a class we taught. And I don’t see that percentage appreciably changing. The CLC is not an outpost of the Birmingham YMCA. Neither is it a reincarnated version of the Joe Dumars Field House. We did not spend all this money to give the northern suburbs one more rec center.
But if only you could see what is happening out there. Start with Sunday Night Alive, which has everything to do with worship and nothing to do with volleyball. We began Sunday Night Alive in March of 2000. For over three and half years, we averaged 144 persons annually in the sanctuary. At the end of each year, that number never varied by more than eight. No matter who preached. No matter who played. No matter who sang. But after moving Sunday Night Alive into the CLC, the average has jumped to 230 (86 persons higher). Why should the CLC be a more comfortable entree point for worship? I don’t know, but it is.
I am told that there are kids….our kids as well as neighborhood kids….coming out to youth activities that we haven’t seen in years. Every day during the Christmas break, college kids came to play pick-up basketball, while the number of people walking our track (a great majority of them, seniors) is now 65 a day and climbing. Moreover, a slew of young adult males….ours and others….are playing basketball on Monday night. Rod Quainton had 87 last Thursday night in the new CLC Conference Room to talk about The DaVinci Code, while fully 100 others were walking or engaging in other activities in the rest of the space. And time would fail me were I to detail the 560 women who came to Advent by Candlelight, the 660 kids and adults who came to the 5:30 Christmas Eve service, or the 250 who broke bread at the Charge Conference dinner…. all in the CLC.
Every day, neighbors seek me out and tell me they can’t believe what we have or that we’ll share. Many can’t leave without pressing money into our hands. So we are figuring out ways to accept it, without necessarily demanding it. Better yet, a pair of neighbors who stood up to oppose us at virtually every city hearing on our application have now begun to walk the track with us on these cold winter days. And when was the last time you heard of a kid who came home and said: “Mommy, my friends at school want to know if they can come to our church, even if they’re Jewish?”
Will there be problems as we go….bumps in the road as we go….things to figure out as we go? Sure there will. But it’s amazing how glitch-free the first seven weeks have been. But that’s not dumb luck. After all, if God helped us find people with the talent and passion to dream it, design it, build it and pay for it, can’t you see God’s hand helping us find ways to use it and people to run it? I mean, every day something happens out there that I didn’t plan, can’t figure, and utterly boggles my imagination. So I simply thank God that, at a time of my life when virtually all my colleagues are winding down, God has let me be part of something that has revved me up. Not to mention those of you who figured you’d probably be dead before you saw anything this exciting at the corner of Maple and Pleasant.
* * * * *
But back to the question raised by our text. In the seven weeks we’ve been open, have we entertained any angels? Darned if I know. But the Bible said we probably wouldn’t know ‘em if we saw ‘em. So maybe we have. Or maybe we will. All I know is that most everybody who comes tells me we’ve done a good thing. And a few even suggest we’ve done a godly thing.
Or as the blonde in the sweatsuit said about her experience: “The good thing was, it didn’t feel like church when I came in. But it felt like church when I went out.”
“So was that a good feeling or a bad feeling?” I asked.
“A good feeling,” she said. “I’ll be back.” And she was smiling.
Note: At the close of the sermon, I silently….albeit with exaggerated motions….reenacted the finger play, “This is the church, this is the steeple. Open the doors and see all the people.”
As concerns the “blonde in the sweatsuit,” I am aware that such a designation smacks of sexism. However, that’s how she told me to refer to her when I asked if I could quote her.
I am also aware that there are other implications of the text from Hebrews. One of the advantages of preaching a long time in the same church is that one has covered them previously. Which I have. As to the description of the Hebrews audience as a “depressed church,” I credit Fred Craddock for this perceptive insight.
Meanwhile, the CLC continues to amaze. Just this morning (prior to printing this sermon), a stranger sought me out to say: “This building is the best thing that has ever happened to the city of Birmingham.” Which is an exaggeration. But a welcome one.
