Sermon: Transformative Religion

James 1:17-27

Transformative Religion

James Sledge                                                                                       August 30, 2015

Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this… Religion… The term could use some PR help. Most of the stories associated with it are negative. Article after article has chronicled the dramatic rise of the “Nones” those folks who check “none of the above” when asked to list a religious preference. They and many others sometimes say they are  “spiritual but not religious,” SBNR for short.

The exact distinction between “spiritual” and “religious” is a bit fuzzy. One dictionary says that “spiritual” has to do with sacred things, with religion, with supernatural deities, but the definition of “religious” mentions many of the same things. However “religious” feels more connected to the corporate and institutional: congregations, denominations, churches.

In her delightful, witty, snarky, and insightful book, When “Spiritual But Not Religious” Is Not Enough: Seeing God in Surprising Places, Even the Church, UCC pastor Lilian Daniel challenges SBNR thinking about church. She complains about such folks needing to share their spiritual insights with her upon learning she is a pastor. Writing of one such encounter she says, “Everybody loves to tell a minister what’s wrong with the church.”

This particular fellow had started out Roman Catholic but had left for a variety of church “failures.” After college he become part of a conservative Baptist church, drawn by relationships with the people there. But he chafed under a long list of prohibitions and eventually drifted away. Later he married and became part of his wife’s Mainline congregation. It fit him rather well, but then they divorced and it felt like her church, so he drifted away again. Now he spent his Sunday mornings sleeping late, reading the New York Times, and going for runs through the woods.

This was his religion today, he explained. “I worship nature. I see myself in the trees and in the butterflies. I am one with the great outdoors. I find God there. And I realized that I am deeply spiritual but no longer religious.”

He dumped the news in my lap as if it were a controversial hot potato, something that would shock a mild-mannered minister never before exposed to ideas so brave and different and daring. But of course, to me, none of this was different in the least.

This kind and well-meaning Sunday jogger fits right into mainstream American culture. He is perhaps by now in the majority— all those people who have stepped away from the church in favor of …what? Running, newspaper reading, Sunday yoga, or whatever they put together to construct a more convenient religion of their own making.[1]

Daniel shares a good bit more of this fellow’s story and his attempts to enlighten her before concluding, “It finally hit me what was bothering me about this self-styled religion he had invented— he hadn’t invented it at all. It was as boring and predictable as the rest of our self-centered consumer culture, and his very conceit, that this outlook was somehow original, daring, or edgy, was evidence of that very self-centeredness.”[2]

Guns, Tribalism, Mustard Seeds, and Hope

There are days when I find it depressing to be a pastor. This isn't because of anything going on in my congregation or any personal faith crisis. Rather it's because I am seeing fellow Christians cheer on Donald Trump as he denigrates immigrants, Latinos, and women. It's because I hear fellow Christians go on and on about the sanctity of gun ownership, and I can't understand how this can be.

I am a pastor, a designated leader in the Christian movement. Our movement is rooted in the God of the Bible who demanded welcome and concern for the poor, the alien, and the outsider. Our movement follows a pacifist Messiah who calls us to deny ourselves and love our enemies, who dies willingly for his enemies, whose most fundamental command is to love. Yet many "Christian" voices spew hatred toward the neighbor who is different. They are obsessed with their "right to defend themselves." Everyone else be damned. How did we get following Jesus so horribly wrong? It's depressing.

No doubt some of Christianity's decline in America is because so many of us look so appallingly little like our religious namesake. And this problem is not restricted to conservatives, liberals, or any particular group. We all have our methods choosing a few Christian attributes that suit us and ignoring the rest.

Of course this is nothing new. Jesus' disciples struggled to make sense of him or follow his teachings. Peter "rebuked" him over his willingness to die, and Judas eventually decided to turn him in. One follower drew his sword - the open carry of his day - when they came to arrest Jesus, but Jesus stopped him. In Matthew's gospel, Jesus gives a chilling indictment of those who use weapons to serve their ends. "For all who take the sword will perish by the sword."

After the resurrection, the disciples (minus Judas) understand Jesus a lot better, yet the Church they start almost immediately starts fighting about whether or not to allow those dirty, non-Jews to be a part of their little movement. Welcoming the Gentiles eventually became the norm, but not before a lot of nasty fights and, apparently, a few martyrs.

Jesus goes to incredible lengths to drag us out of our "us versus them" ways of viewing the world. But we keep trying to drag Jesus back into our tribal view of things, hoping to make him captain of our team and so the enemy of theirs. (Of course Jesus loves his enemies, but we forget that.)

And yet... And yet Jesus, the real, biblical Jesus, keeps breaking loose from our tribal boundaries. In New Testament times it happened with the Apostle Paul, who, at no small risk to his own life, welcomed in those dirty Gentiles without requiring them to become Jewish first. (Paul's arrest and imprisonment in Rome may well have been orchestrated by Christians opposed to his non-tribal understanding of Jesus.) And Jesus keeps breaking loose in small, mustard seed moments down through history. In our own US history this happens when some Christians began to see African slaves as full human beings loved by God, and they agitate for an end to slavery. It happens a hundred years later when white and black Christians march peacefully for civil rights, sometimes at the cost of their lives.

In recent days, a non-tribal Jesus has been visible in the faith of Jimmy Carter who, facing his own battle with cancer, is focused not on himself but on helping others all over the world and teaching others about Christ-like love.

Thinking of these and many other "mustard seeds," I feel less depressed... and a lot more hopeful.

Sermon video: In the End, Beloved Community

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: In the End, Beloved Community

Luke 15:11-32

In the End, Beloved Community

James Sledge                                                                                       August 23, 2015

Just over a year ago, Shawn and I traveled to Austin, Texas for the wedding of our daughter Kendrick and now son-in-law Ryan. In many ways, it was like a lot of weddings, with bridesmaids and groomsmen, tuxes and dresses, and friends and family gathered from here and there. If you’ve been involved in many weddings, you know that they have their share of family dynamics, tuxes that don’t fit, and frayed nerves. Here again, this wedding was probably typical, although it all came together beautifully. But when my father of the bride duties had all been completed, this wedding, in my admittedly biased opinion, did become distinctive.

I can’t say exactly why. It was a reception like many other receptions with a band and a bar and dinner, but this one worked better than most others I’ve been to. Perhaps it was just the right combination of food that was good, drink that was good, a band that was good, a venue that was good, and a great mix of family and friends from the various places we’ve lived over the years. Whatever the reason, I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed myself more. I ate, drank, mingled, talked, laughed, danced (I rarely dance), and I did not want it all to end.

