The Delicate Art of Accepting Gifts from Strangers 12/29/2002

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scriptures: Isaiah 9:1-7, Matthew 2:7-11

When asked to draw a picture showing what they would do if Jesus came to spend the day with them, the second grade Sunday school class went busily to work. After several minutes of industrious coloring, Jenny approached her teacher with an almost-finished drawing in hand. “Mrs. Kelly,” she said, “I have a question. How do you spell Bloomingdale’s?”

Shopping with Jesus. What an interesting image for the season. Given that the season is very much about shopping. All of us do it. Some of us, prancing and dancing. Some of us, kicking and screaming. But most of us, hoping that the retailers had a good year, given our concern for the economy and its recovery. In fact, I read so much about that issue this Christmas that I felt it was my patriotic duty to head for the mall. When my car lease expired on December 7 and I had to shop for a new vehicle (a task I generally detest), I actually felt good about inking a deal before the end of the year….not so much because of what I bought, but because I was doing my part. Whatever it takes, George. Whatever it takes.

Clergy, of course, are sometimes seen as scrooges when it comes to shopping. Gold, frankincense and myrrh aside, every one of us has a good sermon against the excesses of gifting, fearing that the mall may be the best place to misplace the reason for the season. Although I have noticed that the same preachers who mug the malls from the pulpit on Sunday tend to appear in them (for purposes of purchase) on Monday. Which proves nothing, save for the fact that if over-commercializing Christmas is a disease, virtually all of us are infected.

I’ll fess up. I bought. I got. And I enjoyed both the “buying” part and the “getting” part. Buying, of course, is connected to giving. And I like giving. I mean, I really like giving. When I was a little kid, I heard people talk about it being more blessed to give than to receive. Like a lot of things in the Bible that sound more pious than practical when one hears them as children, I probably said to myself: “Does anybody really believe that?” But then I grew up….got smart….and found that most of those ancient aphorisms are true.

It is blessed to give. It feels good to give. And in spite of what preachers tend to tell you, giving is not all that much of a problem. At least at Christmas. Christmas brings out the best in us. We put coins in the kettle and food in the baskets. Why, Christmas brings out the best, even in the worst. Which is why the conversion of Ebenezer Scrooge is, apart from the nativity narratives of Luke and Matthew, the most classic Christmas tale of all. The conversion of Scrooge confirms what we would like to believe about ourselves, that down deep, even the worst of us has the capacity to become generous and kind. Scrooge’s story flatters us as givers.

I can identify with that. I like giving. I like what it does. I like the way it feels. I like what it says to me, about me. Like a lot of you, I didn’t grow up with a lot. Money was tight. It’s not that anybody told me that, so much as I instinctively knew that. And I also know that a lot of people who grew up worrying about money, still worry about money. Having once felt “tightness,” they become “tight” for life….spending cautiously….giving conservatively….always looking for hard times….figuring that if they happened once, they could happen again.

Which got me to wondering why such is not the case with me. Then one day I figured out the answer. At the outer fringe of my family (when I was growing up) was my Uncle Walter….my Great-Uncle Walter. And while he was a long way removed from me, the fact that he had money was not lost on me. I mean, he had a lot of it. Which he splashed around pretty good. At a very impressionable age, I saw that. What’s more, I internalized that. It seemed like my Uncle Walter did a lot of good. And it seemed as if doing good made him feel good. I found myself wanting to be like him. I don’t know whether I identified with his generosity, with his sense of well-being that grew out of his generosity, or with his success in business which made his generosity possible. Like a lot of things in our childhood, there were a lot of messages back there. And I probably “got” them all.

What I didn’t get were a lot of lessons in the art of being a receiver. For my uncle was resourceful and independent, while receivers often see themselves as needful and dependent. And few of us like feeling that way. In fact, we will go to almost any length to avoid feeling that way. Our language gives us away. “I paid my dues,” we say. “I earned my way….carried my share….held up my end….shouldered my responsibility.” Did you hear all of those verbs (paid….earned…. carried….shouldered)? Those are power verbs. Those are working verbs. Those are verbs of action. Those are verbs associated with givers. Those are not the verbs of receivers.

A colleague who has spent several years in campus ministry suggests that this explains why some students disparage their parents during their university years. It is humbling (perhaps too humbling) to admit that at age 20 and 21, you are still financially dependent on mom and dad. But more than financial dependency, it is also humbling to realize that other things like your genes, talents, strengths, weaknesses, body image, and even large parts of your personality, have come to you as things received from those same parents. At the very time when you want to think of yourself as self-made and self-directed, you look in the mirror one morning and are forced to realize: “Good Lord, I look just like my old man.” Then you take a good course in psychology, forcing you to look even deeper into the mirror and admit: “Good Lord, I even think and feel like my old man.”

That same difficulty with receiving affects relationships at the other end of the age spectrum. Elderly people fear that they will become sufficiently incapacitated so as to necessitate their being on the receiving end of care from a loved one. I jokingly tell Kris that when that day comes, she should put me on an ice flow and push me out to sea. But my humor gives me away. Like many of you, I assume that being on the receiving end of perpetual care will be equated with “being a burden.” And I don’t like the feelings that go with the word “burden.” Is it any wonder that the receivers of care sometimes lash out against the very ones on whom they are most dependent….and to whom they should be most grateful?

