For a few years while I was in college, my hometown buddies and I had a Thanksgiving weekend tradition of getting together that Friday afternoon for a football game. We played wherever we could find some open space: the high school track, the golf course, somebody’s back yard. A couple of us were decent athletes, though most of us were more like me, and the games results were usually more the fruit of luck than skill. Case in point: I remember one play where my friend Alan – and actually, three of us in our group of friends were named Alan – Alan went out for a long pass that somehow wound up getting stuck in a tree. And while we stood there wondering how to score that one, Alan – the receiver – grabbed one of the lower branches and started shaking it violently until the ball fell out of the tree, and into his arms, whereupon he ran into the end zone for a touchdown. “You can’t do that,” we told him, “the ball got stuck in the tree.” Alan smiled and replied, “Hey, doesn’t it say the Bible, ‘The Lord helps those who help themselves?’”
Well now, on this morning, even our second graders, who now have Bibles of their own, will be able to tell you that, no, “The Lord helps those who help themselves” is not a Bible verse. Nor are certain other cherished phrases that we tend to associate with the scriptures, like, “To thine own self be true,” “God works in mysterious ways,” and – my mother’s personal favorite - “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” Today is World Communion Sunday, a day when Christian communities around the world come together around the table and celebrate the fact that though we are many, and though we are different, we are all one in Jesus Christ. But it is also true that as Congregationalists, we are heirs of the Reformed tradition, and while the Lord’s Supper is important, it is the Word that is central to our worship life together, even on World Communion Sunday. So today we celebrate both Word and Sacrament, with the sharing of the table and the presentation of Bibles to our young people.
And as a way of doing this, I’ve chosen a passage from Luke that brings both to life. Barb read for us a section of Luke’s gospel that we’ve listened to so often that we may not actually have heard what Luke wrote. In a way it’s like the Lord’s Prayer or the Pledge of Allegiance, something we know so well that we don’t really pay close attention to what the words are actually saying. Did anybody notice something a little unusual in Jesus’ words at the table in Luke’s Last Supper? “And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he said ‘Take this and divide it among yourselves…’ And he took bread, and when he had given thanks he broke it and gave it to them… And likewise the cup after supper saying, ‘This cup which is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood.’” Luke has Jesus passing the cup around, not once, but twice – both before and after the bread. How many times have we heard these words from Luke, and how many times have we noticed the two cups? Did Jesus really pass the cup around twice, or is Luke trying to tell us something through repetition?
I’ve found myself thinking this week about my early experiences in each of the three churches I’ve served, probably because I’ve also been thinking about Angie starting in her new church next week. One of the things she and I talked about before she left is that every church has its unanticipated obstacles, little land mines that you don’t find out about until you get there. In my first church it was the 1980 presidential election between Jimmy Carter and Ronald Reagan. The issue was not what I said about the election campaign, but rather – and you can be forgiven for not believing this – it was that I didn’t say anything at all about it. Some of the elders expected me to come out and endorse the challenger, and because I didn’t, I was somehow suspect. In my second church, the unanticipated landmine was an overly saccharine portrait of Jesus that was donated by a church family in memory of a recently departed relative. And it wasn’t the portrait itself so much as where they wanted to put it – right up here smack in the front center of the chancel. And even to politely refuse their idea was in their mind to disrespect the memory of the dearly departed. And yes, when I arrived in Beverly eleven years ago I found myself unexpectedly drawn into a turf war going on in the kitchen, an experience that made me so cautious about the territory that to this day I still don’t know how to run the dishwasher. The church is an oftentimes curious animal – we can differ about the humanity of Jesus, or the presence of God, or the unity of the church, but don’t you dare take liberties with the kitchen!
