Transitional Words


What's Your Excuse?
Robert K. Tschannen-Moran
Broad Street Christian Church
(Disciples of Christ)
April 19, 1998

Texts: Isaiah 61:1-4 and John 20:19-31

Prayer: Gracious God, who moves in mysterious ways, move among us now with the rushing wind of your Spirit. Stir us up and makes us hear your Word. Transform us into worthy examples of your love. Amen.

Here we are on the traditional "low Sunday" of the church — the Sunday after Easter. The pastor has gone away to recover, the special music has all been performed, the children have all been baptized, and the crowds have all gone back to business as usual — which obviously does not include sitting here in church on Sunday morning. Even the sun has gone back behind the clouds.

For those of us who are left, the Sunday after Easter graphically presents the challenge of the resurrection. It's one thing to believe in the power of God when the church is filled and the ambiance is extraordinary. It's an entirely different thing to believe in that power when the church is sparse and the ambiance is ordinary.

I know something about this firsthand from my experience of visiting churches over the past several months. Most of you know that I was the pastor of First Congregational Church until about three months ago. I resigned without any plans for the future, other than to stay in Columbus at least until my two children graduate from high school. My family and I have therefore been visiting a variety of churches in our quest to find a new church home.

Every pastor should have such an opportunity! Visiting churches and sitting in the pew for several months, midway through my career, has been an eye-opening experience, to say the least. I've sometimes found myself wondering why anyone bothers to go to church at all. Poorly planned and poorly executed services, sparse and ordinary, seem to be the rule rather than the exception. This past Sunday, Easter Sunday no less, the church we visited had a hard time passing the offering plates and the communion elements. I overheard one of the elders saying, "Next year we're going to practice this." That would be good.

After almost 2,000 years, one might think that the church would have figured out how to do something as basic as worshiping the Almighty God, maker of heaven and earth, the creator and sustainer of life. Hollywood puts more time and effort into a B-movie. And we reap what we sow. Few people would argue with the assertion that Hollywood, rather than God, has the upper hand in the formation of our culture, values, and families.

It is in the midst of such Godforsaken times and places that we are now called, on the Sunday after Easter, to believe once again in the resurrection — the simple, albeit somewhat bizarre, claim that God, without any assistance from medical science or witch doctors, raised Jesus from the dead. In other words that God interrupted the natural way of things, snatching life from death, reversing the judgment of a lower court which had convicted and executed Jesus as an enemy of the state.

This bizarre proclamation, if it is true, changes everything. First, it changes our worldview. If Jesus was really raised from the dead, apart from human agency or design, then there must be more to life than meets the eye. Call it God, call it the spiritual realm, call it eternity, call it the supernatural — call it whatever you want. The Christian proclamation, if it is true, means that the spiritual realm is not a figment of our imagination but a fact of life. There is substance and reality beyond the limitations of our existence.

Second, it changes our attitude. If Jesus was really raised from the dead, then the spiritual realm obviously intersects and interacts with the material world in which we live. And that introduces all kinds of new possibilities. The empirical law of cause and effect is not the only operative principle in the universe. There's also the spiritual law of love. This law cultivates "affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity, a willingness to stick with things, a sene of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people" (Galatians 5:22, The Message). This law gives us a new attitude.

Finally, the resurrection changes our lifestyle. If Jesus was really raised from the dead, then God must want us to pay attention to Jesus. Why else would God have done such a thing? Why else would God have reversed the ruling of Caesar's court? The intersection of eternity with the course of human history means that we should bend our lives to such curious and counterintuitive notions as loving our enemies, turning the other cheek, giving to the poor, suspending judgment, forgiving sins, praying for help, and trusting God to provide. These values may not always be popular, and they may not always work, but they are commended to us on good authority if the Christian proclamation is true.

So what's your excuse for not believing in the resurrection as something that really happened? Do you have an intellectual problem with that idea — does it challenge your worldview? Do you have an emotional problem with that idea — does it challenge your attitude? Or do you have a political problem with that idea — does it challenge your lifestyle?

Since the time of the scientific revolution, in the 16th century, the Western world has been obsessed with the intellectual and emotional problems posed by the resurrection. What do we do with something that can't be replicated, on demand, in the laboratory? What do we do with something that can't be manipulated, on demand, to our advantage? The Western world — filled with sophisticated, modern, rational, enlightened, analytical, skeptical, depressed people — has not known what to with that "something." So it has largely rejected the resurrection and the supernatural as fanciful and irrelevant.