Need more convincing? Consider this. Ask a university fund raiser which group of alumni is most antagonistic when approached for pledges and contributions. They will inevitably answer: “The ones who attended this school on full scholarship.” It’s tough to be a receiver of anything. It’s even tough to be on the receiving end of love….God’s, or anybody else’s. Let me read to you a sentence that you will find astounding: “Nothing is more repugnant to capable, reasonable people than grace.” You know who said that? John Wesley said that. Having held out against grace for a number of years (even as he was preaching its merits to others), he knew whereof he spoke.

Into all of this, we Christians introduce a story. It is a simple story about a God who wanted to do something for us….something so strange and outside the scope of ordinary imagination…. something so beyond what we could conceivably do for ourselves….that God resorted to angels, pregnant teenagers and stars in the sky to get it done. And whatever you think about the details of the story, remember that their purpose is to show us that Christmas is not something we can do for ourselves, but something that God does for us. The details strike the mind as “extraordinary,” precisely so that we will not view what they represent as “ordinary.” “For unto us a son is given.” All we can do at Bethlehem is receive him.

As a Jew, Rabbi Michael Goldberg is impressed by the utter passivity of the characters in the nativity. As a Jew, he resonates to the great saga of the Exodus, where heroes like Moses, Aaron and Joshua are anything but passive receptors. Instead, they come across as superheroes…. mighty actors….people prodded by God to create a new future, not receive one. If you want to understand the force of Goldberg’s point, take time to contrast the Old Testament narratives of the Exodus with the New Testament narratives of the nativity. When depicted by churches, nativity narratives are (in point of fact) tableaus. They are still lifes. Nobody does anything. Nobody says anything. Everybody just gets into position and stands around.

Here at First Church, we do a nativity pageant every three years. This was the year. Many of you were present a couple of weeks ago. It’s a day for great singing and minimal acting. But none of the actors say anything. People just walk into position and portray their part. Once again, I got to be a king. There are three good things about being a king. First, you get to sing all by yourself. Second, the costumes are the very best in our wardrobe closet. Third, the kings enter late in the drama, meaning that for most of the pageant, we sit in the parlor drinking coffee, rather than standing stiff and still in the center of the chancel. By the time we enter, everybody else has been standing in place for several minutes. In fact, Mary and Joseph (and their real, live infant) have been on the scene for nearly half an hour.

You also need to know that as participants in the drama, we are encouraged to maintain our pose and posture long after the pageant is complete. This enables children to come up and walk among the characters (even seeing and touching the baby), while parents and grandparents take pictures from the front of the chancel. It’s all wonderful and touching. It’s also hard on the characters. In fact, at one of the pageants (remember, we do this twice on the same afternoon), Joseph stood so still for so long that I heard him mutter under his breath: “I’ve been rigid for such a long time that my back has locked up.”

But we need the nativity stories. We need their passivity. Because we need to allow the God of these stories to give us an unexpected gift. Somewhere, somehow, somebody has to train us to be receivers.

I suppose it might be easier to accept the gift if we knew more about the giver….and more about the motives of the giver. For we tend to be a suspicious lot. I mean, picture yourself as having a son….a teenage son. Picture him as being sixteen years old. No, make him fifteen and a half. Picture him as beginning to fill out physically, but not quite there socially. Which means, of course, that where girls are concerned, he is something of “hunk,” but socially inept.

Now watch what you do (as parents) when your son comes home from school with a package. It is a Christmas package. From a girl, no less. It is not a girl he has gone out with, so much as a girl he has “kinda talked to at a couple of parties.” The present turns out to be a sweater. A soft and lovely sweater. A cashmere sweater. From having priced such sweaters yourself, you know that (even at one of the outlets) there may be $100 involved in this gift. Suddenly you hear yourself saying: “Son, you need to take that sweater right back to her and tell her that your parents won’t let you accept it. You want to know why? We’ll tell you why. Because this girl is obviously making an assumption that isn’t true, or looking for a relationship that you are not ready for. Every gift comes with a claim, and you’re not ready to be claimed.”

Well, I’ve got to tell you. God’s goal (in giving you his gift) is to claim you….to lure you into a relationship….to draw you closer….to suck you in….to cut through your defenses with something that will be incredibly hard to resist. “Pssst….here kid….wanna see a baby….?”

More amazing still, just when you are least expecting it, God may strategically withdraw….ever so slightly….leaving you holding the baby. Oh, by the way, the gift is non-returnable.

Note: I originally introduced some of these ideas a decade ago under the title “Tis Perhaps More Blessed to Receive.” At that time, I resonated to an op-ed piece in the Christian Century by William Willimon of Duke University. At this juncture, I can no longer cite the date or recall the title.

Shopping for the Perfect Church 11/3/2002

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: II Corinthians 4:1-12

Note:  This sermon was the second in a trio of sermons for the annual stewardship campaign orchestrated under the title “Don’t Let Go.” It was preached on a Sunday when the music was especially spectacular, given the presence of guest composer, conductor and concert pianist, Joseph Martin. Earlier in the service, Roger and Barbara Timm (relatively new to First Church) gave a campaign testimony and spoke about the issue of “church shopping” in their faith journey.

