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.

Man Overboard 10/31/1993

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: Matthew 14:22-33

Let me redraw, from memory, a cartoon from some years ago. Picture an executive office, high atop an urban skyscraper. Picture a magnificent desk, as polished as it is huge, complete with a C.E.O. type seated behind it. Standing before the desk, picture a plain man dressed in work clothes, obviously representative of a menial employee in the organization. Then picture that man saying to his boss: "If it's any comfort, sir, it's lonely at the bottom too."

If we didn't know it before, we should surely know it now: no matter who you are.... no matter where you are.... no matter what you are... life can be both low and lonely. "Low," because the bottom has a way of failing out.  And "lonely," because people have a way of falling away.

Last week, in our initial foray into this dramatic story of storm and sea, we talked about why it always seems darker at 3:00 in the morning than at any other time of the day or night. Several of you were kind enough to say that I had correctly captured your feelings associated with that hour, intimating that as a result of having been there once or twice, you remembered it well. One of you went so far as to research a couple of literary allusions to this biblical reference, especially F. Scott Fitzgerald's recollection that 3:00 in the morning and "the dark night of the soul" is one and the same thing. I like that, given my desire to have you understand that the 3:00 image in this story is not solely about how dark it can get outside, but how dark it can get inside. So let me take you back to Galilee (the sea, that is).....and the storm which, when last we left it, was battering boats and trying souls in the wee small hours of the morning.

As you will remember, last Sunday's sermon ended with Jesus walking toward the weary crew, high-stepping it across the waves. How? That's anybody's guess. But that's not the issue. You're not supposed to get all strung out over the question of "could he or couldn't he" (walk the waves, that is). The message of that part of the story is not that Jesus comes by impossible means, but that Jesus comes at impossible times. Jesus has this way of showing up (the story seems to say) just when you think that nobody can.... or will.

At any rate, the boat people see him coming. Or, to be more specific, they see someone.... or something.... coming. They are terrified. "It's a ghost," they say, crying out in fear. How strange, says Fred Craddock, that the Savior should seem like a spook. Perhaps it was the downpour.  Perhaps, the delirium. It wouldn't be the first time that, in the middle of a crisis (or in the middle of the night), someone couldn't see or think straight.

Or perhaps they saw in him, not the harbinger of help, but the visitation of death. I can understand that. People sometimes view me that way. I will be talking with "good" church people (like you) about some unchurched people (known to you). The latter are temporarily sick and in the hospital. That seems to concern you. Thinking that you are fishing for my offer to make a visit, I express a willingness to trek to the hospital. At first, you accept my generous offer. Then you think better of it. To be sure, you'd like me to go. But you are worried that were I to go (meaning that if a minister were suddenly to show up), the patient would think he was dying. And you're probably right. Some people think that way. "If a minister comes 'round, I must be in a really bad way. There must be something that somebody isn't telling me. He wouldn't be coming in, if I wasn't checking out."  And so I stay away, lest my help be misperceived as doom. Jesus reads that fear and decides to address it. "Don't be afraid," he says. "Courage, it is I." Which should have done it. But it didn't. For the next sentence out of Peter's mouth betrays how deep his suspicion really is. "Lord," Peter says, "If it is you, tell me to come to you across the water.”

I love that line, probably because (for so many years) I missed its meaning completely. Think, for a moment, about how you would identify your friend from an impostor, especially if it was too dark to see clearly and too stormy to hear accurately. You would probably look for something in the message itself that would seem consistent-with, and typical-of, the kind of thing your friend might say to you.  So it is with Peter. Confronted with the possibility that what he is seeing might be both ghostly and ghastly, Peter is not about to trust a simple: "Courage, 'tis me." Instead, he says: "Lord, I'll know it's you if you ask me to come to you across the water." In reality, I think Peter is thinking something like this:

The Lord I know.... indeed the only Lord I have ever known.... is the one who asks more of me than anybody ever asked of me before. So if this is really the Lord (who has come at this impossible time), I'm going to know it by the fact that I'll be invited to respond in an equally impossible way. If it's really Jesus, he is going to step-into-the-breach by asking me to step-up-to the test.

That's just his way. That's always been his way. That's his trademark. If it's really Jesus (and not some ghostly apparition or figment of my imagination), the next word out of his mouth is going to be: "Peter, come."

