Tell Me Your Story 4/14/2002

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: John 1:43-51

As personal experiences go, this one didn’t happen to somebody else….it happened to me. And as remembered history goes, this didn’t happen months or years ago….it happened in the last couple of weeks. I had attended a meeting with a cluster of clergy….some wearing our uniforms, others dressed in uniforms of the opposition. But this didn’t happen during the meeting. This happened after the meeting. In fact, it happened on the way to the parking lot. Why is it, I wonder, that there is more honesty in parking lots than in churches, or even confessionals? Could it be that there is a freedom out there that does not exist in here? I mean, in a parking lot, you’ve all but left. You are half gone. With one turn of the key (which is already in your hand), you could be all gone. People will say anything when they know they can leave anytime.

All I did was ask a respected colleague how things were going. Key in hand, he confided that things weren’t going as well as he’d hoped. “How so?” I asked, knowing that just over a year ago he’d brought great gifts to a great church amidst great excitement. “Well,” he said, “things look pretty good on paper. Money’s a problem. But where isn’t money a problem? The bigger issue is that people don’t seem to be buying in.”

He went on to explain that when the ministerial change occurred, all the ministers changed…. meaning three ministers changed. Old trio out. New trio in. Which, some would argue, is a good way to do it. Clean sweep. Whole new team. Less chance for funny politics….people lining up old staff versus new staff….choosing sides….gathering allies….training armies. If and when they do a sweep-out up the street, they are going to have to buy an extra-wide broom.

And that’s what occurred in this fellow’s shop. Clean sweep. No politics. Good people out. Good people in. But when the old team went, a ton of history went with them. Not about policies. Not about practices. Not even about programs. But about people. Personal history, don’t you see. Said my friend in the parking lot: “I’ve never seen so many church people walking around saying, ‘Nobody knows my story.’”

Interesting, isn’t it, that we can communicate with incredible speed in unprecedented ways, but the only way our stories are revealed-to and shared-with each other is over time. This is because story-sharing presumes (even requires) trust….and like Rome, trust isn’t built in a day. My colleague is a good preacher….good teacher….good leader….good administrator. His people see that in him. But they have not opened themselves to him. Or to his newly-assembled team. Hence, their lament: “Nobody knows our story.”

Will that lament diminish with time? Maybe. But maybe not. A lot will depend on the quantity and quality of his pastoral encounters. Some of his people will get married. Others will get buried. Some will become dis-eased….giving them reasons to weep. Others will become eased….giving them reasons to rejoice. There will be suffering. There will be partying. And the questions are: “Will his ministry place him at their doors then? And will they let him in then?”

Not everybody who comes to church wants to know and be known. Some want to hide and be hid. Especially in larger churches. Anonymity is an option that large churches offer. And anonymity is something all of us seek some of the time, and some of us seek all of the time. So if you have come here to lay low, be my guest.

But I think it safe to say that most people, either secretly or openly, hope that somebody in this counter-cultural community we Christians call “church” will welcome them, accept them, and perchance (over time) even love them in ways that will incarnate and radiate the love of Christ. The very same people who (with abundant breath) say, “Pastor, tell me the stories of Jesus,” also say (under their breath): “But pastor, listen to mine.”

Which is a legitimate expectation, given that ours is a relationship theology. The distant God does not remain so, but comes to us where we are….lives among us as we are….starts from the premise of who we are….before calling us beyond what we are.

When I organize the gospels thematically, it seems to me that there are stories about Jesus, teachings of Jesus and encounters with Jesus. In terms of stories about Jesus, there are relatively few….most of them centered upon the night he entered the world or the afternoon he left it. As concerns the teachings of Jesus, one finds the extended Torah commentary which Matthew calls the Sermon on the Mount and Luke calls the Sermon on the Plain. But most of the other teachings grow out of encounters Jesus has with people, encounters where Jesus takes them seriously….their question seriously….their needs seriously….their doubts seriously…..and their faith seriously (especially when he can see more faith in them than they can see in themselves).

Textually, I took us back this morning to the story of Philip and Nathanael. I read it to you on Palm Sunday (but only as my auxiliary text). You remember how it goes. Philip meets Jesus. Philip buys into Jesus. Philip tries to tell Nathanael about Jesus. Nathanael discounts Philip’s testimony, given that Jesus comes from Nowheresville (“Can any good thing come out of Nowheresville, i.e. Nazareth?”).

And everybody who teaches this story stops there, because the put-down of Nazareth is so preachable. There are a million ways to sermonize the “small-town boy makes good” theme. I’ve done it. Others have done it. Peter Mitchell, President of Albion College, did it from this very pulpit on the Monday evening of Holy Week. In fact, Peter said that this little story was one of his two favorite Bible passages. Peter didn’t exactly say why. But I think I know why. You see, Peter comes from Ishpeming (which is every bit as close to Nowheresville as Nazareth is close to Nowheresville).

That’ll preach. As will Philip’s line to Nathanael: “Come and see for yourself.” That’ll preach, too. What has never preached is the truncated conversation between Nathanael and the man from Nowheresville. Jesus sees him coming and says: “Look, a genuine Israelite in whom there is no guile.”

Leading Nathanael to ask: “How did you know me?” Occasioning Jesus’ answer: “Before Philip called you, I saw you under a fig tree.”

Which impresses the daylights out of Nathanael….that Jesus looked so deeply….discerned it so quickly….and said so, so openly. I mean, think of the last time that somebody you didn’t know, knew you….as in “really” knew you. And you wondered how.