* * * * *

Now that Julie has left Georgia for California (albeit via Massachusetts), chances are slim that I am ever going to get back to Atlanta. Which I didn’t see enough of while she was there. Although I did once stand in the pulpit of Ebenezer Baptist Church….Daddy King’s church…. Martin’s, too (for a spell, and perhaps still). It was a Tuesday, as I remember, along about 2:00 in the afternoon. So had I felt inclined to preach, there wouldn’t have been any reason to preach, given that there was nobody in the room to hear me preach, save for Kris and Julie (who have heard all they care to hear of my preaching). So I didn’t. Although I wanted to. And still do.

Fred Craddock preached at Ebenezer a few years back. Fred teaches preaching….or did….at Emory University in Atlanta. So Joseph Roberts, Ebenezer’s pastor in those years, invited Fred to come over and bring a good word. Well, you need to know that while Fred is wonderful to hear, he is not all that imposing to see….given that, by his own admission, Fred is an old, short, bald guy with a high voice.

Which is a lot to overcome. And which may explain why, when Fred got up to preach, Joe Roberts began to sing (while seated on the platform behind the pulpit). Whereupon everybody else on the platform began to sing. And the congregation, they began singing, too. Then the piano and the organ came along for the ride, followed by the drums and the electric guitar. All the while, Fred stood waiting at the pulpit until he figured out that he was the only one who wasn’t singing. So even though there wasn’t anything in the bulletin that called for singing, he sang, too. Which got everybody going….not only singing, but swinging and clapping.

Then, after a spell, Joe Roberts put up his hand and it got real quiet. People sat down. Fred preached. And it felt as if he could have preached all day. After the service, he said to Joe Roberts: “That kind of shocked me a little….the singing, I mean. You didn’t tell me you were going to do that.” To which Joe said: “I didn’t plan to.” “Then why did you do it?” Fred asked. “Well,” said Joe, “when you stood up at the pulpit, one of the associates leaned over and said to me, ‘Looks like that boy’s gonna need some help.’”

Well, we all do from time to time (need help, I mean). Me, more than most. But, then, I get more help than most. Like this morning. Who wouldn’t be ready to preach after music like this? Preaching is easy here. I have been known to cry when I hear the choir. Nothing unique about that. There are lots of ministers who cry when they hear their choir. But, when they tell me, they’re not smiling.

“We have this treasure,” Paul says. “And we carry it in clay jars (earthen vessels).” So what’s the treasure? You tell me. On any given morning, the treasure can be just about anything.

The treasure can be the Lord.

Or the treasure can be the faith that proclaims the Lord.

Or the gospel that declares the faith that proclaims the Lord.

Or the message that articulates thegospel that declares the faith that proclaims the Lord.

Or the ministry that carries out the message that articulates the gospel that declares the faith that proclaims the Lord.

Or the anthem that puts melody under the ministry that carries out the message that articulates the gospel that declares the faith that proclaims the Lord.

Or maybe even the church in which melody, ministry, message, gospel, faith and Lord are simmered into a stew that feeds and flavors the world.

Maybe it’s all “treasure.” As treasures go, don’t try to parse it or sort it out. Just give thanks for the fact that we’ve got some (treasure, I mean) and that ours is of infinite worth and value.

So what do we do with our treasure, Paul asks. We carry the whole schmear in pots made of clay. Which everybody in Paul’s world (Jews, Greeks and Romans) knew were the most flawed containers known to man. That’s because they dried, don’t you see. And when they dried, they cracked. And when they cracked, stuff leaked from them like sieves. So what is Paul saying? I’ll tell you what Paul is saying. He’s saying that this incredible treasure (however defined) has been entrusted to a bunch of cracked pots.

Don’t look at me funny. I don’t write this stuff. I only read this stuff. But I know ‘tis true. When Paul talks about himself as the vessel, he’s talking “mortality” (meaning he’s got death in him). But when Paul talks about the church as the vessel, he’s talking “fragility” (meaning we’ve got failure in us). Which is a confession worth making in a day when people want more and more out of church and are not bashful about expressing their expectations.

As my title suggests, people shop churches. I suppose a few always did, but not many. In days gone by, the Roman Catholic model of institutional loyalty defined us all. Born a Catholic, you lived Catholic, stayed Catholic and died Catholic. What’s more, when you moved, you went to the Catholic parish that serviced your new neighborhood. Seldom did you ask the realtor: “What is the finest Catholic church in these parts?” Instead, you asked: “What is the closest Catholic church in these parts?”

Protestants may have seemed a bit more choosy, but just a bit. Methodists, in the main, paid attention to the sign on the door (even before we had the cross and flame to mark our turf). And most suburban Methodist churches grew numerically as Detroit Methodists picked up stakes and left the city in search of better schools and greener lawns. The “brand name factor” was a big factor. And even those moving Methodists who didn’t stay Methodist sampled “Methodist” before looking elsewhere.

Today, everything is changed. Brand lines are blurred and people cross them without blinking an eye. On Groundbreaking Sunday, we received 40 new adult members into the life of this church. Six of them were Methodist transferees. That’s fifteen percent. Which is about the way it is now. Not good. Not bad. Just is. In fact, were you to do the math, it would be my guess that (over the last decade) we have received more members who could tell us about the Pope than who could tell us about John Wesley.

