It's Not About Us--A Sermon

photo by Christos Tsoumplekas / flickr

You may have read this poem. It was called “How to Live With Your Dash.” A man spoke at the funeral of a good friend. He talked about the year of her birth and the day she died. These two dates would be etched on her tombstone. But he said between the birth date and the date of her death there was this dash. What made this woman the person she was, was the dash. Those years in-between her birth and death. And so it seems to me that the challenge for all of us is to learn how to live with our dash—this time between yesterday and tomorrow.

 So the church has a dash, too. After eight interims I have learned first hand that this in-between time that can be one of the most important times in the life of your church.  It can be a time of learning, of growing, of hammering out the kind of church you want. And, in learning that, you will be pretty sure of the kind of person you want to serve as your next Pastor. 

One prominent church consultant has said that it doesn’t matter if the church is conservative or moderate or liberal. It doesn’t matter what kind of worship you have—overhead projectors and guitars or a mighty pipe organ. He says if you hammer out your identity—know who you are—fly that flag—serving God and the congregation here and the community around you—you will never go out of business. And one of the important questions for you ask yourselves and the person you hope to call as Pastor Is; what is God calling you to be and to do in 2017 and the years that follow.

So we come to our text. It is found in First Kings. It’s really an aside comment and if you don’t read it very carefully you will miss it. In Kings 5.5 Solomon early in his reign as king told the people he would do something that his father never did—and that was to build a temple for the Lord God. Not just any temple—but it would be the finest temple the world had ever seen. And all of the fifth chapter and part of chapter six deals with the details of recruiting workmen, getting the finest material available, taxing the people and going to work. And so, by the end of the sixth chapter Solomon has kept his promise. The Temple is finally finished. But we don’t stop there—we move on to the first verse of chapter seven... And this is what I Kings says: “In the fourth year the foundation of the house of the Lord was laid…in the eleventh year…(and) the eighth month, the house was finished in all its parts, and according to all its specifications. He (Solomon) was seven years in building it.” (And now we come to the seventh chapter—listen closely.) “Solomon was building his own house thirteen years, and he finished his entire house.” (I Kings 5. 37-38. 7.1)

Do you hear what the text says? It took Solomon seven years to build God’s house. It took thirteen years to build his own house. Isn’t this interesting? It took the King almost twice as long to build his own house as God’s house. And the size of the house he built for God could not compare with the mansion he built for himself.

Walter Brueggemann, a very fine Old Testament scholar has said: “The Lord did not hold as large a place in the heart of Solomon as he did his father David. The spiritual eclipse had begun.” And before Solomon’s reign was over it would all come crashing down and the kingdom would be split forever. Why? Because Solomon thought it was about him—that was his primary purpose. And he forgot it really was to be about God.

Photo by Peter Coughlan / flickr

Does it sound just a little familiar? It used to be that we looked out on the horizon of any town and you would see the steeples,  steeples dotted everywhere. The tallest buildings in any town would be the steeples. But no more. The tallest buildings are the Banks, the Savings and Loans. Driving down the road I have said, “What a beautiful building.” And they say: “Oh, that’s our new bank.” It’s a parable really.

What about us—our purposes? Many of our epitaphs could read: “Born a man—died a grocer.” Or we could add: died a preacher, a teacher, a doctor. But these labels we wear and the roles we assume are not near enough. I had a teacher in Seminary one time who was just brilliant. But outside that school very few people knew him. He hadn’t written any books or spoken at any great churches. He was just a good teacher and a good man. His wife walked out on him one day and left him with a little redheaded girl. He was just devastated. And I heard him say one day: “When I die I want them to say about me: I was a good father.” What a great epitaph. 

Wouldn’t it be great if they could say of us: She was a decent human being or the light of God shone through him or you could always count on her or he was a good husband. In every church I have ever had there was that little handful that kept it going. They were always there. They came with their offering and their Bibles to teach a class or give out bulletins or just support their church. Without them those churches would not have survived. But they had found out something that Solomon, in all his wisdom, would never know. It wasn’t about them. They had found a larger purpose. And that’s my dream for every church I know today.

