Training Ourselves in Godliness
The First Congregational Church
United Church of Christ
Columbus, Ohio
February 25, 1996
Memory Verse: "Train yourself in godliness, for, while physical training is of some value, godliness is valuable in every way, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come." (1 Timothy 4:8)
Today's Texts: Jeremiah 7:1-15 and 1 Timothy 4:6-16
Opening Prayer: Gracious God, cut through our pride with the sword of your Spirit. Speak to us of the things that make for new life and new creation. Humble us to do your will. Amen.
Let's just say you heard it here first. The real cause of the Protestant reformation in the 16th century was not some feisty German monk; it was a capital campaign to rebuild St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. The campaign created so much financial stress that the Roman Church went off the deep end in its efforts to raise the necessary funds. In 1506 Pope Julius II ordered the old basilica, built by Constantine in the 4th century, torn down and a new one built. In 1510 a young German monk named Martin Luther made his first visit to Rome, and was scandalized by what he saw. This didn't look like the church of Jesus Christ at all; this was the biggest money-grubbing operation he'd ever seen.
In order to raise money for the new basilica, emphasis was being given to the sale of indulgences. These pardons were being sold to assure people of a quick and easy journey into the heaven. Since every sin had its price, to be paid either in this life or the next, the church capitalized on people's fears of eternal damnation. The scheme was simple and effective: you could buy your way into heaven. With all the hype and gimmicks of a modern advertising campaign, the sale of indulgences produced a tremendous amount of revenue for the church.
The archbishop of Mainz, Albert of Brandenburg, sponsored a sale of indulgences in 1517 to help pay for the construction of the new basilica. He selected Johann Tetzel, a Dominican friar, to preach the indulgences and collect the revenues. When Tetzel arrived in Saxony, Luther posted his famous 95 theses on the door of the castle church at Wittenberg on Oct. 31, 1517. In so doing, and without really intending to break with the Church, Luther launched a reformation in theology and ecclesiology based upon the Pauline doctrine of salvation "by grace through faith."
Ever since that time, we Protestants have had a problem with The Spirit of Discipline. Our objections to the notion that we could buy our way into heaven were quickly expanded to the idea that there was nothing at all we could do to earn God's favor. In tones reminiscent of the prophet Jeremiah, Luther criticized the Roman Church for its reliance upon the outward rituals and external forms of religion. They had become manipulative expressions of a self-serving establishment concerned more about its own perpetuation and aggrandizement than its service to the gospel of Jesus Christ. The classical disciplines had been corrupted beyond recognition, leaving Protestants to bask in the notion that we had been set free of all popish rules, regulations, and requirements.
That was, after all, how we got our name. Protestants were protesting against the empty forms of religion. So we cut the number of sacraments from seven to two, and eliminated many of the other obligations that the Roman Church had come to lay upon the people. We were done with confession, genuflecting, fasting, rosaries, candles, and icons. Since these things were not necessary to our salvation "by grace through faith," we saw no reason to do them at all.
Luther's theses reflect the scathing rebuke of institutional religion found in this morning's reading from the prophet Jeremiah: "Do not trust in these deceptive words: 'This is the temple of the LORD, the temple of the LORD, the temple of the LORD.'" (Jeremiah 7:4). The temple has no power to save, argued Luther, even when it employs the name of Jesus Christ. It can still become an abomination resulting in God's judgment rather than God's favor. Religious devotion, apart from righteousness, is hypocrisy of the worst kind -- especially when it's practiced in the name of Jesus. The establishment of religion can end up being more trouble than it's worth.
Having effectively debunked the power and potential of religious formalism, Protestants have tended to move in one of two directions: ethical moralism or personal nihilism. Luther came down on the side of ethical moralism. Acts of charity and works of mercy were the appropriate business of Christians: caring for the alien, the orphan, and the widow, giving or lending to the poor, refusing to steal, murder, commit adultery, swear falsely, or to otherwise engage in ungodly behavior. These were the things that God requires, not the purchase of pardons or the building of cathedrals.
Other people have even questioned the importance of doing that. It doesn't take much experience to figure out that neither religious formalism nor ethical moralism can guarantee a happy and productive life. Things just aren't that simple. The sun rises and the rain falls on the good and the bad alike. So why bother to live by any code at all? Eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow you may die. Everything is relative to what you want, like, and need. God's grace will be sufficient through faith, without our really having to do anything at all.
Personal nihilism has become the prevailing ethic of our day. If it feels good, do it, as long as you don't hurt anyone along the way. In the movie City slickers, the old cowboy explains to his young charge the secret of life. "It's one thing," he says while raising up his index finger, "just one thing. You stick to that and nothing else matters." When Billy Crystal asks what that one thing is, the cowboy looks at him and says, "that's what you've got to figure out." The answer comes up different from one person to the next, making the secret of life a very elusive thing indeed.
In their attempt to find this "one thing," Crystal and his friends embark on one escapade after another, always looking for a new thrill that will produce an ever greater buzz. If hang gliding doesn't do it, then maybe bungee jumping will. And if bungee jumping doesn't do it, then maybe a jungle safari will. And if a jungle safari doesn't do it, then maybe a whirling dervish will. There's no shortage of ideas. Although they eventually tire of cheap thrills, they never get beyond the notion that their lives are anything other than a personal quest for meaning without much guidance or help from anything larger than themselves. God never enters into the equation.
These, then, are the two horns of our dilemma -- both of which present problems for The Spirit of Discipline. On the one hand, we have religious formalism and ethical moralism as two classic examples of things we must do to be saved. They are both of the same type, albeit with different emphases. The one focuses on the cult of the church while the other focuses on the conduct of life. Like the financial advisor in the television commercial, both scenarios seek to produce our salvation the old fashioned way: we have to earn it either by religious devotion or good, clean living.
The other horn of the dilemma is personal nihilism, a total breakdown of all religious and moral principles as the means of grace. Instead, we are left to fend for ourselves with no necessary connection between scripture, experience, reason, or tradition. Since everybody's going to heaven anyway, we have nothing to earn one way or the other. It really doesn't matter what we do, or what we don't do, as long as it feels OK to everyone involved. When I asked a young teenager recently how far one should go sexually with a boyfriend or girlfriend, the answer was that one should stop at the point you start having a guilty conscience. What's wrong for me may be right for you, and who am I to judge anyway!
Richard Foster, in his landmark book Celebration of Discipline, argues that we must find a way to walk on the narrow ledge that rises between these two chasms, with sheer drop-offs on either side. "The chasm to the right is the way of moral bankruptcy through human strivings for righteousness." This chasm is represented by what I have been calling religious formalism and ethical moralism. We are working hard to try and earn God's favor. "The chasm to the left is the way of moral bankruptcy through the absence of human strivings." This chasm is represented by what I have been calling personal nihilism and what Foster calls antinomianism. We aren't working for anything at all, we just bounce from one experience to the next.
Between these two chasms, writes Foster, there is a narrow ledge on which there is a path called "the disciplines of the spiritual life. This path leads to the inner transformation and healing for which we seek. We must never veer off to the right or the left, but stay on the path. The path is fraught with severe difficulties, but also incredible joys. As we travel on this path, the blessing of God will come upon us and reconstruct us into the image of His Son Jesus Christ. We must always remember that the path does not produce the change; it only puts us in the place where the change can occur. This is the way of disciplined grace." (Richard J. Foster, Celebration of Discipline: The Path to Spiritual Growth, Harper & Row • San Francisco, 1978).
The difference between this path and the path followed by Billy Crystal and his friends is captured in the word discipline. This path is not a sampler tray, in which we try one thing after another, eating what we like, and spitting out what we dislike. This path is also not a trendy fad, in which we try something as long as its easy, exciting, or popular. On the contrary, this path is the steady application of tried and true practices for the deepening of Christian faith. They may not be necessary to earn our salvation, but they are certainly important to the quality of our relationship with God.