Now, it’s possible Jesus was spiritually clairvoyant. That’s one extreme. And it’s possible that somebody tipped Jesus off (“See that guy over there? That’s Nathanael. He’s good people. If he comes around, say something nice about him.”). That’s the other extreme. And it’s also possible that the fig tree is the clue. Some scholars say that a Jew sitting under a fig tree is a person of peace. Others say that a Jew sitting under a fig tree is a person of prayer. Both agree that it may be Nathanael’s location that creates his reputation.

But whatever the case, Nathanael signs up….on the spot….not because Jesus had great eyesight (“I can see all the way to the fig tree”), but because Jesus had great insight (“When I saw you, Nathanael, I knew you were the real thing.”).

Jesus knew his parishioners’ story. And I have discovered that people who work for Jesus had better mirror the same trait.

One of the things I do pretty well is preach funerals and memorial services. That’s because I tell people’s stories…..either because I remember well or because I listen good. I don’t do whitewash jobs. The dead don’t need my preaching to clean them up. God’s grace takes care of that. But I try really hard to capture (in words) not only the facts of someone’s life, but the depths of someone’s life. And I’ve been successful, to the degree that I’ve actually had people say: “I can’t wait to die to hear what you’re going to say about me.”

Now, I have colleagues who think that’s wrong. Who never do it. Who never get personal. Who believe it’s idolatry. Who think that if funerals ought to glorify anybody, they ought to glorify God. And so their funeral sermons are generic….one size fits all….insert name here….and if you don’t know you are in the right room because you recognize your relatives sitting beside you, nothing the preacher says is likely to clue you.

Wherever clergy gather, the debate rages between the “glorify God” group and the “remember Harry” group. But it’s not either/or. It’s both/and. The book on Harry is closed. Chapter finished. But the Author of Life does not necessarily drop the pen when the blood clot drops Harry. Which means that the Big Book on Harry is far from closed. For who can say what yet resides in the Author’s imagination?

At funerals, I have never failed to preach the greatness of God. Nor have I ever failed to offer the promises of God. But neither have I failed to milk the most that I could….and the best that I could….from Harry’s chapter (as he lived it, before death closed it). Because believing, as I do, that Harry matters to God, I am more than willing….and at least moderately able….to detail the ways in which Harry mattered to us.

What occasionally surprises me, however, is the number of people (some of them Harry’s dearest relatives and closest church friends) who tell me that there were things in my remembrance….in my eulogy, if you will….that they never knew and wish they had. As to whose fault that was, darned if I know. The issue is neither guilt nor blame, the issue is sadness. I find it sad that people can share the same table (year after year), or sit in the same pew (year after year), and know so little about each other. Why should I be left to tell you at death, things that you could have learned about each other in life?

While you’re pondering that, kindly permit me to close with a remembrance of a seminary professor I once knew.

A few years ago in a church in Oklahoma where I was worshiping with my family, I had an afternoon engagement and had to leave quickly. I said goodbye to them after the benediction. In order to get to the parking lot quickly, I cut through the back, through the choir room. I said to one of the women in the choir as she was putting away her robe, “I appreciated very much the anthem this morning.”

She said, “I hope so, because that’s it.”

I said, “What do you mean?”

She said, “That’s it. I’m hanging it up.” She was putting away her robe.

I said, “Are you retiring?” She’d been in the choir 103 or 104 years; I thought she was retiring.

She said, “No, I’m quitting.”

I said, “You’re quitting?”

She said, “I’m quitting.”

“Oh, you’re not quitting.”

“I’m quitting.”

“Well, why are you quitting?”

She said, "I sat up there in the choir loft this morning and looked around at the other choir members. I looked at the minister and looked at the worship leader. I looked at the ushers and then looked out over the congregation. Finally, I said to myself what has haunted me for years.”

I said, “What’s that?”

She said, “Who cares?”

Well, I was in a hurry. I had to make a speech, so I said, “Oh, you’ll be all right.” I went to the parking lot, but all the way to my engagement and all the way back I thought of that indictment. I was a member of that church at the time, and she was indicting me and all the members. In fact, if it were true, what she had said was, “This is not a church.” If her opinion after longtime membership was that the sum gesture of that church was a shrug of the shoulders, then it was not a church.

When I got home that afternoon, I called that lady. I said, “I want to talk to you.”

She said, “If you want to.”

I said, “I want to.” I went over there; we talked, and we disagreed. I finally asked her, “Well, what would we have to do to show that we cared?”

And this was her definition. She said, “Take me seriously.” Which was a strange way to put it, especially for her. She was a kind of comic, a sort of stick of peppermint; she was always playing practical jokes. She would pin the tails of choir robes together. She would go early and put some big cartoon on the pulpit so that when the minister came out in all his sobriety, he’d look down and be blown out of the water. She was that kind of person, so I said, “You can’t be serious! Take you seriously? What are you talking about? You’re always joking, laughing.”

And she said, “You bought all that? I thought it was rather transparent, myself. I like to be taken seriously.”

When I left that lady’s house, I said to her, “You’re wrong, you know.”

She said, “I’m not.”

I said, “I get to travel to churches all over the country, and everywhere I go there are people who care for each other. They take care of each other.”

She said, “Where?”

I said, “Everywhere I go, there are people who care.”

She said, “Really?”

“Yes.”

She said, “Name some.”

She wants names. May I use your name? May I give her your name?

note: The closing story comes from the collected stories of Fred Craddock, recently published by a pair of his colleagues. For more detailed discussion of “fig trees” and people who sit under them, see any reputable biblical commentary (the best being the Anchor Bible Volume on God)

On the Cost of Raising Children 5/12/2002

William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scriptures: Matthew 7:7-11, 18:15-17, 17:1-4

In case you missed it, let me report a story carried in the Sunday Styles section of the New York Times (dated January 20, 2002) under the titillating headline: “Can a Kid Squeeze By on $320,000 a Month?” The story, under the byline of Alex Kuczinski, began:

            The tale of Lisa Bonder Kerkorian, the 36-year-old former tennis pro who is demanding $320,000 a month in child support from her former husband (the 84-year-old billionaire Kirk Kerkorian), has caused a stir among hard-working Americans.