But we can’t do this unless we get ourselves off our hands? Remember the old song, “Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in his wonderful face, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace.” We find this vision in worship. Real worship saves us all from selfishness, from smaller purposes, from living in the basement of a great big house where there are so many, many rooms upstairs.

photo by Dieter Weinest / flickr

I don’t know if you ever saw the movie that came out several years ago entitled, “Grand Canyon.” In the movie, Danny Glover a black man lived in the slums of his city. And the only thing that kept him going was that once in a while when it all pressed in on him he would make a trip to the Grand Canyon. And he would just sit there looking, looking at the colors and the majesty and the sheer size of that wonderful chasm. And somebody asked him why he did that? And he said: “There ought to be a place where you can see something a whole lot bigger than you are.” And after his visits he would turn around and travel back home to a little bitty house and a job that did not pay enough, but he would make it. 

With all the stuff that is going on in our world—it is really hard for any of his to keep a healthy perspective. With so much news coming at us every single day—we can’t escape the breaking news. One lady who works out at the same gym I do stopped me the other day and said: “You know, I wish they would turn off the TV’s here.” And I said, “Me too.” We cannot escape the news whether it’s the doctor’s office or some restaurant—Breaking News is everywhere.

Fred Craddock who was one of our greatest preacher told that one day he went to the hospital to see a member who was having very serious surgery the next day. And when he entered she had something like: “As the World Turns” and there was a stack of reading material by her bed. Fifty Shades of Grey…a couple of tabloids like we see at the Grocery Store. Will Angie Jolie and Brad get back together? Where's Melania?Or what outfit Ivanka wore to her father’s dinner last night. The woman in the bed was facing serious surgery the next morning and she was reading all this stuff—and Craddock said there wasn’t a calorie in the whole stack. Nothing to help her get through the night and face her surgery.

Once when I was Pastor a little couple with two children knocked on my study door one sad afternoon. They sat down and said: “Our house just burned down. We lost everything. We didn’t know what to do and so we came to the church.” They needed something in that hard time that they could hang on to. 

We all need something bigger than ourselves when houses burn and husbands die and you find this lump or you lose your job. One woman writers: “Many of us are juggling so many things that we run by our lives rather than living them as gifts from God. What if we could learn to stop for a moment many times a day? What if in those moments we could decide to notice the sheer miracle of being alive? We would then be taking awe breaks instead of coffee breaks.” We all need some Grand Canyon where we can stand on tiptoe and just say: “Ahhhhh.”

photo by Esther Gibbons / flickr

What we are talking about is genuine worship. Meeting God. Real worship is putting down all that heavy stuff you carry for just a few minutes and whispering: “Help me! Help me—I don’t know what to do.” It’s asking forgiveness or just sitting there in the silence. It’s looking around you at people just like you. Remember Paul called us treasures in earthen vessels.  Mrs. Jones who had a breast removed and is worried about the future. There is Henry over there in the shadows who lost his wife. And there is dear Elaine, sitting there on the front row of the choir; she buried her twenty-two year old son Friday who committed suicide. Mrs. Johnson is there worried that she may have to go to some nursing home. And all of them under the same roof—singing and praying and opening their Bibles and sometimes even finding something in a sermon or a hug or a handshake or just a smile after church.

It doesn’t happen every Sunday. Carlyle Marney a great Baptist preacher used to say, half-kiddingly. You know, God does not come to church every Sunday. Sometimes the Lord God just sleeps in.  When you’re God you don’t have to go every week. But every once in a while God will open those doors back there and come into the sanctuary on a Sunday morning. And he will walk down this aisle and stop at your pew. And if that happens you will never be the same again. You will be turned inside out. Marney ended that story by saying no, God does not have to come to church every Sunday—but you better be there because one day when you least expect the Almighty—he may just decide to drop by. 

Solomon, with all his wisdom missed it. He spent more on himself that he did the Lord God that had called him. He never really knew who he was. He got lost in the folds of money and women and success and power and greed and selfishness. The King, with all that promise, never did find out that it really was not about him after all.

I hope here on some Sunday when you least expect it the Lord God himself might just walk down that aisle and sit down next to you. For when that happens you will take whatever comes and somehow it will be enough.

photo by Justin Kern

(This sermon was preached at the Mount Zion Presbyterian Church, Sandy Springs, SC.)