I think that experience gave me a greater appreciation for Jesus’ and the Bible’s use of wedding banquets as metaphor for the kingdom, the reign of God. Weddings were huge deals in that time, feasts and celebrations that went on for a week. People pulled out all the stops for a wedding. When the father in our parable today kills the fatted calf to celebrate his younger son’s return, he throws a wedding banquet type party. No wonder the elder son is so upset, giving this party its own family dynamics and drama. “I’m not going if he’s going.”

I’ve long loved the exchange between father and elder son that concludes the parable, leaving the situation unresolved. The Presbyterian son – in the Greek he is the “presbuteros” (presbu/teroj) son, root word of our denominational name – has disowned his younger sibling. He is no longer his brother, and so he yells at his father, “When this son of yours came back…” But the father will not let the family disintegrate so easily. “But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life…”

The elder brother might have been happy for his sibling to return in the manner the younger had imagined, a hired hand and not a son. But the father’s love makes that impossible and leaves him in anguish at parable’s end, longing for reconciliation among his children.

Presence, a Shared Smile, and Selfie Sticks

I normally keep "office hours" late each Monday afternoons at the Starbucks just down the street. Yesterday I was sipping my coffee and reading when I heard an infant who wasn't quite crying but was making a good bit of noise. I looked around and saw the mother bouncing the child on her shoulder, trying to calm him. She had a nervous expression on her face as she looked around.

Her eyes caught mine. Another time I might have been perturbed or frustrated by this interruption, but yesterday I was simply taking it in and even enjoying myself as I watched this small slice of life play out. I smiled at her and laughed a bit to myself. She smiled broadly back at me. After a moment I looked back down at my book. My mother taught me it is impolite to stare. But I looked up at her again a few moments later, and she smiled at me once more.

We were on opposite sides of the Starbucks, and we never spoke. Soon the child settled down, and I eventually got back to my book, but not before ruminating a bit on how alive I had felt in those brief moments of shared smiles. I also reflected on how that might not have happened had I glared at her, indicating my displeasure at being disturbed.

The reason I responded with a smile rather than a glare likely has to do with the book I was reading, The Naked Now by Richard Rohr. (I should say re-reading. I'm slow to learn Rohr's lessons.) The subtitle of the book is Learning to See as the Mystics See, and Rohr was talking about learning a different way of seeing, one that is truly and fully present to the moment.

It happens whenever, by some wondrous "coincidence," our heart space, our mind space, and our body awareness are all simultaneously open and nonresistant. I like to call it presence. It is experienced as a moment of deep inner connection, and it always pulls you, intensely satisfied, into the naked and undefended now, which can involve both profound joy and profound sadness. At that point, you either want to write poetry, pray, or be utterly silent. (p. 28)

I'm not much of a poet, so I did the last two.

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On my recent trip to Turkey, my companions and I were struck by the large numbers of people carrying around selfie sticks and spending much of their time with backs turned to the breathtaking churches and mosques and ruins that drawn millions of tourists. How odd to experience such wonders "over your shoulder." 

I don't own a selfie stick, but that hardly means I don't miss plenty myself. More often than not, I'm in a hurry or in the middle of something or lost in thought or concerned with defending my position, and so I'm unable simply to take in what is around me. The miracle of that shared smile in Starbucks was that it happened at all, that I did not miss it.

Think of how rarely we simply take things in, simply experience the moment without making a judgment, without worrying about how to respond, without thinking about what we have to do next, without any need to defend a point of view. For many of us, what a rare gift it is to be absolutely and only in the moment.

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In today's gospel reading, Jesus refuses to answer a question about the source of his "authority." His refusal has nothing to do with a need to hide the source or to be secretive. Rather Jesus knows (and demonstrates) that his opponents are not really interested in his answer. They will not roll it over in the minds, considering it and wondering about it. They will hear Jesus only in order to find something to use against him. 

How like me they are, already knowing what the answer is, needing only to protect and defend that. But for a brief moment yesterday, I experienced the world differently, and it was lovely and beautiful.

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Preaching Thoughts on a Non-Preaching Sunday - Hope

We here at Falls Church Presbyterian are about to finish our preaching journey with Brian McLaren's book, We Make the Road by Walking. Today Diane preaches from the next to the last chapter, and it is drawn from the book of Revelation. Appropriate, it seems, to go to the concluding words of the Bible as we get to the end of our journey, focusing on hope.

Revelation suffers from benign neglect in most Mainline churches. That's understandable, given the difficult imagery that modern people struggle to understand. Unfortunately, however, this has basically ceded the book to the lunatic fringe, whose use of Revelation has largely defined public perceptions of the work.

In truth, Revelation was written as a word of encouragement to Christians suffering through difficult times. It does not mean to predict the future in any exact sort of way. There is no secret formula from which can be drawn timetables of specific, future events. Instead it calls people to remain faithful, sure in the hope that God will triumph in the end.

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One of my favorite movies is The Shawshank Redemption. If you’ve never seen it, you really should.  Tim Robbins plays Andy, a bank executive falsely convicted of murder, who is serving two life sentences in a brutal penitentiary. There he strikes up an unlikely friendship with a long-timer named Red, played by Morgan Freeman. Despite his false imprisonment, Andy never gives up hope of someday being free, of one day opening a hotel and operating a fishing boat in a little Mexican town on the Pacific Ocean. He even asks Red to be his assistant. But Red warns Andy to let go of his hope. “Hope is a dangerous thing,” he says.  “Hope can drive a man insane.  It’s got no use on the inside.”  But Andy will not let go of hope.

Finally, after nearly twenty years in prison, Andy pulls off a remarkable escape. A full scale search ensues, but they never find him. Not long afterwards, Red is finally paroled, but after a lifetime in prison, he simply cannot adjust to life on the outside. He is all ready to commit some petty crime so he will go back to prison, but one thing stops him, a promise he made to Andy.  

 

And so he journeys to a field, finds his way to a particular tree, and the rock wall below it. And there, buried at the base of the wall is a box containing money and a letter from Andy. It invites him to come to Mexico, to help Andy get his venture off the ground. The letter concludes, “Remember, Red. Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies. I will be hoping that this letter finds you, and finds you well. Your friend, Andy.”

The very last words we hear in the movie are Red’s thoughts as he rides a Trailways bus to Fort Hancock, Texas. “I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my friend and shake his hand.  I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. I hope.”