As well it might. Among the things desired for the three-year-old child of their union is $14,000 per month for parties and play dates, along with:

$5,900 for eating out. $4,300 for eating in. $2,500 for movies and other outings. $7,000 for charitable donations. $1,400 for laundry and cleaning. $1,000 for toys, books and videos. $436 for the care of the child’s bunny rabbit and other pets. And $144,000 for travel on private jets.

In her court papers, Mrs. Kerkorian said of her former husband: “Money was never a limitation or a consideration whenever Kirk wanted to construct, acquire, own, charter, hire or pay for such things as homes, airplanes, yachts, hotels, cars, staff or entertainment. Essentially, whatever Kirk wanted, Kirk got.”

But after reconsidering the size of her demands, Mrs. Kerkorian determined that she hadn’t asked for enough. “We forgot the category for major yacht charters,” she said. The story generated hefty correspondence in the press, including a number of comparisons to Marie Antoinette, whose idea of the good life cost both herself and her unfortunate husband, Louis XVI, their heads.

I don’t know what you think of that. To me, $320,000 a month for one child seems a tad excessive. I know I could raise the kid for less. So could you. Quite a bit less. But I can visualize a mother in what they call the “Third World” somewhere who might look at our per-child monthly expenditure and be equally blown away. Once you get beyond mere survival, the distinctions between necessities and luxuries vary from place to place and people to people. We could get a pretty good argument going about how much is too much….meaning that the jury is still out when it comes to definitions of the word “excessive.” But there isn’t one of us who wouldn’t rally around the notion that kids are expensive….and becoming more so, all the time.

In earlier eras, large families were an economic asset. More kids meant more hands in the field….more hands in the barn….more hands in the shop….more hands supporting the elders in their years of decline. Kids were cheap labor early and social security late.

But it has been a long time since I have seen a family business that ran on the backs of the kids. And, in that instance, it wasn’t a farm but a laundry. Two adults….five kids….and every one of them knew how to wash shirts, starch shirts, press shirts, fold shirts, box shirts and make shirt runs in the truck. Dad figured that “shirts would carry this family forever.” But I buried him one month and the kids buried the business the next.

Some of you, knowing that our daughter is going to walk out of Harvard Business School in a couple of weeks with a master’s degree, have said to Kris or myself: “There’s your retirement plan.” Which we laugh about. And which she laughs about. But it isn’t how we planned it. And it isn’t why she did it. All I know is that it took a lot of money to get us to this point (more money than it took to get her mother and father to a similar point). Not only because costs went up. But because expectations did, too. Along with our ability to pay. We had more. So we spent more. That’s simply the way it was. And still is.

People with big families do acknowledge that the cost per child goes down (ever so slightly) as the combined number of children goes up. This is due to that great ecological phenomenon known as recycling. Kids hate this, of course (“Why do I have to wear my brother’s pants out to pedal my sister’s bike?”). Moreover, some colleges will cut you a deal if you are paying for two or more at the same time. And there could be even more cost savings if only parents wouldn’t insist on purchasing things children would gladly do without….like well-balanced meals, haircuts, sets of encyclopedias and violin lessons.

How much is too much? Darned if I know. The Bible doesn’t make me an expert on everything. That’s why we have parenting classes here at First Church (to collectively and faithfully figure such stuff out). The Bible teaches that self-denial is good….that self-discipline is good….that charity ought to be taught early….and that delayed gratifications are often the sweetest gratifications. But it doesn’t say any of these things in a section labeled “Money and Kids – Ten Sure-Fire Suggestions.” No, you’ve got to do some foraging, cutting and pasting to assemble what I just said.

I think all of us wrestle mightily with the phrase “holding the line” when it comes to our kids. But there isn’t one of us who didn’t buy something at least once at the checkout line, for no other reason than to shut the kid up. And we knew the Pandora’s’ Box we were opening, even as we did it. But, at that moment, a bribe for peace and quiet was a bribe we were willing to pay. And if we weren’t, the kid’s grandparents were.

Frankly, I do not know where “giving our children every advantage” ends and “spoiling them” begins. If I could put a number on it, all of you would disagree with it. But half of you would say it was too high, while the other half of you would say it was too low.

And we all have our priorities. Kris and I were pretty thrifty….maybe even chintzy….when it came to cars for kids or trips for kids (unless the trips were taken with us and the kids). But when it came to tuition for kids, we never once looked at a bottom line and allowed it to influence a decision. But that’s us….who we are….how we operate….what we value. Which is really the only piece of advice I have on this matter. Namely, that in raising kids, you balance your checkbook twice….with the bank….and with your values.

So, are kids worth all the money it takes to raise them? Let’s face it. Not to everybody. This is the beginning of wedding season. Everybody I marry is older now….has gone together longer now….is almost always un-pregnant (at the time of the wedding) now….and highly unlikely (by their own admission) to do any serious thinking about starting a family now.

“We’re going to wait for children,” is what they say. So what are they waiting for? Two things, I think. One of which they do say. The other of which they do not say. The thing they don’t say is that they’re waiting to make sure they can make it together. Increasingly, their parents can’t. A lot of their friends can’t. And whole big chunks of the culture can’t. Stay together, I mean. So they want to make sure they can….before turning two into three, three into four, or four into more.