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Boy Scouts Should Have No Barriers--Nor Should the Church

Photo by Artbyheather / flickr

Reading today’s The Greenville News about the new scouting program—my mind traveled back 70 years. Could it have been that long? In the little cotton mill village where I lived three blocks from my house, overlooking the river was the Scout Cottage. And, like most of the boys in my neighborhood I signed up first for the Cub Scouts and later the Boys Scouts. I learned a lot. How to fish, how to swim, —I learned how to put up a tent and camp out. I learned how to cook outdoors on an open fire . And I would lie on my back some dark nights outside a tent—and look up at the stars and the mystery that surrounded me. 

I learned the Scouting Oath: “On my honor I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law; To help other people at all times; To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.” I read the Scouting Manual like it was the Bible.

I remember how proud I was when I first put on that dark blue Cub scout uniform and later that olive/beige Boy Scout outfit. The only barriers to admission that I remember were that we had no girls in our group and no blacks. We never even gave these restrictions a thought. We lived in a tight, insular 1950 world of white, hard-working Georgians. There were no atheists and if there were they kept quiet back there. There were no Jews, no Muslims and no African-Americans. We knew no Catholics. We had no unearthly idea what Transgender meant.

But we welcomed all the boys that looked like us, took the Oath and came regularly. So when I read in this week’s front-page story about an alternative scouting program for Christian boys—I find myself troubled. Reading further down the article it clarified its admission policy. Atheists, non-Christians and even gay boys could participate. But not fully. You had to be a church-going Christian to be a first-class scout. I wonder how those other boys must feel.

The group calls themselves Christ-centered. I have no doubt they are well-meaning and  must help a lot of boys to maturity. But after more than 40 plus years as a Preacher I have slowly learned that to be Christ-centered is not the easiest thing in the world. The real challenge is inclusiveness and not exclusion. Sure there were churches through the years that turned away blacks, that were suspicious of even groups like Jehovah’s Witnesses,  Mormons, Christian Scientists and Catholics. No gays were allowed. And if they were—they would be made to feel guilty. Jews would have felt most uncomfortable. Jesus opened his arms to all: Samaritans, women, even with shabby reputations, sinners, the hated tax collectors, Gentiles and outsiders of every stripe. Jesus himself was a Jew. There was no pecking order and I have learned that there were no second-class categories in his outfit. Nobody would ride in the back of his bus.  Jesus stretched his arms and said whosoever will to everyone.

I wish this new group would change the word: Christ-centered. For the Christ I try to follow “there is no east or west, no north or south but one great fellowship of love throughout the whole wide world.” And under that banner nobody would feel uncomfortable.

used by permission of flickr

(This article was published in The Greenville News and Anderson Independent, October 28, 2017)

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

General Kelly, President Trump and Us All...

I took these photographs over a year ago the United States Military Cemetery at Luxembourg, tiny country near France and Belgium. The names of those killed in the battles there are listed one by one. General Patton liberated Luxembourg and the people of that village were so grateful that they wanted to erect a large stature of the General in their town. Patton's widow said No. Bury him with his fellow soldiers. And even though this grave stands apart--he is buried with that band brothers he served with. He is surrounded. 

I was moved terribly by those rows and rows of crosses and the names of those buried there. And the crosses that represented those whose names have been lost to history. 

General Kelly spoke to the nation the other day in words that touched most of us. Having lost a son in the service he knows what those crosses mean. He also attempted to cover his boss's words and actions yet again. The bruha over this whole matter of the four servicemen that died in Niger has gotten lost in the media mess. 

I feel this is simply a sad illustration of how we as a nation have ignored the sacrifices of those that still serve in far away places. It took our President weeks to acknowledge those that died in Niger. And when he finally did speak he horrified so many of us by piously taking yet another swipe at President Obama and George Bush and others who he said, probably had not reached out the families of those service people that died, as he had. It is hard with families awash in grief to even fathom the insensitivity of our Commander in chief. Whatever happens it is all about him. 

No it isn't. It is about all the fallen. It is about widows and children and parents who grieve hard and long. We go about our business every day hardly thinking of all those who serve in the longest war in our history. So many of them come home in little flag draped boxes. Many of those caskets cannot be opened--those bodies are too mangled or crushed or burned to be seen. And there besides them we have all the broken, those with PTSD--whose lives are terribly shattered. 