My friends, that's how you know the real Jesus from the fakes. And that's how you tell the real Christian church from all of the ones that use the name and put a cross on the roof, but bear no resemblance to the real thing.

I know that the world doesn't lack for institutions claiming to be the "one true church." Customarily, they stake their claim on the fact that they hold one particular belief, affirm one peculiar doctrine, or baptize in one certain way. But if there is any institution even remotely on the right road to the truth about Jesus Christ, It is going to be that institution which (in the name of Jesus) asks more of you than it offers to give to you.

It is so tempting for the church of Jesus Christ to ride out the storms of our day by hunkering down with a good book and reading it in the fiery glow that is generated by friends who are tried, true and compatible. But that's not the church of the New Testament. Over the last several years, I have attended any number of "church growth" seminars, all of them purporting to know the secret of getting "baby boomers" to join up and become members. The theory is advanced that "boomers are consumers" who "shop" for churches like they shop for anything else. They like quality.... expect quality.... demand quality.... and (if attracted) are even willing to pay for quality.  Music is important to them; it had better be good. Children are important to them; there had better be plenty of activities for them (and not in the basement, either). Given some other things that are important to them, there had better be seminars for growth, groups for friends, and parking that rivals the mall for ease and convenience. And woe be unto the church that doesn't realize that, for 'boomers," the crib nursery has replaced the ladies' parlor as the room that is second in importance, only to the sanctuary.

I understand that. I have modified much of my ministry to accommodate that. What's more, I have learned that it's not just "boomers" who are demanding greater and greater degrees of excellence in every facet of the church's life. It's everybody from little kids to the rocking chair set. The things against which the church must compete for the attention and assets of its members are so slick and professional that we have to offer twice as much, and do it twice as well, just to keep up.

But I still believe (deep in my heart and soul) that people want to be stretched as well as massaged, challenged as well as coddled, and confronted repeatedly with the biblical paradox that says you've got to invest in order to enjoy, serve in order to live, and give whole big chunks of yourself away if you ever expect to come upon a self worth finding.

Instinctively, I think we know this.... that the only Christ worth heeding and the only church worth joining is one that says: "Get over the side. Get your feet wet. Do what you don't think you can do. Go where you don't think you can go. And give what you don't think you can give."

So, you see, I don't apologize for the fact that we ask a lot of you.... and from you.... here at Birmingham First. I don't apologize for the fact that before next October rolls around, we are going to ask you to teach in a second Sunday School at the 11:00 hour, or take a leadership role in other growing programs. I don't apologize for the fact that, even as we speak, members of the Nominating Committee are buzzing some of your phone lines, asking you do accept positions in our church's officiary. I don't apologize for the fact that we ask some of you to perform great music, others of you to prepare hearty meals, while asking still others to pray for the sickly, visit the elderly, carry food to the hungry, repair flood damage in the valley, shelter the homeless occasionally, or lay down on a table and bleed into a plastic bag annually. Nor do I apologize for the fact that we sometimes ask some of you to head for the hills (as in Appalachia), or down to the Corridor (as in Cass), or, at the very least, dig a little deeper into your pocket in order to support those who do. And I am certainly not going to apologize for being the point man who asks you to step up to the financial challenges that this year's campaign will articulate.

Every non-Birmingham person I met last spring said: "Congratulations on your appointment; you're going to a great church." And every Birmingham insider I met last spring said: "Congratulations on your appointment: you're coming to a great church." And every one of you I have met (at every meeting I have attended since June 27) has done nothing to diminish the idea that I have arrived at a great church. But when I sift through reams of data about attendance and stewardship patterns.... pledge profiles and giving tables.... it is hard to escape the fact that this "great church" is also a slightly complacent church. To be sure, from out front it's hardly noticeable. But I guarantee you, if our response to this year's appeal continues the pattern of slippage evidenced in the responses to recent year's appeals; there will be little choice but to take the kinds of steps that will be noticeable. ... and perhaps even painful.

But it doesn't have to be that way. In Christ, we can summon the will. And in the mountains of written Information being shared with you, can be found the way. What's more, virtually very conversation I have with you reveals a sense of readiness on your part.... even a hunger.... to get on with whatever God has in store for us next. Stormy though it may be, and tired though we may be, I sense a collective readiness to hear the Gospel.

"Get out of the boat," Jesus said to Peter. And Peter must have said something like this to himself:

Hey, I've heard this before. I've done this before. And it worked before. Granted, my boat was tied up to the shore before. There was no storm before. And it wasn't the middle of the night before. But if it's really Jesus....given that I have already left my boat and followed Him once....why should I let a little deep water stop me now?