The thing they do say is: “We want to wait for children until we can afford them.” Which may mean: “Until we can live as well on one income as we presently live on two.” Which may mean: “Until we can give our kids everything we received (and took for granted) from our parents.” But which often means: “Until we get all the things we want, and which we may have to delay….or even go without….if we have children before we get them.” Which I would submit is a spiritual problem rather than economic one. Although I can’t prove it.

But were we to ask whether kids are worth the money in the presence of anyone who has ever lost a child (like the mothers of the murdered ones we read about yesterday in Detroit), I suspect they’d say (to a person): “I’d pay anything….spend anything….give anything….if only there were some place that would take my check.” Economically, that makes no sense. One child less, they should be better off….right? You know the answer to that as well as I do.

Where is all this going? Down a long, slow road from economics to theology….that’s where it’s going. Economics having do to with the word “costly.” Theology having to do with the word “priceless.” Economically speaking, the bottom line is that children are balance sheets (assets/liabilities, tax exemptions/budget drains, that sort of thing). Theologically speaking, the bottom line is that children are gifts….gifts of a gracious God….about which Jesus once said: “Anybody who receives these, receives me. Anybody who sees these, has seen the Kingdom.”

Which means that the value of children can never be determined by cost accounting. It would be like asking: “How pretty is a flower….expressed in dollars? How precious are your children…. expressed in dollars?” The lover who asked, “How do I love thee, let me count the ways,” answered her own question with a poem, not a column of numbers.

Does that mean we should not be prudent in planning our families? With apologies to His Holiness in Rome, of course we should be prudent. But does that mean we should monitor and squelch all lavish impulses in the process of raising our families? Of course we shouldn’t.

A few years ago, Bishop Fred Borsch published a book on the parables of Jesus, taking special note of how many could be called “parables of extravagance.” He noted that many of Jesus’ parables speak of extravagance and waste. Consider the farmer who goes out to sow. Does he do so like my grandfather taught me….prudently….spartanly….carefully? No, he slings seed everywhere, including a whole lot of places where anybody in his right mind would tell him: “It’ll never grow.” And Jesus said: “You see that seed slinger? The Kingdom’s like that. Yes sirree, Bob, the Kingdom’s like that.”

And it’s also like that father who blew ten grand on a homecoming for a hobo. A hobo who squandered what (?) in the far country….not his weekly paycheck….not the contents of his piggy bank….not the savings from his paper route….but the early cash-out of his inheritance. “That’s kinda like the Kingdom, too,” said Jesus.

Or it’s like the shepherd Jesus called “good,” who risked everything for one stupid sheep (a sheep worth all of $3.95 plus postage and handling). Or the woman who broke a $700 bottle of perfume over the body of Jesus. The Kingdom’s like her, too.

Leading Will Willimon to write:

            Anyone who is called in service to this God had better be in the business of extravagant and occasionally wasteful effusiveness. Bean counters, accountants of all kinds, misers and anal-retentive types, they bore this God. Which is why the best pastors are those who are a little bit messy…..who will waste a couple of hours with an 80-year-old in a nursing home….spend a Sunday night (after MYF, when they’re already exhausted) listening to a troubled teenager….or pour their passion into some little church in the boonies for $26,000 and change when they could have gone to law school and started in six figures.

The Christian life is not about parsing out the treasure, but loving without measure. And where better to start than with the children, given Jesus’ words: “If you, then, who are evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly father give good things….(to you).” Which traces the extravagance back to its source, don’t you see. And which further demonstrates the wisdom of Dan Hubert’s favorite saying: “You can’t out-give God.”

Which also brings us parent and grandparent types full circle to the realization that (at the end of the day) we, too, are children.

The professor of preaching, wishing to hear each student preach at least one sermon in their field setting, showed up in the sunroom at Wesley Woods for a service on Sunday afternoon. One by one, the attendees for that service were shuffled in, assisted in and wheeled in. After which the preacher commenced to preach from Luke 18 about people bringing little kids to Jesus.

“Great day in the morning,” the professor thought, “why is she reading that text here, where the average age is 117?” But that’s the text she read. Following which, this is what she said:

            I still can’t get over the fact that the helpers of Jesus….the twelve apostles…. the ministers....the clergy (if you will) said: “Let’s get these children out of here. This is serious business. We’re trying to have a kingdom.”

            Well, in a way, I can understand it. I mean, after all, they make noise. They have to be cared for. Sometimes you have to get up and leave with them. They take everybody else’s time.

            Besides that, they can’t give much….can’t teach class….can’t sing in the choir. They’re just (you know) a burden. I can understand that.

            But Jesus said: “Leave ‘em alone. Let ‘em come. Can’t you see the Kingdom in their faces?”

And the old people in the sunroom of Wesley Woods just nodded, as if to say: “That’s right. That’s right. You tell ‘em, sister.”

Note: The idea for this sermon came from a re-reading of a delightful little book by Tom Mullen entitled Parables for Parents and Other Original Sinners. A very creative thinking and innovative Quaker, Tom taught for years at Earlham University. As concerns Will Willimon’s observations about the extravagance of ministry (derived from the parables), look for Will’s essay in a recent book entitled The Last Word. Finally, the story that concludes the sermon is, once again, one of those splendid recollections from the career of Fred Craddock.

On Starting What You Can’t Finish 2/17/2002

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: Luke 14:25-33

Since the road we call “Lent” ends in Jerusalem….and since what comes to an end in Jerusalem is far more bloody than it is pretty….this is buckle-up-the-boots-and-get-serious-about-the-journey time, especially if it’s the “Jesus Road” we’re traveling. Which may explain the harsh tone of the speech here.

Our text begins with the observation that there are “great multitudes following Jesus.” How many is that? You tell me. I mean, the Bible doesn’t tell me. So your word is pretty much as good as anybody’s.

