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.

Sermon: Christmas Loyalties

Luke 2:41-52

Christmas Loyalties

James Sledge                                                                                       December 30, 2018

Some of you may have heard this story before, but with today’s gospel reading, I couldn’t resist telling it again. I once lost one of my daughters in a drug store. She was four or five years old and standing right there next to me as I looked for some item. But when I looked away from the store shelf to where she had been seconds before, she was gone. I called her name and quickly looked on the adjoining aisles. My panic growing, I traversed the store multiple times, looking down every aisle over and over without finding her. As the minutes wore on, I experienced a feeling of sheer terror.

In desperation, I finally left the store and ran down the grocery store where we had planned to go next. Hoping against hope I ran to the bakery section of the Harris Teeter, where they handed out free cookies to children. And sure enough, there she was, getting her free cookie. She had simply decided that she would go there on her own. Never mind that it was not next to the drug store but at the other end of a strip mall.

If any of you have a had a similar experience, you know how frightening it feels. My terror last but a few minutes, though it seemed much longer. I can scarcely imaging how Mary and Joseph must have felt. According to Luke, they searched for Jesus for three days, retracing their steps to Jerusalem and hunting all over the city before finally finding him.

It sometimes surprises people to learn that this is the only story in the Bible about Jesus as a child. Jesus does come from a humble background, and so makes some sense that little would be know about his early days. Still, stories about great heroes typically include some from childhood, episodes that point to their greatness to come.

I don’t know that it’s taught in school any longer – we live in a more cynical time – but when I was in elementary school I learned the story of George Washington chopping down the cherry tree. Asked if he was the culprit he proclaimed, “I cannot tell a lie. I did cut it with my hatchet.” In all likelihood the event never happened, but that is beside the point. The story’s main purpose is to illuminate something about the character of the man, to demonstrate that his greatness was rooted in a deep, personal virtuousness.

Abraham Lincoln has his own childhood stories that give clues as to the man he will become. For that matter, there are stories about the young emperor Augustus, who ruled when Jesus was born, that point to the great leader he would become. Augustus achieved great learning at a very young age, and, in a story that was likely known by the first readers of Luke’s gospel, Augustus gave the funeral oration for his grandmother Julia Caesaris, sister of Julius Caesar, at the age of twelve.[1]

Luke, writing his gospel for Gentile Christians, seems eager to present Jesus as greater than Augustus, filled with remarkable learning despite not having any of the instruction and education that the emperor-to-be had received. Jesus wasn’t simply groomed to be a great ruler. He was born for the role, part of God’s unfolding saga of salvation.

But that is only part of our gospel this morning. Luke could easily have told the story of a miraculously precocious Jesus without the part about Jesus disappearing on his parents. Jesus could have wowed them at the Temple while the family was there for Passover. This part of the story is about something else altogether.

Christmas Eve Candlelight Reflection

Christmas Eve Candle Lighting Reflection

I read a Christmas editorial in the Washington Post that talked about churches that are struggling with declining attendance and resources and yet still typically find their sanctuaries filled to overflowing on Christmas Eve. The column discussed the many reasons that people aren’t going to church like they once did. It mentioned that the fastest growing religion in America isn’t really a religion at all. It’s something called the “Nones,” those who are religiously disaffiliated and check “none of the above” on surveys about religion.

Yet despite this growing religious disaffiliation, despite the lack of cultural encouragement to be part of some faith community, despite the rapidly growing numbers in our society who view church as unnecessary, people show up in droves on Christmas Eve.

Many attribute this to nostalgia or the desire to maintain some family traditions around Christmas, but the columnist suggested that it could be something else. While the lure of church may be nonexistent for many, there still remains a longing, a hunger for the transcendent, for something more than “a society defined solely by self-interest and calculation, by the visible, the measurable and the tangible.”[1]

I can certainly see why Christmas would be especially alluring for those longing for the transcendent. Christmas insists that the God whose speech called forth the wonders of Creation is a God of life and light. Christmas speaks of a light, a goodness that cannot be overcome by the darkness, the pain, the selfishness, the hatred, the greed, the evil of the world. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.  

