Sermon: Freed and Led by the Spirit

Romans 8:14-17; John 14:8-17, 25-26

Freed and Led by the Spirit

James Sledge                                                                           June 9, 2019 – Pentecost

When I entered seminary at age 35, it took me a semester to adjust to the huge amount of reading. A lot of it was simply something to get through, but some had a profound impact on me. I vividly remember reading Resident Aliens. This seminal, 1989 work by Stanley Hauerwas and Will Willimon of Duke Divinity School explored what it means to be Christian in rapidly changing world. Let me read just a bit of the books provocative opening.

Somewhere between 1960 and 1980, an old, inadequately conceived world ended, and a fresh, new world began. We do not mean to be overly dramatic. Although there are many who have not yet heard the news, it is nevertheless true. A tired old world has ended, and an exciting new one is awaiting recognition…

When and how did we change? Although it may sound trivial, one of us is tempted to date the shift sometime on a Sunday evening in 1963. Then, in Greenville, South Carolina, in defiance of the state’s time-honored blue laws, the Fox Theater opened on Sunday. Seven of us—regular attenders of the Methodist Youth Fellowship at Buncombe Street Church—made a pact to enter the front door of the church, be seen, then quietly slip out the back door and join John Wayne at the Fox.

That evening has come to represent a watershed in the history of Christendom, South Carolina style. On that night, Greenville, South Carolina—the last pocket of resistance to secularity in the Western world—served notice it would no longer be a prop for the church. There would be no more free rides. The Fox Theater went head to head with the church over who would provide the world view for the young. That night in 1963, the Fox Theater won the opening skirmish.^[1]

As Christendom faded, church more and more became optional. A numerical decline set in that continues to this day. It seems that many were at church only because it was required or expected. Realizing this was no longer so, people left. So were they ever really followers of Jesus? And what about the church congregations that nurtured such believers?

What does it mean to be Christian, to be church? There was a time, not so many years ago, when people spoke of Presbyterians as “the Republican party at prayer.” That referred to a very different Republican party, one with strong liberal and progressive wings. Regardless, such a label describes an identity rooted less in following Jesus and more in an easy, comfortable compatibility with mainstream, middle-class America.

At the height of Christendom, American-style, people were assumed to be Christian, and Christianity was often a generalized belief in Jesus mixed with morality, citizenship, and patriotism. “American Civil Religion,” as it has been called, was a necessarily vague faith that claimed Jesus and belief in God without too many details or particulars, permitting it to be compatible with a culture that subjugated women and people of color, while it happily blessed patriotism, capitalism, consumerism, and war.

But now, thanks to a changed world that no longer subsidizes and props up the church, we’ve been freed from the constraints of that old civil religion and its Faustian bargain with culture. We have been given the opportunity to discover who we are on our own, no longer wedded to a culture that expects us to water down and domesticate the gospel.

Such freedom has proved disorienting, and many would love to go back. I’ve lost track of all the times retired colleagues told me how glad they are not to be serving a church nowadays. No doubt, things were easier, but I don’t want to go back. I want us to figure out what it means to be Jesus’ church. Not an American church, not a white, middle-class church, but a church that follows Jesus and calls all manner of people to the new life he brings.

Sermon: Jesus Shaped Community

John 17:20-26

Jesus Shaped Community

James Sledge                                                                                       June 2, 2019

As a pastor, I’m fascinated by how congregations work, what makes them tick. Fortunately for me, there are all sorts of research and books about this. One particular area of research focuses on how congregations have predictable behavior patterns based on their size, patterns that cut across denominational and theological lines

This research identifies four types of congregations labeled, from small to large, family, pastoral, program, and corporate,. Corporate church are very large and staff driven in the extreme. Nearly every program area is directed by paid staff with the pastor as CEO.

Program churches have similarities with the corporate, with a number of thriving program areas. But being smaller, lay leaders provide some of the program leadership, and pastors can’t be CEOs because they are often leading volunteers. In both program and corporate churches, people tend to join because of one of more of the many program offerings.

The pastoral church may have some strong programs, but its identity is focused very much on the pastor. Most have only one pastor, but if there is an associate, and that person visits a member in the hospital, the person may not think they been visited by the church.  And people tend to join or leave such churches because they like of dislike the pastor.

