The Mayberry Preacher

GROWING SPIRITUALLY AS A CHURCH: INTENTIONAL FAITH DEVELOPMENT

Deuteronomy 6: 1-9; Galatians 5: 13-25
Steve Lindsley
March 10, 2013

Listen to Sermon

So I told you I was going to share with you about this ribbon I’m wearing around my neck this morning.  It’s actually a stole.  I don’t know if I’m breaking some polity protocol by double-stoling it today, but I have a good reason for it.  The stole isn’t mine.  It actually belongs to a woman named Erin Hayes, who is a youth pastor at Westminster Presbyterian Church in Philadelphia.  At least for another week or so, and then she’ll be accepting a call to a church in New Jersey.  She asked me to pray for her about this.

The thing is, I didn’t know Erin before this past week, when I picked up her stole at the national NEXT Church Conference in Charlotte. 650 Presbyterians from all over the country, gathering together for a day and a half of speakers, workshops, fellowship, and casual conversation about what the future of our denomination looks like.  Spoiler alert: it looks awesome. 

Anyway, back to Erin’s stole.  I picked it up during communion, as her stole – and mine and everyone else’s – were laid out on the communion table in closing worship.  When we came up to dip the bread in the cup, we were told to take a stole.  Any stole.  And I got Erin’s.  We had been asked to write on them our name and then three words that described our sense of call to the church.  The words Erin wrote were ENVISION. REFLECT. BRIGHTEN.  This was – this is – Erin’s story.

Now there is so much that I want to share with you about this conference and the organization called NEXT PC(USA) that is daring to imagine the future of our church, but I can’t do it all at once. So for the time being, I’ll just say this: there were many stories shared at this conference.  Stories from southerners and Northerners, West Coasters and Midwesterners and everyone in between.  Stories from women and men, black and white, Hispanic and Asian.  Stories from ministers and laity, conservative and liberal, young and old – lots and lots of stories.

We shared our stories in formal workshops, and we shared them in casual conversations in the hallway.  We shared stories of our experiences in ministry in the Presbyterian Church (USA).  We shared a handful of stories of our concerns for the denomination and our local congregations, where attendance on a national setting is shrinking.  But mostly, mostly we shared stories and excitement of the wonderful new things we see God doing in our congregations, of the vitality and energy that takes hold in bodies of Christ whether they want it to or not, whether they’re ready for it or not. 

And through it all, we shared stories of how important “The Story” is – the story we read about in the pages of our Bible, the story we try to live each and every day following Jesus, and the story that we as the church work to convey to a culture and society that doesn’t always realize it’s the story they’ve been longing to hear.  There are other stories out there, of course: we are over-saturated with a vast mosaic of sagas and tales that compete for our attention. But the story of our faith is one that needs to be told; one that needs to be heard.

All of this, from a stole that belonged to someone I’d only met in passing.  Someone whose call to ministry, whose story, has now in a way become part of mine.  And that shouldn’t surprise us, should it?  Stories, by their very nature, are not meant to be held onto, like property.  Stories are meant to be shared; to be passed on, so they can put around the necks of others and introduced to even more people, so the story lives on.

You think that’s what Moses realized; the day he stood there before God’s people, on the threshold of the Promised Land?  I don’t know; I just like to imagine him standing there, his back to the Jordan River, the people gathered as a mass before him.  Across that river was the land God had promised them generations before; the very land that made those Hebrews some forty years prior wake up in Egypt and pack their things as fast as they could to head into their freedom.   Little babies who could barely remember that hasty exit were now holding their grandchildren, gazing ahead at the river and the land beyond it…

I get the feeling that Moses knew, in those last few moments with them, that now was the time.  Now was the time to tell their story.  It was a story they’d heard many times before. But just this one last time, they needed to hear Moses tell it, as they crossed the river and made their way into the Promised Land and their future.  They needed to hear Moses tell them this:

Attention, Israel!
God, our God! God the one and only!
Love God, your God, with your whole heart:
love God with all that’s in you, love God with all you’ve got!
Write these commandments that I’ve given you today on your hearts. Get them inside of you and then get them inside your children. Talk about them wherever you are, sitting at home or walking in the street; talk about them from the time you get up in the morning to when you fall into bed at night. Tie them on your hands and foreheads as a reminder; inscribe them on the doorposts of your homes and on your city gates.