As you gleaned from Roger and Barbara’s message this morning, most people shop churches. Which bothers most clergy. Although I don’t know why my colleagues disparage church shopping, given that they’ll do it, too, the minute they retire. As Rodger Nishioka writes (in a wonderful essay entitled “Life in the Liquid Church: Ministry in a Consumer Culture”):

Shopping is the archetype of our age. If, by shopping, we mean scanning the assortment of possibilities….examining, touching and handling the goods on display….comparing the costs with the contents of our wallets or the credit limits on our cards….putting each item in our cart or back on the shelf….then we probably shop outside stores as much as inside….meaning that we shop everywhere.

But for what? As concerns shopping for churches, here’s where it gets foggy. Nishioka continues: “When it comes to churches, the shift in consumerism involves less of a shopping for needs and more of a shopping for desires….and, as such, is more volatile, ephemeral, even capricious.” Which is hard to explain, but I have seen it. People tell me that they started out to shop widely for a church, only to come here first and never leave. Why? “Because it felt right,” they say. It touched something. Or it satisfied an impulse they couldn’t articulate or a need they couldn’t name. Or maybe they shopped the landscape, came here, and then said: “This is it” (with the same vagueness of criteria). It wasn’t so much that they came shopping with a list, as with a lust….or an itch….or a hunger….or an attitude that said: “I’ll know it when I feel it” (rather than “I’ll know it when I evaluate it”).

The question is, how does one prepare for that (especially if you’re me….or the staff….or the Board)? It’s like trying to pitch a baseball with only a vague notion of the strike zone. So you go back to what other experts have been saying for 20 years. Namely, that people who no longer concern themselves with the name on the door, will join the church that

1. helps them make sense of….and find meaning for….their lives (and)
2. tells them in visible and tangible ways: “We will help you raise your children.”

Which suggests that meaninglessness and parenting are the two issues that produce more anxiety than any others. And which further suggests that any church…by any name….in any place….which addresses those needs will find a following.

Ah, but there is an additional expectation that shoppers bring to the table. I am talking about an expectation of excellence. Which is why the word “perfect” crept into my title this morning (“Shopping for the Perfect Church”). Back when five-year-old Julie was learning how to string words together in sentences (she’s brilliant at it now), she would awkwardly pair the words “more” and “better,” as in “This is more better” or “Which would be more better?” Today, the words aren’t paired in speech, but they are coupled in expectation. From their church of choice, people want “more” and they want “better.” Heck, if the shoe fits, wear it. As a church, you want “more” and you also want “better.” At every church I have served….and in every year of my ministry….the performance expectation has risen. And if you don’t believe that, ask anyone who works here and has accumulated enough career history from which to form a comparison.

Which is why we work at “perfection” in things small and large. This building is cleaner than it has ever been before. Our communication is more far-reaching than it has ever been before. Your weekly edition of Steeple Notes (which we turn over in about eight hours time) is better written and more mistake-free than it has ever been before. And the staff is bigger than it has been before, stretches you more broadly than you have been stretched before, and drives some of you deeper into the faith than you have been driven before. Truth be told, you don’t work here very long (or very happily) if you can’t pair the words “my ministry” and “next level” in the same sentence. Not because I demand it. But because you desire it….because the times cry out for it….and (here’s the important part) because God deserves it. If you don’t believe that, go back and reread the parable of the talents. As you will recall, the servant who puts his ten talents to work with visible outcomes is given ten more, while the servant who sticks his one talent in a box (or hides it under a bushel) ends up with nothing. It doesn’t seem fair. But that’s the way it is.

On even-numbered days of the week, I get to feeling guilty and think that maybe we should dismantle some of our staff, reallocate some of our resources, and back-burner the building, the organ project and the concert series, the better to help ten or twenty small, struggling churches keep their doors open for two or three years longer. But, then, on the odd-numbered days of the week, I realize we are not only doing that all over the globe, but that there’s nothing inherently wonderful about keeping some struggling church’s doors open….unless there are people coming in those doors who are getting something, or going out those doors to do something (for Christ and the Kingdom). In other words, if nothing’s happening, why sweat the doors?

My friends, I don’t know how you got here. Nor do I know why you stay here. This is not a perfect church. If it were, I’d only screw it up….given that I’m not a perfect pastor. So what are we? We’re a cracked pot church with a priceless treasure. And we’re doing what we can to contain it, carry it and continue it. So carry what you can of it. And don’t let go of it (flawed and fragile though you may be).

There was once a bent and crippled servant who served as a water carrier for the king. Every day he carried his empty bucket down the hill to the well. And every day he carried his full bucket up the hill to the castle. But because of his misshapen frame, he tilted (to one side). Meaning that water spilled over the edge (to one side). Upon arriving at the castle, his bucket was always half empty, owing to the spillage. One day his conscience got the better of him. So he confessed his inadequacy to the king and offered to resign. Which was when the king wisely walked him back down the hill, pointing out to him something he had never seen before….the flowers that were growing on but one side of the path (the side of the path where he spilled when he tilted).

Friends, we are such imperfect vessels. But we have left our share of flowers along the way.

Provisional Pessimism, Ultimate Optimism 9/15/2002

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: John 16:25-33

Let’s start right out with the text. Let’s not dance around it, tiptoe into it, or build an anecdote-laden foundation under it. Jesus said it. All I am doing is repeating it.

            In the world you will have tribulation

            But be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.

