Sermon: Not About Playing Nice

 I preached this sermon at St. Lydia's on Sunday, October 24.  It is the last in a series about St. Lydia's relationship to the wider Church.  The text is Ephesians 3:14-21.  Read it here. 

 

 

A few weeks ago, I met up with a pastor for lunch.  This pastor, just like me, is a church planter, and he’s getting ready to start a new church.  So we got together in a cafe and talked about those things that are particular to starting new churches.  The stages of development new churches go through, and the particular stresses and joys of being a leader in a new church start. 

It was really nice to share that kind of connection with someone. 

 

I also had this feeling, though I couldn’t say why, that this pastor was quite a bit more conservative than I am. Neither of us had said anything to tip the other off -- we kind of danced around any issues that would be sensitive -- but I just had this feeling.  

 

We talked about getting together again. 

We talked about praying for one another,

about starting a colleague group for church planters. 

And I really liked those ideas. 

 

When I got home, I went to the website of the denomination of this pastor, and if his theology holds true to that of his denomination (which very well may not be the case -- there’s a diversity of theologies at work among the clergy of any denomination) we were indeed seem on very different ends of the spectrum.  As I read the words on that site, I had this feeling that my heart was tearing, because I could no longer see a way forward.  

 

The website read: 

 

Homosexuality is a condition of disordered sexuality that reflects the brokenness of our sinful world. Persons of same-sex attraction should not be denied community acceptance solely because of their sexual orientation and should be wholeheartedly received by the church and given loving support and encouragement.

 

I read these words in this sanctuary, words that are painful for me to read out loud, and painful for many here, because I want to emphasize that Christian unity is not about playing nice.  Not about making nice.  Not about pretending that there aren’t differences between those who call themselves Christians that have enormous implications for all people all over the world. 

 

Sitting at my computer and reading these words, I asked God to tell me how she was asking me to be in relationship with someone who’s theology takes what I see as holy and sacred: loving, generative relationships between two men or two women, and sees them instead as a “reflection of the brokenness of our sinful world.”

 

What was I supposed to do next?  

How could I pray for this pastor and his church without praying against him? 

How could we continue to develop a relationship, with the gulf that most likely existed between us?

 

 

Paul writes to the community in Ephesus 

of his vision for the Universal Church, 

and uses a word that is loaded with meaning for all of us: family. 

 

I bow my knees before the Father, he writes, from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name.

 

Paul’s making a play on words here. 

The word father in greek is pater.

The word family is its feminine: patria.

 

Patria is defined as a nation or tribe, a lineage with the same ancestry. 

And pater?

The literal meaning of pater, which we usually translate as father, is 

nourisher, protector, upholder.  

The one who made us,

keeps us safe,

sustains us.

 

 

Last week Daniel Simons came and preached here as a part of our conversation about St. Lydia’s relationship to the wider Church.  And he asked us to think about a time when we felt like we belonged.  Finding a place to belong is crucial to being part of a spiritual community.  But I think it’s the moments when we suddenly find, with a sense of sharp realization, that we don’t belong at all, that we begin to catch a glimpse of the breadth and depth and wonder of the universal family that we are all a part of. 

 

What do we see when we hang out on the fringes, 

when we spend time in the margins, 

when we feel strangely out of place, 

out of sorts, 

out of our element, 

when we try to stretch across the divide to reach someone 

who may seem impossibly far away? 

 

How do we mange to hold this body together, 

when unity is not about playing nice?

 

How do I sit across the table from a person who believes that my best friend “reflects the brokenness of a sinful world” and think, know, you are part of me. 

 

 

I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, 

Paul writes, 

the breadth and length and height and depth;

that God can accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask 

or imagine. 

 

 

We all share the same ancestry. 

Our family, like any family, has fights and quarrels. 

We wound each other terribly 

because sometimes we can be awfully small. 

But God is awfully big. 

Sometimes, when we try to stretch as big as God, 

our hearts begin to tear. 

And it hurts. 

And we’re not sure that we can go much farther.

But God is bigger.  

broader and longer and higher and deeper. 

And can do more than we can even imagine. 

 

We are a naive people, Christians, 

for we continue to stubbornly pursue 

this gorgeous notion 

that we ourselves have failed to uphold 

again and again throughout history:

that we are all, 

simply by virtue of being human, 

one body. 

And no matter how we might try to distance ourselves from one another, 

we are part of each other. 

 

We continue to believe,

recklessly believe, 

that there is a God out there 

who is big enough to hold us all,

bigger than we can even imagine, 

as Paul says. 

We fight and split and fight again, 

but still hang onto this notion

that there is something that binds us together. 