Certainly, “great multitudes” means “more than a few.” And not all of them, equally committed. Some are signed for the duration. Others are merely joyriding. There’s a world of difference between the consecrated and the curious. Get a group of people surging down Maple Road and I’d go two or three blocks with anybody (just to find out what was going on). But I don’t know how much further I’d go if someone turned around, stared me down, and said: “If anyone follows me and does not hate his own mother and father, wife and children, brothers and sisters, he cannot be my disciple.” No, I don’t know how much further I’d go after a speech like that.

Those would be fighting words to me. To you too, I suppose. And assuming Jesus uttered them, they must have been fighting words to those who heard them then. Meaning that they didn’t rest easy on the ear. For while Matthew and Luke got them from the same source, Matthew (who never softened anything) softened them….taking out the words “he who does not hate” and substituting “he who loves father and mother more than me.” But most everybody agrees that Luke’s rendering is primary while Matthew’s is secondary….meaning that “hate” is the word Luke wanted and “hate” is the word Luke used. If you’ve got a Bible with a watered-down translation, chances are pretty good that your version is wrong. Less offensive, maybe. More palatable, to be sure. But still wrong. “You want to follow me,” said Jesus, “you’d better be prepared to hate family.”

I don’t like hearing that. I don’t like saying that. Nobody else likes it much, either. Even the scholars who translated it correctly, apologized for it profusely. William Barclay (who is right more often than most) says: “We must not take the words of Jesus with cold and unimaginative literalness. Eastern language is always as vivid as the human mind can make it. When Jesus tells us to hate our nearest and dearest, he does mean that literally. He means that no other love in life can compare with the love we give to him.”

While George Buttrick says: “The word ‘hate’ repels. It is a staggering word, but it was intended to stagger. The word means that we are to act ‘as if’ we hate our loved ones whenever the claims of home come into conflict with the claims of Jesus.” I take that to mean that if you are convinced Jesus is calling you into ministry while your daddy is calling you into dentistry, you’ve got conflicting claims between home and Jesus.

To which Joseph Fitzmyer (Luke’s primary translator) says: “In most cases, the love of Jesus and the love of parents are not likely to be incompatible….and to hate one’s parents, as such, would be monstrous. But Christ’s followers must be ready, if necessary, to act toward those dearest to them as if they were objects of hatred.”

You see, even those who know the text best, dance around it most. Not just because they hate the word “hate,” but because they love the word “family.” As do we all. I can’t imagine a more cherished institution than the family. People get elected to public office on pro-family platforms. Churches have Family Night suppers and build Family Life Centers (bigger, in square footage, than their sanctuaries). And while few of us are violent by nature, most of us would become so, were it necessary to protect our family. Blood is thick. We’ll fight family. We’ll even hurt family. Until someone else tries to fight or hurt family. Then we’ll fight them. I once heard somebody say: “I can say that to my brother, but you can’t say that to my brother. Them’s fighting words.”

But it is also true that just as the family is the source of our greatest blessing, the family is (sometimes) the source of our greatest damage. Most psychiatrists will tell you that. So will veteran preachers who have been around long enough to hear the horror stories of the really dysfunctional families and have fallen to their knees, not only to pray, but to help sweep up the pieces. I have heard it said….especially in communities like this one….that there are families who give too much. And I have also heard it said….especially in communities like this one….that there are families who ask too much. William Willimon (Duke University) writes:

            I have decided, since coming to the university and working with young people, that one of the greatest gifts a parent can give a child is the reassurance that all of the parent’s hopes, dreams and aspirations are not resting upon that child. Whenever the parent complains to the child that “I gave you…. (therefore) you owe me,” that family has failed. And one of the greatest gifts children can give parents (if and when they grow up) is the reassurance that their development is not totally dependent on the competency (or blamelessness) of the parents.

Still, for reasons that often take years (at the rate of $135 per hour) to unravel, not everybody who starts in a family, finishes in a family. Nor does everyone who craves one, get one. Like the eunuch that Phillip meets in Acts 8:26-40. He is Ethiopian, African and sexless….cut off (literally) from any possibility of children, and from any possible place in the temple. For in Deuteronomy 23:1, we read that “a eunuch shall not enter the assembly of the Lord.” Which means that there will be no family for him, biologically or ecclesiastically. He has been to Jerusalem. But Jerusalem would not let him in. Leading me to wonder what it’s like, when you knock on the doors of Mother Church, and even Mother Church says(however quietly): “No, no, no, no.”

But Phillip meets him in the desert, where he is sitting in his chariot reading a scroll. And somewhere in the conversation, Phillip makes a connection for the Ethiopian between the words he is reading and the Word who is Jesus. Leading the Ethiopian to request baptism. And leading Phillip to mutter: “They were upset in Jerusalem when I baptized those Samaritans. They’re probably gonna kill me for this.”

Well, baptism was a moot point, given that they were in a desert. And where are you going to find water in a desert? Which was when the eunuch said: “Look, here is water.” And right there in the desert, a white man baptized a black man….a Jew baptized an Ethiopian….and a follower of Jesus baptized a eunuch. Who, through baptism, found a new family. What’s the point? Try this. Maybe at the end of the day….or even in the heat of the day….water (baptismal water) is thicker than blood. And could it be….I mean, could it possibly be….that this was what Jesus was getting at on the road, when he said something like: “You know, if you’re going to follow me, the day may come when some hard decisions have to be made about which family takes priority.”

But, as if that isn’t hard enough, we plunge straight into this advisory about cost accounting: “Don’t start what you can’t finish.” Tally up the task….the demands of it….the duration of it….your passion for it.…your commitment to it….the resources you bring to it. And then ask, can you do it….clean through to the end of it?