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What is it that allows you to hope? More to the point, what is it that allows you to hope when very little evidence exists that hope is a good thing? Christian hope has always been connected to the cross and the empty tomb. In many ways, Jesus suffers the same fate as others who speak against the powers of empire, the powers of exploitation, the powers of terror. But Jesus' movement on behalf a a different sort of world, God's new commonwealth where the poor hear good news, the captives are released, and the hungry are fed, does not end with his death. God raises Jesus.

God brings life out of death, hope out of hopelessness. It's a wonderful and heartwarming story... if by some chance it is true.

But is it true? Certainly many people believe that it is. But is it a foolish hope. Ultimately, who is right about hope, Andy or Red who said, “Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane.  It’s got no use on the inside.” When things are going to pot, when the world seems headed in the wrong direction, does hope make much sense?

Christians have often relocated Jesus' hope to a hope for heaven when we die. It's easy to understand why. Maintaining hope in God's will being done on earth, in the world becoming a sort of heaven, is difficult in the face of so much evidence to the contrary. Yet this is precisely the situation facing to Christians for whom the book of Revelation is written. But why should we or they believe in and trust in hope that God is ultimately in charge of history?

For me, it all hinges on the living Christ. If I can, in fact, experience the presence of Jesus, here and now, then the powers that seem so terrifying and real - empire, evil, death - could not overcome Jesus. Their victory was a sham, for he is still here. And it isn't simply a matter of believing an old story. It is about coming to know Christ, sensing his presence, as the Spirit makes him known to me.

And so.... I hope.

Paying Attention: Good News in a Consumer Culture

“Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.”

Mark 10:14-15

Jesus' words in today's gospel reading are likely among the more familiar and beloved in the Bible. However, just what Jesus means by "as a little child" is not clear. Certainly the understanding of children and childhood was quite different in Jesus' day, and so some modern assumptions may be well off the mark. But no doubt Jesus' words sounded ambiguous in his own time as well. There is probably no one, correct understanding.

Yesterday a friend of mine posted a picture of his granddaughter on Facebook. (Thanks, John.) She was lying down on a beach, propped up on her elbows. Most of her legs were in the water while her upper body was, for the moment, clear of the gentle waves. Her fingers worked into the wet sand as she stared intently at them. My friend had captioned the picture, "Even sand is interesting to a 7 year old."

When Jesus spoke of being like a little child, perhaps he referred to children's relative powerlessness. Perhaps he was talking about their needing to receive what they need as opposed to acquiring it for themselves. Or perhaps he was referring to their ability to be enthralled by whatever is at hand, to be present to the wonder of what is right in front of them. We adults are often too busy to pay attention.

Countless spiritual writers have spoken of prayer in terms of being attentive or paying attention to God. But the busyness of our culture makes that difficult. Living in a consumer culture, we are bombarded with messages telling us that only "more" will feed our deepest desires. We will not be content until we get enough, though enough proves endlessly elusive.

Our consumer mindset is about much more than convincing us to buy a new car or a bigger TV or a  fancier smartphone. Our relentless consumerism leaves us anxious that we may miss out. We worry that our children may miss some experience they "need" and so we over-schedule them. We worry that we may miss an important piece of information and so we check our phones in the middle of our conversations. (I'm guilty of this one.) And even if we aren't on our phones we often find it difficult simply to listen to someone, giving her our full attention. We are too busy evaluating what she is saying or calculating our response to it. (Guilty again.)

Living in a consumer culture and having a consumer mindset, we are often prone to hear the good news of the gospel in terms of "more," as something we add to our busy lives to help feed the longing we experience deep within us despite all the "more" we already have. But according to Jesus, the gospel is more about subtraction than about addition. And a seven year old stares at the sand in wonder. She has not yet been totally enveloped in consumerism, able for the moment to be fully present, content and not worried about an email she might be missing or what is next on the schedule.

And a little child shall lead them...

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Dryness

Dryness. It sounds like a skin problem, but in this case I am speaking of spiritual dryness. As one who sometimes suffers from the skin sort, I can attest that the spiritual kind can be every bit as aggravating and irritating. To top it off, I can't quite figure out where to scratch, and soothing lotion can be difficult to find.

I keep thinking I will figure this spirituality thing out some day and become accomplished, an expert. Yet that never seems to happen. Perhaps this is God's way of breaking down my over-dependence on thinking and intellect. Dryness reminds me of a deep longing that cannot truly be satisfied by knowledge or information. Dryness reminds me that relationship with the divine, like intimacy with another human being, does not necessarily emerge from the same sort of efforts that produce good grades, a promotion at work, or other sorts of "success."

Not that effort and intention don't matter. They do, but neither human intimacy nor divine union are primarily matters of achievement or tasks to be mastered. They are states requiring trust and vulnerability, opening oneself along with giving oneself. For reasons I don't fully understand, these are sometimes easier and sometimes more difficult for me.

In that sense, there is a seasonal nature to spiritual dryness, at least for me. Just as my skin bothers me mostly in the dry air of winter, my spiritual dryness has times when it rages and times when it troubles me not at all. These seasons are less predictable, but there is reassurance in knowing that spring will eventually arrive.

I sometimes wonder if people for whom faith is mostly about believing the correct essentials, agreeing with the appropriate doctrines, experience the sort of spiritual dryness that I do. Is their faith more manageable and less capricious? Or are their demons simply different: doubt or crumbling certainties rather than unfulfilled longings?

Regardless, dryness reminds me that divine union, like intimacy, should not be taken for granted. It is a remarkable gift, and as such, it will never really be "under my control."

Sermon: Impossibly Alive

Luke 20:27-38

Impossibly Alive

James Sledge                                                                                                   August 9, 2015

I belong to a Facebook group called “Happy to be a Presbyterian.” It has a lot of pastors and others interested in the church who post sometimes interesting articles and discussion topics. The other day someone shared a blog post entitled, “Death Is Not the End Because Jesus Offers Us Eternal Life and Happiness.” The post itself contained nothing particularly memorable. I likely never would have even looked at it except for th3 note that accompanied it. It read, “I really deliberated on whether or not I should post this week’s article here because I know that many of you do not believe in resurrection or the afterlife. However, I decided to post it anyway since the PCUSA embraces a wide range of views—including those of members who do believe in the resurrection.”

By the time I first saw the post, there were already close to a hundred comments, and there was a pretty intense debate underway as to what exactly someone must believe in order to be Christian. The discussion never got out of hand, but it did get a bit testy at times. Considering how central the resurrection of Jesus is to Christian faith, some might find it surprising this was a big point of contention. Perhaps even more surprising was the fact that the person who originally posted the article assumed his belief in eternal life to be a minority one among Presbyterians.

