Sermon for Second Lent

Preached at Canadochly Lutheran Church and St. John, New Freedom on Feb 21, 2016
Preaching texts: Acts 2:41-47, Luke 3:10-14

By rights, I shouldn’t be here.

In this church, that is. Or any church really. I was raised in the church. Was a member of St. Paul, Charleston, WV from my baptismal day until I left to begin service as the pastor of St. John’s in Davis, WV. But therein lies the problem. I was a member of St. Paul, Charleston. I was a member at one of the most divisive, contentious, conflicted congregations in all of WV-WMD Synod. Over 30 years, it went from 120+ in worship to less than 50 before finally closing. Over those 30 years, they chewed through six pastors, nearly all of which were either thrown out or departed in disgrace. It was, in many ways, the poster child for everything that is wrong in the church in America today. Poster child for all the reasons why people stop coming to church, why they stop attending worship, and for far too many, why they stop believing entirely.

I very easily could have been one of them. I wasn’t, but this is definitely one of those “there but for the grace of God...” kind of moments.

I loved my home congregation, but good riddance. We don’t need churches like that. But how did it get that way? What happened? Well, they forgot rule #1 (and #2). It’s not about you or me. But for St. Paul, Charleston and for many congregations throughout our country, that’s precisely what it’s about. It’s all about them. About the people inside their four walls. What they want. What Jesus wants is often quite a ways down on their list of priorities.

There were two groups at my home church. One had money and thought that gave them the right to dictate the direction of the congregation’s mission (which was usually nowhere that didn’t serve them personally.) The other were closet fundamentalists and their unwavering and unbending view of Scripture made them feel they had the right to weed out the undesirables in the pews. Sometimes these groups overlapped. Sometimes they fought each other. But between the two of them, they brought that congregation down.

Last week, we talked about evangelism and our calling to spread the Gospel far and wide out there in the world. But what is to happen within these walls Jesus is equally clear about. We are first and foremost supposed to love one another, to care for one another, and to take care of each other. But, for far too many, this place becomes their own little fiefdom and they lord of the manor.

I get why it happens. For many of us, we’re nobodies out in the world. Just cogs in the wheel of society. But in here we are somebody. We matter, as I said last week. We are children of God. But for some that’s not enough and that little taste drives us into a need to lord over others in what I often jokingly refer to as “big fish-small pond syndrome.”

We know the stories. The tyrannical treasurer. The arrogant organist. The stubborn office secretary. The terrorizing altar guild ladies. The “Herr pastor” of past generations. These stereotypes exist for a reason, because many of us have encountered them or similar before.

(I am thankful that they have been almost entirely absent from the congregations that I’ve served, so please don’t think I’m making some sort of underhanded accusation towards anyone here. I’m not.)

But contrast all that to the image of the church we see in Acts. Where everyone holds possessions in common, where they spend time together in prayer and praise, eating together and having goodwill towards all.

One can argue that this is not a realistic image and I get that. We live in a society that is highly suspicious of the word “socialism” and all of its implications and what we are seeing here in the early church is, in fact, a socialist model. But at its core, at its heart is the ideal that the church takes care of its own.

I’ve pointed out that there is a reason each of us is here in this particular place. And I doubt very highly that it has much to do with how right our teachings are or how intellectually vigorous the pastor’s scholarship is (although I’d certainly like to think mine is decent.) It has to do with how this place makes us feel and we feel good about this place because the people around us make us feel good. And we, in turn, do our part to make them feel good.

We take care of one another, first and foremost. It’s not about who is right. It’s not about who has the power or who has the money or whose family is the most loyal. It’s not about us. It’s about them and, in this case, the “them” are the people in the pews next to you. Your brothers and sisters in Christ.

I’m not saying we can’t disagree with one another. In fact, vigorous and healthy disagreement can be quite good for the church. Some of the most powerful moments of growth I’ve had in my faith journey have come at the hands of people with whom I very little to agree with, but made me think. That gave me new ideas and insight. That made me go “hey, I’ve never thought of it that way before.”

We can do that without being nasty, without being disagreeable. We can do it without fighting, without rancor and hate.

It can be done. I’ve seen it. I remember the Synod Assembly in WV around the time of the big homosexuality debate in the church. And one person would get up and they’ve give all the good reasons why the church should change on this issue. And then another would get up and give all the good reasons why the church should not change on this issue. And after debate was over and the decision was made, I wandered into the lounge where we were having our break time to see those same two people laughing it up, hanging out, and having a good time with one another. Two brothers in Christ, who didn’t agree, but never forgot that they were brothers to one another.

When we talk about our mission in the world, when we talk about spreading the Gospel and making disciples, we need to be mindful, in some ways, of what happens after. We have a baby Christian, someone new to our faith, and what do we offer them?

A place of nurturing, of care, a sanctuary where they can grow in faith, hope, and love? Or a place of ruin where we let our selfish impulses cause us to lob bombs at one another heedless of the consequences?

There’s a right way to do church and a wrong way. And as we live into these anxious times, we cannot forget that we reflect the love God has for us to others. Both within and without these four walls. We come here because we feel we matter, to these neighbors and to the God we serve. That’s the same feeling we want to give to others, because it’s the truth. We do matter to God. Christ died and rose again for us. And we show that we remember that in the way we treat one another. Amen.