In the early days of the church it actually was the humanity of Jesus and the presence of God that was the not-so-hidden minefield which threatened the church’s unity, hence our two cups this morning. You might remember last month when Kate Pinkham preached, she alluded to some of the differences that divided the church back in its earliest days, and one of the biggest differences had to do with the nature of Jesus: was Jesus fully, 100% a human being, or was he a divine being come to earth in order to bring salvation to humanity? There were strong opinions on both sides of the question, so strong that, one or two generations after Luke wrote, certain biblical scribes decided that Luke’s original account of the last supper was an insufficient depiction of Jesus’ humanity – like my silence about the election was an insufficient endorsement of Reagan - and so took the liberty of adding about a sentence and a half to make the matter crystal clear. Luke’s original telling ended in the middle of verse 19, “And he took bread, and when he had given thanks he broke it and gave it to them.” Period. But some later readers didn’t think this showed Jesus at his most fully human, so they added language which referred specifically to Jesus’ body and his blood. The revised version then goes on after the words “he broke it and gave it to them,” and has Jesus say, “This is my body which is given for you… and likewise the cup after supper saying, ‘This cup…is the new covenant in my blood.” For later generations, the last supper is not complete without mentioning that Jesus had a real body that could be broken and that he bled real blood, which meant of course he was fully, 100% a human being. And, inadvertently, the addition resulted in Jesus’ passing the cup around the table, not once, but twice, once before the bread and once after.
Of course, this is only something we notice if we open our Bibles and actually read them. And this is one of the reasons Heather and I decided to give Bibles to our young people now, at the beginning of the church school year, instead of the way we have done it in the past, giving them out at the end. The Bible is not a reward for a certain level of achievement, or for good Sunday School attendance, or anything else – it is the opportunity to read for ourselves that wonderful, ongoing story of faith which is not just about the people in these pages, but about you and me, and where we see ourselves in these stories. This morning we saw a good intersection of Word and Sacrament, how the words that were written can influence the flavor of what we enjoy at the table, like some fresh-cut parsley can bring new life to a soup or a sauce. As Gail read for us from Isaiah, “the grass [may] wither, and the flower [may] fade, but the word of God will stand forever.” We put that word into our children’s hands so that they, and we, may discover that freshness for ourselves. But it will only happen if we open our Bibles to see what they have to say to us; after all, as it is written somewhere, The Lord helps those who help themselves!
Let us pray.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Our Community, Our World
The questions started coming in the middle of the summer, as people began looking at their fall calendars: “Did you know that Sunday One falls on September 11 this year? Are we going to do Sunday One on September 11?” And the answer, obviously, is Yes to both: I realized the two dates would coincide as far back as last year, when Sunday One fell on the 12th, and it really makes the most sense to start church school the Sunday after Labor Day, rather than, say the Sunday before, or the one after. Still, I completely understand the feelings behind the question: these are two very different occasions, one of which, to borrow Franklin Roosevelt’s apt phrase, marks a day of infamy, and the other a day of celebration and new beginnings. How do we afford each the honor and appropriate attitude it deserves?
Now if this were the only coincidence of ideas, I could probably handle it. But I was also reminded of the fact that today marks the beginning of the third year of our Church Vision, when we said we would focus our emphasis on mission and outreach, on ways of engaging more deeply in our community and our world. Then my friends on the Pru Board asked me to include a few words about the coming Capital Campaign which will honor our history and provide for our legacy. Others think now is the time to begin talking about ways of celebrating Second Church’s 300th anniversary which is less than two years away. And if all this weren’t enough, today we find ourselves in the midst of multiple transitions as we bid Godspeed to Angie in two weeks and welcome Barb and Judy to our staff. All of these were suggested to me as the appropriate theme for this morning’s sermon. It’s like one of those Steven Soderbergh movies – the director who made “Traffic” and the new film “Contagion,” - Soderbergh’s movies look like seven different movies all going on at once until you finally begin to understand first, that they are all intertwined, and then later, how.
But the most appropriate starting point for any sermon worth its salt is the Bible, and the passage that first came to mind earlier this week as I considered the confluence of Sunday One with September 11 was the familiar one from I Corinthians, “If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it. Now you are the body of Christ, and, individually, members of it.” It’s a verse that speaks well to both observances this morning. You and I have lots to celebrate together today, including seeing all our young people, seeing all of you, being together in the loving presence of God this morning, sharing the community of faith and fellowship, looking forward to a cookout and a picnic, and plans for a great year together ahead of us. When one of us has something to celebrate, we all celebrate together. Yet we are also mindful of the suffering in our world, the deep mourning that the remembrance of that gorgeous Tuesday morning exactly ten years ago brings, shattered as it was by nearly inconceivable destruction and death. And as a community and as a world, as Paul wrote to the Corinthian church, we all suffered together.
