Amos 5: 21-24; Matthew 6: 1-18
Steve Lindsley
Fall Discipleship
September 20, 2009
I will never forget my first Broadway show. It was October 2001 – one short month after 9-11. As fate would have it (or some say providence), I had already scheduled to be at a pastor's conference at a Presbyterian retreat center about an hour north of Manhattan. As part of our “free time” during the week, we traveled into town one afternoon and evening to enjoy the city's offering. A quick tour of the World Tower remains was juxtaposed by joining some others in the group a few hours later to see the musical “Rent.” We had great seats, about ten rows back, just a hair to the right of center. As the show went on, I found myself totally immersed in the experience – the story, the music, the people, the emotions of it all. If the test of a good musical is that it leaves its audience spellbound and transfixed, then this production was a true success.
It was an amazing experience, a phenomenal show. But the thing is, none of it was real. The names of the people on that stage were not Mark and Roger, Mimi and Angel. They were Anthony and Adam, Tracie and Julia, and the only thing they had in common with the characters they played was that they all lived in New York City. It was not real apartments the audience saw from their seats but well-constructed props situated precisely on a stage. The sunlight coming through the window was nothing more than a strategically-placed spotlight turned on and off at the right intervals. Even the story itself – a wonderful tale of brokenness, redemption and the celebration of life – was totally made up. And the next night, long after I boarded my plane home, those same actors would stroll around on that same stage and tell the same story all over again. It was compelling, it was powerful, but none of it was real. It was just a show.
Now don't get me wrong – shows are wonderful forms of art that recreate a semblance of reality for us. And they're perfect for everything from the spotlit Broadway stage to the “rock shows” my two boys put on for the wife and me most every night after dinner. Shows allow us to step outside ourselves and travel to places and times that couldn't happen in the real world. Shows are part of the creative muse that exists in the human race; our God-given gift of imagination and inspiration.
But putting on a show has its proper place and time – and according to Jesus, that place is not on the mountainside. We remember last week how Jesus was speaking to a gathering of all kinds of disciples, sharing with them the essence of discipleship and the transformation it brings to their lives. Those who witnessed Jesus' Sermon on the Mount heard how his presence did not signify the abandonment of the law but the fulfillment of it. And that can't help but change things – which Jesus gets to next. Listen to how the translation “The Message” puts it:
Be careful when you are trying to be good so that you don't make a performance out of it. It might be good theater, but the God who made you won't be applauding. When you do something for someone else, don't call attention to yourself. You've seen them in action - “playactors” I call them – treating prayer meeting and street corner alike as a stage, acting compassionate as long as someone is watching, playing to the crowds. When you help someone out, don't think about how it looks. Just do it.
The message Jesus is trying to get across here is pretty obvious – no shows. He'd later say the same thing about prayer. The concern for Jesus is not about whether one prays right, or how much help one offers, but how one goes about doing these things. Are our acts of faith truly altruistic and sincere, or are other agendas coming into play?
It's a big question. In our day and time, from religion to politics to the community and even in our own families, the sincerity of one's actions is almost as important as the act itself. Jesus was not the first person to deal with this in the context of the Hebrew faith. Thousands of years before a rural cattle rancher named Amos was called by God to speak the divine word to a wayward people. The target of his prophetic wrath were those whose faith had become empty expressions, practices void of the passion and spirit they were originally created for. Amos' words leave nothing to the imagination:
Thus says the Lord: I hate, I despise your festivals
I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.
Even though you offer me your burnt offerings, I will not accept them.
Take away from me the noise of your songs,
I will not listen to the melody of your harps.
And then that famous line:
But let justice roll down like waters,
And righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.
There's a folk song by singer/songwriter Jon Foreman that's based on this passage of Amos; the chorus of which goes like this:
Instead let there be a flood of justice
An endless procession of righteous living
Instead of a show
There is, of course, a word that comes to mind in all of this; a word that seems to capture what Jesus was saying to the crowd on the mountainside and what Amos was crying out from the ranch. That word is “hypocrisy,” defined in Webster's as “the practice of claiming to have moral standards or beliefs to which one's own behavior does not conform.” It's interesting – in our culture we can put up with a lot of things in other people, petty differences and habits that annoy and all the things that can separate us. We can agree to disagree if need be. But almost universally, the thing we have the hardest time dealing with are people who put forth a front that is not at all who they are. We just can't stand hypocrisy – in our friends, in our work colleagues, in our religious and political leaders, in anyone. It drives us nuts.
Hypocrisy in the community of faith is particularly frustrating – whether it's giving alms or praying for show, or going through the motions of our faith, or simply not taking the time or effort to practice what we preach. There's a great story that missionary Stanley Jones once told about a conversation he had with Gandhi. They were talking about why the famed spiritual and social activist would often quote the words of Jesus but never gave thought to becoming a Christian himself. Did he, in fact, reject Christ? Gandhi's response was telling. “Oh no,” he said, “I don't reject your Christ at all. I love your Christ. It's just that so many of you Christians act nothing like your Christ.” (http://jmm.aaa.net.au/articles/14522.htm, visited on 9.15.2009.)