Now we had a fancy name in seminary for this little speech of Moses: we called it “the Shema.”  It’s a Hebrew word that means “to hear” or “to listen.” And you know, I think it’s kind of cool that the name given to Moses’ speech here is a verb.  Something that requires action; something that isn’t passive.  Because faith and the story of our faith requires us to do something.  To hear it, to listen for it, and then to live it out.  Just as Moses implored those people on that day in that holy space between the river and the land. There’s a story in our faith that needs to be heard – that’s what the Shema has to say to us.

This Lenten season we are looking at Robert Schnase’s book, Five Practices of Fruitful Congregations.  You’ll remember that the first is radical hospitality, where we go out of our way to bring others into the transforming presence of the body of Christ.  Next comes passionate worship, where we gather together to praise God in a way that is authentic and heartfelt.  Worship is, of course, the center of the life of the church. But there has to be more to our story.  We can’t just remember it.  We have to tell it – what Schnase calls INTENTIONAL FAITH DEVELOPMENT.

And, you know, I love that clarifying word: intentional.  In other words, faith development not accidental.  It doesn’t just happen.  Intentional Faith Development is telling the story in a deliberate and meaningful manner.  It’s an active exercise, not a passive one.  We don’t just show up on Sunday morning and assume it’ll automatically happen to us. Intentional faith development is going out of our way to tell the story of our faith.  Because no matter how old or young we are, no matter how many years we’ve been a member of this church, we still haven’t heard the whole story.  There is always something new for us to learn and grow from.

In fact, we see that intentional part right in the Shema itself – what’s called the mezuzah.  A mezuzah was a tiny parchment of paper with the words of the Shema inscribed on it, then place in a decorative case and hung – as scripture commands – on the doorposts of their homes, or on their hands, or both.  It was there as a constant reminder.  It reminded the person wearing it on their wrist or posting in on their doorpost that they belonged to a particular faith story and needed to live as such.  Think about it: every time they looked down at their hands and saw that mezuzah, they had to ask themselves, are my hands being used for things that serve to uplift the story of my faith?  And every time they walked in the front door of their home, they had to ask themselves, does my home glorify God and the story of my faith? 

So the mezuzah reminded them of who they were and whose they were.  But the mezuzah wasn’t just for the person wearing it or posting it on their door.  It was for everyone who saw it.  It identified that person as a participant in a particular story.  It was a witness of sorts, inviting people to learn more about the story that was being told and the people who were telling it.

You know, we do the same sort of thing in other ways today.  When you see someone with one of those yellow LIVESTRONG bracelets, chances are it’s being worn by a person who in some way or another has been touched by cancer.  Just a few weeks ago, about 60 of you left this sanctuary on a Wednesday night with the sign of the cross in ashes on your forehead. I wonder if any of you got weird stares from family members or friends you ran into later that evening?  It may not have felt like it, my friends, but you were telling a story that night!

The thing is, we are constantly telling stories with our lives, aren’t we?  We are forever in the process of proclaiming something with how we live and who we are.  The apostle Paul talks about this in his letter to the Galatians – that the fruits of our lives come directly from whether we are anchored in the Spirit or not.  That anchoring – or lack thereof – tells a story. 

So the real question for you and me today is this: what is the story inscribed on our mezuzah?  What are the three words written on our stole?  How do these things define the life we live and the manner in which our faith grows and deepens?  And perhaps most importantly: how are we being intentional about that growth?