I do not think we need to glorify war or battles. But I often wonder if we still had a draft if maybe more of us would not go about our daily tasks so casually while somebody way off dies for us. 

It isn't only our President who is insensitive. Somehow we have moved too far from the greatest generation. Maybe this whole sad week when we cannot ignore the faces of those four soldiers that died--we will begin once again to really find appropriate ways to honor our dead. And also one another.

Funny we spend hours and days ranting about some football players that will not bend their knees. Maybe the larger scandal is a nation that uses those that serve us--and never in all our days truly honor them. We just go about our lives with business as usual. There is more to patriotism than standing at attention with a hand over our hearts. 

Maybe we need to send Mr. Trump to Arlington or the Vietnam Memorial again and again. And maybe we need to send all the Congressmen and Senators along too. And maybe we all need to realize there really is more that should unite than divides us. Look again at all those crosses scattered in Arlington and in countries around the world--attention needs to be paid by all of us. This is the real patriotism. 

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Where, O Where, is the Church?

photo by Kevin Baird / flickr

One of my favorite stories is a story by Carlyle Marney who was one of our great preachers. He served a church in Austin, Texas and after many years he was called to the Myers Park Church In Charlotte, N.C. After he moved, people would come up to him and ask him how he liked living in Charlotte and how he liked his new church. And he would say, “Well, I like it just fine, but I’m having just a little trouble.” They’d perk up their ears, “Trouble?” “Yes, I having trouble finding the church. It’s just really hard to find. You know, I just keep looking and looking. I know it’s here somewhere, but I’m having a little trouble finding the church.”

So one of the things I have been doing all my ministry is trying to find the church. One of the great passages of scripture is in Matthew 16. It is one of the hinge-turning moments in the ministry of Jesus. It’s the watershed that makes all the difference in the story. Scholars call it the Confession at Caesarea Philippi.

Jesus asked his disciples, “Who do others say that I am?” And they began to give the appropriate answers, right out of the book: “John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah, one of the prophets. But Jesus zeroes in and says, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon, who always had an answer said, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” And Jesus said, “Upon this rock I will build my church.” 

What we have here is one of the most controversial passages in the whole of the New Testament. Whole books have been written on these verses. Churches have debated their meaning. Whole denominations have started on the interpretation of what the foundation of the church really is. Is the Church built on Simon Peter, the first Pope? What is the foundation of the church. What is this rock? Is it on Jesus? The testimony of Simon? Or do we build the church on anybody and everybody that bows a knee and says deep in their hearts: “We do believe Jesus is Lord.”

If I had to pick and choose I think I would pick the last theory: Jesus built his church on the testimony of all those who respond to him and love him and follow him.

After I retired we began to visit churches—looking for a new church home. I could tell you some horror stories of what we found. Terrible music. No mystery in many of the churches. Lousy preaching. Some as cold as a refrigerator. Why, you would have thought we were invisible. One woman turned around to Gayle during the Passing of the Peace and welcomed her. After the service she said to Gayle: “Margie we are glad to have you here…won’t you stay for Sunday School, Margie.” I have been calling her Margie ever since. But let me tell you what I was looking for in a church. Three words, really. Rooted in the heart of the New Testament. Without these three words there is no church. 

Koinonia

The first thing I’m looking for when I come to church is the word, kerygma. Gospel—Good news. Mark was the one who wrote the first Gospel, and his book would blaze a trail for all those that would follow. He began his remarkable work by saying, “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” “The beginning of the good news…” This is what gospel means. It was a proclamation. It was a good, good news of great joy. It was good tidings that the angels sang about that first Christmas. Without this good news there would have been no church. And this good news is for everybody.

photo by JJ / flickr

Old cripples lying by muddy pools for years, and little children who had little to live for, and prostitutes that all the good people hated, and tax collectors that were despised by their own kind and even the “beggars in velvet” discovered that they could find a place and they could find a power in their own empty lives. It was an inclusive message that took all in and changed all who came.

So the first word I look for is kerygma—good news. And this is one of the essences of church. In every church I have ever served, there have been people there who are having a hard, hard time with church. For, you see, all their lives they have heard bad news, not good news. They have had something crammed down their throats and somehow they still have indigestion from it. They were forced to sit on those hard benches for years and years. And they got scared of hell and the devil and punishment and feeling that God would never, ever accept them. They heard only half the message. They understood, like most us, the guilt. Most of them never heard the grace. 