The final category is the family church. A lot of churches use the term “family” to describe themselves, but this category applies to only the smallest congregations. These churches literally function like families, often with a matriarch or patriarch who is the real power regardless of governing structure. The pastor, if there is one, is a kind of paid chaplain.

A lot of people assume that a small, family church would be the warmest and friendliest. In truth, they are the hardest to enter. Like real families, becoming part of one requires being born into it, marrying into it, or somehow getting adopted. You can get your name on the roll in the same way as in any church, but ten years later you will likely still be “the new guy” and not quite part of the family.

Now if you’re not fascinated with how congregations work, your eyes may be starting to glaze over. But want us all to think for a bit about what it is that creates a faith community, what it is that binds you to this congregation or to some other. What drew you to the church and what holds you there? What is it that makes you feel a part of it? How strong are the bonds that connect you? Would it be easy to leave if you were unhappy or would wild horses be unable to drag you away?

Sermon video: God with Skin On

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: God with Skin On

Luke 24:36-48

God with Skin On

James Sledge                                                                                       May 19, 2019

I’ve likely told this story before, but it seems worth retelling. A mom is putting her young child to bed, but he’s frightened and begs her to stay with him. She does those things parents do, explain that there’s nothing to be afraid of, remind him that she’ll be just outside his room, and so on, but none does much good. Finally she says, “God will be right here the entire night.” But the boy protests, “I need God with skin on!”

You can’t really blame him. God can feel pretty wispy at times, an idea or concept without a lot of substance. If I’m really frightened, a concept may not feel all that comforting. If I don’t have enough to eat, saying “God loves you,” won’t do much good.

The whole Jesus business is, in part, about giving God some skin, about a God that removes some of the wispiness and lets us say, “Oh, so this is what God is like.” Yet modern Christianity sometimes minimizes the skin on part, preferring God as concept. And so Jesus the man, the Jewish rabbi, gets turned into Christ, a not quite human figure without all those messy particulars of skin and bodily functions and Jewishness. Sometimes it’s easier to run a religion where God is a manageable concept without too much skin.

The gospels, however, go to great lengths to insist on the fleshiness of Jesus, not just before his death and resurrection but after it as well. Our reading this morning is one of several that go out of their way to keep Jesus’ skin on. People are invited to touch him, and, in Luke’s gospel, Jesus eats in two successive stories.

On the day of resurrection, two disciples meet Jesus as they walk to Emmaus but don’t recognize him. Only when they stop for the evening and share a meal where Jesus takes bread, blesses and breaks it, do the disciples realize it is Jesus.

They rush back to Jerusalem and are telling the others what happened when Jesus shows up once more. He invites his friends to touch him, to see that he has skin on, then he asks, “Have you anything to eat?” And he eats the fish they give him.

This might seem a totally unnecessary detail unless you’re determined to present the risen Jesus as a fleshy, with-skin-on sort of God. For the gospels, and for biblical faith, bodies are not a problem to be overcome. Salvation is not about a spiritual existence apart from the body. Christian faith is a messy, incarnate faith where God has skin on, and where following Jesus with our earthly bodies is as much the focus as what happens when we die. Christian faith only works when it is embodied, when it has skin on.

Sermon video: Won't You Be A Neighbor

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Transfroming, Holy Space

Isaiah 1:12-17; Romans 12:1-2

Transforming, Holy Space

James Sledge                                                                                       May 12, 2019

The other day I attended the annual spring luncheon of the Falls Church Community Service Council at Knox Presbyterian. Some of you bring food for their food pantry, and our congregation has long supported this and other programs at FCS.

This year’s lunch celebrated their 50^th anniversary. A representative from Church World Services spoke briefly and reminded us of all that was happening in 1969, the first moon landing, Woodstock, all the tumult and turmoil. “It was a time when we thought we could change the world,” he said. But then he added, “Not many of the people I work with feel that way these days. Many of them are depressed.” He went on to make a more hopeful point, but I was still thinking about that journey from expecting to change the world to despair.

Perhaps it was simply a matter of hopes meeting reality. That speaker mentioned that the number of refugees in the world is now larger than at any time since the end of World War II, a rather sobering statistic. But along with being sobered up by cold, hard facts, I wonder about the source of that confidence back in 1969.