A comparison can be made between spiritual disciplines and family patterns. It's certainly possible to get along without any real pattern to our life together as families, but the absence of such a pattern takes its toll over time. When a family never knows when they will eat together, talk together, work together, worship together, and play together, when everything happens spontaneously and at a moment's notice, when there is no rhythm to life -- whether it be church on Sunday morning or dinner on Friday night -- the family begins to deteriorate as a source of strength, guidance, comfort, and warmth. The existence of a pattern results in a familiarity that can, over time, become a blessing upon which both adults and children can hold.
Families without patterns have fallen off the ledge on the left, into nihilism, and they suffer from a lack of dependability and trust. Families with patterns can also fall off the ledge on the right, into legalism, and they suffer from a lack of intimacy and respect. These family patterns have become oppressive opportunities to dominate and rule over one person or another. But those families that strike a balance between chaos and control produce the kind of community in which we all would hope to live.
This balance is exactly what we aim to achieve in our spiritual lives through the practice of the classical disciplines. For the next six weeks we will be talking about and trying to practice the things that the apostle Paul was explaining to his young charge, Timothy. There was no cryptic profundity to his straightforward words. There was no mysterious talk about "just one thing" that Timothy would have to discover in his own due time. On the contrary, Paul told him the things that would help him to grow in the Christian faith.
"Put these things into practice," Paul concludes, "devote yourself to them, so that all may see your progress. Train yourself in godliness, for, while physical training is of some value, godliness is valuable in every way, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come." (1 Timothy 4:15, 7b-8).
Now that is a prescription for a meaningful life that has endured the test of time. We do not have to reinvent the wheel. On the contrary, we have only to receive the teachings that have been passed on to us and to practice them in our everyday lives. There is no requirement that we be spiritual giants. There is only the requirement that we get started.
Lent is a good time to do that, and getting started is easier than it sounds. You just do it. You don't have to know everything about prayer in order to pray. You don't have to know where fasting will take you in order to fast. You don't have know all about the Bible in order to pick up and read the book. You don't have to know about the truly needy in order to give to others.
"Christianity has not so much been tried and found wanting," wrote G. K. Chesterton, "as it has been found difficult and left untried." But that is not the whole truth. The spiritual disciplines may be out of step with the modern world, and in that sense they may be difficult, but they are no more difficult than living in either of the other two chasms. Moralism and nihilism take their toll as well, without any light on either side. The spiritual disciplines, on the other hand, have the promise of Christ behind them: "Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me," Jesus said to his disciples, "for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."
"Rest for our souls" is as good a description as one can find regarding the fruit of a disciplined life. The grace of God does not lead to formalism or nihilism, but to a bold engagement with the disciplines of the Christian faith. We are free to try, to fail, and to try again. We are free to pray, to fast, to study, and to give. We are free to love, even as Christ has loved us. And in so doing we will become one with God. Amen.
Unplugging the Busy World
The First Congregational Church
United Church of Christ
Columbus, Ohio
March 3, 1996
Memory Verse: "Train yourself in godliness, for, while physical training is of some value, godliness is valuable in every way, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come." (1 Timothy 4:8)
Today's Texts: Jeremiah 8:4-13 and Galatians 1:11-2:2
Opening Prayer: O God, we prefer the quick-fix version of Christianity. It's hard to listen for your word with so many distraction and pressures. And yet we have managed to get ourselves here this morning. Speak to us as we strive to know your will. In Christ's name. Amen.
Last week I set the stage for this sermon series on The Spirit of Discipline by using Richard Foster's image of a ledge with two chasms on either side. On the right was the chasm of legalism. On the left was the chasm of nihilism. And on the ledge was a path that leads to healing and wholeness. That path is the spiritual disciplines of abstinence and engagement.
Next week we will get into the specifics of what those disciplines look like in the midst of our everyday lives; this week we will affirm the importance of keeping those disciplines if we ever hope to experience for ourselves the fullness of life. It's no accident that the people in the company of Jesus were called disciples. They were trying to learn his discipline or rule of life, and so should it be for us.
People stray off the path and fall off the ledge, into either legalism or nihilism, by asking the wrong question. The wrong question is, "What must I do to be saved?" It's wrong because there's only two plausible answers: everything or nothing. When we try to do everything, we have fallen off the ledge into legalism. When we try to do nothing, we have fallen off the ledge into nihilism.
It's also wrong because it treats salvation as a marketable commodity rather than a divine prerogative. "If I do this or that, then God will love me." But our salvation is not an object of exchange that we can manipulate by creed, cult, or conduct; it is, on the contrary, a free gift that has been offered to the world by God since the beginning of time. It is not something we can earn, buy, win, or bargain for. It is only something we can accept, with the same gracious spirit in which it is offered. The spiritual disciplines have nothing to do with God's forgiveness; they have an altogether different focus and concern.
The right question is, "What do I want to do with my life?" That's a much more open and interesting question, with many possible answers. To never ask the question is tantamount to having no life at all. One would have to be very close to dead to have no wants or desires, no hopes or dreams, no goals or plans, no ambitions or expectations, no longings or needs. Such is the stuff of the being we call human. To have a sense of purpose, which goes beyond our mere survival as either an individual or a species. To claim a sense of importance, which goes beyond the immediate and the obvious. To know a sense of meaning, which goes beyond the pleasures and perks of existence.
So what do you want to do with your life? As soon as you come up with an answer to that question, regardless of what it is, you will confront the prospect of discipline. My daughter thinks that she might like to become a pediatrician. So she went to see one of our church members, Dr. Hugh Allen, who's the head of pediatric cardiology at Children's Hospital, to find out more about the profession. Dr. Allen didn't waste much time telling Bryn about the discipline of medical training.
"First," he said, "finish high school with the best grades you can and a wide variety of interests. Then go to the best four-year undergraduate program you can afford. Take as many courses as you can outside of science and math. Make sure that being a doctor is what you really want to do. If it is, go to the best medical school you can afford. That's four more years. After that you've got your internship and residency. That's three more years. Then you may have additional training, if you plan to specialize. By the time you're thirty years old, you should be ready to start your practice."
Notice that he didn't ask Bryn how she wanted to become a doctor, as though it were a matter of personal preference or style. Instead, he told her the steps she would have to follow, one after another, building upon what came before to reach the next level of accomplishment. If she ends up in medical school, anatomy will not be an elective. If being a doctor is what you want to do with your life, then you will have to discipline yourself to study human anatomy. There is no other way to get from here to there.
So it is with anything you might want to do. It takes discipline to become accomplished in your field. We see the end product without realizing all the effort and training that goes into the performance. We see Michael Jordon sailing through the air to dunk the basketball, without realizing the countless hours spent on conditioning, passing, and shooting. We listen to the Columbus Symphony Orchestra, without appreciating the countless hours spent in lessons, practice, and rehearsal. We watch a two-hour movie, without fathoming the countless hours spent on filming, editing, and production.
The fact is, if you want to do something with your life, and you want to do it well, it will take discipline. But we tend to ignore that fact. Young people may idolize a popular athlete, actor, model, vocalist, or musician. They want to be like him or her. So they try to copy his or her behavior. They wear the same clothes, buy the same shoes, style the same hair, adopt the same demeanor, and use the same expressions. In short, they try to talk the talk and walk the walk.
But few of them succeed at emulating their heroes since most of them fail to appreciate, understand, and practice the disciplines which make their idols great. Part of the problem is the influence of technology on our lives. We have come to expect things to be user friendly; we don't want to spend much time to learn how to use anything. We want things to be simple and obvious, right out of the box. Click, and it's at our fingertips.
But that's not the way life works. The story's been told of a high school in a small Oklahoma town which had produced a series of terrible football teams. They usually lost the important games and were invariably clobbered by their arch rivals from a nearby community. Understandably, the students and their parents began to get depressed and dispirited by the drubbing they suffered every Friday night.
It was so humiliating and frustrating that a wealthy oil producer decided to take matters into his own hands. He asked to speak to the team in the locker room after yet another devastating defeat. What followed was one of the most dramatic football speeches of all times. The businessman offered a brand new car to every boy on the team and to each coach if they would simply defeat their bitter rivals in the next game. Knute Rockne couldn't have said it any better.
