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.

Sermon video: Idyllic Community

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Idyllic Community

Acts 2:37-47

Idyllic Community

James Sledge                                                                                       March 31, 2019

The congregation in our scripture reading is the very first one. It’s brand new, and there is no church building, no Sunday School, no youth group. There is no paid staff or formal governing structure. There is no budget, committees, task forces, or ministry teams. But despite having almost none of the things we associate with church, this congregation has something absolutely remarkable and astounding, the goodwill of all the people.

Think about that. What group or institution in our world has the goodwill of all the people, the entire population? Traditionally things such as education and medicine were held in high esteem, but not as much these days. When I was a kid, I got the impression that everyone trusted Walter Cronkite delivering the CBS News each evening, but I’m pretty sure the news media doesn’t have the goodwill of all the people these days.

What about religion? If you took a clipboard and walked the sidewalks of DC, asking people their opinion of religion in general, and the church in particular, what sort of response might you get? What if you went door to door here in Falls Church and asked about FCPC? How likely would you be to discover the goodwill of all the people?

Sermon video: Taking Our Place in the Story

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

For much of this spring, sermons at FCPC will not be from the lectionary passages. Rather the passages will be chosen to help interpret the various facets of our new missional mandate: "Gathering those who fear they are not enough, so that we can experience grace, wholeness, and renewal as God's beloved." This sermon is the first of these and accompanies a presentation on "How We Got Here."

Sermon: Taking Our Place in the Story

Hebrews 11:39-12:2

Taking Our Place in the Story

James Sledge                                                                                       March 17, 2019

Last April, Michael Gerson, Washington Post columnist and former aide and speech writer for George W. Bush, wrote an article in The Atlantic magazine entitled, “The Last Temptation: How evangelicals, once culturally confident, became an anxious minority seeking political protection from the least traditionally religious president in living memory.”[1]  The article is tinged with sadness at the moral demise of evangelicalism, something Gerson deeply values as one raised in an evangelical home and educated at the evangelical Wheaton College. Here are some excerpts.

Trump supporters tend to dismiss moral scruples about his behavior as squeamishness over the president’s “style.” But the problem is the distinctly non-Christian substance of his values. Trump’s unapologetic materialism—his equation of financial and social success with human achievement and worth—is a negation of Christian teaching. His tribalism and hatred for “the other” stand in direct opposition to Jesus’s radical ethic of neighbor love…

…The moral convictions of many evangelical leaders have become a function of their partisan identification. This is not mere gullibility; it is utter corruption. Blinded by political tribalism and hatred for their political opponents, these leaders can’t see how they are undermining the causes to which they once dedicated their lives. Little remains of a distinctly Christian public witness.

Fear and anxiety drive the “utter corruption” and loss of Christian witness Gerson writes about. But fear and anxiety are hardly restricted to evangelicals. There’s a lot of fear, anxiety, and pessimism in the progressive church these days. Conservatives and progressives have different fears and anxieties, but we can be equally reactive to our particular favorites. Fear, anxiety, and pessimism tend to corrupt our witness. If we could only lower the level. Perhaps something like the pep talk in the letter to the Hebrews could help.

Hebrews isn’t a letter like those Paul wrote to his congregations. It’s more of a sermon. Its preacher is worried about his congregation’s fear and pessimism. They had hoped for a quick arrival of God’s new day, a setting right of a world where small numbers of powerful and wealthy controlled things and enjoyed the good life while most people struggled to get by. But that hadn’t happened. Throw in the popular suspicion of Christians in the Roman world, add an occasional persecution, and you have a prescription for fatigue, anxiety, and pessimism.

And so the preacher tries to rouse them. Like the coach of a struggling team, he reminds them of all the greats that went before them and how they had triumphed under the most difficult and trying circumstances. But then the pep talk takes a rather bizarre turn. None of those past greats, says the preacher, received what had been promised them.

Here the preacher moves from pep talk to divine mystery. Greats of the past, the heroes of the faith, cannot make it, cannot be perfected or made complete, without us.

Sermon video: Are You Listening?

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Are You Listening?

Luke 9:28-36

Are You Listening?