Listen to Richard Dawkins, Professor of Public Understanding of Science at Oxford University in Oxford, England. "What has theology ever said that is of the smallest use to anybody?" he writes in a recent journal article. "When has theology ever said anything that is demonstrably true and is not obvious? I have listened to theologians, read them, debated against them. I have never heard any of them ever say anything of the smallest use, anything that was not either platitudinously obvious or downright false."

"If all the achievements of scientists were wiped out tomorrow, there would be no doctors but witch doctors, no transport faster than horses, no computers, no printed books, no agriculture beyond subsistence peasant farming. If all the achievements of theologians were wiped out tomorrow, would anyone notice the smallest difference? Even the bad achievements of scientists, the bombs, and sonar-guided whaling vessels work! The achievements of theologians don't do anything, don't affect anything, don't mean anything. What makes anyone think that ‘theology' is a subject at all?" (The Emptiness of Theology, Free Inquiry, Spring 1998, Volume 18, Number 2).

Now that man writes with an arrogance usually reserved for bishops and popes! He obviously has both intellectual and emotional problems with the resurrection. Since it is not "demonstrably true" according to the principles of the scientific method, and since it doesn't "do anything" that Dawkins values or trusts, he's been led to reject and ridicule it out of hand.

Let's call him, if you will, "Doubting Dawkins." He sounds very much like the "Doubting Thomas" in this morning's New Testament lesson. But the story of "Doubting Thomas," often interpreted by the West in intellectual and psychological terms, exposes the more fundamental political problem with the resurrection. The story cuts to the quick of who we are, what we value, and how we live.

Let's review the story at the end of John's gospel. In a hearing before the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, Jesus is convicted of sedition and sentenced to death. After a public flogging, Jesus is crucified outside of Jerusalem for refusing to disavow his royal authority in deference to the authority of Caesar. He's publicly humiliated and destroyed in order to keep others from getting any wild ideas. His body is taken down from the cross, wrapped in a linen shroud, and placed in an empty tomb. Jesus is dead.

Three days later, strange reports began to circulate. First from the women in the company of Jesus, who went to the tomb and found it empty. Then from Peter and the other disciple whom Jesus loved, after they went to the tomb to verify the women's report. No one knew what to make of it all until later that same day, when Jesus appeared to the disciples behind locked doors.

"Peace be with you," he said as he showed them his hands and side. "Peace be with you. Just as the Father sent me, I send you." Then he took a deep breath and breathed upon them, saying, "Receive the Holy Spirit."

Thomas, we're told, was not with the disciples when Jesus appeared to them. "I'm not about to believe that story," he told the disciples later, "unless I see him for myself. I want to see and feel the nail holes. I want to touch his pierced side. I want an Easter Sunday experience, a full church, with all the bells and whistles." Eight days later, Thomas got his wish. Jesus appeared to the disciples again and went through the same routine, at which point Thomas humbled himself and said, "My Master!" and "My God!"

Now why do you think Thomas wanted to see Jesus for himself? Why was he reluctant to accept the testimony of his peers? Somehow I don't think it was an intellectual or an emotional problem. We certainly don't read about him pulling the disciples aside, saying, "Uh, guys, I hate to tell you this, but people just don't come back from the dead. Everyone knows that. It's been a stressful time, I know you're upset, but get a grip on reality here. Come to your senses and stop talking crazily."

We also don't read about Thomas objecting to their attitude. They were certainly exuberant about what had happened. No, I suspect that Thomas had a political problem with the assertion that Jesus had returned to send them out into the world. For one thing, that was a dangerous proposition. For another, the disciples' new attitude was not resulting in new actions. I imagine the scenario to have gone something like this:

Thomas went back to the disciples and found them all worked up about their encounter with the risen Christ. "What happened?" he asked. "Tell me the story." "Well," they said, "Jesus was here. He came in our midst and said, ‘Peace be with you.' Then he commissioned us to go out into the world as his ambassadors and he blew upon us the breath of the Holy Spirit."