The team went crazy with sheer delight. They howled and cheered and slapped each other on their padded behinds. For seven days, the boys ate, drank and breathed football. At night they dreamed about touchdowns and convertibles. The entire school caught the spirit of ecstasy, and a holiday fever pervaded the campus. Each player could visualize himself behind the wheel of a gorgeous cars, with eight gorgeous girls hanging all over his gorgeous body.
Finally, the big night arrived and the team assembled in the locker room. Excitement was at an unprecedented high. The coach made several inane comments and the boys hurried out to face the enemy. They assembled on the sidelines, put their hands together and shouted a simultaneous "Rah!" They ran onto the field and were demolished, 38 to 0. The team's exuberance did not translate into a single point on the scoreboard. Seven days of hoorah and whoop-de-do simply couldn't compensate for the players' lack of discipline, conditioning, practice, study, coaching, drill, experience and character. (James Dobson, Emotions: Can You Trust Them?)
The same story could be told about the followers of Jesus Christ. We fail to practice the classical disciplines of abstinence and engagement, and then we wonder why our faith comes up short under the pressures of a busy world. We fail to balance our lives with the rhythms of solitude and fellowship, silence and celebration, sacrifice and service, fasting and prayer, and then we wonder why everything seems so crazy and out of control.
"Even the stork in the heavens knows its times," observes the prophet Jeremiah, "and the turtledove, swallow, and crane observe the time of their coming; but my people do not know the ordinance of the Lord. How can you say, 'We are wise, and the law of the Lord is with us,' when, in fact, the false pen of the scribes has made it into a lie? The wise shall be put to shame, they shall be dismayed and taken; since they have rejected the word of the Lord, what wisdom is in them?" (Jeremiah 8:7-9)
There is a rhythm in nature that we humans can easily get out of whack. If we hope to enjoy life as promised by Jesus Christ, if that is what we really want, then we are going to have recognize and respect the times in our life for abstinence and engagement. And we are going to have to practice them faithfully if we hope to come out on top. It doesn't matter how badly we want the victory; if we haven't gotten ourselves ready to play we'll always come up short.
"Some decades ago there appeared a very successful Christian novel called In His Steps. The plot tells of a chain of tragic events that brings the minister of a prosperous church to realize how unlike Christ's life his own life had become. The minister then leads his congregation in a vow not to do anything without first asking themselves the question, 'What would Jesus do in this case?' As the content of the book makes clear, the author took this vow to be the same thing as intending to follow Jesus -- to walk precisely 'in his steps.'"
"But there is a (critical) flaw in this thinking," observes Dallas Willard, "The book is entirely focused upon trying to do what Jesus supposedly would do in response to specific choices, (as though Jesus never) did anything but make right choices from moment to moment." What did Jesus do in between those moments? The book never tells us. It never makes a connection between Jesus' power to choose rightly and the disciplines he practiced to maintain his inner balance and his connection with God. The book never states that to follow "in his steps" is to adopt the lifestyle of Jesus.
"So the idea conveyed is an absolutely fatal one -- that to follow him simply means to try to behave as he did when he was 'on the spot,' under pressure or persecution or in the spotlight, (without the) realization that what he did in such cases was, in a large and essential measure, the natural outflow of the life he lived when (he was) not on the spot." No wonder so many people think of the Christian life as a practical impossibility: we've sought the end product without the advance training or disciplines of preparation. (Dallas Willard, The Spirit of the Disciplines: Understanding How God Changes Lives, Harper • San Francisco, 1988).
Fortunately, the apostle Paul did not fall prey to this fatal error. In the book of Galatians we read his account of his conversion to Christianity and his subsequent ministry to the Gentiles. Unlike the version Luke tells on three separate occasions in the book of Acts, Paul's version reveals a much more studied and deliberate process. After a time of violently persecuting the church of Jesus Christ, from the chasm of legalism, Paul was converted into a protagonist for the gospel of grace.
To read the book of Acts, you would think that Paul immediately began his ministry of proclamation and church planting in response to the urging of Christ and the needs of his day. But Paul asserts a different scenario, that starts with a retreat not unlike the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness. After my conversion, Paul writes, "I didn't talk with any human being, nor did I go up to Jerusalem, but I went away into Arabia and then returned to Damascus for three years. I visited Peter and James in Jerusalem, and then went into the regions of Syria and Cilicia. After fourteen more years, I went up to Jerusalem to confirm my ministry to the Gentiles with the acknowledged leaders of the church." (Galatians 1:11-2:2).
Jesus took forty days and forty nights, with prayer and fasting. Paul took 17 or 18 years to figure out just what it was God wanted him to do with his life, including at least one stint in the wilderness with no one else around. Before he began responding to the pressures of a busy world, Paul took time to prepare himself, to think through his theology, and to establish a different rhythm than the one he had been following as a persecutor of the church.
Talk about someone who had to unplug from a busy world. Paul describes himself as the most zealous of them all when it came to rooting out and persecuting Christians. He was a busy man. But then he came to his senses and carved out a very different manner of life. It took him 17 or 18 years, just to get ready. But then he set the world on fire with his proclamation of grace, as it became the only thing he really wanted to do with his life.
If we make it our goal in life to know God and to enjoy the fullness of God's grace, we will need to prepare ourselves with the disciplines of abstinence and engagement. Otherwise we may just fall off the ledge into the bottomless pits on either side. We cannot afford to run crazy from one critical decision to the next; our decisions will not endure the test of time. But if we take the time to learn the ways of God and to incorporate them into our everyday lives, we will be prepared to face whatever comes our way. In good times and bad, in season and out of season, the gospel of Jesus Christ will become a shield of strength and a source of rest. For that we can look up, give thanks, and sing. Amen.
Exercising Restraint
The First Congregational Church
United Church of Christ
Columbus, Ohio
March 10, 1996
Memory Verse: "Train yourself in godliness, for, while physical training is of some value, godliness is valuable in every way, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come." (1 Timothy 4:8)
Today's Texts: Jeremiah 10:1-16 and 1 Corinthians 6:12-7:5
Opening Prayer: O God of Deep Magic and Profound Mystery, we are in a place which fills us with awe. We have stopped the movement of our lives to sit in the presence of your Spirit. Fill us with your love and teach us with your word. In Christ's name we pray. Amen.
This past week my family and I had reason to go to Chicago. The occasion was the AIDS-related death of our close friend, Eric Hartman. Some of you will remember that Eric was the Minister of Music at the church I served in Chicago. We knew each other for almost 20 years, and worked together for almost 15 years. He and his partner, James Marks, formed the basis for my sermon in January of 1995 entitled The Personhood of Homosexuals.
That sermon, many have said, is one of the better sermons I've given. Eric and James made my work easy. They were the epitome of a Christian couple, seeking to live out the love of Jesus Christ in their relationships with each other and with others. My life is richer for having known them. Some time ago I was contacted by two people in California who are editing a book entitled What American Pastors Have To Say. They asked me to submit some material, and I sent them as many sermon booklets as we had laying out on the ninth street table.
After many months, they requested permission to include my sermon on The Personhood of Homosexuals and they indicated that the book will also include contributions by such unlikely bedfellows as Billy Graham and Oral Roberts. Although that association may sound strange to some of you, it brings me great joy to think that at least a few people from other walks of life will have occasion to read that sermon. The witness of Eric and James will seemingly touch the lives of more people than any of us ever imagined.
Eric's memorial service was on Tuesday evening, and the church was packed. Folding chairs were everywhere and still people had to stand. On Wednesday we visited with friends we had not seen in 2½ years. Some were struggling with cancer, others were now in college, while still others had had children who were now learning to talk. It was a great day which ended in a surprise. As we visited with people, the weather took a turn for the worse. By the time we left for the airport, the snow had reached blizzard proportions. What was normally a one-hour trip took 2½ hours in bumper-to-bumper traffic. We were late. Fortunately, our plane was also delayed by the snow. Unfortunately, they closed the airports 30 minutes after we checked in, leaving thousands of people stranded for the night. This produced no vacancies in area motels, prompting us to rent another car in order in order to trek back from whence we came.