The church lost one of its finest writers when Elizabeth O’Connor died several years ago. In one of her books she said: “Go ye into all the world has two meanings, It is a missionary word—to do evangelism. The church is to take the good news to those who do not know. But Miss O’Connor said that this go ye is also an inner word. That “Go ye” means that this gospel, word is to penetrate every part of our beings also. For she says there are places that yet have to be addressed in our lives by this good, good news. That deep down within us there are parts of us that need to be converted still. There are lost territories in all our many selves. So this good news says we can face the old sins and old habits of self-destructiveness that have haunted us all our lives. 

Now I don’t know what your broken places or lost territories are. Those parts of you that have never heard the gospel.  It might be unresolved grief or guilt or not being able to let something go and forgive someone. It could be sex or an obsession with money or things or bitterness or rage or guilt or the black dog, depression. Everybody in this room has some lost territory—most of us more than one. But we need to  remember this morning that the good tidings and the good news is for all of us. That’s the first word I’m looking for in church—kerygma—good news.

Diakonia

The second thing is that when you find the church you will always find this second word, diakonia. Simon made the great confession and said, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.” He learned it’s meaning later in that Upper Room when Jesus knelt with a basin and towel and began to wash their feet. And Simon protested, “Get up Lord. Get up. That’s servant’s business. You will never ever wash my feet.” But that night Jesus just took Simon’s sandals off and with a basin of water and towel taught him about the essence of the gospel. The word, Diakonate comes from this serving word.  

Diakonia is where the word deacon comes from. Servant is another meaning. For, you see, church is the place where you wash somebody else’s feet. And church is the place where you have your feet washed as well. And, like Simon, we don’t like that. 

Several years ago a book came out called, The Search for Excellence, which became a best seller. It told of some of the most successful corporations in America and how they got that way. And the bottom line is that those companies that will last and make it into the future will give good quality service. 

There is no real church without this word, diakonia. We really are foot-washing people. We really do touch the wounds and heal the broken spots and we really do hug and lift one another up and bring casseroles and pray and pray and pray. And so, if I find the church there will always be a little group of foot washers with an apron and a basin and towel.  Jesus said, “You save your life by losing it.” And I put that down beside, “I’m leaving because I am not being fed…” or “I’m leaving because my needs are not being met.” But Jesus said, “You save your life when you lose your life…”

Let me tell you a secret about loving this church. It’s simple. Begin to serve. Give your money. And this church needs the money right now. Give something that represents you and not just a tip. But don’t just stop there. Volunteer to work with the three year olds, sing in the choir. Tell somebody else about your church and meet them in the foyer next Sunday. All those that study growth in church say that word of mouth is the best publicity any church can have. How long has it been since you invited someone to visit your church?  Serve on a Committee here. Work for peace and justice. Get involved in making South Carolina a better state. If enough of the Christians in this state would do this—we could turn this state around. Make Mount Zion a better place. When you find the word, diakonia you will find the church.

Koinonia

But there is another word: koinonia. Fellowship. Why has the church sung, “Blest Be the Tie that binds our hearts in Christian love” since it found its way into an English hymnbook in 1782? Why do we keep singing it decade after decade? Because without fellowship there is no church. 

I love the way someone expressed it:

photo by Sean Choe / flickr

We meet awkwardly at first…eyeing each other…then we begin to talk about the weather…safe subjects…then family sizes: How many brothers and sisters do you have. Are you the eldest? We talk about what we have in common. As we spend more time we begin to learn how each of us has come to where we are. We are amazed at our capacity to understand one another’s pasts…fascinated by each other’s stories…human stories…of crying and growing and laughing and sighing. A strange thing happens. It is no longer us and them…but we the way God meant it to be. 

So we find the church when we find this word, koinonia, fellowship. It is a place that lets us be who we are and cares for us and gives us room and helps us grow. Sometimes, like in a family, we will be told we are off the beam when we are. Sometimes we get off track and the lines get tangled—but we have to untangle those lines because without this intangible thing called fellowship—love for one another—we don’t have church. We don’t have church at all.  It keeps on enlarging the circle. Taking in. And forgiving one another—which may be the hardest part. And slowly, sometimes very slowly putting all the hurt behind you and moving on. 