I was only twelve years old at the time, but I suspect that expectations of changing the world were partly rooted in a belief in progress and the idea that we humans could do anything we put our minds to. America had helped win World War II, become the dominant super power, and put a man on the moon. On top of that, the 60s saw huge gains by the Civil Rights movement, and a burgeoning anti-war movement, Between unparalleled scientific advances and great social change, it was easy to see endless possibilities.

I wonder if Civil Rights leaders such as Martin Luther King shared the same sort of optimism. They had a different sense of the difficulties and costs involved. My impression is that Dr. King’s optimism was not rooted in a belief in progress or endless human capabilities. It was rooted in faith, in a certainty that God’s will would ultimately prevail.

Perhaps that is why Civil Rights rallies often looked a little like African American worship. Such worship wasn’t so much about personal piety or salvation but about salvation history, about the power of God at work to free the oppressed and set right injustice.

The worship I sat through growing up in the 60s and 70s was very different. Our white, middle class worship fit easily into American civil religion that often saw the Civil Rights movement and, to a greater degree, the anti-war movement as threats. Even in churches that were sympathetic to these movements, faith and worship often served as a respite from the tumult, largely disconnected from any hope or desire to change the world.

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Sermon: Won't You Be a Neighbor

Luke 10:25-37

Won’t You Be a Neighbor

James Sledge                                                                                                   May 5, 2019

Perhaps you are familiar with the old, proverbial saying, “Charity begins at home.” Many assume it is from the Bible, but it’s not. Its first written appearance is in 1600s England, when the word “charity” was used somewhat differently than today.

In the old King James Bible, the Apostle Paul’s famous words on love instead speak of charity. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three, but the greatest of these is charity. And so the old proverb’s understanding of charity would  include “Christ-like love.”

Originally, the proverb spoke of how people learned to be loving and caring by witnessing such behavior at home. You could say much the same of other behaviors. A strong work ethic begins at home. Good citizenship begins at home. Love of learning begins at home, etc.

However, I typically hear the proverb used quite differently. “Why should our government send financial aid overseas when there are needy people here? Charity begins at home.” Here the proverb is taken to set limits on charity. Only after those close by are cared for should it be extended to others.

I take it that the lawyer who questions Jesus in our gospel reading would have used the proverb in this latter fashion. He’s concerned with rules and limits. “What must I do…?”  He’s is an expert in the Law of Moses, so he knows the answer, easily providing appropriate scriptures. “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.”

Jesus is happy to confirm that this is indeed the correct answer, adding, “Do this, and you will live.” But the lawyer is a “charity begins and ends at home” sort, and so he wants Jesus to clarify the boundaries, the limits. “And who is my neighbor?”

If I have to love my neighbor, I want to know where the neighborhood ends. Is it people who live on my street? Is it my religious group or church? Is it people of my race? Is it citizens of my country? Where can I stop, Jesus?

Jesus doesn’t really answer the question, but he does tell a famous story. It’s a somewhat troubling parable about what happens to a man who’s been robbed and left for dead, although some of its more troubling aspects get lost in translation and its familiarity.

Easter sermon video: An Idle Tale

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Easter sermon: An Idle Tale

Luke 24:1-12

An Idle Tale

James Sledge                    Resurrection of the Lord                         April 21, 2019

In recent weeks I’ve seen several versions of an Easter Facebook joke that goes something like this. “In an effort to be more biblical, only women will be attending the Easter sunrise service.”

Over the years, many have remarked that the story of women being the first witnesses to the empty tomb must be historical. No one would invent this sort of Easter story. People still dismiss what women have to say in our day. Imagine what it was like in a day when women were not even citizens, when they couldn’t be witnesses at a trial, when they were considered property that belonged to a man, either their father or husband.

And sure enough, in Luke’s version of that first Easter morning, no one believes the women. You’ve heard the story before. Some of Jesus’ female disciples, and apparently none of the men, had followed when Jesus’s body was taken to the tomb. Then they had gone back, prepared spices, and rested on the Sabbath as the commandment required.