Eight hours later we were again at the airport, along with throngs of people all trying to get out of Chicago as quickly as possible. The lines were long and slow. At the counter was a demonstrative family who was absolutely frantic over the delay. They feared missing a connecting flight in Columbus to Florida, and in turn missing the departure of a cruise ship to the Bahamas. Even though I was pretty far back in line, I learned all about how this was going to ruin their lives. So did everyone else in the airport. They were loud, tearful, bossy, and anxious as they paced back and forth, refusing to leave the check-in area until they got some satisfaction.
This, of course, slowed things down even further for everyone else. Some people started to get upset with this family, while other people seemed to have given up caring altogether. Que sera sera -- what will be, will be -- was their response to what the insurance companies label "an act of God." I spent some of the time in prayer, looking at each person in line and asking God to bless them with the gift of grace. It was at this point that I thought of The Serenity Prayer, written by Reinhold Niebuhr in 1934 during the nascent days of Nazi Germany, "God, give us grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed, courage to change the things which should be changed, and the wisdom to distinguish the one from the other."
What is it that makes some people frantic, other people give up, and still other people pray? What is it that makes for the serenity, courage, and wisdom of Niebuhr's petition? What is it that makes Christians tick? As we affirmed last week, it's practice in the ordinary times which produces prowess in the extraordinary times. That's as true in our spiritual lives as it is in athletics or the arts. We simply cannot expect to perform well under pressure if we have not prepared ourselves properly.
One of the most remarkable facts of human existence is that we are at once a bundle of aspirations and a heap of protoplasm. We are spirit and body, connected through the power of mind. We can have the loftiest of visions and the most ordinary of maladies. Scientists have tried to reduce life to its material dimensions, while spiritualists have tried to reduce life to its ethereal dimensions, but neither one has met with complete success because neither one is right. Only a balanced approach will produce the healing and transformation of our lives.
This balanced approach has been preserved in the classical disciplines of abstinence and engagement. Recognizing the fundamental unity of spirit and body through the power of mind, these disciplines engage all levels of the personality. By developing a rhythm of pulling back and going forward, abstinence and engagement, our bodies connect with the spirit of life itself. Such a pattern was manifest in the life of Jesus, and there really is no other way to sustain the connection between our aspirations and our protoplasm. They work together for the good of the whole.
My point is that the classical disciplines are not mind games. They are things that we do with our bodies and our spirits, through the power of mind. We decide to put our bodies and our spirits through certain paces in order to live more fully in the reign of God. No amount of mental effort will suffice, if the body and the spirit do not come along. Only when we engage the self on every level will we discover the fullness of Jesus' promise and presence. Indeed, the exercise of the body and the spirit is exactly what the mind needs to unlock its possibilities and to realize its potential. The synergy of body, mind, and spirit is its foundation as well as its goal.
This synergy is recognized throughout the Hebrew and Christian scriptures. From the beginning, men and women are made in the image of God. We are told to care for the physical world in order to be like God. There is no antagonism between body and spirit; there is rather a unity of purpose and inspiration. We were not designed just to live in mystic communion with our Maker; we were designed to live as stewards over the work of God's fingers.
Jesus understood that the care and feeding of God's creation begins in relationship to our own bodies and spirits. After he was baptized with the Holy Spirit, during his baptism in the Jordan River, he was immediately led into the wilderness for a time of solitude and fasting. Forty days and forty nights with nothing but water. He abstained from the normal business and consumption of life in order to prepare himself for an active ministry of engagement. Then, throughout his ministry of engagement, we read of frequent retreats into the Galilean hillsides. Exercising restraint was as much a part of Jesus' life as exercising power. There was the rhythm of pulling back and going forward that has been the mark of the classical disciplines ever since. They are an integrated whole apart from which our lives will be less than complete.
Unfortunately, most of us have lost this rhythm and in the process we have lost ourselves as well. We have replaced abstinence with consumption and engagement with busy-ness. We are like the nations criticized by the prophet Jeremiah. They carve out religious icons from dead wood, which can neither do evil nor good, and then they wonder why their lives are such a mess. They hammer out icons from silver and gold, made in their own image, and then they wonder why their wisdom is both stupid and foolish. They refuse to align themselves with the Creator of the heavens and the earth, who formed all things, and then they wonder at the wrath of his indignation. It is a punishment brought upon themselves, by getting out of sync with the rhythm of life itself.
Is your life out sync? If you're tired and distracted all the time, with little awareness of God's presence and power, then you're probably a good candidate for the disciplines of abstinence. They can renew your spirit in ways that will surprise and delight you. You do not need to be a spiritual giant in order to try them. You simply need to understand them and to practice them as often as possible. You do not need to learn the right words, since most of them do not involve any words at all. You simply need to trust them and to work them into your schedule.
Retreats for solitude and silence are the most common way to put a stop to the busy-ness of life. Such retreats are different from vacations in that they do not involve a rigorous schedule of activities. How many times have you had to recover from a vacation? It's not uncommon. The more things we try and do, the more fun we try and have, the more stuff we try and buy, the more exhausting our vacations can become. Retreats for solitude and silence operate in a very different mode. We intentionally choose to stop interacting with other human beings, whether for an hour or a day or a weekend or longer. Many people go to retreat centers which specialize in solitude, whether out in nature or inside the city, while others do it all on their own.
Abstaining from human contact and conversation can strengthen and free our spirits in surprising ways. Researchers have found that it takes twenty times more the amount of amphetamine to kill individual mice than it takes to kill them in groups. They have also found that a mouse given no amphetamine at all will be dead within ten minutes of being placed in the midst of a group on the drug. In groups they drop like flies Alone they have a strength that comes from within. People can have the same effect on one another. They can bring one another down in patterns that are no less deadly than that of the laboratory mice.
Dallas Willard argues that retreating into solitude is the most fundamental discipline of the spiritual life, which must be returned to again and again as that life develops. "Locked into interaction with the human beings that make up our fallen world," Willard observes, "it is all but impossible to grow in grace as one should. Just try fasting, prayer, service, giving, or even celebration without the preparation accomplished in withdrawal (from contact and conversation), and you will soon be thrown into despair by your efforts, very likely abandoning your attempt altogether." (Dallas Willard, The Spirit of the Disciplines, Harper • San Francisco, 1992).
The other disciplines of abstinence are variations on the same theme. They are all retreats from the things that drive our everyday lives. Retreats from eating, consuming, and having sex are three classic examples. During Lent I have been fasting on Wednesdays and have also managed to get through one entire day without spending any money. It's amazing how much these disciplines can purge the soul. On my day off I typically run errands, pay bills, and take care of business. When I choose not to eat and not to spend money, it totally transforms the character of my day. I pray more and talk less. I am aware of my body more and work less. I sleep more and feel less pressure to be productive.
All these things can be helpful to the spiritual life when they are intentional decisions in an overall pattern of abstinence and engagement, rather than a product of neurosis or laziness. Fasting, frugality, and chastity are important disciplines if we hope to learn that life is so much more than food, things, and sex. We can affirm this in our minds, but until we experience the discomforts that come with abstinence we have no idea how much our sense of peace and well-being depends upon things other than God. We may also come face to face with our own fears about life, work, identity, meaning, and purpose. And these are important discoveries for anyone who would seek to really enjoy God.
Certainly this must have been the concern of the apostle Paul with all his talk about food and fornication to the church in Corinth. "All things are lawful, but not all things are beneficial. All things are lawful, but I will not be dominated by anything!" Here Paul makes the connection between grace and discipline, between body and spirit. All things are lawful! That's the grace of God unto the power of salvation. But I will not be dominated by anything! That's the freedom which comes from a disciplined life, moving forward and back, as in a circle dance, between the things we enjoy in the circle and the One we need in the middle.
