Get Real 10/3/1999

First United Methodist Church

Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture:  Luke 24:13-35

Before I comfort you, let me trouble you just a bit. More to the point, let me trouble you with a pair of ways of viewing the Sacrament….the Eucharist….the Lord’s Supper….the Last Supper….Holy Communion, if you will. The first will trouble you because it’s a tad cynical…. although there is truth in it. The second will trouble you because it’s a tad literal….although there is truth in it.

The first “troubling” comes courtesy of Frederick Buechner (Bob’s cousin), who has written as many words about Christianity as anybody I know, and who feels them, deeper than most. From him, I give you this….concerning the Lord’s Supper:

In the final analysis, it is make believe. You make believe that the one who breaks the bread and blesses the wine is not the plump parson who smells of Williams’ Aqua Velva, but Jesus of Nazareth. Then you make believe that the tasteless wafer and cheap port (in our case, the bread cubelet and thimble of moderately priced grape juice) are his flesh and blood. And then you make believe that by swallowing them, you are swallowing his life into your life, and that there is nothing in earth or heaven that is more important for you to do than this. It is a game you play because he said to play it: “Do this in remembrance of me. Do this.”

I suspect you are troubled by that. You are probably troubled by the words “tasteless wafer”…. “cheap port”…. “make believe”…..“game that you play”….and (perchance) “plump parson.” No doubt you are also troubled by the underlying tone, which would seem to suggest that there is little about the Sacrament that makes ordinary sense. Still, there is truth in his words. The wafers (in churches which employ them) are tasteless. The port (in denominations where port is poured) is cheap. There is, about the Sacrament, an implicit necessity that one “make a belief” at the time of partaking….or, at least, borrow one. And the whole thing is done (in part) because Jesus said to “do it.”

But, somehow, none of this seems high enough….or holy enough. Which is why, having troubled you with Frederick Buechner, I would further trouble you with the words of the Fourth Lateran Council (1215 AD), coupled with my last-ever eighth grade Confirmation Class (Farmington Hills, 1993). Said the Fourth Lateran Council:

At the time of their consecration, the “gifts” of the Sacrament (meaning the tasteless wafer and the cheap port) cease to be bread and wine in anything but appearance and, instead, become (in their entirety) the body and blood of Christ, himself.

To which my eighth graders, upon finally figuring out that this Doctrine of Transubstantiation meant exactly what it said, offered up (in most un-holy unison) a resounding “Yuck.” Proving only that while most teenagers can’t abide the sight of blood, they would rather see it than taste it, any day out.

As for the rest of us, we are far too polite to say “Yuck” in response to a doctrine that many in the Christian world still hold dear….especially Roman Catholics, who have embraced this position officially since the Council of Trent in 1551. Yet I know precious few Roman Catholics who (today) would be able to explain “transubstantiation,” let alone feel moved to defend it.

At the time of the Protestant Reformation, Martin Luther broke from the position that (properly consecrated) the bread becomes Christ’s body and the wine, Christ’s blood. But Luther’s break was far from complete. Luther decided that Christ’s body and blood are present in the midst of the bread and the wine….but are present “along with” (rather than “in place of”) the bread and the wine. This doctrine came to be known as “consubstantiation”….although there is no indication that Luther ever used the term, or felt moved to explain how both elements could co-exist in the same morsel of food or in the same swallow of wine.

Eventually, Ulrich Zwingli came along and said that the elements of the Sacrament do not change at all. What starts out as bread in the Sacristy remains bread in the stomach. And what begins as wine pouring out, remains wine going down. Ever since then, Protestants have been taking up positions between Luther and Zwingli….although very few Protestants have chosen to re-cast their lot with the Catholics.

But if the Catholics are right, don’t you see, there is no need to “make believe” anything about the Sacrament. For Christ is in it….from the very first prayer of the priest, to the very last swallow of the supplicant. Which is why, if the congregation at Mass be slim some morning, the priest must drink every remaining drop of the consecrated wine. Because while Christ freely spilled his blood on the ground at Calvary, it would be utterly inappropriate for an agent of Christ’s church to re-spill (even a drop of it) down the sink or the sewer. Why, I don’t know. But then I’ve never served and volleyed from the Catholic side of the net.