And with that, Peter was over the side. I like that in Peter.  Heck, I like that in anybody. There are those who test the waters, a toe at a time. And there are those who jump right in. In a world filled with the former, I find that I increasingly relish the latter.

To be sure, there is always a time for prudence.... for caution.... for calculation. And there are people who are good at such things. I have always tried to keep a number of prudent folk around me. We have done some "careful work" together. But it has only been when I have widened the circle around me to include a few first-out-of-the-boat people, that "careful work" has occasionally become "great work," and church maintenance has begun to feel like Christian ministry.

Of late, I have taken to sharing with a few of my friends the highest compliment that I can possibly pay them. I tell them that, were I ever to find myself in great distress (or great trouble) and had but 20 cents and the opportunity to make one phone call, that I could (and would) call them. For I know that they would come first and ask questions later. They would come, whether I needed a lift or a loan.... a friend or a witness. I know that I could ring up their boat and it wouldn't matter as to the lateness of the hour or the severity of the storm. They would have one leg over the side while their hand would still be warm on the receiver. What is amazing is how many people I truly feel that way about. And what it equally amazing is that every one of those people is someone I met in church.

All of us know people like that. And, to some degree, all of us are people like that. There is not a one of us who wouldn't step out for somebody, or step up to something. None of us is so fat and sassy.... so lazy and lethargic.... so content and comfortable.... that we would rot in the boat forever. The question is; "How wet will we get for what, and how far will we go for whom?"

The danger, of course, is that we will hear the summons and wait to see what everybody else does first. Like a group of junior high girls trying to decide whether to attend some 8th grade dance, the church of Jesus Christ is often filled with people looking quizzically at each other, saying: "I'll go if you'll go.... I'll do what you'll do.... but let's not try anything until we're sure that we are all in this together." In this church, it often takes the form of people saying: "What we have to do is get more money out of all those people who don't give us anything." Which is not a bad idea, but which sounds (each time I hear it) less like your suggestion of how to proceed congregationally, and more like your deflection of whatever it is you are being asked to do personally.

Notice that our story is not about a request for everybody in the boat to swim two or three strokes for Jesus, but for one particular individual to step out into the fray in response to Jesus. And make no mistake about it, this story is not told for the benefit of the rest of the people in the boat. This story is told for you.

As I wrote in this week's Steeple Notes, this trio of sermons owes its inspiration to an anonymous admirer of our former Bishop, Judy Craig. One day he gave her a lapel badge which read: 'WALKING ON WATER IS A PART OF MY JOB DESCRIPTION." My friends,

That’s not only funny,
             that's not only true,

                      that's not only mandatory,

                               that's possible!

0, Ye of Little Faith 11/14/1993

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham,Michigan

Scripture: Matthew 14:22-33
 

Two weeks ago Sunday afternoon, Kris and I opened our living room to host the reunion of our most recent trip to Israel. People came from any number of places, complete with stories to tell, pictures to pass and memories to rekindle. Also present was our Jewish travel agent, who (over the course of arranging our last couple of trips) has moved from the category of "consultant" to the status of "friend." It was she who asked the assembled tour members for their most vivid memories. For some, it was the Mount of Olives. For others, the manger of Bethlehem. Several responded to the communion experience at the Garden Tomb. One man said," Masada." Another, "the Temple of Karnak" in Egypt. But by far the greatest number sited experiences on or around the Sea of Galilee.

Which was where I was when I last worked with this little slice of biblical material. I was preaching on the open deck of a boat, in the middle of the Galilean Lake. With the engines killed, the seagulls swirling, and the waves lapping counterpoint to my words, I told this story. In reality, I tried to place my listeners into the midst of this story. Which worked.... sort of.... except for two things. Instead of being 3:00 in the morning, it was 3:00 in the afternoon. And instead of being storm-driven and tempest-tossed, the sea was as calm as glass. So my listeners had to pretend that it was dark.... pretend that it was stormy.... pretend that their arms were weary.... and pretend that their stomachs were queasy. Which probably wasn't all that hard, given that life occasionally feels that way.

