Sermons

 Horses on Parade VIII

 

John Wilkinson	Third Presbyterian Church
September 7, 2008	Romans 13:8-14, Matthew 18:15-20

 

My grandfather was named Parker Wilkinson IV. Had he liked that name, he would have given it to my dad, and had that pattern followed, I would have been Parker Wilkinson VI. He didn’t. I’m not.

All of which is to say, that at some point, the pattern of entitling a Rally Day sermon, now in its eighth iteration, may change. But it’s a lot of pressure, so it’s not likely to happen anytime soon. It gives Beth Williams one less piece of last-minute information she needs to track down from me.

And even more so, it’s a good reminder of several things. It’s a reminder of the wonderful project, called “Horses on Parade,” that happened in Rochester in 2001. Big old fiberglass horses, painted creatively, appeared all over town. We were the lone church, to have one, I believe. Ours was called “Horse Chess-nut.” I loved it for several reasons, the primary one being the whimsical and creative way we announced to East Avenue and beyond that we were here, open for business, and in touch and connected with the life of our community. I continue to believe that, and we continue to seek together to live out that vision.

So “Happy Rally Day.” If you are a visitor today for the first time, or have wandered in once or twice over the summer, a warm welcome to you. We hope you will learn more about us, get to know us, and if the Spirit leads you, to join us. And if you’ve been away, welcome back.

Welcome back to the Chancel Choir – it’s so nice to have you back where you belong. Welcome to Jonathan Wessler – and to Joy as well.

And welcome, more formally and officially, to Martha Langford. Martha has hit the ground running and her new ministry among us is already bearing fruit.

And finally, after we have encountered this horses on parade theme for the eighth time, and prayed and sung a bit together as well, please join all of us on the East Avenue lawn for a party, with hot dogs and the works. A special word of thanks to the Congregational Fellowship Committee for making it all happen, and the sexton staff for their great support as well.

***

When the history of the first decade of the 21st century in the third millennium is written, a footnote to a footnote to a footnote will be about colored rubber wrist bracelets. Whether it was started by him or not, cyclist and cancer survivor Lance Armstrong mainstreamed the phenomenon, with his bright yellow “Livestrong” bracelets. TV funny person Stephen Colbert has recently been touting his own red “Wriststrong” bracelets.

A while back I mentioned the minister in Missouri who distributed purple bracelets to his congregation. “No whining” bracelets, with the goal of wearing them 21 one days without switching wrists, which you were to do every time you whined. Some of us would be happy with 21 minutes!

Being who I am, I am late to most trends, and wildly ignorant of many others. But for varying part of the past three years, I have been wearing on my left wrist a variety of these bracelets. It seemed the thing to do. Perhaps it was a feeble attempt to appear hip, a way of fighting off the rude encroachment of middle-age without a tattoo or piercing or sports car or worse.

They serve, as these things do, as personal and specific reminders of people and events, and also as broader symbols. But now I am ready to retire them, for no real reason except that it’s time. They will go on my dresser as a constant reminder and silent witness. But before I do that, I wanted to share what they mean and draw, I hope, a connection to who we are here and what we are called to do.

In chronological order, the first is a white one, which I’ve been wearing now for three years. I got it in York, England, during the Chancel Choir’s tour of the U.K. The rock star Bono, of the band U2, was leading a continent wide anti-poverty movement, focusing on Africa. In the United States, the effort was simply called “One,” or “One.org.” In Europe, it was called “Make Poverty History,” which is what my white bracelet says. “Make Poverty History.”

Poverty is not yet history. Our call is to make it so, to make a difference, as individuals, and as a “horse on parade” church that is called beyond these walls into every corner of city and world. That looks like some of what we are doing right now. Then it leap frogs, from direct service, from wonderful things like Dining Room Ministry and Food Cupboard and RAIHN and tutoring and the Corner Place, to working for the day when such things will be history, for all God’s children. To advocate for fairer, more just government response when necessary, right policies for those in need.

And even more leap frogging, from making poverty history to making racism history, making sexism history, making oppression history, making war history. History that is not, at its heart political, or social, or economic, but theological, religious history that has political and social and economic implications.

The second bracelet is a pink one, in the spirit of “Livestrong,” given to me by a friend named Loyda, who at the time was undergoing treatment for breast cancer. So I wore it, and wear it, for her. I wear it for my mother-in-law, for many women I know, and many more I don’t. The bracelet says “mothers, daughters, sisters, friends.” And when I wear it, I expand the circle a bit from the color pink. I think of all I know who are facing cancer, of any kind. Some of you are in this room right now. I think of you, or of you living with one who is, or caring for those who are, or who are researching a cure.

And because of the nature of what I do, I don’t stop with cancer, but think of those facing all kinds of illness. The pink bracelet for me is a symbol of solidarity, but it is also a reminder to pray and a call to worship. Pray. Support. We do that here. We pray here, on Sunday morning, Monday night, Wednesday morning, at the start of a meeting. And we pray beyond these walls, and are strengthened by it. At the dinner table, on a long walk in the woods, in traffic. Prayer leads to action, to care and compassion, for those fighting disease, and those supporting them, turning us all into a kind of Board of Deacons, prayer that is prayer, and prayer that evolves into many acts of kindness.