I doubt if the next ten Roman Catholics you meet will be able to explain any of this to you. But they may understand it under a different name….not “transubstantiation”….but “the Doctrine of Real Presence.” The priest serves. I consume. And Christ is there….physically as well as spiritually.

Which has a certain measure of attractiveness, don’t you see? For in a world where so many of faith’s assurances are hard to locate, measure or pin down, there is a wonderful specificity about this one. Where is Christ? On the tongue, that’s where Christ is. Whereas we Protestants sing, at the hour of the Supper: “Here would I feed upon the bread of God. Here would I touch and handle things unseen.”

Do we believe in a Doctrine of Real Presence? Not as an organized body of believers, we don’t. Historically, we cast our lot with the “it’s bread all the way from store to stomach” people. But, yet, we say that “Christ is here”….whenever we do this. In part, because Christ said he would be here. And, in part, because none of us is willing to settle for “a Doctrine of Real Absence.”

I sometimes worry that we talk just a bit too glibly about our ability to have a relationship with Jesus Christ….leading the unsuspecting to assume that relating to Jesus is, in every way, the same as relating to a spouse, a sibling, a neighbor or a friend. To be sure, there are some elements that are very common. But there are others that are very different.

Consider today’s story. It is late Easter afternoon. Jesus is alive. But there are very few people who know it. Two, who do not know it, are walking away from “the scene of the crime” (as it were). They are walking to a village named Emmaus. Jesus falls in step with them. The three of them talk. About hopes raised. And hopes dashed. About confrontations….condemnations…. crucifixions….and unsubstantiated rumors of resurrections. Them complaining. Him explaining. But nothing connecting.

Until the village gets near….the day gets short….and they get hungry. He appears to be going further. Don’t miss this little detail. Jesus is always going further. Jesus may companion our journey. But Jesus is not bound by our agenda. Most of the time, we want to stop before he does.

They say: “Stay and eat with us.” And while he is at their table….as their guest….responding to their invitation….“they recognize him in the breaking of bread.” Then, suddenly, he isn’t there anymore. But that glimpse is enough. Enough for them to look back down the road they have already come….back down the steps they have already taken….back down the stories they have already told….back down the history they have already lived….so as to enable them to say: “It was the Lord….all along. And there were signs. But we missed them. ‘Til now.”

* * * * *

I envy the people who can get Jesus….every morning, if they like….between the tongue and the teeth. And who know, with absolute certainty, who it is they’ve got, and where it is they’ve got him.

And I envy the people who can go to the garden (or to hymn 314)….every morning, if they like….and walk with Jesus while the dew is still on the roses (whenever that is).

But I am not those people. I am a little slow. Save for three or four occasions, most of my “Jesus sightings” have come after the fact….figuring out that he has been with me, after he has moved on….making sense of what he has said to me, after he’s gone silent. It’s kind of like a really great meal. Sometimes the aftertaste is the best.

It's Not That Easy Being Green 4/25/1999

First United Methodist Church

Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture:  John 14: 8-14

                  Mark 12: 41-44

Preliminary Word in Response to the Crisis at Columbine High School

Let me join with other clergy across the nation….and across the chancel….in the pain that is shared and the prayers that are offered for fallen teachers and students, and for shattered families and friends.  Let me also express my gratitude that here, for our kids, support is being offered by Matt Hook and our youth counselors….especially to Amanda Stubbs, who once lived there, now lives here, and whose best friend died in that library.

There will be more to say….in time….when (hopefully) we will be more focused on cure than blame.  For now, I have nothing new to add, save for a trio of "n" words that keep rolling through my mind.

The first is "nihilist."  The nihilist is one who believes that nothing matters….meaning that life is cheap, insignificant and expendable.  To the nihilist, it matters little if you live or die….or if anybody lives or dies.  All of which fosters a culture of death, whereindying moves from being intriquing to compelling.  Fortunately, very few of us are nihilists.