But perhaps no one should be surprised that people of faith struggle with their understanding of resurrection. It is a topic that is barely explained in the Bible. Our gospel reading today is the only place where Jesus tackles to subject directly. In fact, a great many notions about resurrection and eternal life come, not from the Bible, but from such disparate places as Greek philosophy or fanciful speculation by Christians unsatisfied with Scripture’s unwillingness – or perhaps inability – to explain things. A lot of people want details and mechanics.

The Sadducees in our reading today are focused on details and mechanics, but not for the same reasons many Christians are. They employ mechanics to emphasize the absurdity of believing in resurrection. I wonder if the often absurd mechanics of resurrection and eternal life imagined by some Christians aren’t a big reason that educated or progressive sorts of Christians sometimes struggle with this subject.

Sermon: The Holy Ones

1 Peter 1:13-16

The Holy Ones

James Sledge                                                                                       August 2, 2015

Many letters in the New Testament are addressed “To the saints who are in such and such a place.” Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians opens, "To the church of God that is in Corinth, to those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints.”

As many of you know, the term “saints” is used differently that it often is today. The notion of saints as super-Christians is not found in the Bible. In the New Testament, all the faithful are referred to as "saints." But lest you think the term “saint” just a different way of saying “Christian,” the word is often translated “holy.” And so it is possible to read those New Testament letters, "To the holy ones who are in…” or “to those called to be holy ones.”

The biblical idea of holiness is probably more nuanced and multifaceted than many realize. It includes notions of purity and righteousness, but it also speaks of being consecrated, set apart for a special purpose. Holiness is a kind of distinctive mark that designates people for a special task.  And this distinctiveness is supposed to reflect in some way the distinctiveness of God. Our reading from 1 Peter emphasizes this, quoting God’s voice from the Old Testament. “You shall be holy for I am holy.”

One other thing about holiness, or at least about saints, the holy ones; in the Bible they never occur in the singular. There is no Saint so and so. There is no one described as a saint, no holy one, other than Jesus. It is always corporate, a designation for the community of faith. Individuals have specific calls and tasks, but only the community is called “the saints.” In that sense, “saints” and “the body of Christ” are very nearly synonymous.

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Words, Words, Words

On Monday evening, our group of pastors traveling through Turkey were guests in the home of a Muslim family in Izmir. The two older sons are grown and have moved away. (One is in  America and one is a professor at a Turkish university.) The third son, Yusuf (Joseph), was much younger – late elementary school age perhaps – and he was the only one of the family who spoke any English. Of course, like any respectable boy that age, he preferred to be anywhere but in a crowd of adults, most of whom he’d never laid eyes on, and he didn’t say much.

The meal was a traditional Turkish one, served in courses. There was a delicious lentil soup, followed a dish of eggplant, potatoes, meat, followed by rice and green beans, all of this accompanied by homemade bread and side dishes of salad from the family garden, something made from yogurt, mint, and cucumbers, and a wonderful eggplant salad made with smoked eggplant, yogurt, and spices I couldn’t quite identify. Then we retired to the living room where we were brought plates of fresh watermelon, and lastly, the end to most Turkish meals, a small glass of hot tea.

We feasted like kings and queens with our hosts scurrying about in a kitchen cramped by the nine of us, quickly removing one bowl or plate and replacing it with another. The husband, Baha, did most of the talking, but both he and his wife, Binnur, were incredibly enthusiastic in their hospitality. Conversations were interesting, with Bilal, the Fairfax, VA imam who is leading us in our Turkish odyssey, having to translate back and forth.

It was a remarkable evening, with many touching moments, but a couple stand out. The first happened over introductions. This family has hosted groups like ours many times before, but we were something of a novelty. With the exception of Bilal, all of us are Christian pastors. They had never hosted pastors before, and when they learned of this, Baha called us “friends of God” repeatedly and excitedly. And he spoke of seeing the light of God in us.

But I think the moment that touched me the most was when Baha said how rich he was because they were able to host us. That’s not how I usually hear people use the word “rich.” Perhaps there were some issues with translation, but I don’t think so. He and his wife were treating us like royalty, and he felt enriched and blessed by the opportunity to do so. It was an amazing demonstration of the biblical call to show hospitality to the stranger, a call I have often found to be considerably more evident among those of Islamic faith.

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A hectic schedule and the lack of reliable WiFi in our hotel has led to a delay in finishing this post. In the meantime we have again dined with a Muslim family. This family was younger and the evening somehow felt a bit different. One colleague spoke of the previous night being “moving” but this meal being “fun.” Yet one constant remained: the remarkable level of hospitality that genuinely felt joy and gratitude for the opportunity to host us.

As I reflect on these two evenings (we have another in a couple of hours), I’m struck by the connection that we made at these dinners despite significant language barriers. More striking, this connection achieved despite the difficulty understanding each other’s words happened  between people who are sometimes divided by words.

I suppose that all faiths, in an understandable attempt to more fully understand that faith, use mountains of words to explain and detail the essentials of faith, to make sense of our faith stories and how they are to impact our lives. Yet so often our words become our fences, the lines we draw around our group that leaves others on the outside. Too often our words become weapons to say who’s in and who’s out. For Christians, our great commands are about love, yet we have often had little trouble telling others that our loving God is happy to damn them to hell for all eternity if their words don’t match ours.

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I’m reading a wonderful, historical novel that takes place in Turkey at the end of the Ottoman Empire and the early days of the Turkish Republic, Birds without Wings, by Louis De Berniers. I ran across this quote in it. “(T)he first casualties of a religion’s establishment are the intentions of its founder. One can imagine Jesus and Mohammed glumly comparing notes in paradise, scratching their heads and bemoaning their vain expense of effort and suffering, which resulted only in the construction of two monumental whited sepulchres.” (pp. 142-143, Kindle edition)

The observation is perhaps a bit harsh, but not without its truth. When we Christians forget about the command to love neighbors, along with Jesus’ teachings that broaden the neighbor to include even our enemy, then we inevitably misuse and abuse his words and words in general.

Since I’m quoting folks I’ll throw in another by Barbara Brown Taylor. “(I)n an age of information overload . . . the last thing any of us needs is more information about God. We need the practice of incarnation, by which God saves the lives of those whose intellectual assent has turned them dry as dust, who have run frighteningly low on the bread of life, who are dying to know more God in their bodies. Not more about God. More God.” (An altar in the World, p. 45)

Said another way perhaps, Not more words about God, not more words, but more God. Of course it's taken me a whole lot of words to say that.