Then Jesus gives not one example, but two. The first concerns a man whose plan it was to build a tower. But he came up short. Either he lacked bricks….money to buy bricks….talent to lay bricks….or a ladder to lift bricks. So that when he was done, all he had was a tower base but no elevation. And everybody laughed at him, saying: “Did you ever see such a stupid man?”

Or what of a king, said Jesus, who declared war on a rival king, only to discover (after a season of saber rattling) that the rival king had two swordsmen for every one of his. Wouldn’t he hurry to the peace table rather than blunder into a bloodbath?

Well, that makes sense. At least it rings true with my experience. “Son, don’t start what you can’t finish,” my father said (concerning a task he was about to lay before me). “Ritter, don’t start what you can’t finish,” Charlie Robertson said (that day outside the paper station) concerning a whipping he was about to lay on me.

Planning is good. Careful planning is better. When Tony Shipley was my district superintendent, every piece of letterhead that came out of the district office said: “If you fail to plan, you plan to fail.” Which made sense.

Before coming here, I worked on a pair of building campaigns with professional fundraisers. Following one of those campaigns, they actually turned around and offered me a job. Obviously, I didn’t take it. But I thought about it.

As you can well imagine, professional fundraisers don’t come cheap. And I’ve yet to meet a church board or finance committee that didn’t balk at paying the cost. I can hear the refrain today: “Why should we give these people thousands of dollars that could be put to better use in the building?” But the selling point that turned things in the fundraiser’s favor was the information that professionals, hired from the outside, meet their goal in 95 percent of the churches they serve.

Which is true. But not for the reasons you might think. Their success has more to do with cost accounting than creative marketing. That’s because they never let you set a goal you can’t reach. And they have sophisticated, time-tested formulas for determining what that base number is. I know a lot of those formulas. I won’t go into them here. But my point is that their success has more to do with their prior calculation of a church’s capability than with the merits of the case, the tenor of the times or the generosity of the membership. They reach what they go after because they won’t let you go after more than you can get.

Jesus said: “Don’t start out on a journey you can’t complete.” Don’t put yourself in a position where people are going to laugh at you. Or ridicule you. In other words, don’t enlist impulsively.

Which sounds like my father. Which sounds like my district superintendent. Which sounds like my fundraiser friends. But which, I am sorry, does not sound like Jesus. In virtually every encounter Jesus has with people, he seems to invite followers, right then and there. I seldom hear him say:

·         Why don’t you go home and think about it?

·         Why don’t you talk it over with several of your friends?

·         Why not take these papers and have your attorney finesse the fine print?

·         Why not give it a year and let it sink in?

·         Why not proceed cautiously, lest your present enthusiasm cloud your judgment?

No, I don’t hear that from the lips of Jesus. Instead, he calls disciples who “straightaway” leave their nets and follow. Then he adds words about not looking over your shoulder….not going back to settle affairs….and, for God’s sake, not even going back home to bury the dead. The message seems to be: “Do it now, while the spirit is on you, or while the Spirit is in you.” In the making of Christians, there is something to be said for study and reflection. But there is something even greater to be said for passion and urgency. Neither Jesus nor the church has, as its primary message: “Hey, take your time, we’ll be here when you get it all figured out.” We will. But that’s not our primary message. Instead, we say: “Every journey starts with a first step. And you will never get it figured out until you take a first step.”

No, I can’t see Jesus raising the yellow flag of caution. Can’t see it at all. So what is all this business about, anyway?

Well, I’ve been helped by a quartet of commentators here (especially Joseph Parker and William Barclay). But most especially by Ernest Campbell who asks:

            Could it be that the underlying concern is not with our ability to finish the job, but with God’s? It would appear that Jesus is saying: “You wouldn’t start a tower you couldn't finish. You wouldn’t wage a war you couldn’t win. Of course you wouldn’t. Well, neither would God. God has the plans to win….the stuff to win….the will to win….and God will win.”

Jesus preached a Kingdom that is obtainable here (in part) and attainable eventually (in full). As for the Kingdom, it’s both here and coming, he said. Then he added (in effect): “And when my time on earth is finished, the cause will go on. Don’t sweat it.” To which Campbell adds:

God has not vacated. God is not dead. God did not enter the fray in order to settle for a tie with evil. God has the means to win. And God means to win. There will be no unfinished towers in the annals of the kingdom. Neither will there be any unwon war chargeable to God. Let’s not waste even one more box of Kleenex on the Almighty. Of the many things God asks from us in scripture….our loyalty and our love….our prayers and our trust….our obedience and our faithfulness….there is not even one place in the Old or New Testament where God asks our pity.

So, to whatever degree you may possess a cost accountant’s mentality….adding up pluses and minuses….credits and debits….assets and liabilities….go versus stay….stand versus sit…. follow versus fall back….the one thing you need to factor in is not whether you are able (in spite ofyour love for the hymn of the same name), but whether God is able.

To which the burden of this passage….and of my preaching….is to suggest that the answer is a resounding “Yes.” To be sure, I could save this dosage of theological adrenaline for Easter Sunday. But given the sorry state of our national confidence, if I don’t give you a shot of it now, you may not be anywhere near Jerusalem and the empty tomb by March 28.

Thirty-three years ago, on or about July 20 (but who’s counting?), they said to me: “Come on up and preach in Paradise.” I went. It wasn’t. Haven’t been back since. But I know there’s a road that goes there.

So, too, with the Kingdom of God. Long road. Hard road. Pothole-filled road. But if my map’s correct….and I truly believe it is….it’s paved all the way.