"Do not deprive one another except perhaps by agreement for a set time, to devote yourselves to prayer, and then come together again, so that Satan may not tempt you because of your lack of self-control." (1 Corinthians 7:5).
If your life does not reflect this pattern of abstinence and engagement, then it may feel out of control and less than spiritually alive. If you never make decisions to restrain your needs and desires, then you may be rich in things but poor in soul. We grow in the spirit when we put our body through the paces of abstinence: solitude, silence, fasting, frugality, and chastity are the ways that we can touch the deep things of God. Amen.
Keeping the Lord's Day
The First Congregational Church
United Church of Christ
Columbus, Ohio
March 17, 1996
Memory Verse: "Train yourself in godliness, for, while physical training is of some value, godliness is valuable in every way, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come." (1 Timothy 4:8)
Today's Texts: Jeremiah 17:19-25 and Hebrews 4:1-13
Opening Prayer: God of Rest and Restoration, we come out of the world and enter into this place with eager hearts and open minds. Fill us with your love. Infuse us with your joy. Renew us with your Spirit. Amen.
Some of you may remember the name of Elizabeth Mead Bowles, one of the young women who received a Schumacher Award from our church in 1994. These awards are given on annual basis to three young women, ages fifteen to twenty, who demonstrate exemplary Christian devotion to their family. The women are nominated by high school guidance counselors, reviewed by a committee of this church, and presented with both a gold pendant and a monetary award of $350 in recognition of their virtue.
Elizabeth Bowles was nominated because of the devotion she had shown to her father who, because of a brain tumor, had been disabled and wheelchair bound since Elizabeth was quite young. Although her father's disability had occasioned various hardships and disappointments for the family, Elizabeth viewed her dad as a role-model of courage and determination. Her maturity and composure, her sunny disposition, and her outspoken drug-free lifestyle had prompted the student body to make her their Homecoming Queen. Elizabeth was an excellent candidate who received the unanimous support of our Schumacher Awards committee.
In accordance with the terms of the Last Will and Testament of Frederick W. Schumacher, who died on June 4, 1957 at the age of 93, the presentation was scheduled to be made in the Church, during worship, on the first Sunday in June. The three young women were contacted, and everything was set, according to the custom of more than 35 years. To the surprise of the Schumacher Awards Committee, however, Elizabeth called to say that she was unable to be in attendance that morning since her high school had scheduled a scholarship assembly for graduating seniors. Forced to choose between the two, she decided to go to the graduation event instead.
This unanticipated development posed a dilemma for our Awards Committee. The terms of Mr. Schumacher's Will were quite specific: the awards were to be presented during a ceremony in the Church, but Elizabeth was unable to be in attendance, through no fault of her own. Could she still get the award, or would we have to find another deserving young woman? Putting people before principles, the Committee decided to give Elizabeth the award in absentia. It also decided to make future presentations during the month of May, in order to avoid further conflicts with high school graduation programs.
Now I am quite certain that Frederick W. Schumacher, writing out the terms of his Will in the mid-1950s, could have no more imagined a high school graduation program being scheduled for Sunday morning than he could have imagined women deacons or people coming to church in casual attire. Certain things were taken for granted in that era, such as that Sunday was meant for getting dressed up, going to church, and having dinner with the family. Schools and stores were closed, as life slowed down for a special day ostensibly devoted to the things of God.
We've gotten pretty far away from that notion in this day and age, although it hasn't been without a fight. People tell me that the minister in this pulpit, Chalmers Coe, wrote a letter to the editor of The Columbus Dispatch during the 1970s, decrying the advent of high school athletics on Sunday mornings. We lost that battle, and have since lost the war, of trying to keep the world from encroaching upon our special day. With the elimination of "blue laws" as unconstitutional buttresses to the Christian religion, Sunday has become just another day of the week.
Unfortunately, most Christians have not demonstrated the fortitude of Chalmers Coe and have gone right along with the program, clamoring for ever more of the world's services and opportunities on what used to be called "the Lord's day." 24-hour banking. Extended retail hours. Home shopping clubs. Sporting events and entertainment. Portable computers and communication technology. On-line services. The list goes on, with something new always coming right around the corner. Fearing that we not be cut out of the action, lest we miss something important, Christians have ended up just as frantic and just as frenzied as everyone else.
The marketplace knows nothing about the disciplines of abstinence and engagement. It knows only about the proverbial bottom line. Time is money, so it constantly tries to cram more in-- starting earlier, working later, and taking work home. We dictate letters on the way to work, and make phone calls in the car. We connect with the office from airports and hotel rooms. We schedule business breakfasts and power lunches. Performance is the name of the game. It's the key to promotion, compensation increase, and power. It's what drives us to ever more accountable lives and ever more questionable indulgences.
In the early decades of the labor-union movement, people died for a forty-hour work week. Now people voluntarily put in fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty hours a week and more without so much as blinking an eye. We have done well by the standards of the first-century Stoic philosopher, Seneca, who attacked the Jews as superstitious and wrote: "To spend every seventh day without doing anything means to lose a seventh part of life, besides suffering loss in pressing matters from idleness."
But the question is not how well have we done by the standards of Seneca. The question is, in abandoning the practice of a Sabbath rest, have we done well by ourselves? Have busier lives translated into better lives? Judging from the people who come through my door, I would say no. By failing to organize our lives around the biblical pattern of one day in seven for rest and worship, we have compromised far more than just a venerable religious tradition. We have compromised the quality of life itself.
Some of you know that I am now driving a Lincoln Continental, thanks to the largesse of my parents. It's seven years old, and they were ready to give it up for a new car. I went to Cleveland about a month ago and brought it back to Columbus, during which time I listened to the informational tape which came with the vehicle back in 1989. In addition to explaining all its high-tech bells and whistles, the tape stressed over and over again the importance of adhering to the maintenance schedule found in the owners' manual. Every 3,750 miles it should be taken out of service for an oil and filter change. Every 15,000 miles it requires even more time out, with an authorized Lincoln-Mercury dealer, of course, to recover from the wear and tear of operation. "If you follow this maintenance schedule," proclaimed the voice on the tape, "your new Lincoln Continental should provide you with many years of trouble-free service."
So it is with most things in life. Drive it into the ground and you can expect to have problems. "You would not believe," a mechanic once told me, "how many brand new cars come back here in a matter of months all because no one ever bothered to change the oil or check the fluids." The second law of thermodynamics is quite clear that if we don't take care of something it will tend to fall apart. What applies to cars applies to our bodies as well; there is a maintenance schedule that has to be followed and it can be found in the owner's manual on page 66 of your bibles in the pew racks.
"Remember the Sabbath day, and keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work. For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but God rested on the seventh day; therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and consecrated it." (Exodus 20:8-11).
God could have stopped there; it was certainly clear enough. But God was concerned that people would find a way around such a simple directive. So God got very specific. "Let me make myself perfectly clear," the commandment continues. "I don't want you to work. I don't want your sons to work. I don't want your daughters to work. I don't want your male or female slaves to work. I don't want your guests or resident aliens to work. I don't even want your animals to work! I want you to rest, to remember the Sabbath, and to keep it holy."
Scholars tell us that this injunction is without parallel in the ancient world. It may be "Israel's most original contribution to world law. Other ancient societies had rest days, some of them of fixed number and frequency, but none at unvarying, religiously demanded intervals." The king could establish and abolish them at will. But in scripture, the weekly Sabbath rest becomes one of the Ten Commandments, making "its observance both an unchanging obligation and an inalienable privilege." (W. Gunther Plaut, The Torah: A Modern Commentary, Union of American Hebrew Congregations • New York, 1981).
That's because keeping the Lord's day was not invented by some whimsical ruler who thought his hapless slaves needed a break; it was instead built into the very fabric of life as the recommended maintenance schedule for both ruler and slave alike. There is no other way to experience many years of trouble-free service.