I heard this wonderful story about an older woman whose husband had died and she lived a long way off from her only daughter. The daughter was worried about her mother. Her house was getting old and needed a lot of repair. Her neighborhood was changing and not as safe as it used to be. So the daughter kept talking to her mother about moving to the town where she lived. The woman just shook her head. But one day she decided to move. And she did. When Sunday came she put on her finery and went to the church down the street. She called her daughter that afternoon and said, “Guess what I did this morning? I joined the church.” The daughter said, “You did what? Don’t you think it is too early? You don’t know those people. Mama, you should have waited.” And you know what her mother said? “Land sakes, honey when you join the church you never have to be lonesome again.” Do you think she found the church? I think she found the church.

photo by Matt Baume / flickr

(This sermon was preached at Mt. Zion Presbyterian Church, Sandy Springs, SC October 22, 2017)



--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

A Word for Mr. Trump: When the Wounded Get Lost in the Shuffle

I have been holding my breath a lot these days. I have found myself putting my hand over my mouth again and again. Almost every day this man who claims to be our President mocks, hates, sneers, and spreads his venom on just about everything. I wonder what his words and actions will do to the spirit and character of our land.? To us all.

I don't want to talk about him too much. You also have heard too much about all his embarrassing shenanigans. But this latest missle--hurled at not only his chief enemy President Obama but also the Bushes and Clinton. Saying these others did not respond to the wounded and the fallen like he has done. Even as they lay dead around him--they hardly matter--for once again it is all about him. 

And yet--our longest war continues. And our President ominously talks of missiles and North Korea and fire and fury. People everywhere are afraid he might push the button that would do more damage than even Hitler wrought. 

For a a year or so I wrote once or twice a month about the fallen. In Iraq and Afghanistan. I listed their names and their ages and where they came from--and how they fell. There were so many for a while that I just had to stop listing the names and lives of those who have given all for us.

If Congress and the Senate were not so absolutely gutless they would rise up and say: "Mr. Trump have you no decency!" Mr. Khan was the forerunner when his son died and Mr. Trump brushed that grief aside as if it was inconsequential. 

But enough of Trump. Just this morning I read this poem by the great poet, Mary Oliver. Listen to her words. Forget the madness out there. Let us remember the fallen.

Iraq

I want to sing a song
for a body I saw

crumpled

and without a name

but clearly someone young 

who had not yet lived his life

and never would. 

How shall I do this?

What kind of song 

would preserve such a purpose?

This poem may never end,

for what answer does it have

for anyone 

in this distant,

comfortable country,

simply looking on?

Clearly

he had a weapon in his hands.

I think

he could have been no more than twenty.

I think, whoever he was, 

of whatever country,

he might have been my brother,

were the world different.

I think

he would not have been lying there

were the world different.

I think

if I had known him,

on his birthday,

I would have made for him

a great celebration."

--Mary Oliver, from Red Bird 

Mr. Trump it really is not about us--it is about him and all those others.

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blgogspot.com

A Preacher Looks Back

photo by David Clow / flickr

If you turn to the end of the book of Deuteronomy you encounter some of the most moving scenes in the entire Bible. God instructs old Moses who was in Moab to go to Mount Nebo. And there old Moses after forty years of wandering in the wilderness looking for the promised land—he stood on that mountain and looked down at the Jordan River. On the other side was the land he and his people had been promised. But Moses’ time was up. He would never set foot on the new land. And so we are given Moses’ final address to his people. What would he say, there at the end? Those last chapters of Deuteronomy are a series of benedictions. after all he has been through—slavery, Egypt, Red Sea, the wilderness years he still goes a thanks to God. This theme of praise runs through all those last chapters of saying goodbye.