James Sledge                                                       March 3, 2019 – Transfiguration of the Lord

I’ve just begun reading a book entitled, The Answer to Bad Religion Is Not No Religion: A Guide to Good Religion for Seekers, Skeptics, and Believers. It’s a follow-up to another book by the same author, “What the Least I Can Believe and Still Be a Christian?” A Guide to What Matters Most.

Both books address, in different ways, the issue of Christian identity. It’s a topic I find increasingly critical in a  world where many didn’t grow up in the church. What they know of Christianity often comes from its portrayal in the media, too often examples of  the “Bad Religion” in that book. Meanwhile, Mainline and progressive Christians are often fuzzy about our Christian identity, other than not being like that “Bad Religion.”

It is all well and good not to be like those “Bad Religion” Christians, but you can’t define yourself solely by what you are not. You also have to know what you are. And if we’re talking Christian identity, it must have something to do with Jesus. That’s one reason I think this scripture on the Transfiguration is such an important passage.

Just on the face of it the event is a big deal. A cloud and God’s voice on a mountaintop recall the Israelites at Mt. Sinai. Moses and Elijah represent the law and the prophets, the very core of Jewish faith. And the divine words, “This is my Son,” recall coronation psalms along with Jesus’ baptism.

Just prior to the Transfiguration, Jesus foretells his coming death, and he teaches his disciples what it means to follow him. “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it.”  Those words still echo when Peter’s befuddled proposal for some sort of shrine is interrupted by God’s command. "This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!"

“Listen to him.” With Christian identity, there is no avoiding this. Shrines and rituals alone won’t do. Professing one’s belief won’t do. Being a caring progressive or holding fast to conservative family values won’t do. We must listen to Jesus.

When I was a boy and my mother yelled, “Listen to me!” she spoke of more than hearing the words. “Listen” put me on notice. I’d better pay attention, and I’d better do what I heard.

Sermon video: Upside Down Blessings

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon video: Call Stories

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Upside Down Blessings

Luke 6:17-26

Upside Down Blessings

James Sledge                                                                                       February 17, 2019

Many years ago, prior to becoming a pastor, I was teaching an adult Sunday School class. We were studying Luke, and lesson was on the “Sermon on the Plain,” a portion of which we just heard. I read the four blessings or beatitudes and the corresponding woes. I then asked the class what they thought about these words that spoke of God’s favor on the poor but woe on the wealthy. 

One lady quickly spoke up to correct me. Jesus had said no such thing, she insisted. He was talking about the poor in spirit, not actual poverty. When I suggested that she might be thinking of Matthew’s gospel, that Luke spoke of rich and poor, of well-off and those without enough to eat, she only became more adamant. Jesus couldn’t possibly have meant that.

I suspect that when most people think of the Beatitudes, they think of those found in Matthew. Matthew’s list is a good bit longer than Luke’s, and it has no corresponding woes. And it also does say, “Blessed are the poor in spirit…”

Matthew’s beatitudes are more popular, and the long list of blessings sometimes prompts people to read them as instructions on how to get blessed. I think that misreads Matthew’s gospel, but you certainly can manage that with many of his beatitudes. But Luke is an entirely different matter, and unless we’re going to tell people to become poor, hungry, and mournful in order to gain God’s favor, we’ll have to find some other way to understand them.

When Luke tells of these beatitudes and woes, he uses Old Testament language of blessing and curse. The contrast is between God’s favor and God’s active disfavor. “Blessed” means God wants things to go well for you. “Woe” means God wishes bad things upon “you who are rich… who are full now…who are laughing now… when all speak well of you…”

It’s more than a little unnerving. If you are poor, hungry, mourning or hated, then God is for you. But if you’re well off, have a full pantry, are happy and laughing, and everyone thinks you are wonderful, God is against you. That can’t be right, can it? No wonder that woman in my Bible study class said what she did.

These blessings and woes are completely upside down and backwards from what the world expects. The world says, “God helps those who help themselves.” We thank God for our many blessings, often referring to possessions and good fortune that would seem to put us squarely in the “But woe to you…” camp. And I think that may be exactly the point Jesus is making. He says that God’s ways are completely upside down and backwards to ours.