Note: I am indebted to several persons for the development of this sermon. Will Willimon offered a most fruitful discussion of Acts 8:26-40 (Phillip and the Ethiopian eunuch) in his book, Peculiar Speech: Preaching to the Baptized. Ernest Campbell turned the Luke passage on its head for me in a book entitled Locked in a Room with Open Doors. William Barclay offered his helpful commentary in the series of books attributed to his name, while George Buttrick and Joseph Fitzmyer shared their insights in commentaries on Luke in the Interpreter’s Bible and Anchor Bible Series, respectively.

On Greater and Lesser Falls From Grace 5/19/2002

Dr. William A. Ritter

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

Scripture: Luke 17:1-4

He’s dead now. Gone for a while. Long enough (in time) so I can tell his story. Removed enough (from any of you) so I can keep his secret. He was a married man….a family man….a devoutly spiritual man….a committed church man….a tender and truthful man….a tithing and talented man….but, in the later years of his life, a troubled and tormented man.

He was a pedophile. If “abuse” is the appropriate word to use in such circumstances, he abused once. Maybe only once. He was elderly and lonely at the time. The boy was vulnerable and trusting at the time. It happened. It was discovered. He was charged. The case was settled. How, I’d just as soon not say. Legally, he had his comeuppance. Financially, there was recompense. For years following, there was judicial vigilance. But there was no time served. Although his time on earth was probably shortened by what he put himself through, once the courts were done. 

He used to talk to me about it. He acknowledged that the attraction was in the nature of an addiction. But he maintained he had never previously yielded to temptation. It was the yielding that grieved him, not the attraction. He knew it was wrong. He knew he was wrong. I heard his confession. I heard his repentance. The one thing I never heard from his lips was an excuse or an explanation. I’m not sure he ever knew why.

The concern that brought him to see me, time after time, was that he was unforgivable. And the text to which he referred, time after time, was this one about causing little ones to stumble…. especially the line that began: “It would be better for such a man if a millstone were hung around his neck and he were thrown into the sea.” He was certain that was him. He was equally certain that such a fate awaited him. There was no question in his mind that he had stretched the elastic of divine mercy beyond the breaking point, to the degree that it would not be his….mercy, I mean.

I suppose his visits to my office were one way of hoping against hope. Or perhaps he came because I thought better of him than he thought of himself. Although it took me a while to get there. In the beginning, it was hard.

In my ministry, there is nothing I haven’t seen and nothing I haven’t heard. I guess when you’ve done a funeral for several plastic bags of body parts pulled from a dumpster, there’s not much you’ve missed. But I would have gladly missed the pedophilic confessions of this man who called me “friend.” For while nothing surprises me anymore, there are still a few things that bother me….as in “seriously” bother me.

We have been reading about the scandal of priestly pedophilia in the Roman Catholic church. Every day brings a new revelation. We are astounded by the numbers….the dollars….the cover-ups….the broad brushstrokes of guilt by association….and the repeated blows to the solar plexus of public trust. Like many of you, I am saddened. I am sickened. I am shamed.

But I am a preacher, not a reporter. And this is a sermon, not a news story. So I’ll not detail it, day by day….year by year….diocese by diocese….state by state. Clearly, it’s bigger than we thought and will get bigger still. There will be criminal actions taken and lawsuits filed. As to whether it will dismantle priestly celibacy, I doubt it. As to whether it will break the church, I also doubt it. But it will dent it badly (both in terms of dollars and in terms of members). And I can’t help but think of the ministry that won’t get done (and the people who won’t get served) because of all the time and money that this will require. If one inner-city Roman Catholic grade school is forced to close, or if one soup kitchen or warming shelter is shut down as a result of funds diverted to court actions and lawsuits, the price will have already been too high.

Just as I am not a reporter, I am also not a psychiatrist. Frankly, I do not know why someone becomes a pedophile or why the priesthood attracts them. My guess is that today’s villains were yesterday’s victims (meaning that they, themselves, may have been abused). And the church, in its kindness, has always opened its doors, its heart and its clerical ranks to victims. Garret Keizer, in a wonderful article in the Christian Century, writes:

It will not come as news to anyone who has attended church for more than five Sundays in a row that the polite culture and non-judgmental ethos of Christian community often exerts a powerful attraction for disturbed individuals of every kind, from the passively aggressive to the aggressively predatory. Such individuals tend to go for power vacuums with all the primal instincts of a shark.

What Keizer is saying is that the very things that make churches comfortable places to be…. namely the kindly and polite demeanor of the members….tend to create a haven for troubled individuals, both lay and clergy….who need a place to park their baggage, along with permission to unpack their pain. And as for the cover-ups, they are probably as understandable as they are unconscionable…. rooted as they are in the instinct for institutional survival.

Just as I am not a reporter or a psychiatrist, neither am I a denominational official. If I were Cardinal Law of Boston, I would resign. Not as a result of weighing the likelihood of being toppled by forces outside the church, but as a simple Christ-like gesture of sacrifice within the church. Somebody needs to take the anguish of the institution unto himself and tip the tide of the scandal from incrimination to healing.

Among Methodist clergy, I have never in 37 years encountered a pedophile. But that does not mean that celibacy and fidelity define us all. We are not without colleagues who have stepped across a line….going where they should not go….doing what they should not do….sexually speaking. As concerns the reactions of my superiors to such clergy, I have seen the days of the “soft line” (as in “send ‘em for counseling, then ship ‘em to another church”). And I have seen the days of the “hard line” (as in “suspend ‘em, remove ‘em, and make it so hard to restore ‘em so that you never again have to deal with ‘em”). For the last 15 or 20 years, we have taken the “hard line,” sometimes turning the church into an institution that shoots its wounded and then leaves them there to die. But it has kept us free from lawsuits.