Early Sunday morning, they took the spices to the tomb, hoping to give Jesus the tender care they had not had time for on Friday evening. But when they arrive, they find the tomb open and the body missing. As they are wondering what to do, two men in dazzling clothes, later described as angels, say to them. “He is not here, but has risen,” and remind the women how Jesus had told them that he would be crucified and rise on the third day.

And so Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and other women hurry back to tell the eleven and the others what they had found. But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them.

I probably wouldn’t have believed them either, even if this had happened in 2019 where women aren’t routinely dismissed… unless they are contradicting a man. I know what’s possible and what isn’t. I know that dead people stay dead. Even if I believe that a soul moves on somehow, I know that the body stays in the grave. “He is not here, but has risen.” What a cockamamie idea. Who would believe such a thing?

But Peter got up and ran to the tomb. He was among those who didn’t believe the women’s report, and yet he rushes to the tomb. Why rush to investigate an idle tale? 

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Sermon video: Accidental Parade Goers

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Accidental Parade Goers

Luke 19:28-40; 22:14-23

Accidental Parade Goers

James Sledge                           Palm/Passion                           April 14, 2019

My memory sometimes misleads me, but I recall the Palm Sundays of my childhood being bigger deals they are nowadays. In my childhood church, the palms didn’t have to share billing with the passion. Every year it was a parade from beginning to end. A lot more fun that way, but with a significant downside. The church of my childhood memory rushed from Palm Sunday parade to Easter parade, from celebration to celebration, and it was easy to miss the betrayal, trial, and execution that lay in between.

In one of his letters, the Apostle Paul writes, But we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power and the wisdom of God. For Paul, and for the gospel writers, the cross is absolutely central, but it is more fun to go from one parade to the next.

Each of the gospel writers tell the story of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem slightly differently. Perhaps you noticed that there were no palms at all in Luke’s version. This isn’t because the writers have heard different versions of events but because they are more like preachers than reporters or historians. The gospel writers have slightly different points and emphases for their congregations to hear and so they tell the story differently.

Luke, like all the gospel writers, connects Jesus’ entry to Psalm 118 and to the prophet Zechariah. The prophet speaks of a coming, victorious king who rides in on a colt, and the psalm is a coronation psalm, one that would have been used in Israel’s past when a king ascended to the throne.

In Luke’s telling, an interesting distinction gets made between the parade watchers and Jesus’ actual followers. Luke doesn’t report a crowd, but he does say that people kept spreading their cloaks on the road, which certainly befits a royal procession. But it is the disciples, and not the crowd or people, who begin to shout joyfully from Psalm 118. “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord.”

Some of the Pharisees object to this explicit naming of Jesus as Israel’s messianic king, but Jesus insists that his disciples are correct. Apparently these Pharisees weren’t overly bothered by cloaks spread on the road. They don’t mind celebrating Jesus as a great teacher or healer, but to declare him God’s Messiah, the long awaited king, is too much.

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Sermon: Being More Like God

Micah 6:6-8

Being More Like God

James Sledge                                                                                       April 7, 2019

In a day when many church congregations are struggling, strategic planning and church revisioning have become quite common. Seemingly endless books, conferences, consultants, and other resources are available for such work, but sometimes this work is made difficult by a lack of fundamental clarity about why church exists in the first place.

Typically the problem is one of assumption. Members and leaders assume that they know why church exists, but if you ask them to spell it out, you sometimes get answers such as, “You know, to be church.” If you press for specifics, most people can come up with some sort of answers, usually a list of prominent things happening in their church such as worship, Sunday School, and a few other items. But it is hard to do much in the way of strategic planning if you define why church exists by the things it currently does.

Fortunately, we Presbyterians have denominational statements that spell out the fundamental reasons for congregations to exist. One is something called “The Great Ends of the Church.” This century old statement lays out six primary ends or purposes. They are:

the proclamation of the gospel for the salvation of humankind;

the shelter, nurture, and spiritual fellowship of the children of God;

the maintenance of divine worship;

the preservation of the truth;

the promotion of social righteousness; and

the exhibition of the Kingdom of Heaven to the world.[1]

Our scripture for this morning, as well as our Renew focus for today, has me thinking especially about those last two: promoting a rightly ordered society and showing the world what God’s kingdom looks like.