But I think Paul’s words to the church at Rome are better suited for today, because love is stronger than death and good is stronger than evil: “Let love be genuine,” he wrote, “hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love each other with mutual affection; outdo each other in showing honor. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer.” These are the things that make us a community, whether we are talking about this church community, or the world community. One of the remarkable goods that came out of September 11, 2001, was that for a while at least, the world was united, and perhaps more to the point, the world understood that it was united. Our nation, so badly scarred, enjoyed the empathy and goodwill of nearly the entire family of nations. More than one world leader said in those days, “We are all New Yorkers; we are all Americans.” We were one world community. Human nature being what it is, those sentiments did not last forever, and the world’s nations soon turned back to their own agendas and self-interest. But even when we are not paying attention to it, or when it is difficult to see clearly, even when most visible evidence indicates otherwise, we are still a world community. Regardless of whether we share the same goals, or whether we agree with each other, regardless of who happens to be at war with whom, or where peace might be found, we remain citizens of the same world, inhabitants of the same planet, children of the One God.
I shared this story with you ten years ago, but today is a good day to share it again. The first Saturday after September 11 I performed a wedding on Nantucket. Debbie and I caught one of the first planes flying again on Friday, which meant we would be able to get back to Beverly in time for Sunday morning worship. The bride was Jewish and the groom was Christian. And the significance of their union on that weekend, of all weekends, was not lost on anyone. For in spite of the fact that the nineteen hijackers believed their religion called them to death and destruction, there in that small chapel on that warm Saturday afternoon, surrounded by families with considerably different history and experience, two young people of different faiths said by their union that, No, faith does not call us to death and division, but rather to love and to unity and to wholeness. I remember chatting with the father of the bride before the ceremony began. He was a proud man and a faithful one, and he observed to me, “These two young people – they are teaching us something here today that the world could learn a lesson from.” Our young people are able to teach us something that the world could learn a lesson from.
This is one of the reasons that it is actually quite fitting that Sunday One falls on the tenth anniversary of September 11, 2001. Because it is from our children that our world has something to learn. I can remember during our Open and Affirming discussions that the young people of our church, my daughter Blythe among them, wondered what the big deal was. Our children already understood that you treat everybody the same, that you don’t single out any class of person and tell them they aren’t as good as someone else. For them, it was a non-issue because they couldn’t imagine their friends or their world any other way. Our young people are able to teach us something that the world could learn a lesson from. And in a little while, at the end of our Service of Remembrance and Hope, our children will return to our midst because they are our future, and there is still something we can learn from them.
The Psalm that Barb Schreur read this morning is the same lesson we heard on that first Sunday after September 11 – and if you want to see more of that morning’s reflection, you can find it on Second Church’s Facebook page. So on a day that we remember changed the way we understand our world, as well as in the days following torrential rains, a tropical storm and even an earthquake, the words of Psalm 46 – especially verses one through three, which I am actually going to read as verses three to one - sound as fresh as this morning’s headlines: “[For] though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its water roar and foam, though the very mountains tremble with its tumult, we will not be afraid, for God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in time of trouble.”
Let us pray.
Now if this were the only coincidence of ideas, I could probably handle it. But I was also reminded of the fact that today marks the beginning of the third year of our Church Vision, when we said we would focus our emphasis on mission and outreach, on ways of engaging more deeply in our community and our world. Then my friends on the Pru Board asked me to include a few words about the coming Capital Campaign which will honor our history and provide for our legacy. Others think now is the time to begin talking about ways of celebrating Second Church’s 300th anniversary which is less than two years away. And if all this weren’t enough, today we find ourselves in the midst of multiple transitions as we bid Godspeed to Angie in two weeks and welcome Barb and Judy to our staff. All of these were suggested to me as the appropriate theme for this morning’s sermon. It’s like one of those Steven Soderbergh movies – the director who made “Traffic” and the new film “Contagion,” - Soderbergh’s movies look like seven different movies all going on at once until you finally begin to understand first, that they are all intertwined, and then later, how.