Ouch. But you know, the guy's got a point. None of us fully live up to the example Jesus set for us. Part of this is due to the fact that we are, most certainly, imperfect people following a perfect God. But there's another part of the problem too, and I'm beginning to wonder if “hypocrisy” may not be the word we're after. Perhaps a better way to envision what Jesus was trying to tell his disciples that day is “authenticity.” Because “authenticity” is more than just the inverse of hypocrisy – it speaks to an issue rooted deep within the human condition; a question of genuineness and living into our calling as a transformed community of faith.
In his book A New And Right Spirit, author Rick Barger puts it this way: “The main calling of the church is not a matter of more programs, more strategies for membership recruitment, and more ways to meet people's needs. It is a matter of authenticity.” Think about that – and yes, think about it as it relates to our current season of Fall Discipleship. The calling of this church, this congregation, is first and foremost about being authentic – being as real and as genuine and as un-show-like as we can in how we worship, how we fellowship, how we serve others, and how we respond to God's grace. All the ministries we do here, all the “programs” we “offer,” all the many tasks we immerse ourselves in – all of them are secondary to the single pursuit of being an “authentic church.”
Sounds great, doesn't it? It is! But be warned: this kind of thing can be dangerous, too. Authenticity often comes at a price – just as people like Dieterich Bonhoeffer, Oscar Romero, Mother Teresa, Martin Luther King Jr. Even the church itself takes on some risk in its pursuit of authenticity. Imagine, for instance, if you logged on to a church website or opened a church information brochure to find this description:
Here at First Authentic Presbyterian Church, you will be immersed in a story – a story that exposes much of what our world has handed to you about human life – its values and its purposes – as lies; declares our world and all of its schemes dead; and promises to put you to death and raise you to new life. You will be so grasped by this story and pulled into our congregation that lives out of this story that you will one day find yourself at odds with the values, attitudes, and priorities of many of your neighbors, work colleagues, classmates, and maybe even your own family.
(Rick Barger, A New And Right Spirit: Creating an Authentic Church in a Consumer Culture (Alban Institute, 2005), 3)
How about that? What kind of response do you think this would get from folks – would they close the brochure and stick it back in the rack, or click on the “X” at the top of the web page? What kind of response do you think those people back then gave – did they turn a deaf ear to the prophet's rant; did they try to inconspicuously slip out of the gathering on the mountainside? And yet there they are: Amos telling us that God has has it with our shows; Jesus proclaiming that the last thing prayer and generous giving needs to be about is ourselves. The calling of the community of faith to authenticity is critical if the church is going to continue living its mission and vision in the world. And that calling begins with each one of us.
A few years back, a congregation was looking to add on to their church facility and had decided to solicit outside help in raising funds. A special committee was formed to conduct the interview process. One weekday evening they gathered in the Fellowship Hall for the first presentation, a group that came armed with their top two people in tow, a slick PowerPoint presentation, pricey full-color handouts that highlighted their past accomplishments, and promises that far exceeded the moon.
About five minutes into the PowerPoint, though, one of the church members spoke up. Excuse me, sir, would you please turn that off? Yes, please turn it off, thank you. The firm members were taken aback, but they did as asked. The man continued. Listen, we don't want to be disrespectful, but we know how marketing works, we know how fundraising works. A lot of us here work in the business world and we watch this stuff all the time.
The thing is, tonight we are gathered as the church. And that means we need something different. We're less interested in you wowing us with your presentation. What we really want is for you to simply have a conversation with us and listen to us. We want to know you who are, what your values and mission are, why it's important for you to be with us. Mainly we just want to know who you really are. (Barger, A New and Right Spirit, 93-94).
“Who are you?” What a great question for the church! What would it look like if all churches pursued this question, not only in how they conducted a capital campaign but in how they viewed fellowship, education, nurture, mission? What would it look like if you and I did the same in our own lives? And what would it look like for this church to embrace authenticity in its Discipleship season – being honest about God's presence in our midst, and how you and I can faithfully respond to that presence?
That is why Jesus calls us to something instead of a show. Instead of a show, Jesus desires authenticity. Instead of going through the motions, Jesus calls for genuineness. Instead of trying to “wow the crowds,” Jesus wants us to focus on wowing God. Instead of living our lives of faith as if we have something to prove, Jesus longs for you and me to recognize that God has done all the proving God needs to do. Instead of trying to work our way into God's embrace, Jesus wants us to accept nothing less than the grace by which we stand.
And believe me - there's nothing “showy” about that. Thanks be to God. AMEN.
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