The prophet Jeremiah took this reality to heart when he lashed out at the people of Jerusalem: "For the sake of your lives," he urged, "take care that you do not bear a burden on the Sabbath day or do any work. Keep the Sabbath day holy, as I commanded your ancestors. If you observe this commandment, then you shall inherit the gift of life forevermore. But if you fail to observe this commandment, then your life shall be devoured in the fire that cannot be quenched." (Jeremiah 17:21-22, 24-27).
This is not the talk of a vengeful God trying to nail people for their every infraction of the Sabbath rest. On the contrary, it is the talk of a God who understands how life works. Stay with the maintenance schedule, and you'll be surprised how well things can go. Ignore the maintenance schedule, and you'll be surprised how fast things can come crashing down. We get burned by the business of the week when it takes over every day of our lives.
For better or for worse, as evidenced by the turn of events with Elizabeth Bowles, we live at a time when the Sabbath rest is something we must carve out for ourselves. Society no longer serves it up on a silver platter. Instead, we find ourselves in a similar situation to the Christians of New Testament times, for whom there was no tradition whatsoever of resting on the first day of the week. And yet that is exactly what the author of Hebrews urged his readers to do. "While the promise is still open," he writes, "let us make every effort to enter God's rest, so that no one may fall in disobedience as those who failed to cease from their labors." (Hebrews 4:1, 10-11).
"Indeed, the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. Before God no creature is hidden, but all are naked and laid bare to the eyes of the one to whom we must render an account." (Hebrews 4:12-13).
God knows when we get out of synch with the maintenance schedule of life. God knows everything. There's no way to hide. And we know it as well. We can feel it in our bones, as tiredness sweeps over our bodies and distractions sweep over our minds. Keeping the Lord's day is unique among the spiritual disciplines, in that it is at once both a matter abstinence and a matter of engagement. We abstain from our work in order to engage ourselves with the work of God.
This discipline revolves around the service of worship. Jesus reportedly made a habit of attending worship on the Sabbath. (Luke 4:16). It should be no less so for us. After six days in the world, doing what God has called us to do, we need to get together with others who are seeking to be transformed through the word of God. The world has a way of bringing us down and taking us away from the things that are important. After six days in the world, we need more than just a break. We need music that will lift our souls, preaching that will purge our minds, and fellowship that will renew our spirits.
Central Ohioans apparently need to learn this lesson even more than others. Perhaps you noticed the story in yesterday's paper about the 1995 statistics on religion in America. Although most people believe in God, less than half attend worship on a regular basis. In central Ohio, that number was an abysmal 36% (compared to 43% nationwide).
That leaves an awful lot of people who know nothing about the rhythm of life. To stay in our own worlds, doing whatever it is we do, is not the same as getting out to worship with our sisters and brothers in Christ. We need a new environment where we can rub shoulders with different people, hear about different things, listen to different music, and get caught up in the joy and meaning that comes from God. We need to make Sunday different, set apart, and holy.
Our rest should not be a solemn affair, but a joyful thing that begins at church and lasts all day long. It is a time for families and spouses and parents and children and friends of every age to reconnect with the things that are important. It is a time to think about the work of God, to seek first the reign of God, and to embrace the blessings of God over against the report of the world. Whose report will you believe? As for me and my household, we will believe the report of the Lord. Amen.
Experiencing Hardship
The First Congregational Church
United Church of Christ
Columbus, Ohio
March 24, 1996
Memory Verse: "Train yourself in godliness, for, while physical training is of some value, godliness is valuable in every way, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come." (1 Timothy 4:8)
Today's Texts: Jeremiah 22:1-5, 13-17 and Hebrews 12:1-13
Opening Prayer: Spirit of the Living God, speak to us now with the power of your word. Give us the courage to be and to do. Help us to know your will and to practice our faith. Make us thankful for the gift of life. Amen.
During this season of Lent we have been exploring The Spirit of Discipline. I have been working with the assertion that a disciplined life is the appropriate response to a graceful God. This is not because God wants us to earn our salvation, but rather because God wants us to enjoy it. Salvation is offered to each and every one of us as a free gift, with no strings attached. The spiritual disciplines are designed to help us unwrap that gift and to receive it as a blessing.
These disciplines are of much value, not the least of which is their ability to shake us loose from the addictions and preoccupations of this world. They can help us avoid both compulsion and despair. We are not the first people to fall off the ledge into the chasms of legalism and nihilism. And we will not be the last people who have to apply the disciplines of abstinence and engagement in order to climb out.
The spiritual disciplines are easy to comprehend but hard to practice. Two weeks ago I talked about solitude, silence, fasting, frugality, and chastity as the disciplines of abstinence. Such things simply do not fit into the fast-paced, helter-skelter world in which we find ourselves. And yet incorporating these things into our lives on a regular basis is exactly what most of us need to be doing. Like children who've gotten out of control, we need time out from the business of life in order to restore our souls.
Last week I moved on to worship and prayer as the first two disciplines of engagement. They revolve around the practice of carving out one day in seven for rest and restoration. For many Christians, that weekly engagement has become a casual and expendable commitment, without much passion or urgency. Sunday can fill up with the pressures and distractions of the world, just like any other day. To make it into something special takes effort, ingenuity, and sacrifice. It may even take a willingness to experience hardship, as we break with the rhythms of the world.
Therein lies the nature and challenge of the spiritual disciplines: they affirm different values and produce different lifestyles. Some time ago a young woman came to see me, all upset at the prospect of losing her boyfriend. As the story unfurled, I learned that he had wanted to have sex on their very first date. She said no, because it was against her religion. "Sex," she told him, "was the reason people got married. To bring children into the world. To have a future rather than a fling. Sex on the very first date cannot look forward to any life beyond itself, making it an abomination in the eyes of God." This made absolutely no sense to the man, and it was a source of continuing conflict over time.
Finally, about six months into the relationship, the man threw down the gauntlet. "Either we start having sex," he informed the woman, "or we break up." And so she came to see me, wondering whether she should abandon her old-fashioned ideas in order to hold on to her boyfriend. As we talked, it became clear that the problem was not her old-fashioned ideas. The problem was her new-found relationship in Jesus Christ, leading her to march to the beat of a different drummer. To abandon the discipline of chastity was to lose far more than her virginity; it was to lose her identity as the disciple of a living God.
So it is with the people who take their faith seriously enough to actually try and practice what they preach. They end up a rather odd bunch, at times foregoing pleasure and personal advancement in deference to their rule of faith.
Two weeks ago in The Columbus Dispatch there was an amazing story, in the front section, about a 43 year-old Wisconsin man named Mahlon Lambright. Mahlon is an Amish carpenter, who lost his 38 year-old wife last year when a truck plowed into the back of the horse-drawn family buggy. The truckers's insurance carrier, Great West Casualty Company, offered Lambright a settlement totaling $212,418. Lambright turned down the settlement because he believed the money would threaten his family's way of life.
He found it threatening in several ways. He feared his children would lose appreciation for their Amish traditions. He feared his community would lose respect for him, since they had already responded by providing him with all the food and clothing his family could use. He feared his God would lose sight of his intentions, since taking the money felt like getting revenge. But most of all he feared for his own soul, like the young woman who came to visit me, if he chose to abandon the disciplines of his faith.
Now as someone who wouldn't think twice about taking insurance money to compensate me for the death of my wife, this story brought me up short with yet another example of Christian integrity and solidarity. We are not obligated to go along with whatever the world has to offer. We do not have to accept the world's definitions of love, justice, and success. We can make our choices and take our stands, based upon our commitment of faith. The disciplines of integrity and solidarity engage us with the world not as busy automatons climbing to the top of our professions, but as faithful Christians sharing in the hardships of creation. Unfortunately, not everyone chooses to live that way.
James McClendon tells of a conversation between Clarence and Robert Jordan. Clarence Jordan was the founder of Koinonia Farm near Americus, Georgia. Koinonia was organized in 1942 as an interracial Christian community, in the heart of the deep south, before anyone knew what civil rights were all about. Jordan himself was a pacifist as well as an integrationist and thus was not a popular figure in Georgia, even though he came from a prominent family. He was the rich young man who said yes to the teachings of Jesus, adopting a life of simplicity, sharing things in common, and practicing non-violence.