I’ve said it before from this pulpit, but it bears repeating: simply showing up at church on a Sunday morning does not automatically cause your faith to develop, any more than going to a McDonald’s automatically makes you a hamburger.  We have to be intentional about developing our faith.  That’s the very reason we offer all our Bible studies and Sunday school and SPARK, and all those other things in the life of our church that help us develop our faith.  All those things that build on the radical hospitality and passionate worship we already have here, so that our church can be a spiritually-growing one.

So: two things I want you to leave you with on this first Sunday of Spring Discipleship.  First: I want to challenge you to be intentional about finding ways to enhance and grow and develop your faith, other than just showing up for something.  Sign on for one of our Bible study groups, or come up with a brand new idea of your own.  Find a way not just to pay homage to the story of your faith; but to listen to it, to hear it, to engage it.  Find out what is written on your mezuzah or on your stole.

And speaking of that stole – I think you should have one of your own.  Because you are called to tell the story of the faith in the same way that the 650 of us at the NEXT Church Conference this past week were.  And so, the elders are going to pass out stoles to each of you – I hope there are enough.  They’re also going to pass out Sharpies; probably one per row.  You’ll have to share.  What I want you to do, while Ellen plays some soft organ music at the end of the sermon, is to write your name on your stole, and then write three words that describe the story of your faith.  Maybe it’s the name of someone in the Bible whose own story resonates with your.  Maybe it’s a descriptive word or phrase, like “passion” or “mission;” or a particular ministry of the church like “friends feeding friends” or “fellowship” or “music.” Don’t overthink this; there aren’t any wrong answers.  Save your stole for the end of worship.

And as you do this, friends, remember this: the story of the faith is not just some words written in a book.  You are the story. You’re the story of the church as it is now, and the church as it will be.  Don’t ever stop telling the story.  Don’t ever stop listening to the story.  Don’t ever stop being intentional about allowing that story to grow in you.  Let the story come alive!  In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, AMEN.

SIN BOLDLY!

Galatians 1: 11-17, 2:19-21
Steve Lindsley
January 22, 2012

The 2004 movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is weird – the kind of weird I like in movies.  And yet, for all its eclectic nature and odd twists and turns, the main storyline is pretty basic: a love story between a man and a woman.  What’s more basic than that?  Jim Carrey plays the reserved Joel, and Kate Winslet the impulsive Clementine.  Now the cinematography makes it kind of hard to follow, but the basic plot goes like this: Boy meets girl.  Boy and girl start dating.  Boy and girl get serious.  Boy and girl start having some problems.  And here’s where the eclectic part comes in: Girl pays a visit to a company that specializes in erasing painful memories from one’s mind.  Girl wants to completely forget everything about Boy, as if their relationship never happened. 

Boy is subsequently puzzled and distraught when Girl treats him as if she never knew him – which, in a sense, is the case.  Boy later finds out what Girl did and decides to go through the same thing to erase her from his memory as well.   

Like I said, it’s a weird movie!  The good news is that the movie actually has a happy ending; as Boy and Girl manage to find each other a second time and fall in love all over again.  It’s the kind of ending my wife loves!  But what stuck with me after I turned the TV off wasn’t the romantic storyline.  What kept churning around in my head was this whole notion of erasing bad memories. 

I mean, think about it.  Every one of us has our “skeletons in the closet;” things we’ve done or stuff that’s happened that we regret and would love to forget about if we could.  And I daresay that if the technology really did exist, a lot of folks would jump at the chance to erase their bad memories.  I mean, think of the painful pasts that could be eliminated forever – a bad relationship, an accident of some sort, or, in my case, the 29 I got on a Calculus exam my freshman year in college.  Believe me, I’d love to get that out of my head! 