"I don't believe you," Thomas said. "Why not?" they asked with incredulity. After all, they had seen Jesus with their own eyes. Why wouldn't Thomas take their word for it? "Because you're still here," Thomas said in reply. "You expect me to believe that you saw Jesus, that he breathed the Holy Spirit upon you, and that he sent you out into the world even as he was sent into the world. But here you sit."

"You remember how Jesus was in the world. You remember what God sent him to do. When the Spirit came upon Jesus, he preached good news to the poor, set the captives free, and gave sight to the blind. He lifted up the oppressed, healed the brokenhearted, and proclaimed the year of God's favor. If you had really seen Jesus, and if he had really given you this Spirit and this Commission, you would be out providing for those who mourn in Zion. You would be putting on the mantle of praise rather than this faint spirit. You would be oaks of righteousness, raising up the former devastations and repairing the ruined cities. You wouldn't be sitting here, on your hands, doing nothing."

Thomas, you see, understood the profound political dimensions of their report. If what the disciples said was true, if Jesus had really come back from the dead and commissioned them to continue his work, then Jesus was asking them to put their life on the line. Jesus was telling them to adopt his values and continue his program. Jesus was challenging them to live out of step and out of sync with the surrounding culture. And in the absence of demonstrable faith, Thomas wanted to see for himself.

The other day I was in the hardware store getting some keys made when the manager came back to talk to this big hefty guy who was making my keys. They were apparently having some problem receiving a $1,000 dollar order, and that was a large order for this small store. They said a few things, back and forth, trying to figure out who was to blame for the problem. Finally, the big hefty guy said, "It's probably the slant-eyes' fault. You can't ever trust them."

I would have walked out of the store, then and there, but the guy already had my keys. And he was big. And he was hefty. It was then that I noticed the man had a cross tattooed on his left arm. "Christians don't say those things," I thought. "They don't even think those things." I should have said what I was thinking.

The arguments of white supremacists around the world notwithstanding, the fact remains that Jesus was not raised from the dead so that people could put crosses on their forearms and talk about "slant-eyes." The resurrection poses a profound political problem for anyone who takes it seriously. "Doubting Dawkins" is no different from the big hefty guy behind the counter. They all find one excuse or another to explain away the gospel and to ignore its radical claim upon our lives.

What's your excuse? Last week was a big Sunday in the life of most churches, but this week the true test begins. Do we still live in the light of the resurrection? Or do we now find one excuse after another to take it less than seriously? When the pastor's away and the crowds have gone, do we still believe in the transforming power of God? Or do we forget all about the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, as though it never really happened at all?

I, for one, put my faith in the Resurrected Lord. When I go through empty times, when I go through difficult times, I remember the One who went through the worst of times only to be vindicated by the mighty hand of God. That vindication establishes the Christian worldview, attitude, and lifestyle. It establishes our faith, hope, and love. I may not always succeed in that witness, and I may not always be true to that calling, but the resurrection leaves me with no illusions about how important it is to try. Amen.

What Are You Willing To Lose?
Robert K. Tschannen-Moran
Mt. Zion United Church of Christ
Baltimore, Ohio
March 15, 1998

Texts: Hosea 6:1-6, Psalm 51:10-19 and Matthew 10:34-42

Prayer: God of the living and of the dead, we come before you today hungry for your word and anxious for a sign of your presence. Be with us. Break us down and build us up. Make yourself known to us and quicken our faith. We ask this in Jesus' name. Amen.

As I worked on this sermon, I told my wife that I was standing on the edge of a dangerous precipice. As many of you know, I was the Senior Minister of The First Congregational Church in downtown Columbus until early last month. During my tenure at First Church, I was in the habit of writing six pages of material a week -- a two-page newsletter article and a four-page sermon.

Given that it's been five weeks since my last sermon, I should have about 30 pages of material in me that's just dying to come out. Fortunately, both for you and for me, my wife talked me back from the edge of that preacher's pitfall. It's both wasteful and harmful, she reminded me, to set out more food than the flock can reasonably be expected to eat.

When I finally sat down to work on this sermon, I was surprised to find that I actually had the opposite problem. After an unplanned five-week break, I found it difficult to apply myself to the preaching task. For one thing, I don't really know this congregation. For another, I've really been enjoying my newfound freedom.