The second word is "narcissist."  This is one who believes that I (alone) matter….my wants, my needs, my desires, that's what's important.  "I can make room for others in my world, to the degree that they mirror me, support me, or endorse me."  Unfortunately,  the world does not lack for narcissists.

The third word is "neighbor"….not as in "Hi, neighbor!  How's the weather?  What do you say we join forces and paint the fence?"….but as in the command to love the neighbor as the self, and (more to the point) as in Jesus' answer to the lawyer's question: "Just who is my neighbor?"

To the nihilist….no life is sacred.

To the narcissist….my life is sacred.

To the neighbor….all life is sacred.

The question….where our kids are concerned: "How do we make neighbors out of nihilists and narcissists?"

The Sermon

Last Sunday morning, along about 7:45, I had Alta Yager and Thelma Wilmouth check me out in the narthex.  I needed to know if I looked all right….if my tie matched my suit….and if all of my colors were coordinated.  I needed an outside opinion, don't you see, because I didn't have Kris to rely on.  She spent the weekend in Saginaw, leading a retreat for spouses of clergy, which is why Alta and Thelma were needed to tell me if I passed muster.  I did.  But, then, they're incredibly kind.

I always thought the deployment of color was an art.  Now I learn it is something of a science.  Nobody would open a restaurant without consulting someone schooled in the principles of color.  I am told it has become a very "in" thing to have one's own color analysis done by an expert.  I suspect it is a service commonly purchased by women.  But what do I know?  Maybe I should pay an analyst to settle, once and for all,  the debate as to whether I look better in blue or brown.

Psychologists have done color analyses for years, claiming that knowledge of the colors we prefer will give them clues as to the kinds of people we are.  I remember great professional consternation over a child who brought a daily picture from home to give to his kindergarten teacher,  each picture colored only in black.  The professionals poked around in the child's psyche.  They probed his family history.  They paged through recent life experiences, looking for unresolved encounters with death.  They should have checked his art supplies.  They would have discovered the only crayon he had was black.

I am harder to define.  I like most every color.  I do not, however, like pink.  And I am not much on pastels.  I dislike colors that feel a need to sneak up on me.  Instead, I would prefer that my colors march right in and make a statement.  For some reason, I have always liked green.  But it has to be a green green….a man's green….like "kelly" or "emerald."  None of this mossy or olive stuff.  Perhaps I can account for my preference biographically.  For while I didn't go to Michigan State, I am one-quarter Irish.  My paternal grandmother's maiden name was Kennedy.  When we changed the sanctuary carpet, two churches ago, I persuaded them to do it over in kelly green.  The first Sunday after the new carpet was laid, the choir walked down the aisle to discover that someone had placed a putter and several golf balls in the center of the chancel.

There are, however, more negative associations with the color green than with other hues on the spectrum.  Medically, green is associated with bile, giving rise to the phrase "bilious green."  Green is the color we turn when we are "off our feed,"  "under the weather," "sick to our stomach," or "too long at sea."  Green isthe color of copper when it ages, bananas when they are hard and cheese that turns bad.  And the last time I looked, green was also the color of pond scum.

In recent years, green has become synonymous with the word "ordinary."  This has largely resulted from a song associated with Frank Sinatra (who recorded it) and Kermit T. Frog(who introduced it.)  "Frog" is not only Kermit's last name.  It is also his nature.  Kermit is a Muppet….a Sesame Street regular….a colleague of Ernie, Burt and the Cookie Monster….the alter ego of the late Jim Henson….and the husband of Miss Piggy.  I am not regularly atuned to Kermit's comings and goings, but one of the potential benefits ofbeing a grandfather (when it comes) is that I will have an excuse to watch Kermit once more.

So what, say you.  So this, say I.  Kermit is green and wishes it were otherwise. I know the feeling.

            It's not that easy, bein' green

            having to spend each day the color of the leaves,

            when I think it could be nicer being red, or yellow, or gold,

            or something much more colorful like that.

            It's not that easy, bein' green,

            it seems you blend in with so many other ordinary things,

            and people tend to pass you over, 'cause you're not

            standing out like sparkles in the water, or stars in the sky.

            But green's the color of spring,

            and green can be cool and friendly-like.

