Sermons: July 2011

Pentecost 6 (Proper 12)

July 24, 2011

1 Kings 3:5-12                 Psalm 119:129-136

Romans 8:26-39              Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

This past Monday afternoon I got a phone call. About Christmas trees.

“Is this Grace Episcopal Church?” she drawled in what sounded like a Texas accent.

“Yes it is.”

“Hi. I’m from such-and-such organization and we help churches raise money by selling Christmas trees.”

I’m thinking, “Lady, it’s 95 today and, besides, I really don’t want to think about Christmas.”

We talked some and she asked who the fundraising person is at Grace. I replied that almost all of our fundraising efforts go to Outreach, so she should contact Outreach. (As soon as that left my mouth, I thought “Miriam’s gonna kill me.”)

The Christmas tree lady enthusiastically replied, “Oh, yes. At my church we sell Christmas trees to send our kids to missionary school.”

Well, if I hadn’t known before, I knew then she wasn’t an Episcopalian.

After I gave her my email—not Miriam’s—I pondered what she had said about Outreach.

I flashed back to when Joyce, Curt, and I were on Outreach at St. Paul’s. I’ll just speak for myself, but it turned out that my idea of outreach and the rector’s were radically different. I agreed with Joyce: let’s help St. Paul’s, which is downtown, be a downtown church: feeding the hungry, helping the homeless, caring for children. The rector, however, wanted outreach to support missionaries in Africa.

Two very different ways of understanding the Gospel.

I recently called the director of a local prison ministry about Grace getting involved with them. He agreed to come speak to our Pastoral Ministry Team.

Monday morning, the same day I would later speak with the Christmas tree lady, he called: “I’ve looked at your web site and we can’t work with you because of some of the positions your church takes.”

After our very brief conversation, I sat at my desk and reflected on my feelings: this may sound odd, but I felt violated, not sexually, but personally, spiritually. I was also angry because I felt Grace had been insulted and attacked for who we are and what we stand for; it was like Grace was a member of my family being physically assaulted: I wanted to leap to her defense and kick somebody’s ass.

After these feelings subsided, I was left feeling very, very sad. Our American culture wars, the huge divide between Christians in this country was, with this phone call, suddenly not an abstract issue with talking TV heads shouting at each other: my home—Grace—had been invaded and my family—you—had been threatened.

What do these stories have in common?

They all share people with very different beliefs.

Why are beliefs this way?

I’m reading now a fascinating book by Andrew Newberg, a neuroscientist, called Why We Believe What We Believe: Uncovering Our Biological Need For Meaning, Spirituality, and Truth.

When Christmas tree lady called, I happened to be outside in the shade reading Newberg’s book. In it he asks

why a similar neurological experience would cause one person to have one belief about reality and another person an opposing belief. For some people, God represents a force that brings the universe into being. For others, God is a presence that guides human beings to live according to higher moral ideals. Still others see God as the ultimate judge of good and evil acts (1).

Newberg shows that in the brain belief shapes experience, and experiences in turn reinforce belief. The rector of St. Paul’s, the Christmas tree lady, the prison ministry leader, and I all believe in God and follow Jesus. Yet our beliefs and experiences greatly differ; thus, how we live and enact the Gospel of Christ varies greatly.

Which brings me--finally, you may be thinking—to today’s Gospel, where Jesus tells six parables about the kingdom of heaven.

For our purposes today, the key word in these parables is “like.”

“Like.”

“The kingdom of heaven,” as Jesus says, “is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold everything he had and bought it.”

This itty bitty word “like” is absolutely important. In none of the six parables does Jesus say what the kingdom of heaven is. In all six he says what the kingdom of heaven is like.

By teaching most of the time in parables and stories, Jesus is not laying down rules and absolutes; rather, he’s inviting us into the story:

·         “What do you,” he says, “yes, you, think the kingdom of heaven is like?”

·         “How can you—yes, you—enter into God’s kingdom?

·         How can you—yes, you—experience it?

·         How can you—yes, you—enact the kingdom of heaven?”

Jesus’ use of parables and stories guarantees different understandings.

Jesus, unlike our not-so-great education system, unlike some forms of Christianity, does not teach to the test.

But have I turned Jesus into some kind of laid-back hippy or, much worse, a professor? Is all this some kind of liberal relativism, where anything goes?

Absolutely not. The rector of St. Paul’s believed with all his heart, soul, and mind that his job as a Christian was to save people. Which means saving them from hell and damnation. Given this belief, it was necessary for him to understand outreach as missionary activity that saves souls. The Christmas tree lady probably believes the same.

The belief of the prison ministry leader is probably similar, and probably oriented to following commandments. One of the commandments that he and his group have self-selected is that gay people are sinful; therefore, those of us who welcome our LGBT sisters and brothers are, in a sense, like them, unclean, cast into the outer darkness.

Neither of these beliefs, to me, fits well with a loving and compassionate God; neither fits well with a Jesus who subverts commandments and status quo thinking and tells us to think for ourselves. Neither of these beliefs shows Jesus’ love and compassion.

Therefore, are the former rector, Christmas tree lady, and prison ministry leader awful, evil people? Emphatically: NO.

They and I have some very different beliefs. These beliefs will in turn dictate how we perceive the Gospel and reality and how we act within them.

I do think the be-saved-or-be-damned, commandment-captive, judgement-passing theologies and spiritualities are mistaken. As Dr. Newberg points out,

In terms of neurological development, it is easier for the brain to first quantify objects into pairs, and then to differentiate them into opposing groups: light or dark, happy or sad, fact or fiction, good or evil, right or wrong, Republican or Democrat, and so on. . . . The brain tends to reduce cause-and-effect cognition into dualistic if-then scenarios because these are an easy, neurologically efficient way to make sense of the world (2).

Simple theologies are easy, and simplistic theologies are easier. Which is why they’re popular. But black and white theologies contradict human realities. More importantly, they contradict the infinite reality and mystery of God.

Religiosity and spirituality, and the beliefs and practices within them, are largely due to both nurture and nature, socialization and genetics. Add to these one’s personal experiences and free will, and you can see how very complex and dynamic beliefs are.

For me, rational and faithful belief precludes simplistic one-line theologies such as: “You have to be saved,” or “Gays are sinful.”

One thing’s for certain from the parables in today’s Gospel and from Jesus’ teaching and example in general: Jesus is not trying to make things easy for us. If you want easy, go to MacDonald’s.

On the other hand, if you want to sit down at the banquet table of the kingdom of God, you won’t get there by eating fast food: you have to cook at home, with your own seasonings, from your own experiences. Then you bring what you’ve created to the potluck. This is the kingdom of God.

Before you come to the banquet table, though, as Jesus teaches, you have to go out to the streets and byways and invite every person you see--every person—to come feast with you. Otherwise, you’re eating alone (3).

Amen.

NOTES

1.     Page 209.

2.     Page 88.

3.     See Luke 14:1-25.