Throughout history, almost every culture has used religion to buttress the status quo, its economic system, and so on. It was not so long ago in this country that most Christian denominations issued statements saying racially based slavery was ordained by God. Many of these denominations later split in two when Christians in the north began to question such statements and seek to overturn them.

Sermon video: People of Love

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Call Stories

Luke 5:1-11 (Isaiah 6:1-8)

Call Stories

James Sledge                                                                                       February 10, 2019

On my Facebook feed I’ve seen some of my colleagues commenting on their churches’ annual meetings. It’s that time of year in the Presbyterian Church. Some churches make a big deal out of it and some simply vote on the pastor’s terms of call. In many congregations, including this one, the annual meeting includes electing a new class of elders and, if the church has deacons, deacons as well.

Electing people as elders and deacons has changed a lot over the years. At one time, becoming an elder on the Session was a little like getting put on the Supreme Court. You were likely to stay there until you retired from it or died. This had some good points. It made elder a very esteemed ministry, and it meant that churches were very selective in seeking out people who were called to such ministry.

There was a down side, of course. Sessions sometimes got pretty old and crusty. Some became heavily invested in making sure nothing ever changed. At some point the negatives outweighed the positives, and the denomination instituted the term limits that we have now where no one can serve more than six years without taking at least a year off.

And so we’re much less likely to have old and crusty Sessions. In many congregations, it is unheard of for anyone to serve more than a single, three year term, and incoming classes of elders and deacons are routinely filled with people who’ve never been one before. This sometimes makes it difficult to find enough people year after year to fill all the slots. Talk to anyone who’s ever served on a nominating committee, and you’ll likely hear about all the times people said “No” when asked if they would serve.

I served on a nominating committee at the church where I was a member before going to seminary, and the pastor is always a member of the nominating committee, so I’ve had a lot of experience with the process. In my previous church we even went to a system where the nominating committee came up names but the associate pastor and I made the actual calls to ask people if they would serve. It was an idea meant to take away what many saw as the most difficult part of being on a nominating committee and make it easier to recruit people for that.

Sermon: People of Love

1 Corinthians 13:1-13

People of Love

James Sledge                                                                                       February 3, 2019

Way back in the spring of 1981, not long after Shawn and I had gotten engaged, we were visiting at her parents for the weekend. They lived in Gaffney, SC, only an hour from Charlotte, so we went down there often. And as we typically did on such visits, we attended worship at First Baptist Church in Gaffney, the church where Shawn had grown up.

We had begun thinking about wedding particulars, where the reception would be, who the bridesmaids and groomsmen were, and the elements of the service itself. Like a lot of people, we had agreed we wanted the words from today’s scripture reading used in the wedding, and as we sat in the pews, waiting for worship to begin on that Sunday morning, I opened up a pew Bible and began to search for the passage.

I knew the Bible somewhat, and I was reasonably sure that the passage was in one of Paul’s letters. I thought it was in 1 Corinthians, but after flipping repeatedly through its pages, I couldn’t locate it. I may have expanded my search to other books of the Bible – I don’t really remember – but  obviously I didn’t find it there either.

Only later did I discover why I couldn’t find the passage, even though I had been looking in the right place. In 1981, First Baptist Church of Gaffney still had King James Bibles in their pews, and in the King James translation, 1 Corinthians 13 reads differently. Though I speak with the tongues of men and angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing…  And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

Not exactly the sort of thing to sound all romantic at a wedding ceremony. We still used the Corinthians passage at our wedding, but not from the King James. In my twenty some years as a pastor, I’ve probably used this 1 Corinthians passage more than any other at weddings I’ve done. Always, of course, with a translation that says “love,” although I typically point out that this isn’t about romantic love.

Sermon video: Discerning the Body

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon video: Spiritual Vitality Exam

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Discerning the Body

1 Corinthians 12:12-31a

Discerning the Body

James Sledge                                                                                       January 27, 2019

I recently read about  a study on why young people leave church. The study surveyed a couple thousand people, ages 23 to 30, who had attended Protestant churches regularly while in high school. Two thirds of these had dropped out, and they were asked to say why, checking as many items from a list of 55 that applied to them. Almost all checked one or more boxes in a category labeled “life changes.” This included things such as going away to college or work responsibilities that made attendance difficult.