This enjoyment has caught me a bit by surprise. Preaching has always been my greatest love, but it has also been my greatest burden. I put an enormous amount of time and energy into preparing and delivering my sermons. The preaching life means a lot to me, so I had expected to be out of sorts from the loss of my weekly routine.

But my reaction has been more akin to the reaction of Pablo Casals, the world-famous cellist, when he experienced a career-threatening injury. Casals lived and breathed the cello from the time he was ten years old until his death, in 1973, at the age of ninety-seven. He was a master of the instrument, bar none.

Casals' first visit and tour of the United States came in the year 1901. It was to have been an extensive series of engagements, with performances in 80 different locations. However, midway through the tour Casals suffered a serious injury to his left hand, while hiking in California. He had been climbing in the mountains near San Francisco when a large rock somehow became dislodged, fell on his hand, and crushed some fingers.

Casals said that when he looked down and saw his badly damaged hand, the first thought that came to his mind was, "Thank God, I'll never have to play the cello again!" That was my first thought after I concluded my last Sunday at First Church: "Thank God, I'll never have to preach again!" We all need breaks from the routine, even from those things that fill our lives with passion and meaning.

But there comes a time and place to once again pick up the instrument. Deep down, neither Pablo Casals nor I was serious. I thank you for giving me this opportunity to pick up the instrument again, if only for one Sunday. I also thank those family and friends who've made the trek all the way out to Baltimore to share in our service this morning. Your support means more than you will ever know.

Today is the third Sunday in Lent -- halfway between Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday -- halfway between the reminder that we are nothing but dust to the proclamation that we have been given eternal life in Christ's resurrection from the dead. To help us get ready for that joyous proclamation, Lent calls us to acknowledge the limitations of our mortality through penitence and sacrifice. Many people give things up for Lent to break the habitual patterns of consumption that distract us from the gospel of God.

The practice of giving something up for Lent has been criticized by some as an empty ritual, but I am not one to ridicule this age-old tradition. It preserves an important truth: we human beings tend to develop dependencies which can distract us from our true mission and purpose as the body of Christ. Giving something up for Lent can disrupt those dependencies and restore us to the mind of Christ.

Our dependencies certainly go far beyond the things we eat, drink and buy. They include such basic and fundamental things as how we operate, whom we love, and what we like. Jesus took none of these things for granted when he called people to follow him. Everything was subject to the overarching goal of expanding the circle of people who were fully awake and alive to the grace, truth, and judgment of God. People were called to give up everything for the reign of God. People were called to lose everything for the cause of Christ.

This call comes through quite clearly in the disturbing passage we read this morning from Matthew chapter 10. After preaching the Sermon on the Mount and performing a variety of miracles, Jesus chose twelve people to be his disciples and charged them to go out into the world as agents of God without concern for themselves, their families, or their tradition.

"Trust God to take care of things, to make things unfold as they should." Jesus' priority was not meeting the needs of his disciples, but meeting the needs of God's impending reign. "Give yourself over to this work," Jesus promised his disciples, "and God will stand with you, through whatever changes may come your way. Keep yourself away from this work and God will leave you to your own contrivances, however grievous they may be." How we operate, whom we love, and what we like cannot excuse anything less than total abandonment to the Great Commission: that we go, make disciples, baptize, and teach people to obey the commands of Christ.

What started me thinking about this troubling passage, in addition to its relevance to the season of Lent, was the discussion I had with Clarence Mauger about how Mt. Zion was poised for growth. "The farms and fields around this Church are all being bought up by developers," he told me, "the growth of the City has finally caught up with us. In the next two decades, Baltimore's population will increase dramatically and this Church will grow as well."

With all due respect to Clarence, I would point out that this no longer happens automatically and that when it happens people usually have to give up the very dependencies that Lent is designed to expose. How we operate, whom we love, and what we like cannot be sacred cows if we hope to grow the body of Christ in a changed and changing world.

I certainly don't have to spend much time documenting the decline of churches, let along mainline Protestant churches, in our society. I'm sure you're familiar with the experience of Faith UCC in Pickerington. We hung out the shingle, called the pastor, built the building, and closed the church in the past decade. During the same period of time, the population of Pickerington exploded. We just couldn't get people to walk in the door.