Now I am not Moses and I now quite a hundred years old——though some of you might have wondered. But I thought what I might do on my 82nd birthday today is to look back down my own ministerial road. I have served six churches and after retirement, if you call it that I have served eight other churches as interim pastor. And through the years I have picked up here and there some things I think I have learned along the way. Most of these came through experience and some of them came only when God hit me over the head with a two by four. Let me tell you some of the things I think I have learned along the way.

photo by C.P. Lesley

The first thing I have learned is that God is bigger than I ever imagined. God used to be a Baptist--a Southern Baptist--not the American kind. God was white and male, of course. We have drawn that picture from our own culture. We all do that. The Almighty was a Democrat in the forties--and looked a lot like FDR.  But in the eighties for many folk God was a Republican and looked very much like Ronald Reagan. I don’t know who God looks like today. But I discovered, much to my amazement, that somewhere along the way God got bigger. 

I have been quoting John 3.16 all my life. But it was a long time into adulthood until I realized that the book says, the book says: For God so loved the world. The Greek means kosmos--everything. Not just the Church. Not any particular denomination. Not just the liberals or conservatives. God so loved the world that the Lord God gave all of us Jesus. And all my life has been spent trying to get my arms around the length and the breadth and the height and the depth of this love of God that we see in the heart of Jesus. And if sometimes I grow very weary of anybody who tries to exclude and put a fence around God. Trying to  keep God in their little old private back pasture with a bell around his neck. It won't work. Because along the way I have met a bigger God than I ever, ever knew. Nobody can keep this God penned up. God is Maker of heaven and earth. We are all included and nobody is left out. God so loved this world. 

The second thing I have learned the hard way is that there is not but one Jesus. I tell it to people caught in the perfectionist trap who come and sit in the counseling room. Some people along the way have been just furious when they discovered that I am not perfect. Sometimes they say: He got angry. He missed me when I was in the hospital. He's not fulfilling my expectations. I tried for years to jump through those impossible hoops before I finally realized it was just not possible. Sometimes they would say: The church let me down. The church broke my heart. Or how can you stand to be Baptist? Have you looked at the Episcopalians or the Presbyterians or the Methodists or even the Disciples--and to these I could add a whole long list of adjectives that are just adjectives. Never nouns. We're mostly the same.  

People have told me we need to get back to the early church. Early Church? Have you ever read about Corinth or Galatia or Philippi or Laodicea or Pergamum or just about anywhere. The early church is just like the church today. And Reinhold Niebuhr taught us that in our time there is sometimes more of the culture in this thing we call church than Jesus. We look more like the US of A than we do the Man from Nazareth.  Paul taught us we always have the treasure in earthen vessels. Granted sometimes the vessel is a little too earthen--but there is not but one Jesus. 

Don't be too hard on yourself. Perfection is overrated. Don't be too hard on your Pastor or the church. Or even the little girl who takes your order at the restaurant after this service. There is not but one Jesus and we are not God. We need to be kind to one another. 

Which leads me to the third thing that grows out of this. The demonic is underrated. I

photo by Lawrence OP / flickr

used to think when you got saved the battle was over. Little did I know that the battle was just beginning. Paul talks about the powers and principalities or darkness and how we all have to battle them all our lives. Carl Jung first taught me that  we all have a shadow side. Karl Menninger underlined it in his book, Man Against Himself. There is an enemy within our lines that, let go would destroy your life, my life, your marriage, my marriage, your primary relationship, Any good church could be destroyed.

Back to the reality check Paul gave us. We have the treasure in earthen vessels.  A friend of mine used to say that almost every church he knew had a death wish. Squeeze the treasure too tight and you kill it. Hold it too loose and it slips away and means little or nothing. I have been in some church fights along the way and when the genie gets out of the bottle everything is hurt and crippled and nobody wins. Everybody loses. Everybody. 

In Deuteronomy 30.19 Moses is preparing them for his leave-taking and he says: "I have set before you life and death, choose life that you and your descendants may live..." Keep your eyes open. We all have a shadow side, which can destroy us all. And the antidote is found after Moses said choose life or death. He says: "Love the Lord your God, obey his voice, cleave to him..." Don't take the demonic for granted. It is a serious threat to us all.

photo by no-frills / flickr

The fourth thing that still overwhelms me to this day I have had to learn over and over again. The greatest of these is grace. Paul says: "For by grace you are saved through faith...it is a gift of God lest anyone should boast." I have sat in counseling rooms or left hospital rooms or sometimes funeral homes shaking my head. There is no way, no way they can make it. Life is just too mixed up, too hard, there is no way. And I visit back in the church I used to serve and they tell me they haven't had a drink in eight years. They tell me after the divorce they wandered around but life came back. After cancers or amputations or so many, many hard things like losing jobs or status or whatever--I go back and they're singing in the choir. The kids are doing well. It's been five years since the doctor released me, they say. And all of this is grace. Just raining down on us in the most unlikely of times and in the neediest of moments. The greatest of these really is grace.