            And green can be big like an ocean,  important like a mountain,

            or tall like a tree.

            When green is all there is to be,

            it could make you wonder why, but why wonder, why wonder?

            I am green and it'll do fine,  it's beautiful,

            and I think it's what I want to be.

There's a lot of truth there.  I suspect many of us suffer some "greenness" in our lives.  Perhaps it comes as a result of being short….or shy….or plain….or oddly colored….or feeling handicapped as a result of where we were born, how we were born, to whom we were born, or with what we were born.  All of us have known our moments of "blending in with so many other ordinary things," to the degree that a word like "average" becomes synonymous with a spiritual disease….as in the phrase "hopelessly average."  "And people do tend to pass you by," as Kermit says.  Which may be the unkindest cut of all.

The realization of our "greenness" begins to hit about early Junior High, when a girl looks in a mirror and realizes that she's plain or pimpled…. heavy or skinny…. too short or too tall….or that she can never wear her hair in a certain kind of way and that her figure is eventually going to fall short of centerfold proportions.

Or perhaps it is when a boy first realizes that most of the teams have already been chosen by the captains,  and just once he wishes he could be somebody's first pick instead of being relegated to that moment when the leftovers are divided and somebody says: "All right, we'll take the three 11-year-olds and you can have Ritter and the kid with the broken arm."

While the realization of "greenness" often begins with issues of "appearance" for girls and "athletics" for boys, agebroadens the problem as girls discoverthere is more to life than the way they look, and boys discover there is more to life than the games they play.  The older we get, the more we realize how many arenas there are in which "ordinary" is the best we can hope for.…"middle-of-the-pack" is as far as we are likely to go….and "outstanding" is a word more aptly descriptive of what cows do in the field than what we are likely to do with our lives. 

If it is true that life's most painful metaphysical discovery is that of our mortality (meaning that some day we will not be), very close to it is the discovery of our mediocrity (meaning that some day we will not be everything we hoped.) 

I remember seeing a cartoon depicting a wicked stepmother, posturing in front of a looking glass and inquiring: "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?"  To which came back the answer: "Snow White, and don't you forget it, sweetheart!"  Certainly not a kind response.  But accurate, one suspects.

I find it interesting that thetwo mass murderers at Columbine High School started out with a plan to kill male athletes.  And when the newspapers ran pictures of the girls who were murdered, they were (to a person) quite fair of face.  Which may be mere coincidence.  But I doubt it.  It wouldn't be the first time that violence was the by-product of alienation….and alienation, the by-product of jealousy.

Some of you will remember Bob Morley, my guitar-playing colleague from California.  Bob has so many talents in speech and music, I can't believe he ever spent a "green day" in his life.  But then he wrote a book which included a chapter entitled, "Blessed Are The Gentle Dweebs, the Late Bloomers and the Hopelessly Average."  Bob is describing himself, don't you see.  Listen: 

            I was painfully skinny as a teenager.  I looked like a skeleton with skin.

            My figure consisted of one adam's apple and two kneecaps.  I loved basketball

            but hated the outfit that revealed my embarrassingly deficient physique to the

            cheerleaders.  Not only was I skinny, but I had a dangerously gentle streak that

            was truly out of character in the rugged Kansas farm town where I lived.

            My friends were the kind of guys who went hunting, butchered hogs, chewed

            tobacco and talked rough.  They raced stock cars and attended tractor pulls.

            I liked music and art.  I tried hunting, but always harbored a secret hope that

            the squirrel would get away.

That brought back memories.  I was neither thin nor gentle.  But I was profoundly unconfident and rather cherubically youthful of face.  Since I looked young, I never saw myself as a leader or a lover (albeit secretly longing to be both.)  In my early years I was never elected to anything.  Neither was I the kind of guy girls passed notes about or sat by the phone waiting for the calls I never made.  I used to say it was a good thing I met Kris when I was 23 and she was 17.  Had we both been 17, she would have never given a second glance to a guy like me.  A few years ago, I stopped saying that.  I realized it sounded like a put-down of my wife.  For the truth of the matter is that, when I was 17, she might very well have looked at a guy like me.  But I wouldn't have been able to bring myself to approach a girl like her.