The third bracelet is kind of a red and yellow deal. I got it at the General Assembly this June in San Jose, and because it was free, brought many, many back for staff colleagues and family members, whose sense of gratitude was inestimable. It has two things on it: the Presbyterian seal, and a scripture reference, Micah 6:8, God requires us to “do justice, love kindness and walk humbly with God.” That verse was the theme of the General Assembly. It was also the theme for the fantastic, awesome video that our youth made this past spring.

That bracelet means many things to me – a vision of justice and kindness and humility, or a denomination’s strong legacy with a future evolving faster than we can always understand. It represents a God whose vision, at heart, is not about doctrinal precision or liturgical competency but faith in action. And it is about a holistic approach to life, and faith, that involves the head and heart, the body and spirit, reaching out and reaching in, the challenge of justice, the comfort of kindness, the grace of mercy.

And finally, a string bracelet, made by the young man currently living in our house. He was away for two consecutive weeks this summer, and I told him I would wear it in his absence to remember him. I don’t think he thought that if I didn’t wear it I would forget him. It was an early taste of empty-nesthood for us, which I didn’t like so much.

So the bracelet represents for me family, presence and absence, but it has come to represent more than that for me in this place. Some of us have family; some do not. Some of us have family relationships that are wonderful; some of us do not. But in this place, we are family. We are connected as the body of Christ, here and everywhere, a circle, a communion. The ties that bind this bracelet together represent the ties that bind us all together in love, as the old hymn says, one foundation.

This morning, and in the several Sundays following, the Bible asks us a pairing of questions. What kind of people are we to be, and what kind of church are we to be. The questions are linked, feeding one another and feeding off of one another.

What kind of people are we to be, and what kind of church are we to be, Paul was asking. Given the complexity of Paul’s theology, and the complexity of the issues facing the church in Rome, a small, struggling group trying to gain a foothold in a hostile, cosmopolitan context, trying to figure out how they will live, the answer is amazingly simple. Owe no one anything, but to love one another, he writes to that church. Do not contort yourself around doctrine. Do not contort yourself around ethical requirements. Do one thing – love. You can’t go wrong by loving. Love can do no wrong. If you want to know what this Christianity thing is about, love. If you want to know who the church should be, love. The ethical framework, around which we make all our decisions, establish all our principles, organize all our perspectives, is love.

Love is not a burden, Beverly Gaventa writes, nor is it superficial window-dressing. It “finds its way into the nitty-gritty of everyday life.” It is not theoretical, but is “real love of real people,” the ones we meet in every day life – in this church and beyond this church, who may be lovable but who may not be so lovable.

And the question we should ask in this church in all that we do, in every act of service, every act of gathering, every act of worship, every act of connection, is how this vision plays itself out. How are we loving ourselves? How are we loving one another? How are we loving the world?

What kind of people are we to be, and what kind of church are we to be, Jesus was asking? Jesus is talking about the church here, but the principle is broader than that. If a wrong is done to you – and he allows us our own measure of that, without a list of rules and requirements, so I would suggest that the measure for this morning, anyway, is if we’ve failed to love one another – if a wrong is done to you, go speak to the one who has done the wrong. And if that doesn’t work so well, take someone. Only then does it become a public matter.

What kind of church? One that deals honestly, candidly, with conflict. One that is not self-righteous, one that has no room for harsh judgment, one that is predicated on forgiveness and reconciliation.

We all know the experience of actually fessing up to someone else, of speaking honestly, from the heart. It is never easy. It is not the foundation on which this culture is based, to be sure. But we also know the satisfaction, the gratification, of air cleared, of pardon offered and received, of mercy.

Charles Cousar writes that for Jesus, “situations of alienation are to be taken seriously.” That is why each week we share a prayer of confession, not to dwell on the wrong, but to abide in the forgiveness and reconciliation that follows. Cousar writes: “The Christian community has a stake in brokenness and reconciliation – not only in the liturgical declaration of pardon every week, but in the actual relationships among its members.”

What kind of people are we to be? What kind of Christians? What kind of church?

A church in love. A church of love. And when we fail at that, a church that works hard, people-to-people, face-to-face, to re-establish love as the sole criteria, the sole vision and value, by which we gather and are dispersed.

An alternative ethic of love with implications for how we program, how we connect, how we reach in, how we reach out.

What kind of church?

* I imagine one that is interesting, engaging, relevant – horses on parade!
* I imagine one that loves the world so much that it fights poverty and all forms of human suffering, here in this city, in places like Nairobi and New Orleans, to make it history.
* I imagine one that prays and lives in solidarity with all who suffer – with cancer, with any physical disease, with addiction or loneliness or depression.
* I imagine one that worships and learns and serves, that does justice and loves kindness and walks humbly, that gathers and disperses, across generations and experiences.
* I imagine one that is connected, that is the body of Christ, together and apart, as strong as a bracelet of a million strands or more, as constant and continuous as a circle, but an open circle, ever widening, ever expanding.
* I imagine a church that makes a difference to all who gather within, and all who see it from a distance.

That they, and we, will know we are Christians by how we make a difference.

That they, and we, that they will know we are Christians – not by the ways we fuss and fight, but by the ways we work through disagreements.

That they, and we, will know we are Christians by how we can change the world.

That they, and we, will know we are Christians by how we care for one another, for every neighbor.

That they, and we, will know us by the way we are one, working together, walking together.

That we, and they, will know we are Christians by our love, wondrous, excelling, love. Amen.