If you trust the chronology of the gospel of John (and I see no reason not to), those were the last words Jesus spoke to his disciples, at the last supper of his life, on the last night of his life.

            In the world you will have tribulation.

            But be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.

* * * * * *

In the Greek Orthodox Church, when a child is baptized….and by “child,” I mean a real infant (literally, still damp)….after the baptism has been performed, the priest takes the large pectoral cross that is suspended on a chain from his neck and forcibly strikes the child on its chest. The blow is so hard that it leaves a mark….so hard that it hurts the child….and so hard that the child screams. Here we give the baptismal family a rose. There, they give the child a whack. What gives?

I’ll explain what gives. The symbolism of our Orthodox friends is clear. They are suggesting that any child baptized into Christ must bear the cross….and the cross is not a sign of ease, victory, prosperity or success, but a sign of sorrow, pain and even death.

Like those Greek Orthodox babies, we Christians should not be surprised when trial and tribulation bubble up in the normal ebb and flow of life’s river. Nor should we be seduced by phony versions of the Christian faith which suggest that once we have it (by baptism, confirmation or conversion), we are immune to trouble. “In this world you will have tribulation.” Yes, you. Not just those people who aren’t here this morning, because they couldn’t get up this morning, because they stayed awake into the wee, small hours of the morning sinning the night away. Yes, they will have tribulation also. Maybe sooner. Maybe deeper. But none of us has been dealt a “get out of tribulation free” card. None of us.

Which reality we rehearsed in the September 11 service which packed this place out last Wednesday. There was a lot of healing in that hour. But there was a lot of pain, too. Of all the things that were said (and mark my words, there were a lot of wonderful things said….and sung….and played on the cello), I was most powerfully affected by Jeff Nelson’s introductory remarks to his reading of scripture. Jeff Nelson is our 15-hour-per-week intern. He’s here for the year. He’s got a little longer to go in seminary. But his schedule allows him to live in Detroit (down around Military and Livernois), work here, take classes both here and in Illinois, and somehow manage to avoid becoming schizoid in the process.

Said Jeff (last Wednesday):

Last year was the hardest year of my life. No sooner had I cemented my call to ministry and commenced training for it full time, but the towers came down, the Market came down, the priesthood came down, the fragile accords in the Middle East came down, and a slew of little kids (now numbering two dozen and counting) began being shot down in the city that I love and on the streets where I live. Last year tried my faith, tested my calling and shook my soul.

I understand that. I’ve got 38 years on Jeff (vocationally speaking). I’ve not only heard Jesus say, “In this world you will have tribulation,” I have tasted tribulation, both from my plate and from yours. You didn’t know I ate from your plate, did you? But I do. And Jeff will, too, once we teach him that tasting tribulation from the plates of his parishioners is one of the inside secrets of ministry.

In searching for an image to characterize the year we’ve been through, I allowed a college preacher from Dover, Delaware (Susan Olson, I think they call her) to take me to the amusement park. Now you need to know that I am not big on amusement parks, given that I no longer do “high,” nor do I any longer do “fast.” But I’m not a total wuss. I still do a few scary things. I do flume rides, runaway mine cars and the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad at Disney World. And I still do the Rotor. Do they still have the Rotor? I hope so. Because it is so theologically descriptive, don’t you see.

The Rotor works on the principle of centrifugal force. It’s like a circular barrel. You ride it standing up with your back pressed against the barrel wall. Then it starts spinning….slowly at first….then faster and faster, until all that passes before your eyes becomes a blur. And the increasing speed of the rotation forces you against the wall….pins you against the wall, really. Which is a very good thing (being pinned against the wall, I mean). Because the floor drops away, leaving your feet with nothing to rest on but air.

So you can see how the Rotor becomes a mirror of real life. There you are, on the ride of your life, and suddenly the floor falls out. Things on which you stood with confidence suddenly aren’t there.

Of all the sermons preached on the Sunday after September 11 last year, every other one I read (and I read an entire book of them) quoted Psalm 46. That’s the psalm that begins: “God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in time of trouble.” But note what the psalmist says next. He says that we will not fear, though the mountains tremble and shake. Now I’ve got to tell you, I’m not Carl Price. And I haven’t done a ton of mountains. But if I were walking on a mountain and it began to “tremble and shake,” I would suffer a crisis of confidence. I would suddenly find myself wondering: “Why is there nothing firm where my soles once rested….or where my soul once rested?”

            In this world you will have tribulation.

But be of good cheer, Jesus said. In some of the more recent translations, the sentence reads: “Be of good courage.” Actually, either word is supportable. Some prefer “courage” to “cheer,” given that it sounds a bit less frivolous. But for the sake of the sermon, I’d just as soon stick with “cheer.” “Be of good cheer,” Jesus said, “for I have overcome the world.” Which is, on the face of it, an incredible promise. But the promise was kept, don’t you see….at least initially. For the very people to whom it was given faced tribulation, yet found cheer….and (over time) demonstrated courage. I’m talking about the disciples, don’t you see, following the death of Jesus.

For the promise was made to a group….not to a solitary individual. And I have got to believe that’s how Jesus intended them to receive it….collectively. The Christian hope has always been a “we shall overcome” kind of thing more than an “I shall overcome” kind of thing. We do Christianity a disservice when we over-individualize it. We are in this together.