Then they had to pretend (at least to the degree that they wanted to "feel" the story) that Jesus had just called one of them over the rail, literally commanding that the boat be abandoned for a walk on the wet side. As pretentions go, this was considerably harder.  Because seldom, in real life, does anyone act that way. Which is understandable. I think that most of us identify more readily with life's storms and stresses, than with the possibility of walking through, over or around them.

Three weeks ago, in the first of these sermons, I talked about what it sometimes feels like at 3:00 in the morning. I also talked about what it might feel like to see Jesus walking toward your boat in the midst of a storm. You liked that sermon. A lot. Then two weeks ago, I talked about Peter leaving the boat and walking toward Jesus. You liked that sermon too.  But maybe a little less. Still, it was the second sermon which inspired a note describing a personal reaction to Peter's vacating what little security the boat afforded, for the risky business of sallying-forth into waters that were murky and deep. The note read: 'When I think of the fear Peter must have felt, I am convinced that he must have had a tremendous amount of faith.... more than most of us have.... and certainly more than I have."

That's our problem with the text, isn't it? It's not that we are all hung up on the quasi-miraculous nature of the story. We aren't gathered in corners of the sanctuary, debating the kinds of issues that would excite a Baptist.... namely issues of miracle versus natural law (as in wondering how an object denser than water can remain atop the water without the aid of surfboards, jet skis, water wings or other flotation devices). We know that this text is not primarily about a one-time freakish occurrence of nature. This text is about answering a call from Jesus (which can come at any time), and remaining faithful to that call when it is late instead of early, dark instead of light, and perilous instead of promising. This text is about letting go of an old security (which is about to get swamped anyway), for a new possibility (which, when we first hear it, is as frightening as it is compelling). For we know that the Christ who comes toward us, is probably going to expect some reciprocal movement from us.

So Peter gets out of the boat. Which is nothing new. He did it a couple of years earlier. That was when Jesus said to him: 'Why not beach your boat, stay on land for a while, and join me in fishing for a different kind of catch?" And if you don't think that Peter's earlier decision (in its own way) was risky, when was the last time you gave up a relatively secure occupation in obedience to what you perceived to be a higher calling?

Now Peter is out of the boat.... again. And this time the water is deeper and the hour is darker. There he goes.  Can you see him?  I don't want you to miss this.  Up and over.  First one leg. Two legs.  One step. Two steps.  Then next steps.  Followed by more steps.  For God's sake, he's actually doing it. Let there be no question about his motivation. Neither let there be any question about his progress. Walk on through the wind, Peter, walk on through the rain, though your dreams be tossed and blown.  Walk on, good friend, with hope in your heart....

I'm not being melodramatic here. I'm simply trying to show you that Peter starts well. And while his jaunt is dramatic, it is not abnormal. Jesus invites. Peter executes. It is the most natural thing in the world. It is well within Peter's capacity to do what Jesus asks. We mess up the story royally when we assume that water-walking is the aberration and that sinking is the expectation. Most of us get it backwards. When Peter sinks, we say: "Of course." But we are supposed to say, "Of course," when Peter is still striding across the waters. Ah, yes. Peter starts well.  And nothing could be more natural than that.  Nothing.

Ever since Robert Fulghum wrote a book entitled "All I Really Needed To Know, I Learned In Kindergarten," he has been in great demand as a public speaker, especially in schools.  Ironically, most of his invitations have come from kindergartens or colleges. He readily visits both, finding that (in many respects) the difference is only one of scale. It would seem that a school, is a school, is a school. The most visible disparity, he says, is in the self-image of the students.

Ask a Kindergarten class, "how many of you can draw?" And all hands shoot up. Yes, of course we can draw....all of us. What can you draw? Anything! How about a dog eating a fire truck in the jungle? Sure! How big do you want the dog?

How many of you can sing? All hands go up. Of course we sing! What can you sing? Anything! What if you don't know the words? No problem, we'll make them up as we go along. So shall we sing? Why not!

How many of you dance? Unanimous again. What kind of music do you like to dance to? Any kind! Let's dance! Sure, why not?

Do you like to act in plays? Yes! Do you play musical instruments? Yes! Do you write poetry? Yes! We're learning that stuff now.

Their answer is "Yes"! Over and over again. Kindergarten children are confident in spirit, infinite in resources, and eager to learn. Everything is still possible. 