Muslims, Confederate Flags, and Guilt by Association

As I write I'm sitting in the airport terminal, waithing to begin my journey to Turkey. I'm traveling with a group of pastors on a trip sponsored by the Institute for Islamic and Turkish Studies, or IITS, in Fairfax, VA. Members of my congregation recently broke the Ramadan fast with worshipers at the IITS mosque. It was a delightful evening with great food and the most wonderful company and hospitality.

Because of my relationship with the folks at IITS, the recent attack on a Navy recruiting center in Tennessee that killed five servicemen left me with a second, heartbreaking reaction. After the initial shock and sadness that such a tragedy had occurred, I immediately thought of the good people at IITS and countless other Muslims like them. Because the attacker was Muslim, some Americans with declare all Muslims guilty by association. This seems so unfair to my friends, and I can only imagine the pain it causes them.

Speaking of guilt by association, I have a number of Facebook “friends” who claim that the Confederate battle flag is not tainted by its association with a war to preserve slavery, hate groups such as the KKK, or the fact that so many southern states raised it over capitals and incorporated it into their state flags to protest the civil rights movement. And in an interesting oddity, those most vocal in defending the Confederate flag are often the same people condemning all Muslims for the actions of a few.

What is it that makes us humans so good at dividing ourselves into different groups, then assuming the worst of those whose group is different from ours? What makes us willing to believe the absolute worst about those who are different than us while at the same time excusing terrible actions by members of our own group as aberrations?

For me as a Christian pastor, such questions are even more troubling because religion is often heavily invested in the “we’re in and you’re not” game. We Christians, whose greatest commands are about love, can be downright hateful to those we deem on the outside. Clearly some Muslims have similar issues.

As I finish writing, I am now in Istanbul, brought here by a Muslim imam, and experiencing the warmth and hospitality of all those I've met. It is interesting being in a place where I'm the minority, whether the measure is language, ethnicity, or religion. Surely my being a Christian American carries with it a number of guilt by association issues for people here. But based on my limited experiience so far, perhaps not. Regardless, I look forward to the coming week and the chance to continue pondering those things that divide us, as well as looking for those things that bind us in a common, shared humanity.

Taking the Bible Seriously - Two Different Idolatries

The next day an evil spirit from God rushed upon Saul, and he raved within his house. 

1 Samuel 18:10

I encounter very many "liberal" and "progressive" Christians who have a tenuous relationship with the Bible. (I'm not speaking of pastors so much as regular church members.) This is usually not because they haven't read Scripture, but rather because they have. At least they have read it enough that they have encountered sufficient terrifying or troubling texts that make them question the Bible's validity.

You don't need to look very hard to find such texts. From rather minor things such as the ban on eating shrimp or wearing clothing made of two materials to appalling commands to kill children who curse their parents and to conduct genocidal slaughter of a land's indigenous inhabitants, the Bible contains a large number of verses likely to make most people squirm. Ignoring the Old Testament doesn't help very much either. Women should remain silent; slaves should obey their masters; "accept the authority of every human institution." (I've always been confused by Christians who speak of infallible Scripture in one breath and in the next insist the right to bear arms must be maintained in case we need to overthrow the government.) There is plenty to make you squirm in the New Testament.

You would think that after all these centuries Christians would have arrived at some generally accepted notions of what to do with the Bible, but this seems not to be the case. Even stranger, many who've decided they can no longer accept the Bible's authority, appear to have accepted the literal, inerrant model of some fundamentalists as a norm. And some liberal Christians I talk to struggle to accept Scripture because they think doing so means reading it this way.


It may come as a shock to some, but reading the Bible literally is a modern phenomenon. It took the Protestant elevation of Scripture combined with 19th century scientific advances for some to embrace a doctrine of inerrancy. The problems with such a doctrine are many. For one, Scripture makes no such claim for itself. The passage from 2 Timothy 3:16, "All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching..." is often quoted on this topic, but inspired and inerrant are quite different things. And of course, the writer is referring to the Old Testament only. The New Testament did not yet exist.

Notions of literalism and inerrancy also make it difficult, if not impossible, to let Scripture have its own say. For example, the synoptic gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke, place Jesus' cleansing of the Temple during the last week of his life. But John's gospel has this at the beginning of Jesus' ministry. If we are committed to a doctrine of inerrancy, we now must commit to explaining away this discrepancy. At such a point, this doctrine has now become more treasured than the gospel witness itself.

Or look at the quote from today's reading in 1 Samuel where God sends an evil Spirit to afflict Saul. Do evil Spirits come from God? In much of the Old Testament they do. In Exodus, Pharaoh repeatedly changes his mind about letting Moses and the Hebrews go because God "hardened Pharaoh's heart." For much of ancient Israel's history, they had no notion of an evil counterpart to God. Indeed their radical monotheism argued against such a thing. And so evil that at a later date might be attributed to "the devil" is attributed to God.

As I said, the problems with inerrancy are many, as well as obvious. Maintaining a belief in it requires a blind faith in the doctrine itself, which of course is idolatrous. The doctrine was devised to protect the authority of Scripture, but its many failings may have done more damage to the idea of biblical authority than science or secularism or anything else ever did. So then how do we lay claim to some sort of legitimate, biblical authority?

Perhaps that verse from 2 Timothy can be of help. "All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching..." Inspired; what does that mean? I looked up inspired and found this: "aroused, animated, or imbued with the spirit to do something, by or as if by supernatural or divine influence." If a poet is inspired to write some incredible verses or a musician to pen a spectacular score, we do not mean that the finished product has nothing to do with poet of composer. Inspiration does not overwhelm the person. 

Hopefully my sermons are occasionally inspired, something more than just my thoughts and reflections, but on those occasions when God does speak through me, I am not obliterated by such inspiration. I do not simply become stenographer or parrot. My voice is still there, my perspective, my biases, and so on. So too the writers of Scripture are presumably present in their writings, along with their context, perspective, and so on. The inspiration is divine, but it does not swallow up the author.

The inspiration is divine. This is a critical thing to remember, for if some Christians have tended to claim too much for Scripture, some have tended to claim far too little. In the process, some liberal and progressive Christians have engaged in a different sort of idolatry from that of their inerrancy counterparts, an idolatry of reason. This idolatry sets up my own judgment as final arbiter and acknowledges no authority outside of self.