The problem in Pickerington is part of a much larger social problem made famous several years ago by Harvard University professor Robert Putnam, in his now oft-quoted article Bowling Alone: America's Declining Social Capital (Journal of Democracy, January 1995). Putnam observed that Americans' propensity for civic association, so extolled by Alexis de Tocqueville in the 1830s, has fallen dramatically in recent decades.

Political participation, religious affiliation, labor unions, parent-teacher associations, as well as civic and fraternal organizations have all declined more or less steadily since the mid 1960s. Although the number of people who believe in God has remained high, the number of people who belong to churches has reached an all time low. In the late 1950s, 48 percent of the population reported weekly churchgoing. Last year, that figure stood at 30 percent -- even less for educated white Americans living in the central Ohio.

The fact is, church participation just "ain't what she used to be." One can no longer take it for granted. People are increasingly content to meet their spiritual needs on their own, without the concomitant struggles of social organization. Tomorrow morning you'll be able to go to my Web site, at http://www.pastorbob.net, and read this sermon for yourself. So why go to church? For most people in America, the answer is they don't.

But every once in a while you hear about a church that really takes off. What makes them so different? What makes them able to buck the trend? The data indicates that theology is not a critical factor. There are examples of rapidly growing churches around the country of every theological stripe -- conservative, moderate, and liberal. What these churches have in common is not their theology, but how they operate, whom they love, and what they like. Many of these churches have sacrificed long-cherished ways of doing things in order to be successful in a changed and changing environment. They have lost control, community, and culture in order to gain Christ -- the head of the church.

This, it seems to me, is the real question that comes to any church with hopes of growing during the season of Lent: What are you willing to lose? What are you willing to give up? Jesus put it quite simply in this morning's New Testament lesson: "Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it" (Matthew 10:39). There is a direct relationship between what we're willing to lose and what we're able to gain.

Let's look at those three critical dynamics which growing churches tend to share: growing churches tend to lose control of their operation. Dying churches have been used to taking everything through proper channels before anything gets done. Church leaders are generally elected to positions of control. It's their job to give permission to initiatives and expenditures which take place under the auspices of the church.

Growing churches adopt a different approach. Church leaders are generally called to positions of ministry and service. They respond to the needs of the hour, without worrying about permission for their initiatives or expenditures. This responsibility is encouraged by the church from top to bottom. The responsibility of the church's governing body is to define the vision and then to encourage the free and vigorous exercise of everyone's gifts and talents in order to realize that vision.

Growing churches also tend to lose their sense of community. That may seem paradoxical, or even contradictory, since community is such a basic Christian value, but growing churches understand community as a function of the small groups within the church rather than of the church at-large. It is impossible to have community with everyone, and growing churches don't even try. Jesus said he came to set a son against his father and a daughter against her mother. Perhaps he understood something about human community that you and I are unwilling to grasp.

Finally, growing churches tend to lose their culture. Dying churches tend to be mono-cultural churches: they have one service, at one time, with one style, and one leader. They also have those two infamous retorts: "We've never done it that way before." And, if that proves unsuccessful, "We tried that before and it didn't work." Armed with those two retorts, dying churches are usually able to kill just about any new idea that comes along.

Growing churches tend to be multi-cultural churches that embrace diversity, inclusion, and experimentation. They have many services, at many times, with many styles, and many leaders. Growing churches are not dependent on one particular person to make everything happen. On the contrary, they raise up leaders, both ordained and lay, to function on every level including worship, study, and service.

So, Clarence, if you want this church to grow, keep in mind the words of Jesus: you may have to lose your life to find it. You may have to lose control of this church, as well as your sense of community and the culture which has defined this church for decades. You will definitely have to push beyond your comfort zone in order to buck the trend of church decline and death. What better time than Lent to rededicate ourselves to such a high and holy task! What better time than Lent to sort out what we are willing to lose for the sake of the gospel.

The prophet Hosea put this paradoxical promise quite plainly to the ancient Hebrews: "Come, let us return to the Lord; for it is God who has torn, and God who will heal us; it is God who has struck down, and God who will bind us up. After two days God will revive us; on the third day God will raise us up, that we may live before the Lord" (Hosea 6:1-2). Decline and death do not have the last and final word, not for us and not for the church of Jesus Christ. With faith we too will be revived. By grace we too will be raised up to live for others in the ministry and service of God. Amen.