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"We Are Beggers, It Is True"
Pentecost 15B -
Special
September 12-13, 2009
Romans 14:10-13, 19; Luke 6:31-36; John
13:33-35
It is no secret that our culture is watching us – watching the ELCA in general and congregations like us in particular. It has been watching us for many, many years not to see who “wins” in the difficult and emotional matters we have been discussing for many years as a church, ordination matters in particular, about which we have now made some decisions. Our culture has been, and continues to be watching us to see how Christians behave when we disagree. Our Christian church history doesn’t exactly provide us with a noble reputation. We must confess that differences in how we follow our consciences have always torn apart our fellowship as believers in Jesus. The church has responded to these differences by splitting apart over and over again, over issues like baptism, slavery, worshiping in English or in German/Swedish/Norwegian, the ordination of women, ecumenical relationships with (in our case) non-Lutheran denominations, even over how we read the Bible. Our history makes it easy for people to say, “There go those Christians, those Lutherans, fighting among themselves...again. Gosh! Wouldn’t I love to join one of their churches and be a Christian!” And here we are...now as the ELCA, created through three Lutheran synods actually uniting together in 1988 (a great witness!), struggling with disagreement among ourselves...again. Many of you know that the ancient Chinese character for “crisis” is a combination of two characters: one meaning “danger” and one meaning “opportunity.” The dangers of disagreement are obvious, as just stated. That is the side of “crisis” which sensationalist media and more reactionary folks love to dwell on. But consider with me this morning: does this disagreement provide a sacred opportunity, perhaps even a divine calling, for us? Could God possibly redeem our angst by helping us recognize an opportunity here to witness to something far greater than the points at which we disagree? Do we have an opportunity to distinguish our ELCA, our congregation, from, for example, a political party when it starts infighting? Or from a couple as it goes through a stridently public and bitter divorce? Or from other Christian denominations who have broken and divided over disagreements, or who have made a practice of shunning other Christian bodies when they disagree with them? Is there an opportunity here, in the way we choose to relate with one another, especially in light of our sometimes passionate disagreements, where we could actually make a strong, bold witness to our even more passionate faith in Jesus Christ as Lord, Lover, and Redeemer of old sinners like us? Is “There go those Christians/Lutherans, fighting again” the best we can do? The painful fact is that all the talking, preaching, and writing in the world is not going to change the fact that there is disagreement within the Body of Christ. Disagreement didn’t suddenly occur in Minneapolis on August 21st at the 2009 churchwide assembly. Disagreement within the body on any number of issues has been a fact of our life together for the 21 years of our existence as the ELCA, and for however many years before that as ALC and LCA and AELC and Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod, and before that as the ULC and Augustana Synods, and before that in an unbroken succession of church bodies and institutions going all the way back to the early church, to Rome, to whom Paul writes the letter we read from this morning. History books are littered with the long, painful record of Christian intolerance – not only intolerance toward non-Christians but intolerance toward one another. For people outside the church looking for something to believe in, something to inspire them to live for -- a larger, grander, more beautiful, eternal purpose than simply self-fulfillment -- are we a bitter disappointment? Or could we yet be that inspiration? There is a new Year of our Lord 2009 chapter of church history being written even as we worship this morning. What if we chose to write a different chapter this time? Many of the things we argue about, disagree about, and amputate the Body of Christ over are mentioned only a few times in Scripture. The one command repeated over and over and over, literally hundreds of times from Deuteronomy to Revelation, hundreds of times in the gospels and Paul’s letters alone – and the first casualty when Christians disagree – is, in Jesus’ words, “I give you a new commandment: love one another as I have loved you.” “See how they love one another” was a phrase used by outside observers of the early Christian house church communities, the first hundred years or so of Christianity. There was something about those first followers of Jesus that attracted the attention of gentiles, Jews, hardened Roman soldiers, and others, that set the Christians apart from the rest of society. It was something so new, so unusual to the people of the ancient world that it prompted strong reactions, ranging from brutal persecutions to an eager rush to join the new Jesus movement. It was politically and religiously radical, but it worked to heal much of the suffering of the world, and brought inner peace to an oppressed people. That “something” was neither doctrinal orthodoxy nor political correctness. It was the unconditional love of God – unconditional love not only of their friends, but of enemies. Then, as now, the only reason people might be interested in what Christians believe is because they have noticed something unique about how Christians behave. The question that imposes itself into my waking and even, literally, my sleeping recently is the question Jesus so pointedly asks in the portion of the Sermon on the Mount we read a few minutes ago: “[Members of the ELCA, members of Lutheran Church of the Cross]: If you love only those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them.” Do you remember the astonished respect even the most cynical of people in our country felt for the Amish community after a disturbed man walked into an Amish school and opened fire, murdering ten innocent school girls, and then killing himself? How did the Amish people of God respond? They not only ministered to their own grieving families, but they publicly forgave the man, and ministered to the family of the man who murdered their children. In the midst of their grief over this