Try those same questions on a college audience. A small percentage of the students will raise their hands when asked if they draw, dance, sing, paint, or play an instrument. Not infrequently, those who do raise their hands will qualify their response with any number of limitations. "I only play piano.... I only draw horses.... I only dance to rock and roll.... I only sing in the shower." When asked the reasons for the limitations, college students answer that they do not have talent... are not majoring in the subject... have not done any of these things since the third grade.... or are embarrassed for others to see them try.

 What went wrong between kindergarten and college?

What happened to: "Yes, of course I can?"

We all started well when we were young. It was easier then. Obstacles were smaller then. Storms were either brief or non- existent then. Alas, not everybody finishes well. To which Peter can certainly attest. For just when it seems that nothing can stop him, our text suggest that Peter stopped himself. He read too many negative signals and believed every last one of them. He looked at how dark it was.... how deep it was.... how windy it was.... how raw and cutting it was. None of which was new information. But suddenly he felt cause to say: "I am beyond my limit. I am over my head. I am out of my league. I am no match for this." And suddenly, he wasn't.

In this morning's Steeple Notes I alluded to water skiing. It is not something I do well. But I have done it. I can do it. And, about the time that Bill and Julie indicate an interest in sending me off to the farm, I will probably feel some compulsion to do it again. Just to make a point. My last time out.... or up.... was to impress a couple of women (my wife and my daughter). It was the year of my 50th birthday. The boat was piloted by a friend. I think it was a battleship. Anyway, I made it most of the way around the lake, until I though to myself: "Wait a minute; I can't really be doing this." Which, of course, was exactly the wrong thing to think. Because the minute I thought I couldn't be doing this, I wasn't.

This happens to all of us. Suddenly we find ourselves.... much to our surprise.... doing improbable things, In unlikely ways, at the most demanding times. Then we say: "This can't be me." And suddenly it isn't.  Which is when things fall apart. We fall down, just when we were up. We fall apart, just when we were holding it together. And we take a fall, just when we were making nice forward progress.

All of which happens because we look at the wrong signs. Or we look in the wrong directions. I hate heights. I don't like ladders. I have no small number of horror stories about climbing. All of them include memories of much tentativeness, terror and teeth-clenching. Don't ever look for me to re-roof the parsonage. But if the stakes were high enough.... or if the need was great enough.... I know that I could climb a ladder tomorrow. I would never look down. I would never look back. I would never look to either side. For diverting my focus would almost certainly undermine my progress. Where ladders are concerned, the moment I stop looking up is the moment I stop going up.

Life is no different. You have to figure out what to do with your eyes. For there is plenty of negativity to look back upon. There are plenty of reasons for falling, failing, or not starting at all.  What's more, we don't have to look very far outside the self to find those reasons.  Everyone of us is carrying baggage from the past that is sufficient to sink us.

The problem with being a Christian is not that life is dark and stormy. The problem with being a Christian is that we are suspended between a pair of mixed signals.... one of which is a storm-shadowed Christ saying, "Come," and the other of which is a contrary wind screaming, "No way." But I would contend that Christ is every bit the wind's equal, and that others have found it so.

So if you want to believe that nobody knows the trouble you've seen, don't read biographies. Because if you do,  you'll read about people who have known what you've seen, and worse.

And if you want to believe that you can't overcome whatever it is that is overcoming you, then don't turn your head from side to side in this sanctuary. Because if you do, you will see people who have faced worse, and kept going.

And if you want to believe that this is a time of peril, danger, lawlessness, laziness, depression, recession, addiction or affliction (unlike any that has gone before), then don't read history. Because if you read history, you are going to discover that worse times have existed and been surmounted.

To be sure, there is misery in the world. There is pain in your life. There is struggle all around. Stormy things that have happened to you which have crushed your dreams, wounded your heart and slowed your progress. Those things have made you unhappy. They have also made you tentative, fearful and dubious. That's understandable. If you didn't feel that way, something would be wrong with you. But there is still one thing that you have to decide. Which signals are going to command your attention? Are you going to sink under the weight of injustices done to you and grievances collected on account? Or are you going to take Christ at His word when he says that you not only have a future, but a way to get there?

But what if you sink? Well, if you sink, you sink. The story seems to suggest that sinking is regrettable, but understandable. Peter sinks. It earns him a rebuke. He is chided for his "little faith." Actually, the literal translation would suggest that he is chided for "incomplete faith," or ''half faith." But don't miss this. Peter's faith-failure is not a failure to hear Jesus.... not a failure to heed Jesus.... not a failure to put it on the line for Jesus. Rather, it is a failure to believe that he (Peter) could finish what he started for Jesus.