Most of those surveyed said their departure from church was more accidental than planned. Only a tiny fraction cited a loss of belief. Most were not averse to a possible return.

This study got me wondering about the nature of these twenty-somethings connection to the church. When they had attended, what was the connection? No doubt many originally went because of parents, but some likely developed an attachment of their own. Perhaps there were church programs they enjoyed, music, youth mission trips, a service opportunity that became meaningful. But their situation changed, and they moved on. They might come back some day. They might not.

What about you? What is the nature of your connection to the church? What binds you to the body of Christ? What sort of thing could break that bond?

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The Christians in Corinth are different from us. They didn’t grow up with Christian faith, or Jewish faith for that matter. They were recent converts with a lot of excitement about their new-found faith. It wasn’t routine to them. They didn’t come out of habit or expectation. Still, Paul is concerned about their connection to the body of Christ, about what binds them to the church.

Corinth was nowhere near the individualistic, consumer culture that we live in, but it was more so than the one Jesus had lived in or that the church had emerged in. Perhaps that is why the Corinthians failed to grasp the extremely communal sense of Christian faith.

Paul has already addressed a couple of problems related to this, getting particularly riled up about the Lord’s Supper. The Corinthians worship in the evening in someone’s home, likely a wealthy member’s. The Lord’s Supper was part of a full, fellowship meal, but the wealthier members, who were able to get there earlier, began the meal before the poorer members could finish work and arrive. At times they had eaten all the food and drunk all the wine before the poorer members ever got there. Paul chastises them and says that those who eat and drink without discerning the body eat and drink judgment against themselves.

Sermon: Spiritual Vitality Exam

1 Corinthians 12:1-11

Spiritual Vitality Exam

James Sledge                                                                                       January 20, 2019

Unless you’re really new around here, you’ve probably heard something about the Renew process that we’ve been doing. There have been a lot of steps along the way, but what really got the ball rolling was the results of the Congregational Assessment Tool or CAT.

Two years ago, representatives from our presbytery walked the Session through the CAT report drawn from the survey that many of you took. The report was thirty pages long, filled with all sorts of information and a slew of charts and graphs. One page was a “Performance Dashboard.” It showed eight gauges that each went from zero to one hundred. They had labels such as “Governance, Conflict Management, Engagement in Education,” and so on.

Not surprisingly, we scored higher in some areas than others, and much our conversation that day focused on the lower scores. One low score was “Hospitality,” and we talked about things we might do to address our weaknesses in this area.

But our lowest score sparked a different reaction. The needle on the “Spiritual Vitality” gauge read two, but rather than discussing ways we might deal with this area of weakness, we instead struggled to understand how this could be. Surely the score was somehow wrong.

I should point out that these scores are not absolute. They are percentile rankings that compare us to other congregations who have taken the CAT survey. In addition, the CAT defines spiritual vitality in a particular way, and when I looked at the raw data, it didn’t seem all that bad. Significant majorities tended to agree, agreed, or strongly agreed that their spiritual experiences impacted how they viewed life, that they experienced the presence of God in their lives, and they tried to connect their faith to other aspect of their lives. A minority thought that while their faith was important other matters were more pressing. Clearly many individuals here are spiritually vital and vibrant, yet as a community, such folks make up a smaller percentage than is the case in most other congregations.

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Sermon: One of Them

Luke 3:15-22

One of Them

James Sledge                                                   January 13, 2019 – Baptism of the Lord

In one of her sermons, Barbara Brown Taylor relates an episode from the novel, The Patron Saint of Liars. Much of the book takes place at Saint Elizabeth’s Home for Unwed Mothers, located in Habit, Kentucky. The cook who lives on site has a young daughter named Cecilia. Cecilia has always been doted on and mothered by the young women who come there to give up a children for adoption.

One day when Cecilia is fifteen, she meets Lorraine, a new girl who has come to stay there. Lorraine is terribly nervous and anxious as she waits to be interviewed by Mother Corrine, the nun who runs the place. Cecilia tries to help Lorraine by giving her some advice.

“The guy who got you pregnant,” she tells Lorraine. “Don’t say he’s dead. Everybody does that. It makes Mother Corinne crazy.”