It's not that easy being green.  So what do you do, once you discover you are?  Well, there are a lot of approaches that won't work….a lot of attitudes that won't help….a lot of avenues that won't get you anywhere.  You can slip into self pity…."poor me."  You can consume yourself with envy…."lucky you."  Ironically, envy is often called "the green disease."  You can curse God, your parents or fate.  You can shout or pout.  There are any number of things that come quite naturally.  But none of them will work.  For it is still your greenness that must be worked out in fear and trembling.  Just as no one can come along and tell you "don't sweat mortality….you're not really going to die," neither can anyone come along and tell you "don't sweat mediocrity….you're going to dazzle the world in everything you do."  Because you are going to die.  And you are not going to dazzle the world.

But there are avenues that will get us somewhere.  Theybegin, not with what we see when we look at ourselves, but with what God sees when He looks at us.  For we need to remember that God not only loves dweebs, late bloomers and the hopelessly average, butalso employs and empowers them.  Consider the disciples.  I wouldn't have picked them to launch anything.  Few of them were well-traveled, well-connected or well-heeled.  The fact that they were free to follow Jesus on a moment's notice has often been evidenced as a sign of great devotion and loyalty.  But it probably meant they were so unimportant in the scheme of whatever it was they were doing, that they had precious few loose ends to tie up.  Had Jesus submitted their resumes to a Management Consultant firm, the entire lot of them would have been found lacking in education, background, demonstrated capability, or prior experience with the team concept.

Yet Jesus found ways to maximize the performance of the whole, marrying the strength of one to the weakness of another.  He used their failures as occasions for training.  He encouraged them at the points they were most indecisive.  He convinced them they could get positive results.  And he told them, in ways they could swallow, that they would eventually do greater things in their mediocrity than he had done in his divinity.

That's how God works with people….not at the level of skill,  but at the level of willingness.  The issue (for God) is not with what we bring to the party.  The issue is with our willingness to accept the invitation.  I once heard Peter Gomes, Dean of the Chapel at Harvard, tell about visits to the campus made by Mother Teresa and Desmond Tutu in the same semester.  He said that there were striking similarities between the two of them.  Then he added: "They were both noticeably average and genuinely surprised that God had chosen to use them." 

Second, it is only when we stop looking for strengths we don't possess, that we will begin to value the ones we do.  After all (says Kermit):  "Green is the color of spring.  Green can be cool and friendly-like. And green can be big like oceans….important like mountains….tall like trees.  If, on one hand, the church tells us  it is vitally important to confess our shortcomings, it is (on the other hand) equally important that the church help us identify our strengths.  I once heard an angry parishoner snarl at his pastor (while shaking hands at the door) : "Some Sunday, just for a change, could you give us a word or two on what….if anything….we're doing right."   Ouch.

Perhaps you have noticed that I seldom ask you to do a job without first sharing my belief in your capacity to do it….and then telling you the strengths I sawthat led me to ask you in the first place.

Finally, not only does God employ the average and help them to own their strengths, He promises some amazing victories when his resources are hitched to theirs.  The ringing conviction of Holy Scripture, from Moses to Paul, is that impossible things have happened because improbable and incapable people did not realize they were impossible.  Which explains why Paul could get away with preaching all that "more than conquerors" stuff to a little band of Christians in the shadow of Imperial Rome, without being laughed out of town.

Let's lock this up and put it to bed with a football story.  The year was 1969.  The event was the Super Bowl.  The teams were the New York Jets and the Baltimore Colts.  It was a mismatch on paper.  The Colts of Johnny Unitas represented the venerable National Football League.  The Jets of Joe Willie Namath represented the fledgling American Football League.  Talk about David going up against Goliath.

John Dockery, a nondescript defensive back on that 1969 Jets team, described what happened during that game in Miami.  Said John: "There was a moment, late in the third quarter, when I looked up at the scoreboard and it flashed through my mind like a bolt of lightning, we could actually win this thing.  My God, we could really win this thing. "

Funny thing about that Super Bowl.   If memory serves me correctly, the Jets wore green.