This poses an entirely different problem for faith. If inerrancy requires one to embrace a God of genocide and slavery, this second idolatry risks doing away with God altogether, or at least any insights into God not readily apparent and palatable to me. At some point such a move rejects the idea of revelation altogether. But if God cannot be other than I imagine or conceive, then God gets created in my image.


Faith is damaged by an overly simplified, black and white, "God said it and I believe it" mentality. But it is equally damaged by a refusal to acknowledge any biblical authority. If I do not engage with and wrestle with the Scriptures, if I do not allow the Bible to have some sort of claim on me and my life, then I am may be many things, some of them good and noble, but I am not seeking to be a Christian, a person who seeks to live in faithful relationship with the God revealed in Jesus.

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Sermon video: Caught Up in the Conspiracy

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Caught Up in the Conspiracy

Philemon 8-19

Caught Up in the Conspiracy

James Sledge                                                                                       July 12, 2015

The practice of referring to “books” of the Bible probably is a bit misleading, never more so than with the “book” of Philemon. I once had my answer on a seminary quiz marked incorrect because I wrote that a particular quote from Paul was found in Philemon chapter 1, verse so and so. I guess Professor Achtemeier would have marked down Brian McLaren as well. His chapter for today says our Scripture reading is Philemon 1:8-19, but in truth, Philemon has no chapters. It’s a one page letter, less than 500 words.

Like most letters in the New Testament, it is occasional and particular in its content, but this one is also personal, speaking primarily to one individual, Philemon. The exact circumstances aren’t known because Paul has no need to explain it to Philemon. But it seems that Paul is writing on behalf of a slave, Onesimus, who apparently belongs to Philemon.

The first seven verses of the letter are introductory, warm hellos and recollections of service together in the church. It seems Paul is charming Philemon a bit before he gets to the point of the letter which goes something like this. “I could command you, but I won’t. I’m giving you a chance to do the right thing on your own. Receive Onesimus, not as a slave but as a beloved brother, and free him so that he may return and work with me.”

As I was reading this letter, I imagined Paul living and writing it in our day. What if Philemon was an active leader in his church but also a CEO. Might Paul write, “I could command you but I won’t. I’m giving you a chance to do the right thing on your own. Treat Onesimus, not as an employee, a human resource, but as a beloved brother. Pay him a living wage so he may can stop working three jobs and help me.

But what makes Paul think he can make this sort of request? Or that he could have made it a command in Christ? Just who does he think he is?

It’s important to realize what a life altering thing it is for Paul to be “in Christ.” For Paul, this is not about getting to go to heaven. Paul has become a “new creation” in Christ. He has been transformed in ways that completely change how he lives in the here and now. Those who are in Christ live now as citizens of God’s new day, no longer recognizing the world’s division of Jew and Gentile, male and female, slave and free, CEO and employee.

The Brian McLaren chapter that uses today’s verses from Philemon is called, “The Spirit Conspiracy,” and I love that title. As Paul well knew, the gift of the Spirit that is given to the Church does join us to a conspiracy, a movement to radically alter the world, to begin conforming it to what Jesus called the kingdom of God.

Back in Jesus’ day, there were many who hoped that he would be a conquering Messiah, that he would cast out the Romans and institute the wondrous day of peace and harmony foretold by prophets. No doubt they were crushed and confused when those Romans instead executed him, and for many, hope that he was the Messiah disappeared.

In our day we understand that Jesus is not a military Messiah, but far too often this has led Christians to conclude that Jesus is apolitical, concerned only with forgiving sin and getting people right with God before they die. But declaring Jesus a non-political Messiah requires ignoring the very core of his message.

Sermon video: Downward Mobility

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Downward Mobility

Philippians 2:1-11

Downward Mobility

James Sledge                                                                                                   July 5, 2015

A number of our youth recently went on a mission trip. Working with the Pittsburgh Project, they helped elderly residents with limited income make badly needed repairs or improvements to their homes. This is the second year our youth have gone to Pittsburgh, in large part because those who went last year has such a profound experience.

Similar experiences have been shared by countless other youth groups, college groups, adult groups, and intergenerational groups who’ve taken mission trips to all manner of locations to do all sorts of work. Rarely, have I heard anyone complain about their experience on such trips. Even though the accommodations may have been incredibly spartan, even though the weather may have been horrendous, even though the work may have been hard and strenuous, people talk about how moving the experience was, how much it impacted their faith, how life changing it was.

We live in a culture that bombards us with messages of needing more, of striving to get ahead, of leading a life that others can only dream about. Yet I’ve almost never heard anyone tell me that their faith blossomed or their life changed because they got that bigger house or nicer car, got that promotion everyone else wanted, or got into that highly selective college. People may get immense satisfaction or benefit from them, but they don’t talk about them in the same sort of language they use for those times when they sweat and work in the most difficult conditions, forming relationships with people very unlike those they usually meet.

“The Spirit leads us downward.” That’s the opening sentence in Brian McLaren’s chapter entitled, “Spirit of Service.” It seems totally at odds with the upward mobility focus of our culture, yet it is the experience of those mission trips.

Guns and Other Idols

From time to time I see a post on  Facebook talking about how guns aren't the root cause of all the gun violence in America. They speak of growing up with guns, being taught to respect them, and never using them in ways that create a danger to others.

I can appreciate such a stance because I had that sort of experience growing up. I was raised "in the country," as they say. My father taught me to shoot with a .22 caliber rifle. When I was a teenager I saved up my money and bought a shotgun, but I never really cared much for hunting, so I eventually got rid of it.

I've had the opportunity from time to time to do a little target shooting, and I've enjoyed it. But I don't own a gun and have no plans to do so. In general I avoid guns in large part because I don't want to be part of a culture that has become more and more idolatrous over the years. Respect for guns has turned into veneration of guns, and I see that as a problem.

It's by no means the only such problem in our country. Some might say there's been a similar progression in the realm of income and possessions. Making a decent living and providing for one's family has increasingly become an obsession about having more. Consumerism is an idolatry that is much more tempting to me personally than gun obsession is, so I won't claim that those who worship at the altar of the 2nd Amendment are somehow worse than me. Still, I think it's worth naming idols for what they are.

My theological tradition, with includes Presbyterians, Reformed, parts of the UCC, and a few others, traces its peculiar brand of Christianity back to John Calvin in Geneva, Switzerland. Calvin was adamant on a number of things. One was the absolute sovereignty of God. And another was the human tendency toward idolatry, our propensity to organize our lives around things other than God. These things need not be inherently evil in order to become our idols. In fact the very best idols are not. Family, country, church, even the Bible, can all become idols, things that occupy a place that belongs only to God.

