"Empty the Pews": Sermon for 27 August 2017
Sermon for Sunday 27 August 2017
Lutheran Church of the Redeemer,
Jerusalem
The Rev. Carrie Ballenger Smith
Let the words of my
mouth and the meditation of my heart
be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and
my redeemer.
One year ago
this month, I visited my “home church” in Stillwater, Oklahoma, to preach and to
share with them about our ministry here at Redeemer Church in Jerusalem. Now, I
have many “home churches”, including the church where I was baptized, the
church where I was confirmed, the church where I preached my first sermon, and
the churches where I have served as pastor. All of these are “home.” And now
Redeemer is home! But Salem Lutheran is the place where I first heard the call
to ministry. It’s the community that supported me and Robert financially when
we were in seminary. It’s the place where Caleb was baptized and where Robert
was ordained. You could say that it is not only a home church, but a foundational church. It has been a solid
rock for our family through many life changes.
But last
summer when I preached there, the worship service wasn’t in the church I
remembered. Salem was in the process of renovating its building, and for this
reason the congregation had been worshipping on folding chairs in the
fellowship hall. It was strange, to visit this place that held so many
important memories, and to see it completely changed. It was strange, to peer
into the old worship space I loved, and to see the altar, the pulpit, the pews,
and even the floor itself in a state of complete disarray.
After the
service in the fellowship hall (which was lovely, by the way), Pastor Sally
gave me a gift: a beautiful wooden bracelet. She told me that in the
renovation, a few of the pews had been removed permanently so the church could
be made wheelchair accessible. This bracelet was one of many crafted from those
extra wooden pews by a very talented church member.
I was really
touched by this gift. How cool, I thought, to wear on my body a piece of my
home church, when I’m living and working so far away! How cool, to look down and
think, “Perhaps this was the pew where I was sitting when I first heard the call
to preach. Perhaps this is the pew where someone else heard the Good News for
the first time, or for the 1000th time, or when it mattered the
most.” I imagined the wood of my new bracelet soaked through with spilled
communion wine, and with drips from kids’ juice boxes, and with funeral tears.
I absolutely
loved it!
And then I broke it.
When I
unpacked my things here in Jerusalem, I lifted the bracelet out of my bag and
saw that it had cracked in two. On the long journey home, the delicate wood had
split, leaving me with two jagged sticks rather than anything wearable or
lovely.
Oh, I was
heartbroken! I was angry at myself for not caring for it properly. And I was
sad to see this important piece of my faith story snapped in half.
Thanks be to
God, I’m happy to show you that I’m wearing that same bracelet today, joined
together once again by the miraculous powers of Gorilla Glue! It’s not as
perfect as it was. You can still see the split in the wood, and the superglue
has dribbled out of the crack and dried in a most unattractive way.
But I love it
even more now, as it reminds me that our church communities are never perfect.
Of course, I’m
not perfect, either, but that ugly glue reminds me the church is the place I always
hear the Good News that in Jesus Christ, I am forgiven, reconciled, and made
whole.
Most
importantly, this imperfect, super-glued, fragile wooden bracelet reminds me
that church pews are not the foundation
of my faith.
Let me say it
again: church pews are not the foundation of my faith.
Beloved church
buildings are not the foundation of my faith.
My ethnic
heritage is not the foundation of my faith.
My childhood
memories, my favorite hymns, and my Christmas traditions are not the foundation
of my faith.
As a
familiar hymn says, “My faith is built on nothing less than Jesus and his
righteousness!” The church—and my faith—are built upon the confession of
Simon Peter, who said: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.”
And Jesus
answered Peter,
“Blessed are
you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but
my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will
build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it.”
Jesus built the church upon a rock,
and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. This is both the foundation of the
church, and one of the most contested verses in all of the New Testament.
Our sisters
and brothers in the Catholic Church hold that this verse establishes Peter as the
bishop of Rome. By this interpretation, Peter (whose name means “rock”), and
every Pope who came after him, holds the keys to the kingdom of heaven.