Over the last trio of weeks I have been using these sermons as a stewardship theme.... believing that this text, in this hour, could very well be the appointed word for this congregation. And I suppose that some of you have wondered: "Where does Ritter see us in this little tale? Does he really think that we are cowering in the bow of the boat, trying hard not to hear Jesus, and trying harder still to avoid attempting anything difficult for Jesus?"

Well, if that's what you figured, you are wrong. I don't see you that way at all. Instead, I see you as someone who (at some time in your life).... maybe a year ago.... five years ago.... fifty years ago.... or just last Sunday.... took a very real step forward for Jesus. All I am trying to do with this final sermon is to get you to take another one.... the better to turn your first step into a two-step.

Early in the sermon, I said that the world misses the point of this text when it greets Peter's sinking with a collective, "Of course....what could one reasonably expect?" Obviously, Jesus expected much more, which is why sinking drew a rebuke from the lips of the Lord.

But I would not want to close this sermon (or this series) without the subtle grace note of the text itself. For along with the rebuke, sinking also draws a rescue. For, as the text adds: "Jesus immediately reached out His hand to Peter and caught him." That, too, is the Gospel. It is preserved in a slice of ancient hymnody. I enter it in the middle (and invite those of you who know it to join along with me).

Still the Master of my fate,
heard my despairing cry,
From the waters lifted me,
now safe am I.

Love lifted me.

Love lifted me.

When nothing else could help,

Love lifted me.

Editor's note:

This trio of sermons, based on Matthew 14:22-33, were delivered as part of a stewardship emphasis at First United Methodist Church in Birmingham entitled "Water Walkers." Inspiration for the series was drawn from a sermon preached, years earlier, at First United Methodist Church in Evanston, Illinois by Dr. Neal Fisher, President of Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary. Some of the material for these three sermons originally appeared in a single sermon entitled, "Savior By Stormlight" which was subsequently quoted by Maxie Dunnam in his book: 'That's What The Man Said." Robert Fulghum's account of speaking to kindergarten children and college students first appeared in his book entitled: "Uh-Oh." The concluding thoughts about not reading biographies or looking at one's neighbors in the sanctuary come from the fertile mind of Mark Trotter and were also collected in the aforementioned book by Maxie Dunnam.

Enjoy the Ride 11/10/2002

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: 1 John 1:1-4

Note: This is the third and final sermon of a stewardship campaign built upon Paul’s word in I Thessalonians 5:19: “Hold fast to what is good.” The campaign theme is “Don’t Let Go.” As is the custom at First Church, the campaign is visually and creatively imaged throughout the building….this time by a series of ropes. Some of the ropes are coiled and hung from various pillars, while others are stretched taut, crossing the sanctuary in decorative array from balcony to pulpit. 

* * * * *

“So what’s with the ropes?” That’s what he wanted to know a week ago Saturday night when, as a visitor from another church, he attended the Composer Festival concert in our sanctuary. And he wasn’t alone. There were a lot of outsiders here that evening and, to a person, they were intrigued by the ropes. Several concluded that the ropes were liturgical and tried to make a connection between the configuration of the colors and the seasons of the church year. One fellow literally bubbled over with excitement, claiming that he had “figured it out” by counting 13 ropes descending from the corner of the balcony to the crown of the pulpit. “I know what that means,” he said. “It means Jesus and the 12 disciples.” While a few, knowing our church’s reputation for creativity and artistic design, knew that there had to be a connection between the ropes they were viewing and the pledges we are seeking, but they didn’t know what it was. And then there was one man from a small, struggling church who said (in tones literally dripping with depression): “I just wish our little church could raise what these ropes cost.”

When it became clear that we were going to feature ropes this year, I was of two minds. On one hand, I liked the initial word associations that accompanied “ropes”….words like “rugged,” “strong,” “durable” and “outdoorsy,” coupled with visual images like tugging and climbing, tying and connecting. Picturing ropes, I could see tents standing tall, sheets drying on a sunny day, water skiers crisscrossing the wake, and camping gear lashed to the roof of an SUV.