But we can’t do that, can we?  I’m hopelessly stuck with that 29 for the rest of my life!  So instead we try to sweep those things under the carpet, keep them under wraps.  We don’t bring them up in conversation; we certainly don’t drawn attention to them if we can help it.  And God willing, they’ll remain out of sight and out of mind, hopefully never to resurface and reveal themselves to anyone, including ourselves.   That’s just human nature to want that.

Which is why, I think, you and I are left collectively scratching our heads when we read today’s scripture.  Because for some reason, the apostle Paul, writing his letter to the church in Galatia, goes against the grain and actually brings up his checkered past. A past that took place before Jesus paid him a little visit on the road to Damascus; before he became the great spokesperson for the early church and our faith’s first missionary and theologian.

That past included, among many things, a different name: Saul.  It included his zealous and unbending hatred toward those misguided people who’d later be known as “Christians.” It included Saul traveling around Palestine, writing synagogue leaders and asking for the names and addresses of those in their flock who leaned a little too much to the Jesus side of things.  It included Saul paying these folks a visit and using his “persuasive powers” (otherwise known as “threats”) to bring them back to the fold.  Saul’s past was about a man who did everything in his power to see that the Christian movement was wiped of the face of the earth.

Now granted, Paul was a bold soul who didn’t shy away from speaking his mind.  But as one who devoted his post-Damascus life to building bridges in Christian circles, as one who was trying to build up the church instead of tearing it down, surely the last thing he’d want to do was dredge up his own horrible past.  And you know there were plenty of skeptics in the bunch who were never quite comfortable around Paul, who always assumed he had some hidden-agenda thing going on and would turn on them in an instant.

So why – why in the world would Paul have wanted to bring up his past?  I don’t know.  Maybe there was no use denying it, since everyone already knew it.  Kind of like a seasoned politician who decides to “face the music” rather than look like he’s hiding something.  Perhaps he’d retain some credibility that way.  Maybe that’s why.

Maybe.  But you know, I can’t help but think there’s more to this than just that. See, Paul was a smart guy, but he wasn’t in it for himself.  His primary concern – in everything he did and everything he wrote, was simple: to proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ.  That was his sole motivation.  That’s what he was all about.

And if anyone knew anything about the life-changing effect of that gospel, how it can turn someone’s life around 180 degrees, it certainly was Paul.  That little encounter with Jesus had made Paul an entirely new person, totally different from who he used to be.  Even the name change – Saul to Paul – symbolized that.  And that is how Paul was able to trumpet the Christian cause when he formerly sought to snuff it out; that’s how he was able to preach “Christ crucified” when before he worked to see that those followers suffered the same fate as their Master.  That’s how Paul could claim his troubled past – because it was proof in and of itself of the power of the gospel to radically change lives.

I wonder if you’ve seen the cartoon clipping posted on the wall outside my office.  It’s a Calvin & Hobbes cartoon where Calvin’s father is pulling into the driveway, grabbing his suitcase and getting out of his car after presumably a long day at work.  His day is about to get even longer.  That’s because he is greeted there by his mischievous son Calvin, sheepish grin on his face, holding high a sign that says in big letters, “Love the Sinner, Hate the Sin!”  Calvin’s pre-emptive act is surely a sign of some bad news that awaits his father once he gets inside the house.

Now I’ve always liked this cartoon – perhaps because it reminds me in a way of my own past, although I would’ve never been clever enough to think up that whole sign thing.  No, I think what has always drawn me to this cartoon, and the reason it’s been posted in my office in both churches I’ve served, is because it depicts in simple form, in a one-panel cartoon, the bare-bones predicament of humanity.  We are creations of the living God – and yet we are sinners.  We try to be good – and even so, we still fail.  We want to do what is pleasing to God – but somehow we find a way to do the exact opposite.  And so it is now us – we are the ones standing in that driveway, holding that sign high and wearing that sheepish grin, waiting for judgment to come rolling up the driveway.  That is our plight.  That is our little human predicament. 