Are there preachers who stepped over the line 20 years ago and are still preaching? Sure there are. And are there preachers who have been mustered out in the last decade who could do wonderful and trustworthy work now if given a second chance? Sure there are. But given the present tribulations of our Roman Catholic brethren, I can see the value of erring on the side of vigilance (institutionally speaking). And it gives me one more reason to praise God that I was never bitten by the bug to be a bishop.

What I have finally conceded is that every sexual sin involving clergy is an abuse of power. Which is strange, given that most clergy don’t think they have any power. But it appears that we possess more than we know….that people will say “yes” to us, because how could anything “dirty” come from one so “holy”? Or, as one woman said after an affair with her pastor: “Somehow, it seemed like I was going to bed with God.”

Which seems utterly ridiculous to me. But it does prove that a strange mystique and mythology is still out there. When I think of Paciorek brothers submitting to that same little priest for so many years….never telling their father….never telling their mother….never telling each other….hating every minute….fearing every encounter….despising the priest….but never resisting the priest…. I can’t get over the incongruity of it all. I mean, the Paciorek boys were big, strapping athletes….All-State football players. Any one of them could have pinned that priest to the wall until he whimpered for mercy. But none of them did. Because of who he was. And because of the powerful aura he carried.

All of which leads me to say something I never though I’d say from a pulpit. If you are ever encouraged or enticed to become romantically or sexually involved in a way that sends funny signals to your value system or doesn’t quite square with your understanding of the Gospel, do not disconnect the radar that is sounding in your soul, just because the romantic or sexual overture is being made by someone wearing a collar, carrying a Bible, or answering to some variation of the title “Reverend.”

Now, back to our text. For while I am not a reporter, a shrink or a briefcase bureaucrat for institutional Christianity, I am a fair-to-middling student of the scriptures. So hear the word again:

Then Jesus said to his disciples: “It is impossible that scandals not occur. But woe be to the one through whom they occur. It will be better for such a one to be thrown into the sea with a millstone around his neck than that he should cause one of these little ones to stumble. So be on your guard.” (Anchor Bible translation of Luke 17:1-3a)

All right, let’s break it down.

First, Jesus seems to accept the inevitability of scandal (a realistic posture, methinks), but differentiates between those who cause it and those who are caught up in it.

Second, the “little ones” may or may not be children. Some have suggested that the phrase should be translated “innocent ones.” Most likely, the “little ones” are those who are relatively new to faith.

Third, a millstone (“mulos onikos” in the Greek) was a grinding stone of sufficient size so as to require a donkey in harness to pull it.

Fourth, the “sea” was especially feared in Jewish culture….not because it was wet….not because it was cold….not because it was deep….but because it was deemed to be godless. Heaven was a place where there would be no more sea (Rev. 1:1). Which explains why drowning was a Roman punishment, but never a Jewish one.

Taken as a whole, this text suggests that what we are reading in our daily papers is serious business. Also sinful business. In recent years, it has become commonplace to lump all sin together….suggesting not only that all of us do it, but that all of“it” is equally grievous to God. We remember the days when our Catholic playmates differentiated mortal sins from venial sins (even though we didn’t understand the distinction and secretly suspected that they didn’t, either). But we listened as they told us which sins required how many “Our Fathers” and how many “Hail Marys,” further suggesting a quantitative hierarchy of depravity. So in something of a theological revolt, we Protestants said: “Stop quantifying and start repenting. Sin is sin. And God hates it all.”

But one keeps running up against texts in the New Testament that suggest, where sin is concerned, maybe God hates some of it more than the rest of it. Which is why I was fascinated to read a recent editorial by Greg Jones entitled “Tough Love for Sexual Abusers.” As most of you know, Greg Jones has preached from this pulpit and currently serves as the Dean of Duke Divinity School (where he guides and monitors the progress of Wil Cantrell). Greg writes (in point five of a six-point essay):

We need to be able to claim that we are all sinners without claiming that all sins are equivalent. Betrayals of trust, especially in the presence of power differentials and by people in whom sacred authority has been vested, are especially grievous sins that call for clear accountability and expectations of true repentance.

Ah, Greg, well said. But will such repentance….however “true”….be sufficient to turn the heart of God, given earlier words about “millstones,” “drownings” and “seas?” Clearly, Jesus is venting anger. But is Jesus also voicing policy?

This is not for me to say. I know which way I lean. Most of you know which way I lean. But how best to say it now? Let me try this.

Go back to my friend (with whose story I began). He readily identified himself as a sinner. But I meet lots of sinners (starting with the one in the mirror). Most of them explain their sin….excuse their sin….rationalize their sin….find somebody on whom to blame their sin….and readily compare their sin with the sin of others, in such a way as to emerge smelling more like a rose than rose fertilizer (as in “you think I’m bad, you should see….”).

But this fellow did none of the above. No rationalizations. No comparisons. In fact, I never met anybody who felt more remorse or expressed more repentance. Which slowly won over my hardened heart. I had compassion on him then. In death, I have compassion on him now.

I suppose it’s possible that God will take the hard line….with drowning as the consequence for fondling. That’s what the text seems to say. But (speaking only for me) I find it hard to live with the notion that I am more compassionate than God.

Note: The comments of Duke Divinity School’s Dean, L. Gregory Jones, can be read in Christian Century under the title “Tough Love for Sexual Abusers” (April 24-May 1, 2002). The same can be said for Garret Keizer’s comments under the heading “Career Ministry.” The translation of Luke 17:1-4 is by Joseph Fitzmyer in the Anchor Bible Series. Final thoughts about being “more compassionate than God” were stimulated by Kathleen Norris in her prize-winning Amazing Grace.