But I also realized that I knew next to nothing about ropes. I probably own one, but I can’t tell you where it is. And upon finding it, I wouldn’t be able to tell you much about using it. As a kid, it was my job to string the clothesline for my mother. But we have a dryer now. I last water skied at age 50 (brilliantly, I might add), whereupon I retired from it, having proved to my daughter I could still do it. As a Scouter, I passed on the merit badge for knots. And to this day (except for Sunday mornings, funerals and weddings, when Kris tells me I need to look the part), I don’t wear tie shoes, much preferring loafers instead. What’s more, as rope sports go, I’m not into lashing, lassoing, sailing, rappelling, or even tug-of-warring. So I said to myself: “This should be interesting.”

Actually, let me dispel several myths quickly. First, any liturgical connections are purely accidental. Nobody thought of “Jesus and the 12 disciples” when hanging the 13 ropes. Nor did anybody check the ropes’ colors against the church’s seasons. And as for costs, there weren’t many. People have said: “Can we have the ropes when you’re done with them?” Some of you have even offered to buy them. Be my guest. Just don’t do anything serious (or dangerous) with them. They are less than meets the eye. We didn’t get them from an outdoor outfitter’s store. We got them from Home Depot. Cheap. Meaning, don’t entrust your life to them. They may not hold.

They are symbols. They don’t represent anything. Much of their meaning is in what you bring to them, or the associations you make with them.

Biblically, rope is used to draw carts (Isaiah 5:18)….to haul stones (II Samuel 17:13)….to bind prisoners (Judges 16:11)….and to rig boats (Acts 27:32). Israeli potters made designs by pressing ropes against wet clay. And, of course, ropes were essential to fishnets, meaning that they figured in many stories involving Jesus and the disciples.

To me, ropes suggest ways we tie things down (as in “securing”) and tie things together (as in “connecting”). They also suggest the art of ascending (as in “climbing with ropes”), as well as the art of familiarizing (as in “learning the ropes”).

Nobody is going to go home with a rope today. Neither is anyone going to get one in the mail tomorrow. But you are going to get a caribiner (the name of which I could neither recognize nor spell two months ago). Caribiners and ropes go together. I am told that everybody under 40 knows that, but that very few over 40 know that.

Look closely. This is a caribiner. So is this. And this. And this. They make great key chains. But that’s not what they’re made for. Consider them all-purpose connectors. They connect gear to gear….or gear to you….or you to rope….or you to almost anything. They come in shapes known as “oval,” “pear,” “bentgate,” and “straightgate” (the gate being the part of the caribiner that opens). This one lights up in the dark and tells you what time it is (I kid you not). While this one has a miniature boombox inside, complete with a two-position volume switch and a micro-music clip that plays the songs of ’N Sync. Every kid in the church is going to want this one when I’m done. Suffice it to say, if there is something you want to hold on to, you need a caribiner (which isn’t in the Bible)….or a healthy dosage of faith (which is).

“Interesting,” say some of you. “Who cares?” say others of you. Well, let me resort to all of this paraphernalia to make a couple of very simple points. The first is about connecting. The second, about joy riding. Start with “connecting.”

If you haven’t gotten clear about “connecting,” you have either slept in or slept during the last two Sundays. “Don’t let go,” says the theme. “Hold fast to that which is good,” says the Bible. “Hold on to dear life” (not for dear life, but to it), said yours truly in a sermon two Sundays ago. “Carry the treasure” (albeit in fragile and fallible hands), said yours truly last Sunday. “Blest be the tie that binds,” we shall sing (momentarily) this Sunday. Could it be any clearer….this business about connection, I mean?

We are not meant to be disconnected. And to whatever degree we are, we can’t live that way. In one of Jesus’ more graphic analogies, he compared himself to a vine and us to the branches. Which he followed by saying (in effect): “You know what happens when vines and branches get separated, don’t you? I’ll tell you what happens. No fruit. No raisins. No grape jelly. No grape jam. No grape juice. No wine for the table. No wine for the soul, either. None of the above. Disconnected.”

I got an e-mail from Betty Breedlove the other day. The Breedloves are down in Brazil where Dave is fiddling with Ford trucks and Betty is, at the moment, grieving the loss of her mom (who was laid to rest just a few weeks ago….concerning which, she writes):

I am doing well. But I still catch myself a bit misty-eyed when I talk about Mother. The Brazilians have a word for this feeling….“saudade.” I read that the word means a yearning or longing for someone (or something) who isn’t with you….the aching feeling you have when you miss a lover, a friend, your family, or a place. The Portuguese language is full of words to express feelings, and this feeling is very strongly felt by Brazilians. When spoken, the word “saudade” conveys far more feeling than when we say “missing you” in English.