Barb Plants told me a story the other day about Mother Teresa in heaven, shortly after her arrival. Came suppertime of day one and God gave Teresa two slices of bread and a can of tuna fish. Which she converted into a sandwich. And which was tasty enough and filling. Except on a video screen depicting life in the other place, Teresa could see people dining on platters of shrimp and lobster, with a couple of crab cakes thrown in for good measure.

Suppertime of day two, God again supplied Teresa with a can of Star-Kist and a couple slices of sourdough. But the video transmission from the other place showed a choice that evening between brisket and bouillabaisse. Still, Teresa ate without complaint. But when suppertime of day three produced more tuna fish for Teresa, but turkey and dressing for the residents of the other place, Teresa inquired of God (ever so gently, mind you) as to why it was sandwiches up here and smorgasbord down there. To which God answered: “Really, Teresa, you want I should mess up the kitchen for just two?”

The irony of that story is not that it depicts Teresa eating so poorly, but so singularly. As if the favored were really quite few. And as if earlier loyalists had forsaken and fled.

Elijah, feeling more than a little sorry for himself as God’s mouthpiece in a society that had gone to hell in a handbasket, tells God: “Look, I’m pretty much the only good guy you’ve got left. Everybody else has sold out and is worshiping your rival.” To which God says: “What are you talking about? Come out of that cave in which you’re moping and look around. When you do, you’ll see seven thousand….count ‘em….who haven’t so much as even bent a knee to Baal.”

My friends, the crisis of our time has produced both terrible pain and terrific people. And without the example and encouragement of the latter, we would have long since been done in by the former. That has been so well documented, and so widely experienced, that I need only mention it in passing. But just in case you’re moping around in some cave, or subsisting on a daily diet of tuna fish at a table for one, look beyond you and see the incredible things that God is doing with others around you….which should most certainly cheer you….that is, if you let it.

But the promise of Jesus is more than that. Much more than that.

            Be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world.

So what does that mean….especially in a world that is teeming with tribulation?

Well, for the Christian, it means that September 11th was not the day that changed the world. Let me say that again. September 11th was not the day that changed the world. So when was the day that changed the world? Well, it was late in the spring of 29 or 30 AD….meaning that each and every disaster has to be evaluated in the light of the first and only Easter. To be sure, says Stan Hauerwas, this is easier said than done. But I think it will make sense to you if I set it in the context of something with which many of you are familiar.

I am not a very good historian. And I am a terrible military historian. But military historians tell me that in every war there is a battle that decisively determines the outcome of the war. It’s not necessarily the battle that ends the war. It’s just the battle that tells you who is going to prevail when the war ends.

In the Civil War, that battle was Gettysburg. In the Napoleonic wars, that battle was Waterloo. In World War II, it was D-Day….the day in which the Allies landed on the beaches of Normandy. Everybody knew that if the Allies were driven back into the sea, it could have been over for us. However, the Nazis knew that if the beach were taken and held, it would likely be over for them. So much so that, when we established the beachhead, Rommel joined in a subversive plot to assassinate Hitler because he knew that the Nazis could not win, and he knew that Hitler would never give up.

So the Normandy invasion….D-Day….was the decisive battle. But it must be pointed out that more people died in Europe between D-Day and V-Day, than before D-Day. After Normandy, the outcome of the war in Europe was never in doubt. But there was still terrible suffering, much death and great agony to be experienced.

While I do not fully understand all the implications of what I am about to say, I believe that in the ongoing struggle with evil….and I mean the evil that is an inside job every bit as much as the evil that is an outside job….the decisive battle has already been fought and won in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. One of the reasons I don’t believe in Armageddon is because I believe the tide has already turned and the outcome is certain. As I said one year ago today, I believe in the final triumph of righteousness. So waste not even one more box of Kleenex on the Almighty. God has the will to win. And God will win. As Paul said to the Philippians (1:6), “The one who began a good work in you will complete it.”

A couple of weeks ago, I stumbled across….or was led to….one of the most succinctly marvelous definitions of Christianity I have ever encountered. It was a favorite aphorism of one Georges Tyrell, a famous Catholic modernist from the first third of the 20th century. Listen to what Father Tyrell said:

            Christianity is an ultimate optimism founded on a provisional pessimism.

Which is simply another way of saying:

            In this world you will have tribulation.

            But be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world.

Note:  This morning’s sermon constitutes a reprise, one year later, of my post-September 11, 2001 sermon entitled “I Believe in the Final Triumph of Righteousness.” In preparing this material, I had the advantage of reading several sermons preached in response to September 11, one year ago. They are collected and available in a book by William Willimon entitled The Sunday After Tuesday: College Pulpits Respond to 9/11. Specific help was gleaned from Peter Gomes, Stan Hauerwas, Susan Olson and Tony Campolo. The quote of Georges Tyrell, reflected in the title, comes from Peter Gomes.

On Bringing People to Justice 9/22/2002

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: Amos 5:18-24

Anybody who has ever had two or more children consuming food at one and the same time, knows that such moments constitute a recipe for family disaster. Picture a pie….banana cream….blueberry….pecan….even pizza. Picture two kids. Picture one knife. Who will cut….that is the question. Let us assume that the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court is busy elsewhere. Ditto for the head of the National Bureau of Measures and Standards. And your phone call to the nearest bishop yields nothing but a busy signal.