As you can imagine, Koinonia Farm was very controversial and often in trouble. In the early 1950s, Clarence approached his brother Robert (later a state senator and justice of the Georgia Supreme Court) to ask him to legally represent the community against those who were trying to close them down. Robert responded to Clarence's request by saying:
"Clarence, I can't do that. You know my political aspirations. Why, if I represented you, I might lose my job, my house, everything I've got." "We might lose everything too, Bob." "It's different for you." "Why?" Clarence asked, "Why is it different for me? I remember that you and I joined church the same Sunday, as boys. I expect when we came forward the preacher asked you the same question he asked me: 'Do you accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior.' Robert, I said 'Yes' that Sunday. What did you say?"
"Clarence," Robert answered, "I follow Jesus, up to a point." "Could that point by any chance be -- the cross?" asked Clarence. "That's right. I follow him to the cross, but not on the cross. I'm not getting myself crucified." "Then I don't believe you're a disciple," said Clarence to his brother. "You're an admirer of Jesus, but not a disciple of his. I think you ought to go back to the church you belong to, and tell them you're an admirer not a disciple."
"Well now, if everyone who felt like I do did that," responded Robert, "we wouldn't have a church, would we?" "The question is," Clarence replied, "Do you have a church?" (James Wm. McClendon, Jr., Biography as Theology, Nashville • Abingdon, 1974).
I'm afraid that conversation between Clarence and Robert Jordan speaks volumes about the condition of the church today. There are many admirers, but few disciples, of Jesus. We do not practice the disciplines of integrity and solidarity, engaging ourselves in the longings of people and the sufferings of creation. We act as though the Christian faith were an agency of the American dream, isolating us ever further from the hardships of life with an aura of protection and prosperity.
But this was not the reason Jesus died on the cross. He experienced hardship by standing in solidarity with us, so that we could experience hardship by standing in solidarity with others. It was an act of love, based upon the greatest engagement of life this world has ever known. His commitment dare not become an excuse for our escape, but an opportunity for our salvation. When we choose to experience hardship in obedience to our faith, whether as an expression of integrity or solidarity, we are coming very close to the mystery of God in Christ. It's a matter of putting faith into action.
These things may not change the world, but they do change those who practice them as disciplines of engagement. And every once in a while they actually do make a difference. These things may not be terrible hardships, but they do start out as necessary losses for those who live with integrity and solidarity. And every once in a while they turn into blessings.
More than a decade after Clarence Jordan confronted his brother with the challenge of the gospel, he confronted another man with the same question. Only this time the results were very different. Like brother Robert, this man had also gone to law school and was filled with aspirations. By the time he was 29 this man had realized his dream of becoming a millionaire, together with his partner, Morris Dees. But the dream had taken its toll. He had become estranged from the church and from his own code of conduct. He had compromised his principles and had begun to suffer health problems. Then his marriage and family broke down. In November of 1965, his wife, Linda, left home, announcing that she was off to decide whether she wanted to continue being wed to a man who was married to his business.
That crisis was the straw that broke the camel's back. Their covenant of love meant more than all the money on Wall Street, and so he resolved to sell his share of the business as well as his houses, boats, cars, cattle, and horses. He would sell it all and donate the money to charity, come what may, if they could just start over as helpmates and servants of a living God. This was one rich young man who answered the challenge of Jesus to sell all that he had in order to join the entourage of faith.
Linda agreed wholeheartedly and the deal was done. Soon, their journeys took them to Koinonia Farm and the cotton patch wisdom of Clarence Jordan. Not only did he think they had done the right thing, but he became their mentor and friend as they began to craft a new vision for their lives. The hardship of giving everything away proved to be the best thing that ever happened to them, as well as to millions of people around the globe.
Millard and Linda Fuller moved to Americus, Georgia in 1968 where they began, under the tutelage of Clarence Jordan, what is today known as Habitat for Humanity. Their mission was to eliminate poverty housing around the world, and that's exactly what they've been doing. They started a movement that has captivated the imagination of this church and of thousands of churches around the globe touching the lives of millions of people with their biblical message of no profit and no interest construction in order to provide decent homes from God's people in need.
Do you hear echoes of the prophet Jeremiah? "Thus says the Lord: act with justice and righteousness. Deliver people from the hand of their oppressors. Refuse to live in large spacious houses while your neighbors work for nothing." (Jeremiah 22:3, 13-14). Do you hear echoes of the epistle to the Hebrews? "Let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus who endured the hardship of the cross in order to take his seat at the right hand of God. Do not resent the trials that come your way, since God is treating you like children in order to lift your drooping hands and to strengthen your sagging knees." (Hebrews 12:1-2, 7, 12).
Hardships suffered for the sake of the gospel do not end up being hardships at all. Sacrifices made on behalf of our integrity and solidarity do not end up being sacrifices at all. They end up being the agents of healing and the stuff of a meaningful life. I can tell you from personal experience that life is never better than when you think you are doing God's will. The young woman. The Amish carpenter. The founders of Habitat. These people decided to experience hardship for the sake of the gospel, marching to the beat of a different drummer. And that, as Robert Frost once said, made all the difference. Amen.
Serving the Lord's People
The First Congregational Church
United Church of Christ
Columbus, Ohio
March 31, 1996
Memory Verse: "Train yourself in godliness, for, while physical training is of some value, godliness is valuable in every way, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come." (1 Timothy 4:8)
Today's Texts: Jeremiah 23:1-8 and Philippians 2:1-11
Opening Prayer: Almighty God, we lift our voice to you. You alone are great. Help us to listen for your word and to serve your people with joy. Amen.
Sometimes things happen which make you believe there is a God. I was having real trouble getting started on this morning's sermon, when the U.S. Postal Service delivered the April issue of Columbus Monthly to my door. "POWER in Columbus" proclaims the cover story against the backdrop of Les Wexner's forehead. "The 10 most powerful," including "a new man at the top."
Turn to page 32, and we learn that although the names have changed in the power structure of Columbus, it still operates as the largest city in America with a small group of Titans who have the power to say "yes" or "no" over the issues and institutions that impact our lives. The power elite in this city can move things forward or stop them dead. "How do you build a convention center after the voters turn the project down twice? How do you get a less bombastic mayor or a less vexatious school board? You ask these fellows."
"What provides clout in Columbus," concludes the editors of Columbus Monthly, "is not the ballot box, but economic juice and the desire to exercise power." There is a small group of men, and I do mean men, who make this city work. On page 32 we also learn that it's been 20 years since a member of our church was in this August circle of power brokers. If we go back even further, there was a time when First Church would have posted three or four. I'll leave it for you to decide whether we were better off then or now.
The fact is, people have been enthralled with such power for at least five millennia. Today is Palm Sunday, the day Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, raising the expectations that he might be ready to claim that power for himself. After a successful Galilean tour, people naturally assumed that Jesus would want to try his hand at the reigns of power. They waved their palms, and threw down their jackets, hoping to catapult Jesus into a position of influence and authority. They smelled revolution, but Jesus refused.
He refused not because the power elite in Jerusalem was doing such a good job, but because he approached power from a very different point of view. Although he was a critic of the power elite's self-serving tendencies, and the hardships those tendencies forced upon people, he apparently saw no way to correct the problem from within. He refused to play the game according to those rules. The power of this world corrupts, and Jesus avoided it like a plague. Instead, he mapped out a life based upon service and sacrifice which has survived the test of time. In so doing, Jesus established yet another discipline of engagement which I would lift up to conclude this series on The Spirit of Discipline. We are called to love others even as Christ has loved us -- to be servants in the service of the whole human family. This must be our first and only priority.