Lorraine sits on her hands and is quiet a moment. “I was going to say that,” she says.

“See?”

“So what do I tell her?”

“I don’t know,” Cecilia says. “Tell her the truth. Or tell her you don’t remember.”

“What did you tell her? Lorraine asks. Cecilia is speechless. “I sat there, absolutely frozen,” she later wrote. “I felt like I had just been mistaken for some escaped mass murderer. I felt like I was going to be sick, but that would have only proved her assumption. No one had ever, ever mistaken me for one of them, not even as a joke. The lobby felt small and airless. I thought I was going to pass out.”[1]

Cecilia had always been around these young women. She liked them and she tried to help them, but she was horrified to be mistaken for one of them, one of these people who had made such a mess of their lives that families sent them away until that mess could be adopted and they could return home.

Jesus seems not to share Cecilia’s worries. From what little Luke tells us about Jesus’ baptism, I get the impression that Jesus must have simply gotten in line with all the other folks. I take it that Luke says so little about Jesus’ baptism because he, along with the other gospel writers, is a bit embarrassed by it. John’s baptism is, after all, a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, and why would Jesus need such a thing? The gospel writers all seem to have a little Cecilia in them, and they would prefer that Jesus not be mistaken for one of them, for one of those sinners. But Jesus obviously doesn’t mind being identified with them, with sinners, with us.

Luke’s version of Jesus’ baptism features a kind of ordination, perhaps more a coronation. The Holy Spirit comes over Jesus, and God speaks. “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.”  The language is reminiscent of a psalm used when Israel’s kings were crowned and declared God’s son. But this coronation happens in the context of baptism and prayer. Jesus first aligns himself with sinful, broken humans, declaring himself one of them. And then, as he draws near to God in prayer, his identity and vocation are announced.

I once saw a quote about church that said, “For a place that claims to be a hospital for sinners, the people there sure go to a lot of trouble not to be mistaken for one.” Seems we all have a little Cecilia in us. We don’t mind helping sinners, but we don’t like to think of ourselves as one of them.

And yet, in our own baptisms, we have aligned ourselves with the brokenness, the sinfulness of all humanity. Our baptisms insist that we, like everyone else, need saving. We are all one of them, people who live with the residue of the bad choices we have made, the hurt we have caused, and the pain of others we have ignored.

I know that all too often I expend a great deal of energy trying to maintain a façade that says, I’m not one of them. I want to be seen and to see myself as highly competent, not needing other’s help. The difficulties I have with others are more their fault than mine, and my failures are mostly because of things beyond my control. Of course there’s always the nagging worry that I will be found out, that the façade will crumble, and people will realize that I am a fraud.

Still I cling to this façade, even though life is actually much easier when I can let it go. It is so much easier to be a partner with others, to let go of grudges and hurts, to truly be myself, when I can let go of the fiction that I’m not one of them. 

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When we do an infant baptism here, I always ask the parents the name of their child. I tell them ahead of time that they aren’t supposed to say their last name, just the given names. That’s because in baptism we all share a common last name, Christian, brothers and sisters of Jesus, members of the household of God.  

We don’t become part of that household by separating ourselves from them or by imagining ourselves better. We become part of Christ’s body because we’re joined to the Jesus who stands with us, whoever we are, no matter how broken, no matter how badly we fail to measure up to the façades we create for ourselves, or the façades others create for us.

On those occasions when I can claim my place as one of them, when I can let go of the pretensions and the façades, I find that I am much closer to God. I suppose this should be obvious. Jesus has already shown me the way. It is precisely when he stands with humanity that he hears God speak his identity, that he hears his call to the work God has for him, and he is able to begin his ministry.

So too at the font, we are joined in solidarity with all of broken humanity, and God speak to us. “You are my daughter; you are my son. You are all one in Christ, one body, one community called to continue his ministry in the world.”

In a moment, we will all have the opportunity to remember that, to come to the waters once more and remember we are one of them, those whom Jesus joined, those whom Jesus called to be his body in the world.

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[1] Quoted by Barbara Brown Taylor, “The River of Life,” Home by Another Way (Boston: Cowley Publications, 1999) pp. 32-33.