So with all the parental objectivity you can muster, you take the knife. You make the cuts. You serve the pieces. And then you wait for the wails you know will follow. They are wails about “the bigger piece”….who got it….who didn’t get it. Even though a mathematician with a micrometer can’t discern the difference, your kids can. Or think they can.

So you learn a little technique, the better to avoid such confrontations in the future. You refuse to make the cut. Assuming two kids at the table, you assign one to be the slicer. But before they fight for control of the knife, you say: “Yes, one of you gets to cut the pie. But, once cut, the other of you gets to choose the first piece.”

Children are big on fairness. We’ve talked of this before. Not only can they spot unfairness a mile away, but they can smell it even when their noses are stuffed. “No fair….no fair,” they cry. And they expect the adults in their lives to rush in and rectify the inequity. The fact that those same adults will, one day, have to teach them that life isn’t fair is lost at that moment. Because, to whatever degree fairness can be ordained and orchestrated, it is the adults who are charged with making it so.

Which is an easy trap to get sucked into. I remember when our kids were young, and Kris and I were young. Christmas would come and we would try to make sure each kid got the same. Not the same stuff, mind you. But the same dollar-value worth of stuff. I even remember going out at the last minute to buy something extra for one or the other of the kids. My goal was to make the total balance out. And then there were those years when one kid’s major present was abnormally expensive, meaning that the kid who got that big present got fewer presents in total than did the kid whose presents were cheaper, albeit more numerous. As a parent, I’d sit there trying to figure out whether they had figured it out….and whether I needed to find some subtle way to explain the inequity that they may or may not be perceiving.

If that sounds stupid (and I know it does), we’ve all been there. And our motives as parents were, and perhaps still are, no different from God’s parental motives in desiring to give good and equitable gifts to all God’s children.

Today’s sermon title contains the word “justice.” Which is a biblical word, every bit as much as a contemporary word. But in researching its biblical origins, I was surprised to find how many times (in its usage) it has to do with the needs of those who have less, measured against the obligations of those who have more. Time and again, biblical justice is mentioned in conjunction with God’s concern for the poor, the weak, the widows, the orphans, the enslaved, the resident aliens within one’s gates, and the physically infirm. I didn’t make this up. I am only telling you how it reads. In the main, justice is more concerned with distribution than with retribution….at least in the Bible.

I’ll come back to that in a minute, after we stretch our legs at this little rest stop called “Amos.” I am not talking about “Famous Amos”….he who makes cookies in California. I am talking about anonymous Amos….he who preached to the northern kingdom of Israel in the 8th century BC.

As seminarians in the ‘60s, we loved this little speech that rolled off my tongue mere moments ago….the speech about God’s non-delight in the religious feasts, sacred offerings and solemn assemblies of Israel’s worship. Instead, cried Amos: “Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an everflowing stream.”

There we sat in our dorm rooms and study carrels at Yale Divinity School, salivating at the thought of laying a little Amos on our first church, the first time the congregation got itself lathered up about whether communion should be taken in the pews or at the rail, or whether the Gloria Patri should be sung to the new tune, the old tune, or dropped from the service altogether. Then we would rise up in prophetic indignation and, in the deepest voices we could muster (being mostly men, then), we would lay a little Amos on them. Well, as I recall (some 38 years later), some did and soon left….some did and soon learned….and some chickened out and crucified their internal Amos, allowing no possibility of resurrection.

Truth be told, Amos never said: “Don’t worship.” What Amos said was: “If what you do is pure and lovely in here, yet stinks to high heaven out there, it ain’t worship….it ain’t right….and it ain’t of God. So get with the program, which is about charity and community every bit as much as it is about liturgy.” Ah, it feels good to say that even now, 2800 long years after Amos. And 38 relatively short years (where did they go, good Lord?) after Yale.

But while it is true that justice, in the Bible, is very much about distribution, there are texts which speak of justice as retribution….making things right as well as making things available. The Bible seems to say: “If there are any principles….any laws….any truths….any behaviors that matter to God (and the Bible is clear that there are), then God ought to do something to ensure that they prevail, and God’s people ought to do something to ensure that they prevail.”

When the psalmist cries, “Show forth thy righteousness, O God,” he is saying: “Do something, O God, to ensure that the right things don’t get trampled, and that people who do the right things don’t lose.” For in those passages (wherever they occur), justice and righteousness are parallel notions, almost to the point of interchangeability.

The Bible assumes God cares how things come out. The Bible also assumes God’s people should, too. So when Christians say, “All I want is justice,” one hopes that what they are asking is that God’s will be done in this situation. Hopefully, they are saying: “All I want is that God’s truth be revealed….God’s values be affirmed….God’s laws be obeyed….and God’s Kingdom (to whatever degree it is realizable here) be established.” For the Christian, justice is not just about getting the laws of the land to work, but getting the laws of the Lord to work. Which is why we ought to be careful what we pray for, lest we get it.

But I am not sure we understand that. Too often, when we cry out for justice, our concern is not that we will obtain it, but that somebody else will be brought to it. Which is okay, as far as it goes. Wrong should not go unpunished. Evil should not go unchecked. Falsehoods should not go unchallenged. Criminals should not go uncaught. And those who are predatory and injurious should not go unrestrained. Otherwise, God is mocked. Even us do-gooder, bleeding-heart preachers can see that. We’re not naïve. Justice means that some things must be opposed….and some people must be opposed. It would be nice if it didn’t have to be that way. But there are times when it does. Realism suggests it. But it is the power of sin (known better by preachers than anybody else) which requires it.