In America, with our focus on individual freedoms and rights, the self often becomes an idol. The worship of guns and wealth and possessions may all be subsets of this idolatry of self, which is likely why Jesus says that no one can become his follower without denying oneself. "Deny yourself and take up your cross," is a familiar command to many Christians, but not one we're all that inclined to take too seriously.

That said, I do think that there is a distinction to be made between the idolatry of guns (and likely some other of "my rights") and that of the more widely practiced idolatry of wealth and possessions. The idolatry of consumerism has been fully named in our society. Its allure may be strong, but many people of faith have recognized it for what it is and struggle against it as an alcoholic struggles with drink. I'm not sure the same can be said for the veneration of guns.

However, one thing is painfully obvious to me. John Calvin was certainly correct that we humans are remarkably skilled at devising things other than God to serve.

Sermon video: Functional Unitarians and Unflattening God

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Functional Unitarians and Unflattening God

Ephesians 4:1-16

Functional Unitarians and Unflattening God

James Sledge                                                                                       June 28, 2015

I had a theology professor in seminary who was fond of saying that nearly all of us are functional Unitarians. We may sing Holy, Holy, Holy on Trinity Sunday and baptize people in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, but when it comes right down to it, we reduce God to one person of the Trinity.

It is possible to do a Unitarianism of the Son, begining every prayer with “Jesus we just ask you…” Quakers and others sometimes reduce God to Spirit. But I think by far the most popular choice is a Unitarianism of the Father.

Many open their prayers with “Heavenly Father” or even “Father God.” In fact this form of Unitarianism is so pervasive that” God” and “Father” become virtual synonyms in a way that never happens with Jesus or the Spirit. Just look at the hymnals in our pews. They have various sections, seasonal ones for Advent, Christmas, Lent, sections for baptism and the Lord’s Supper and other parts of worship. And there are sections for the Trinity labeled “Holy Spirit, Jesus Christ,” and “God.”

I realize that for many the Trinity is some esoteric doctrine with no real connection to faith, but it seems to me that we flatten and diminish the incredible mystery of God when we reduce God to one thing, when we require God to conform to our conceptual  limitations.

We humans have a tendency to think that unity or oneness means sameness. That is why sports teams and armies wear uniforms, a visible display of sameness. When Christian missionaries first went to Africa, they assumed that converting people the faith meant making them look and act like Christians in America and Europe. In Ghana and Congo they insisted that pastors wear black robes in stifling heat and import pianos or small organs for playing Western hymns. No indigenous instruments or music allowed.

Thankfully we eventually saw the arrogance of this, yet functionally, we still struggle with this need for sameness. There are successful multi-cultural congregations in America, but they are few. Many more are mostly one race, one socio-economic group, one political leaning, and so on. And I have to think such sameness impacts our images of God.

Our reading from Ephesians speaks a lot about unity and oneness. There is one body, one baptism, one faith, one Lord, one Spirit, one God and Father of us all. There is unity in the Spirit and the unity of faith. However the one body is marked not by sameness but rather diversity. The body is a complex organism working together for a common goal, and in this it somehow mimics that complex relationship that is God.

Trouble in Paradise

Now during those days, when the disciples were increasing in number, the Hellenists complained against the Hebrews because their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution of food. 

 Acts 6:1

Acts depicts an idyllic community of love and sharing that emerges in the wake of Pentecost. Present day Christians who assume that God is fond of capitalism are often uneasy when they read its description. "All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need." But Acts lets us know that there were always threats to this community. First we hear of hoarding by the couple Ananias and Sapphira. And in today's reading, we read that Hellenist widows weren't faring as well as Hebrew ones.

There aren't many details in the story, but one thing is clear. Hebrews get better treatment than Hellenist. (This seems to be a division within a church that is entirely Jewish, some who able to worship and pray in Hebrew and/or Aramaic, and some who can speak only Greek.) The problem is quickly resolved as Stephen and others are selected to lead this service. But it points to a problem that has plagued the Church from its infancy, fights and divisions about boundaries, about who's in and who's out, about the requirements for inclusion.

Despite statements about there no longer being Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male or female, about all becoming one in Christ, the faith has been remarkably good over the years at coming up with grounds for and exceptions to genuine unity. In today's reading it is cultural and language differences, but that is just a start.

In the book of Genesis, the Tower of Babel story is a mythic explanation of how humanity became divided. But in the Pentecost story of Acts, the gift of the Holy Spirit undoes this division. Yet we in the Church keep honoring the old curse rather than living into the new day of the Spirit.

The struggle for full inclusion in the Church by LGBT people is a very current example of the curse's persistence. But division over race is America's most profound experience of this curse, and one we seem unwilling to confront fully.

It is easy, and often convenient, to forget the deep, religious roots of American racism. Slavery in the Bible was not racially based, and thus was more fluid than the US version. American slavery required that Africans be less than fully human to justify slavery as a status conferred at birth, and the Church was more than willing to help in this effort. It succeeded so thoroughly that even many abolitionists assumed that freed slaves would never be able to take their place as full citizens in America.

Slaveholders actively discouraged slaves from becoming Christian, for obvious reasons. And when the Civil War brought an end to slavery, it hardly brought an end to deeply held and religiously buttressed ideas that those of African descent were not full human partners. I think many would be surprised at the number of people who still hold to such ideas. But even for those who do not, the legacy is still a curse on our society.

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In the aftermath of the Emmanuel AME Church murders, there are signs of Pentecost-like possibility. People have reached across the divide to say, "We are one!" But there are others who are waiting and hoping for things to go "back like they were." And if people of faith do not seize this moment, inertia and long standing practice will be on the side of those who prefer the curse of division to the new community of love Christ proclaims.

The writer of Acts cast the Apostle Paul as his leading hero, and Paul struggles mightily to push the Church beyond the boundaries it had inherited from Judaism. It is well past time for the Church in our day to actively struggle against the boundaries and divisions and inequalities that we inherited and have too often helped maintain.

Last Thursday, the Rev. Tawnya Denise Anderson, a PC(USA) pastor, posted a blog entitled, "'Allies,' the Time for Your Silence Has Expired." She spoke of white friends and their willingness to listen and offer sympathy toward the plight of black America. But then she said, "White allies, I thank you for your thoughtfulness in this regard. Now allow me to be your stopwatch; Time’s up." And she went on to share a Facebook post of a colleague who she said captured her thoughts. "If you love me and mine, fight for me. If you are unwilling to fight for me, clearly there is no way we can walk together."