You know, I’ll never forget one of my seminary professors and something she said to us.  Or showed us, really.  Her name was Isabel Rodgers, but we all called affectionately her “Dr. Izzie.”  It was a t-shirt Dr. Izzie wore on the day her theology class talked about Martin Luther. Luther, she told us, had written a letter to a friend who was struggling with this “sin and sinner” stuff – a struggle Luther knew all too well himself.   And I’ll never forget what Dr. Izzie told us he wrote.  Listen:

If you are a preacher of grace, then preach a true and not fictitious grace. God does not save people who are only fictitious sinners. Be a sinner and sin boldly, but believe and rejoice in Christ even more boldly…..

This t-shirt of hers was a stark contrast to her regular class attire – usually a blouse with slacks or skirt.  The shirt was navy blue, short-sleeve with white lettering; the block kind you used to get ironed on at the sporting goods store.  And it simply read: SIN BOLDLY!  How about that!  Our esteemed seminary professor – the first female moderator of the Presbyterian Church (USA), in fact! – showing up for class with a t-shirt that said, SIN BOLDLY! 

Now there are those who might take issue with her doing this.  There may be some who get their feathers ruffled by this notion of “sinning boldly,” thinking the last thing the world needs is people sinning with encouragement and enthusiasm.

And that would be a travesty, if that’s what ol’ Martin Luther meant.  But it wasn’t.  What Luther was trying to get at the limitlessness of God’s mercy – addressing the reality of sin for the Christian and God’s capacity to forgive those who put their trust in the cross.  Luther is imploring us to acknowledge and confess our troubled past – but he is also pushing us to recognize the power of God’s grace in that past, and how that grace shapes our present and our future. Sin boldly, he said, but rejoice in Christ even more boldly…

You know, sometimes I think God sits up in Heaven – if “up” is where God and Heaven are – I think God sits up there and looks down on us and shakes the almighty head back and forth.  And God says it, over and over again, as if one day it might make a difference: Don’t they get it??  Don’t they understand??  Because even the best of us still live our lives as if we’ve heard only half of the gospel – as if its worship, and we’ve confessed our sins, but forgotten all about the Assurance of Pardon.

We continue to want to bury the ugly past, fooling ourselves into thinking it’ll just go away.  We want to brush aside the self-centered things we’ve done, or the horrible thoughts that run through our mind and come from only God knows where.  We want so much to deny our cynicism or our greed or our envy or our apathy.  And God calls out: Don’t they get it??  Don’t they understand?? And we don’t.

And we won’t – not until we follow Paul’s lead; a man who “sinned boldly,” as Luther might say.  Not until we see the radical way that God changed him inside and out, and realize that God can do the exact same thing in you and in me.  Not until we come face to face with all of our skeletons, all our regret, all our painful pasts; and rather than avoid them, head straight into them.  Because it is there, in all the messiness of life, where God does God’s most amazing and glorious work.

You know, it took a day or two for me to fully process that movie, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.  And I’ll admit, there is something attractive about erasing bad memories and starting with a clean slate.  But the more I think about it, the more I realize that doesn’t really solve anything. 

That’s because when all is said and done, our relationship with Jesus is not about what we’ve done or haven’t done, but about what God has done and is still doing.  It is because of our faults, because of our sins, because of our humanity, that we know God in the intimate way we do.  Not as Master or Teacher or Leader.  Not as a wise sage, or a powerful revolutionary.  Not even as Lord.  No, you and I come to know Jesus as Friend – one who loves us even when we are unlovable, one who claims us even when we are unworthy, and one who forgives us even when the world might cringe in horror if they could see what’s really inside. 

So maybe Luther had a point: “Sin Boldly!”  Let me hear you say it: SIN BOLDLY!  Not because you should sin, but because you will.  Claim your past; claim your imperfections – because there is power in embracing every last bit of who you are.  And know this: God always remembers, and God always loves.  Thanks be to God.  AMEN.