I have “saudades” for my mother, my dad, Cortney and Brian, my many friends, and my church. The other day, I clicked on the church website. I think God made me do it. As you know, I don’t do it often because it makes me cry. Anyway, I read your letter in Steeple Notes with many tears because there is another side to the question of finding churches. What if there is no choice? Here in Salvador, Janet McGuinness and I searched for a couple of months for a church with a service in English, but there was none….zero….zip….in a city of two million. We did try a couple of services in Portuguese but, when you don’t know much of the language, it’s not the same. At least the Catholic church had most of the service written out in its bulletin. We felt so blessed when we met John Shepherd and he agreed to offer a service in English, if only twice a month. By the way, we have added two more families and now boast 20 lusty voices singing from the Methodist hymnals you sent down.

I doubt if many churches in the world can compare with FUMC. First Church offers so much in programming and services (along with a great building in which to house them). But, most of all, it offers wonderful people….truly a church family to grow and share with, ensuring that one will not be alone. Like losing a mother, I don’t think anyone understands the “saudades” until she is gone. For me, it is the same with First Church. I wish you and the church much success in this year’s EMC campaign. When people read your words “give yourself fully to this church while you have it,” I hope they take them to heart. As I said, what if the day comes when there is no choice?

Well, if that doesn’t move you, I don’t know what will. So when you receive your caribiner, think Betty in Brazil….think vines and branches….think Jesus and the church. In short, think “connection.”

And when you think about the ropes, think “joy riding.” I know I am pushing you here. You have already thought “tugging and tying, climbing and rappelling, skiing and sailing.” Now I want you to lift your sights. I mean, I really want you to lift your sights. Like into the trees. Three weeks ago, Damian Zikakis….our resident tenor, Finance Committee leader, youth counselor, Wednesday morning study group attender, and all-around good guy….wrote to us about recreational tree climbing. He told us about ropes, harnesses, helmets, caribiners, and an 80-foot elm tree in his back yard. Today, Damian can scale the tree.…swing through the tree….sleep in the tree….even hang upside down from the tree. Next, he’ll want to take Patti, Alex and Sam to Judson Collins Methodist Camp where they have a ropes course. Today, every camp has a ropes course. You can’t run a successful camp without a ropes course. Ask your kids. They’ll tell you. Where, with good leadership….good training….good equipment….and good group support, you can both scale trees and swing from tree to tree. But it gets even better. If the ropes course has a zip line, you can ride it (from high in the tree) clean over a pond….a river….even a small lake. It’s not everybody’s thing. But it can be a wonderful thing.

And if, as Damian suggests, this is somehow a paradigm for the journey of discipleship, it suggests that your spiritual journey ought to provide experiences like this. You are meant to climb….meant to soar….meant to see glimpses of forever….and meant to relish the ride. Sometimes I fear that I spend so much time telling you how demanding the Christian life is, that I forget to tell you how rewarding the Christian life is. To whatever degree I have left that confusion in anyone’s mind, I am profoundly sorry. As the author of 1 John testifies: “We have this fellowship with the Father and the Son, Jesus Christ. And we want you to have it, too. Not because misery loves company. But so that our joy might be complete.”

* * * * *

Well, that’s my sermon and I’m sticking to it. Except for this, by way of addition….the only connection being the word “ride.” It concerns a little girl and her mother who, for years, made a weekly trip to Meijers Thrifty Acres for groceries. Each time they made the trip, the daughter’s good behavior was rewarded with a ride on the mechanical pony named Sandy. Lots of you know Sandy. And each time the mother gave the daughter two coins, even though she took but one ride. After the ride was over, the mother lifted her off the pony and the child carefully placed the second coin on top of the coin box. Then she said a sweet “goodbye” to the pony, stroked his plaster mane, and cheerfully walked away.

One day an elderly woman sitting on a bench stopped the girl and said: “Child, you’ve left your money there.” “I know,” said the little girl. “I always leave some there. It’s for the people who don’t have any money for the ride.” Bewildered, the woman asked: “But how do you know the money will go to someone who really needs it?” Not at all discouraged by the woman’s question, she replied: “I just do.”

But really, does it matter who gets the leftover money? I think not. Why not? Because I know that little girl. And I am here to tell you that she is turning into a truly beautiful human being. Funny, isn’t it, how generosity can do that to a person?