But the most appropriate starting point for any sermon worth its salt is the Bible, and the passage that first came to mind earlier this week as I considered the confluence of Sunday One with September 11 was the familiar one from I Corinthians, “If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it. Now you are the body of Christ, and, individually, members of it.” It’s a verse that speaks well to both observances this morning. You and I have lots to celebrate together today, including seeing all our young people, seeing all of you, being together in the loving presence of God this morning, sharing the community of faith and fellowship, looking forward to a cookout and a picnic, and plans for a great year together ahead of us. When one of us has something to celebrate, we all celebrate together. Yet we are also mindful of the suffering in our world, the deep mourning that the remembrance of that gorgeous Tuesday morning exactly ten years ago brings, shattered as it was by nearly inconceivable destruction and death. And as a community and as a world, as Paul wrote to the Corinthian church, we all suffered together.
But I think Paul’s words to the church at Rome are better suited for today, because love is stronger than death and good is stronger than evil: “Let love be genuine,” he wrote, “hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love each other with mutual affection; outdo each other in showing honor. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer.” These are the things that make us a community, whether we are talking about this church community, or the world community. One of the remarkable goods that came out of September 11, 2001, was that for a while at least, the world was united, and perhaps more to the point, the world understood that it was united. Our nation, so badly scarred, enjoyed the empathy and goodwill of nearly the entire family of nations. More than one world leader said in those days, “We are all New Yorkers; we are all Americans.” We were one world community. Human nature being what it is, those sentiments did not last forever, and the world’s nations soon turned back to their own agendas and self-interest. But even when we are not paying attention to it, or when it is difficult to see clearly, even when most visible evidence indicates otherwise, we are still a world community. Regardless of whether we share the same goals, or whether we agree with each other, regardless of who happens to be at war with whom, or where peace might be found, we remain citizens of the same world, inhabitants of the same planet, children of the One God.
I shared this story with you ten years ago, but today is a good day to share it again. The first Saturday after September 11 I performed a wedding on Nantucket. Debbie and I caught one of the first planes flying again on Friday, which meant we would be able to get back to Beverly in time for Sunday morning worship. The bride was Jewish and the groom was Christian. And the significance of their union on that weekend, of all weekends, was not lost on anyone. For in spite of the fact that the nineteen hijackers believed their religion called them to death and destruction, there in that small chapel on that warm Saturday afternoon, surrounded by families with considerably different history and experience, two young people of different faiths said by their union that, No, faith does not call us to death and division, but rather to love and to unity and to wholeness. I remember chatting with the father of the bride before the ceremony began. He was a proud man and a faithful one, and he observed to me, “These two young people – they are teaching us something here today that the world could learn a lesson from.” Our young people are able to teach us something that the world could learn a lesson from.
This is one of the reasons that it is actually quite fitting that Sunday One falls on the tenth anniversary of September 11, 2001. Because it is from our children that our world has something to learn. I can remember during our Open and Affirming discussions that the young people of our church, my daughter Blythe among them, wondered what the big deal was. Our children already understood that you treat everybody the same, that you don’t single out any class of person and tell them they aren’t as good as someone else. For them, it was a non-issue because they couldn’t imagine their friends or their world any other way. Our young people are able to teach us something that the world could learn a lesson from. And in a little while, at the end of our Service of Remembrance and Hope, our children will return to our midst because they are our future, and there is still something we can learn from them.
The Psalm that Barb Schreur read this morning is the same lesson we heard on that first Sunday after September 11 – and if you want to see more of that morning’s reflection, you can find it on Second Church’s Facebook page. So on a day that we remember changed the way we understand our world, as well as in the days following torrential rains, a tropical storm and even an earthquake, the words of Psalm 46 – especially verses one through three, which I am actually going to read as verses three to one - sound as fresh as this morning’s headlines: “[For] though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea; though its water roar and foam, though the very mountains tremble with its tumult, we will not be afraid, for God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in time of trouble.”
Let us pray.
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