Too often the white church's work to break down the curse of racism has looked a bit like the advocacy of country club members who insist that these things take time, that the best way to go about it is gently to convince more and more members that being more open is a good idea. Very rarely has the white church been willing to act like the Apostle Paul, who fought the church leaders in Jerusalem and risked his very life to remove the boundaries that Christ had made meaningless.

Very often, we white Christians have been unwilling fully to acknowledge how pervasive the curse of racism is. Perhaps because to do so would be to demand more action and more confession of our own willful blindness and culpability than we can handle. 

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When Acts tells us about how divisions began to sow trouble in the Church's post-Pentecost Paradise, it is a segue into the story of how Paul and others took on the biggest division for the early Church, that between Jew and Gentile, and eventually overcame it. We Americans have a division problem of similar magnitude, one with roots in the churches we attend and serve. Surely Christ is calling us to do everything we can, to struggle and to risk, until we truly live into our oneness in Christ.

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A Sermon That Didn't Get Preached

This is the draft of a sermon I intended to preach last Sunday... before the murders in Charleston were committed. But rather than just toss it. Here it is.

Proverbs 4; James 3:13-18 

James Sledge                                                                                                   June 21, 2015

Some of you may be familiar with H. L. Mencken’s take on the Puritans. He wrote, “Puritanism: The haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy.” And just in case you didn’t know it, Presbyterians are close theological relatives of Puritans. Presbyterian was the name chosen by the Reformed Church in Scotland, while the Reformed Christians in England were called Puritans.

People of faith are known for a few “Thou shalt nots,” and I suspect most people recognize the need for some of these. When we had the Deacons’ picnic a couple of weeks ago, a group of us was talking about how the church was a great location for the event except for the closeness to Broad Street. About that time a soccer ball got loose and rolled into the street, a child close behind. Immediately shouts of “Stop! Don’t go after it! Don’t go in the road!” came from all over. A few, well-placed “thou shalt nots” are sometimes necessary.

Parents usually know something about shalt nots and other prohibitions. Children may disagree, but most parents don’t see their primary purpose as ensuring children experience a healthy dose of unhappiness. “Yes, ice cream tastes great, but no, you cannot eat it for breakfast, lunch, and supper. Yes, it would be wonderful to be able to fly like Superman, but no, you may not tie a cape around your neck and jump off the roof.”

Certain prohibitions and shalt nots are essential to create some safe boundaries within which a child can go about the business of figuring out how to be a reasonably healthy, well-adjusted, contributing member of human society. But the rules are not goals in and of themselves. They are simply a framework to help along the way.

In the weeks following Pentecost, we have been talking each Sunday about how the Spirit equips us for life as followers of Jesus. The last two weeks we’ve spoken of loving God and of loving neighbor. Many are familiar with the words Jesus spoke about what is most important for walking in the way of God, how we should love God with heart, mind and soul, and how we should love our neighbor as ourselves. But what, exactly, does it mean to love others as we love ourselves? Do we even know what it means to love ourselves?

Very often, self love is understood as catering to my preferences, giving me what I want. But as any parent can tell you, indulging wants and desires is far from a foolproof guide to happiness. Eating ice cream all day long or jumping off the roof turns out to have some real negative consequences. Parents who allow their children to do such things might rightly be regarded as not loving those children at all. Children, it seems, can have faulty ideas about loving themselves, as can I.

Sermon: Anger to Action?

Psalm 22:1-11; James 3:13-18

Anger to Action?

James Sledge                                                                                       June 21, 2015

I had a sermon all prepared for today. It continued our series connected to Brian McLaren’s book and talked about becoming spiritually mature, moving beyond juvenile versions of faith that get overly focused on rules or doctrines meant to guide us to maturity, and moving toward maturity, toward the spiritual wisdom James talks about in his letter. But then the shooting in Charleston happened.

When I heard the first new reports, it wasn’t clear exactly what had happened. But as more information came in, I first hoped it wasn’t as bad as it sounded, that it wasn’t as evil as it sounded. But as the reality of it kicked in, I just felt numb.

But that began to shift toward anger. The first anger was petty and selfish. “Now I have to write a new sermon.” But that was quickly replace by anger that this had happened again. Another mass shooting. Another example of America’s horrible culture of guns and violence.

And then there was the racial component. Race, the issue we wish would just go away. The issue we think will somehow just fade away eventually. But here it is again, in all its ugliness, from a young man who grew up in what was supposed to be post racial America.

I felt anger toward the culture that nurtures such racism. I grew up in North and South Carolina. There is much I love about both states, and there have been real changes from the segregated days of my childhood. But there is still much deeply ingrained racism.. The N-word is common speech in many areas, and resentment toward blacks is deep for some.

Proper southern culture that disdains this racism nonetheless supports it. The governor of South Carolina in one breath condemned the shooting, offering heartfelt condolences and prayers for the victims and families and church, and in the next breath defended the Confederate flag flying on the grounds of the SC Statehouse.

I’ve heard all the arguments about how the flag is not about hate, but about southern heritage and pride. But a heritage of what? Pride in what? In a war the South started that cost more Americans their lives than World War II did. In a war fought to keep some human in the chains of slavery. I’m angry at a culture that imagines it can venerate those who fought such a war, can send black children to schools named for people who thought they were sub human, and it not have any hate connected to it.

And speaking of politicians, I’m angry that another mass shooting has happened, and the politicians will wring their hands and over condolences and prayers and then do absolutely nothing about an America awash in guns.

As I stewed in my anger, I even felt anger toward the Church, not Emmanuel AME Church but the church at large, because it too will wring its hands and offer its prayers and then do nothing. I’ve been in the church business now for over 20 years, and I’ve learned that I’ll get calls and emails if we sing a song people don’t like, if we change something about the worship service or the children’s programs. But no one ever calls or emails after a shooting or some other huge tragedy and says, “We have to do something.” Maybe it just seems impossible. Maybe we’ve just become cynical and think we can’t change anything other than the hymns or the children’s programs, but that alone is enough to make me angry.

And truth be told, I am angry at God, angry that God allowed this to happen, angry that God doesn’t stir up the church or the world to make things better.

But of course I knew I could not stand here today with nothing more than, “I am grieving. I am angry.” True there is a long tradition of lament in the Bible, by some counts psalms of lament are the most common sort of psalm. But even they usually have an element of hope, and I am a minister of the gospel, one called to proclaim good news.

Sermon video: Anger to Action?

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.