Do you doubt it? Look at your own life. After that breast surgery—grace. After that divorce—grace. After that job you lost—grace. After the death of somebody you loved more than life itself—grace. After embarrassment and shame when they found out—grace. After the depression you thought would never end—grace. Standing there looking in the mirror the lines, the years—yoiu mutter: Where did it all go? Grace even then. 

No wonder the favorite hymn around the world is Amazing Grace. With a lump in our throats we sing it, “Through many dangers toils and snares I have already come…” No wonder we call this grace amazing. It leads us all the way home.

photo by Billie / flickr

And this grace talk leads me right into the next thing I have learned. Life is like breath--if you save it, you lose it. And what this means about grace is that we receivers of grace--which is everyone of us--we have this enormous responsibility. As we have been graced--we must now grace someone else. 

Paul, in his letter to the Corinthians says: You have been comforted in your afflictions so that you will comfort another in their afflictions. This is not a peripheral thing. This is the heart of our faith. And any praise that stays inside the house, any doxology that only talks about how blessed we are—is a partial gospel. For worship that does not, like Isaiah touches us and asks: “Will you go? Will you go?” is not gospel at all. Watch the pronouns. “I”. “I”. “I.” For any gospel that does not open us up to a larger world is not enough. The gospel of Jesus Christ is self-less. “Not I…" Paul said, " but Christ liveth in me.” The pronouns turn us outward to them.

This is really why we pass these offering plates week after week. We know that life really is like breath—and if we save it, we lose it. On our better days we don't spend everything on ourselves. We save our lives when we lose our lives. Remember the graces that have come to you--and give something back.

photo by ally213 / flickr

The next thing I have learned: Doxology is the best song to sing--and the hardest. Many times I have caught myself singing: "Ain't it Awful." Or "Somewhere over the Rainbow. .." or "Yesterday" which always looks better when it is behind you. 

This Benediction of Moses begins with praise  ends with praise. In the whole last address the theme of: "Praise God from whom all blessings flow" runs through it all. The Psalms which was the first hymnbook of the Jews and the Christians was a book of Praise.

I don't know how much energy I have wasted through the years on fretting and stewing and worrying. It put blinders on my eyes. I couldn't see beyond my nose. Just groveling in self-pity: “Me…me…me.” And out there the birds were singing and the crickets were chirping and life was good and grace came and came and came despite my muttering. And I am trying--hard as it is--to sing the Doxology. The folk that sing it and live it are the people I want to be around. The grateful. That's the best Christian witness I know. Say grace my friends, not only before the meal--when you don't forget it or are not too tired. Say grace when you wake up, when you look across at the one beside you, when you open your eyes to another day and another chance. When you stretch and move and do whatever it is you do. Sing your Doxology over it all. I have found it the hardest song to sing--and the best.

I love the story of the little boy that was learning to mow lawns. He could hardly wait for the grass to come up in the springtime. It would be the first time to cut the lawn all by himself. And so Spring came and he did a wonderful job in his yard. And then he stood by his neighbor’s fence and looked over at his tall grass that needed cutting. The neighbor saw him and said, “Would you like to mow my lawn?” The little boy nodded. “Oh yes.” And then man said, “How about three dollars.” And the little boy turned and walked away with his head down. The man couldn’t understand. “What’s wrong?” And the little boy said, “Mister, I ain't got but two dollars to give you.”

Looking back I feel like I should have been paying the church for the high privilege of being able to do what I do. Unlike Moses on Mount Nebo I hope I have whole lot of living yet to do. But I have learned a powerful thing along the way. Paul said it to his beloved friends at Philippi. And if I had a Benediction, like Moses, this would be it. “I am sure that the one who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” Thanks be to God!

(This was my 82nd birthday and I was trying to find something that might be appropriate for this occasion. So I preached this sermon at the Mount Zion Presbyterian Church, Sandy Springs, SC.)

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com