We cut off relationships and run away and refuse to speak to each other, 

and still long for a place where we might all sit down together and break bread.  

Because we’re part of one another. 

 

Perhaps it is our failure of imagination, 

our tendency to underestimate God’s love 

that has so many of us 

constantly shortchanging our creator: 

 

There is room for everyone at this table. 

But it is our relentless hope that keeps us coming back. 

 

Comments

[Doug]

I'm responding as one who knows your lunch-mate pastor. I am a gay member of his denomination and was a member of a small group that he lead before moving to NYC to plant a church. I wasn’t the only gay person in this small group. I found him to be warm and very welcoming of all sorts of people.

You are correct that a denominational stance and a personal one can be very different, even at odds with each other. He, I and other pastors in our denomination have discussed how the church can more effectively welcome gay and lesbian people into our churches. We are painfully aware of the denominational line. We talked about whether we are charged with changing the denomination, (a formable task), or getting on with welcoming GLBTQ into the church. We focused on the later. (That isn’t to say that someone shouldn’t take on the task of changing denominational polity.) There are other examples of pastors within our denomination who are also responding positively to this call. One such pastor has been in the national news lately for leaving the denomination so that he could freely ministry to the gays and lesbians in his city.
Your sermon talked about the importance of belonging –to Christ and to each other. We adhere to the Heidelberg Catechism which opens with this tremendous statement of belonging:
Q & A 1
Q. What is your only comfort in life and in death?
A. That I am not my own,
but belong—
body and soul,
in life and in death—
to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ.
He has fully paid for all my sins with his precious blood,
and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil.
He also watches over me in such a way
that not a hair can fall from my head
without the will of my Father in heaven:
in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.
Because I belong to him,
Christ, by his Holy Spirit,
assures me of eternal life
and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready
from now on to live for him.

It may be true that my church planting pastor friend and I are more conservative than you. But we belong with you to our faithful Savior Jesus Christ. And we belong to the family of Christ together, with you. May you embrace Peter, and pray for him and his denomination as they continue to learn how to embrace the gay and lesbians around them.

[Emily Scott]

Dear Doug,

Many, many thanks for your comment, and for your willingness to be a part of this conversation. I continue to learn more and more about your denomination, as well as your pastor. I believe that he and I will continue to be in conversation and explore both our similarities and differences, theologically.

It sounds like you and those around you are doing a wonderful job of discerning ways to be in relationship with your denomination WHILE reaching out to GLBT people in love. It can be difficult to walk that line, and it sounds like you're doing it with much prayer and consideration. It seems wise to me to focus on the second of the options you presented: getting on with welcoming people!

The question I wanted to address with my congregation through this sermon was one about Christian unity. The experience of meeting Peter and wondering how far apart we were theologically led me to ask some questions about how I might be in relationship with Christians whose theology seems in stark opposition from my own. As it turns out, Peter and I were not as far apart as I feared. But the question remains: how might I (and all those in the church) cross boundaries that sometimes seem uncrossable to be the body of Christ?

Perhaps you have some experience in this, as I imagine many of your siblings in your own denomination would disagree with you when it comes to sexuality. How have you negotiated these waters?

Emily

[Doug]

Dear Emily,

Your question reminds me of a story a former pastor told in one of his sermons. He and wife were watching some tele-evangelist from their bed one night. He got upset at what the tele-evangelist was saying and exclaimed to his wife: "How can God use that guy!" She turned to him and said, "He uses you, doesn't he?"

God using other pastors and our having unity with them is two different things, I know.

I think the answer is in building relationships with those people or pastors. It is hard work. It may begin with a short cup of coffee, and grow to lunch. The conversation won't focus on each other's theology, but on their personhood. What makes them tick, what is their story. After the trust is built, then one can address the harder issues of theological philosophy. Ask Peter about the Seattle Cluster. It is a group of pastors who meet monthly over pizza. Part of their time is to discuss issues of concern, something like an "in-service" training. Part of their time is being exposed to people who are different from them.

As far as reaching out to GLBT people here, we are just beginning that journey. And it challenges many deeply. The conversation has begun, and that is what I celebrate.

I hope my response doesn't seem trite -- because you've heard it before, and it is oft quoted -- but taking the time to listen to another's story, to share a meal is the best way that I know.

have a wonderful weekend celebrating Jesus

[Emily Scott]

Hi Doug,

Not trite at all. I think you're right, that relationships are at the center of all of it. I've been really moved watching my denomination, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, move forward with GLBT inclusion. The process has been slow and prayerful, and attentive to the difficulty it presents to the denomination. Though we won't be able to bring everyone with us, I think there has been a sense of love, care, and relationship at work in the process.

Hmm...difficult stuff. I'm glad to be in conversation.

Emily