But it is precisely at this point that we Christians need to be careful, lest we forget who we are in the process of opposing what we feel called to oppose. God sent Jonah to preach doom and destruction to Ninevah for her sin. But, as concerned her sin, Ninevah repented of it. So, as concerned Ninevah’s destruction, God backed off from it. And Jonah was ticked. Why? I’ll tell you why. Because Jonah had gotten his chips and salsa and climbed the nearest hill with his binoculars to watch those people fry. What he forgot is that while the penultimate goal of divine justice is to bring evil down, the ultimate goal of divine justice is to turn evil-doers around. Which implies a certain restraint in everything we Christians do….and an even greater restraint in everything we Christians pray for.

As I told you last week, I have spent a fair amount of time this past year reading what my brother and sister preachers have said about September 11. I have read sermons preached one week after and one year after. There are now five such collections. What interests me is how good they are. Give us something significant to grind our teeth on and we boring blokes can be quite eloquent.

Tony Campolo was one whose words I read. Many of you remember the night Tony was here. What an energetic preacher. And while God’s impassioned Italian has never been boring, he outdid himself in a sermon entitled: “The Best of Times, The Worst of Times.” Let me serve you a slice:

I worry about vengeance, given that vengeance can be a very destructive mindset. And may I point out that I differ with Senator McCain when he says: “God may give them mercy, but they’ll get none from us.” Of all the senators I’ve heard speak, I thought Senator Mikulski from Maryland said the best thing. In that great prayer meeting they held under the Capital dome, she said: “I pray, dear God, that you will bring those who perpetrated this evil”….and there I sat, waiting for her to say “to justice.” But instead, she said “to repentance.” For that’s our hope, that the repetitive cycle of violence will be grounded and that, with repentance, lives will be changed and a new day will dawn.

Responding to those lines when he first spoke them, someone asked Campolo where in the world he got such a radical idea. To which Tony said: “From Jesus.” Leading his critic to fire back: “Well, this is no time to be going around quoting Jesus.”

* * * * *

On September 11 of this year, Mitch Albom did not write on the Sports Page, but on the front page. And he did not write about an athlete, but about a terrorist. He wrote about Osama Bin Laden, who he called a loser (quite correctly, I thought).

It was a powerful piece….a passionate piece….a patriotic piece. In my old age, having finally given myself permission to let my patriotism show, I enjoyed Mitch’s piece, especially when we portray patriotism as pride in the values that have made this country great, rather than waving our fingers like stupid football players in the faces of the world, screaming: “We’re number one, we’re number one.”

Mitch’s piece was patriotic in the best sense, when to Bin Laden he said:

If you sought to destroy our spirit, you failed.

If you sought to destroy our will, you failed.

If you planned on demoralizing us, you failed.

If you planned on dividing us, you failed.

If you planned on destabilizing us, we’re still here. Our streets….our schools…. our government….our freedom….still here. You, on the other hand, lost your sandlot….your real estate….your roof and your umbrella….your shelter from the storm….(in short) your home.

If you dreamed of victory, you failed….domination, you failed….Muslims on one side, Westerners on the other, you failed.

But then Mitch crossed a line (moving onto my turf) when, in speaking to Bin Laden, he segued from “No God condones you” to “No God loves you.” Which harkened back to the lines with which Mitch’s piece began:

If you are dead, you failed….because you are not in some blessed place, sitting under a yum yum tree. You are in a corner of hell reserved for murderers.

Now I will confess to you that when I read that line eleven days ago….and in reading it just now….there is a part of me that is quite comfortable transforming my fist and my forearm into a giant exclamation mark and saying: “Yes.” That’s the part of me sitting with my chips, my salsa and my binoculars, waiting to watch my enemies fry.

But I do not like that part of me….in part, because Jesus tells me I should not like that part of me (even though some of you will momentarily tell me that “this is no time to be going around quoting Jesus”).

So Mitch….I love you, buddy….keep on writing. But I hope that Senator Mikulski is closer to the truth than Senator McCain. And when we get those sons of _______ who perpetrated this evil, I pray that God will grab ‘em by whatever still moves ‘em, and bring ‘em….to repentance.

And me, too, while He’s at it.

Note:  I spent a fair amount of time researching the word “justice” in biblical dictionaries and commentaries. Surprisingly, there is little clarity or singularity about its meaning. Often linked with “righteousness,” it is slanted toward a concept of distribution, bringing the resources of those who have much to bear upon the needs of those who have little. But there is a minority report, as it were, that links “justice” with words like “vindication” and “retribution”….suggesting that when true justice exists, God’s concept of “right” will be established and other concepts of “wrong” will be dethroned. Hopefully, the sermon reflects both of those concepts.

The distinction Tony Campolo makes between justice and repentance can be found in the collection of sermons referenced last week, entitled The Sunday After Tuesday: College Pulpits Respond to 9/11 (Willimon and Hauerwas).

Mitch Albom’s essay appeared on the front page of the Detroit Free Press, Wednesday, September 11, 2002. Those who live in other parts of the country will know Mitch as the author of the acclaimed bestseller, Tuesdays With Morrie.