incomprehensible tragedy, the Amish community didn't square off and cast blame, they didn't point fingers. They didn't make speeches or write letters condemning the killer or his family. Instead, they reached out with grace and compassion toward the killer's family. The very afternoon of the shooting, an Amish grandfather of one of the girls who was killed expressed forgiveness toward the killer, Charles Roberts. That same day Amish neighbors visited the Roberts family to comfort them in their sorrow and pain. And, most astonishing of all, Amish mourners outnumbered the non-Amish at Charles Roberts' funeral. One journalist wrote: “In a society that often points fingers and blames others, this reaction is unheard of.” Unheard of? Why should that be? Aren’t we a nation filled with millions of followers of Jesus Christ – called to love, and to love unconditionally, sacrificially? The Amish caught the amazed attention of the whole nation. What a witness – not only to non-Christians but even to other Christians like you and me. Do we want to follow the Bible, whether literally or in spirit? Then perhaps we need to learn from the Amish, who closely, literally and in spirit, follow the teachings of Jesus, who taught us to love unconditionally, to forgive one another, to place the needs of others before ourselves, and to rest in the knowledge that God is in control and will bring good out of any situation, no matter how badly we bungle it. Orthodoxy doesn’t set us apart -- love and compassion toward others is what sets us apart as followers of Jesus. Jesus, Paul, all of Scripture insists that judgment, condemnation, is to be left to God. Among Martin Luther’s last words, he purportedly wrote on a scrap of paper shortly before he died, “We are all beggars, it is true.” So here we are -- sitting together, worshiping together -- some relieved and rejoicing in the decisions made at the Assembly, some confused, some angry, some grieving --- each one of us a beggar before the throne of grace. I ask myself, and I ask you: Can we do any less when disagreeing with one another than the Amish did regarding the murderer of their children? Are we so all-fired sure of ourselves that we are willing to “put asunder” what God has sacramentally joined together in our baptisms into the body of Christ? Can we possibly imagine there is rejoicing in heaven as we leave congregations and join congregations based on what we are against? Martin Luther also gave us another gift for times just as these. It is the teaching of “bound conscience.” Bound conscience is more than simply that little voice inside us that tells us right from wrong. Bound conscience has to do with the entire person as one stands before God and views one’s whole self in the light of God’s Word -- God’s Word being understood as both law and gospel. This sense that conscience describes the entire person makes clear that talk about conscience is not talk about lightly held or unconsidered “opinions” but about Christians, after intense study, reflection, and conversation with other Christians on God’s Word, in their personal identity as they stand before God. It goes to the very core of who we are, how we understand ourselves. Luther taught that for a person to act against his or her own conscience is itself always wrong because it involves self-contradiction and betrays one’s deepest convictions. Luther is careful to distinguish his own stand from willful pride or egotism. He had studied Scripture in great depth. He had debated with others. He had written articles and read responses and responded to responses. He continued to be open to future arguments. He could conceivably be wrong. But at the moment of his speaking – his famous refusal to recant his teachings about God’s grace when he said, “I am bound by the Scriptures [I have cited], and my conscience has been taken captive by the Word of God, and I am neither able nor willing to recant, since it is neither safe nor right to act against conscience. Here I stand. I can do no other. God help me. Amen!” – he literally had no choice. He had to be true to what, at that moment, he understood Scripture to say. To do anything else would be self-contradictory, and deeply wrong. In moral and religious matters, Christians can experience themselves as bound by their relationship with God to particular understandings of Scripture. In other words, blowing each other off as either having abandoned Scripture in favor of political correctness on the one hand, or as blind, homophobic biblical literalists on the other, is just too easy. More than that, it’s cheap, and unworthy of members of the Body of Christ. The harder thing is to recognize the “bound conscience” of those who’s conclusions are so completely different than our own that we can’t understand how we can all be reading the same Scriptures, the same science, praying to the same Holy Spirit, and coming to such different, heartfelt and sincere convictions. The harder thing than judging one another, the higher calling than mutual condemnation and walking away, is to love one another. Because in the end, it isn’t just about us. It’s about our witness to a confused and searching society. It’s about Jesus’ prayer for us: “By this they will know you are my disciples, if you love one another.” Is your heart broken because you just can’t agree with the decisions made in August? Is your heart broken because, though you do agree, it is just about killing you to see friends and neighbors struggling, perhaps even leaving the ELCA, and our Lutheran Church of the Cross faith community over it? “A broken and contrite heart, you will not despise,” the psalmist says in Psalm 51. Is the psalmist saying God enjoys seeing us sad and confused? Of course not. When our hearts are broken, when we are contrite – that is, when we are not so all-fired sure of ourselves - there is more room for God, more room for Jesus to fill us and work out God’s love for this world, in and through us. My sisters and brothers, Jesus not only loved us unconditionally, Jesus died for us when we were, every single one of us, dead in sin. Dead in sin. May the communities in which we daily live out our discipleship know that we are Jesus’ disciples, especially now, by this one thing: our deep and unconditional love and respect for one another, especially when we disagree. In Jesus precious name. Amen. Rev. Joan Gunderman, Senior Pastor
Lutheran Church of the Cross, Nisswa, Minnesota |
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