Certainly this is what Jesus meant when he said to his disciples, "You shall not exercise dominion and authority over others. It shall not be so among you. Whoever wishes to be great among you must be your minister, and whoever wishes to be chief among you must be your servant. Just as the Mortal One came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many, so shall it be among you." (Cf. Matthew 20:25-28)
It's a hard lesson to learn, because life so often moves in the other direction. We are told to look out for ourselves, since no one else will. But we can easily become consumed with our own importance.
On Friday I attended the Governor's Prayer Breakfast, at which Chuck Colson was the keynote speaker. Colson told the story of his own consumption as one of the top aides to President Nixon. The media had characterized him as the hungriest and meanest of them all: Nixon's "hatchet man." A man who had tabled a lucrative law practice because of his loyalty to the President. An ex-Marine who had risen to the top of the heap by the age of 39. He was one of only ten people in the world who could walk unannounced into the President's office. He was in a yet another league from the Titans of Columbus.
Think of the power at their fingertips: a mere command from one of them could mobilize generals and cabinet officers, even armies; they could hire or fire personnel and manage billions in agency budget. Think of the privileges: a call to the military aide's office would produce a limousine or jet airplane; the National Gallery delivered classic paintings to adorn their office walls; red-jacketed stewards stood in waiting to serve food and drink twenty-four hours a day; private phones appeared wherever they traveled; secret service agents were always within sight -- as many as they wanted.
But on Friday, Colson confessed to a certain emptiness and numbness that began to creep into his soul. Every time Henry Kissinger would come into the President's office, he would say, "Today, Mr. President, we will make a decision that will change the future of the world." But every time turned out to be just like every other time. Their decisions notwithstanding, the power elite proved to be unable to change much of anything of substance. They were as caught as everyone else in the web of self-importance and deceit, with the world crashing down all around them.
Colson decided to get out, but not until after the Watergate scandal had destined him to serve seven months in prison. At the time he got out, that was in no way certain. He had returned to his private law practice with a healthy six-figure income, clients waiting at the door, a yacht in Chesapeake Bay, a limousine and driver, was a friend of the President, and had all kinds of people working for him and others dying to come into his firm. Things were looking up, rather than down, but Colson remembers how he never felt more rotten in his life.
Was this just a mid-life crisis? Had he lost his reason for being? Or was there something deeper, having to do with the direction he had set for his life? It didn't take long for him to figure out the problem. On August 12, 1973, Tom Phillips, president of the Raytheon Corporation, the largest employer in New England shared with Colson his own spiritual journey. Changing his self-understanding from a corporate Titan to a Christian servant, Phillips explained, had made all the difference in the world. He no longer had the same competitive need to destroy his enemies and consolidate his power. Colson, he urged, needed to learn the same lesson. The emptiness and numbness that he had been feeling was a result of pursuing the wrong end and following the wrong God.
Naturally, Colson put up one objection after another. The lure of power, prestige, and privilege is a powerful lure indeed. But Phillips carefully and gently tore them down, one after another. "Until you're ready to face yourself honestly and squarely," he said, "you'll never understand what I'm saying about God." He then reached over and picked up a copy of Mere Christianity, written by C. S. Lewis.
"Pride is the vice which leads to every other vice," wrote Lewis, "it is the complete anti-God state of mind. It is the chief cause of misery in every nation and every family since the world began. Other vices may sometimes bring people together, but pride always (drives people apart from one another and from God). As long as you are proud you cannot know God. In God you come up against something which is in every respect immeasurably superior to yourself. Someone who is proud is always looking down on things and people; and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you. Pride is a spiritual cancer: it eats up the very possibility of love, or contentment, or even common sense."
Phillips had pushed all the right buttons. Colson's self-centered past was washing over him in waves. It was painful. It was embarrassing. It was right, even though he still didn't want to admit it. Pride had motivated his every move. He had been concerned with himself, and himself alone, never giving any thought to anyone or anything as "immeasurably superior" to himself. He took the book and went out into the car, where he broke down and cried a river of tears. He forgot all about machismo, pretenses, and fears of being weak. He began to experience a wonderful feeling of being released and he prayed his first real prayer. "Take me and use me," was all he could say, over and over again.
The rest, as they say, is history. The media had a field day with Colson's conversion, which became the butt of one political cartoon after another. People are understandably suspicious of fox-hole religion, and Colson was definitely under pressure. But time has proven the sincerity of his convictions. In the wake of his own prison sentence, Colson went on to found Prison Fellowship, the world's largest prison ministry, and to write a dozen books about the relevance of faith to the problems of life. Rather than returning to his six-figure law practice, Colson has chosen to serve those whom society fears and rejects. And that, Colson will tell you, has made all the difference. There is no emptiness about the man today.
Whatever you may think of Chuck Colson's religion, you cannot deny the redirection of his life. There has been a downward movement in power and an upward movement in service. The two are not unrelated. He has become passionately concerned about the welfare of others and prayerfully involved with the meeting of their many and diverse needs.
What do you do to serve others? Each of us needs to think about this beyond the confines of our own small circle of family and friends. It is yet one more discipline of engagement, apart from which the Christian life can hardly be complete.
The prophet Jeremiah saw this deficiency in the rulers of Israel. "Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture! You have scattered my flock and have driven them away and have not attended to their needs." (Jeremiah 23:1-2). The prophet Ezekiel was even more specific. "Woe to the shepherds who feed themselves but do not feed the sheep. You eat the fat, you clothe yourselves with the wool, you slaughter the fatlings, but you do not feed the sheep. You have not strengthened the weak, you have not healed the sick, you have not bound up the injured, you have not brought back the strayed, you have not sought the lost, but with force and harshness you have ruled them. Therefore, you shepherds, hear the word of the Lord, 'I am against the shepherds and I will demand my sheep at their hand.'" (Ezekiel 34:1-10).
One could hardly be more specific than that. We must use our power for others or we will have no power at all. Is this possible from within the power elite of Columbus or the nation? With God all things are possible. But Jesus clearly chose a different way, more akin to Chuck Colson than to Les Wexner. His was the way of downward mobility, from the high reaches of heaven to the far corners of the earth.
"Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death -- even death on a cross." (Philippians 2:5-8).
No wonder Paul urges us to do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility to regard others as better than ourselves. That is the very mind and movement of God. It seeks not to remain in the elite reaches of power and position, but chooses to pour itself out for others. Palm Sunday is not the end of the story. We will be back here again, in a matter of days, to remind ourselves of the one who calls us to serve.
In a small French country village during World War II, there was a beautiful marble statue of Jesus with His hands outstretched before him, standing in the courtyard of a quaint little church. One day a bomb struck too close, and the statue was dismembered. After the battle was over and the enemy had passed through; the citizens of the village decided to find the pieces of their beloved statue and reconstruct it. It was no work of art by Michelangelo or Bernini, but it was a part of their lives, and they loved it just the same. And so they gathered the broken pieces and reassembled it. Even the scars on the body added to its beauty. But there was one problem. They were unable to find the hands of the statue. "A Christ without hands is no Christ at all," someone lamented. "Hands with scars - yes. But what's a Lord without hands? We need a new statue." Then someone else came along with another idea, and it prevailed. A brass plaque was attached at the base of the statue which reads: I have no hands, but your hands.
For the past six weeks we have focused on the spiritual disciplines. We have talked about a developing a balance in our lives between the disciplines of abstinence and the disciplines of engagement. We have focused on a total of ten disciplines, not as an exhaustive list but as a way of getting started with God.
In the simplest terms, the spiritual disciplines are activities of mind and body which encourage our faith. It's easy to become cynical and to reject every effort as shallow or spurious. But the fact remains that we all must do something with our lives. If we reject solitude and service, then we must do something else. If we reject fasting and prayer, then we must find some other practice which gives life meaning and direction. Chuck Colson was empty until he found direction from above. People today have the same need. They flail around, experimenting with one thing after another. But we have within our tradition resources for spiritual growth that have withstood the test of time. These activities are designed to bring our whole selves into cooperation with the divine order, so that we can experience a vision and power beyond ourselves. I hope and pray for this blessing at First Church, as we seek to incarnate The Spirit of Discipline. Amen.