Christmas also insists that the transcendent, the light, the creative force of God, is not simply something far away out there. It moves toward us, seeking us. A child is born. The Word became flesh and lived among us. Emmanuel, God with us.

But God’s move toward us demands a response. God’s move is an invitation for us to move toward God. God has taken the first step in a divine dance we are invited to join, a dance of goodness, love, and self-giving; a dance of generosity, caring, and hope.

The God who comes toward us, who comes as a child born for us, invites us to become bearers of light and hope in a world too often filled with darkness and hopelessness. And the empty cross of the risen Christ reminds us that the deepest and most malevolent darkness cannot triumph over God’s love.

(Lower candles and shield the light.)

And so, in the midst of the world’s darkness, stand and hold your light high. Let it shine. Carry the light with you as you go. Bear the light of Christ into the world. Let it shine against all that is dark and frightening and hate-filled. Go to be light bearers in a world that is longing for light.

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[1] E.J. Dionne, Jr. “Churchgoers, cut the ‘Chreasters’ some slack” The Washington Post, December 23, 2018

Sermon video: Mixing Up Our Verb Tenses

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Mixing Up Our Verb Tenses

Luke 1:39-55

Mixing Up Our Verb Tenses

James Sledge                                                                                       December 23, 2018

Here we are on the Sunday before Christmas, and finally the scripture readings appointed for the day feel a little Christmassy. Three weeks ago we heard Jesus talk about his second coming, and the last two weeks we heard about John the Baptist. But today, finally, here is Mary, and she is pregnant with Jesus.

Of course the lectionary that lists the scripture readings for each Sunday isn’t trying to be a Grinch. In part it is letting Advent be Advent and not an extension of the Christmas season. But also, the Bible does not really share our fascination with Christmas. Of the four gospels, only Luke actually narrates Jesus’ birth. And Luke seems more focused on the events surrounding the birth, things like the prophetic speech we just heard, than on the birth itself.

It might help for me to go back and recall what has happened to get us to Mary’s prophetic song today. Luke is not only the sole narrator of Jesus’ birth, but he alone tells of John the Baptist’s birth, and he weaves the two stories together. John’s father, Zechariah, and Jesus’ mother, Mary, both receive visits from the angel Gabriel who tells them of miraculous births to come. And both Zechariah and Mary speak prophetically about these births.

Luke loves to use patterns and rhythms from the Old Testament as he tells the story of Jesus. Mary’s song is very much like the song offered by Hannah after she has given birth to Samuel. But more than that, the angel’s visits to Zechariah and Mary follow a formula for divine appearances that repeats throughout the Old Testament.

Sermon video: Repentance and Fruit for Christmas

Audios of sermons and worship available on the FCPC website.

Sermon: Repentance and Fruit for Christmas

Luke 3:7-18

Repentance and Fruit for Christmas

James Sledge                                                                                       December 16, 2018

John the Baptist shows up two weeks in a row in the Advent gospel readings, and so at the end of a recent staff meeting, I checked with Diane about her sermon on John’s first appearance. I did not want my sermon to duplicate hers. Could I preach on the “brood of vipers” or might she have already touched on that?

Diane said I could have the vipers, though she might touch a bit on John’s ministry during the children’s time. Then the conversation lapsed into silliness. I joked that she could greet children at the chancel steps with, “You brood of vipers! Who told you to come up here?” Then we imagined parents yanking their children out of the worship service, And come to think of it, maybe I shouldn’t share what goes on in staff meetings.

But that bit of silliness got me thinking about why those who came out to see John didn’t head for home the moment he started yelling. All they do is show up, and he calls them a family of snakes, a colorful way of implying that they are children of the devil. Yet these people do not run off. They ask for instructions. "What then should we do?" Clearly they think that something is about to happen, and they want to be ready.

As I thought about the crowds that gather around John despite how unpalatable he is, I found myself thinking about the gathering in the missional mandate the Session has discerned as our call from God. “Gathering those who fear they are not enough so we may experience grace, wholeness, and renewal as God’s beloved.” I thought about the strategies of Gather, Deepen, and Share that we think critical to this missional mandate, and I took a look at this story of John the Baptist using the lens of Gather, Deepen, and Share.