Protestant
Christians, on the other hand, interpret this Scripture differently. Churches
in the Reformation tradition hold that Jesus founded the church upon Peter’s
confession, not upon Peter himself. When Jesus tells Peter “on this rock I will
build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it”, he is
speaking of Peter’s confession of faith. Jesus has built the church—this one,
and the early church, and your home church—upon the singular, solid confession
that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the of the Living God. This is the
“church’s one foundation.” This is the solid rock upon which we stand. This is
what makes us the church, wherever we are in the world, and whether we worship
in a 12th century chapel, or in a modern new amphitheater, or in the
homes of our friends.
Here at
Redeemer Church, I often joke that if you “love Jesus and speak English”, you
belong here. And if you come to church twice, you’re a member! It’s fun to joke
about this, but actually, the great challenge of forming a cohesive church
community in this multi-cultural, multi-lingual, multi-denominational
environment, is also our greatest gift. Here at Redeemer, we are constantly
reminded of our one true foundation.
Because we are so different, because we
have so many cultural, linguistic, and denominational backgrounds, we must always
seek what unites us, not what divides us.
And what we
share is this: Together, we proclaim
Jesus Christ as the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. Everything else is
what the Reformers called “adiaphora.” Everything else is gravy. Everything
else can be overlooked or overcome, discussed or dismissed, renegotiated or
reformed. But the confession that Jesus is Lord, not only of the church but of
our lives and of the world, is the one foundation we share. Here we stand. Here we find solid
footing. Here we can weather any storm—and even the gates of Hades will not
prevail against us!
This kind of
foundational clarity is critically important today, as it seems the very
foundations of our world are being shaken. Every morning, the news seems worse:
Who would think that today, in 2017, we would see Nazis marching through an
American city?
Who would think we would be worried once again about a real
threat of nuclear war? Who would think that the 50th anniversary of
the occupation of the Palestinian territories would come and go, and there
would still be no real peace process underway in the Holy Land?
Who would think
that two thousand and seventeen years after Jesus died on the cross, we would
still see so much war, so much poverty, so much suffering, so much hatred
between peoples, religions, and countries?
It’s true: Terrorists,
racists, and political tyrants are shaking the foundations of our world today. It
is a scary time, not only for the church, but for all of humanity.
For this
reason, it is critically important for Christians to remember that our faith is not about where we sit on
Sunday morning, but about where we stand every day of the week.
It is
critically important that we be clear about who we are, and what we are about. As
it has been said, “If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.”
I say that
it’s critical for the church to be clear about who we are, and where we stand,
because nearly every week I read an article that says the church is dying—or that
it is already dead. Just this week I heard someone describe most of our
mainline Christian denominations as “in a death spiral.”
And in this
same week when I was waxing poetic about my bracelet fashioned out of a beloved
church pew, one of the top trending tweets was “#emptythepews”—a heartbreaking
flood of messages on Twitter (from mostly evangelical Christians) talking about
why they are leaving church today.
They wrote,
among other things:
"we need to
pray about it" is not enough. Christians need to stand up for equality for
the oppressed. #emptythepews
I realized that worrying about whether or not I was a good
enough Christian was the root cause of my mental illness. #EmptyThePews
Christians put a
rapist in the White House. #EmptyThePews
Why #EmptyThePews? Losing members is about the only thing
that will get Evangelicals' attention.
This is
scary to hear.
It is also true.
Many of our
churches are in trouble today, for many different reasons.
But it seems
to me that if our pews are emptying,
If our
denominations are dying,
If it seems our
church foundations are shifting, or even splitting in two—
Then we are probably standing
somewhere we shouldn’t.
If our world
leaders look like they’re lying, they probably are!
And if the
church seems shifty, it probably is.
Listen: Some
of our denominations are dying because they’ve forgotten who they are. They’ve forgotten that being the church is
not about counting “butts in pews”, but about standing where Jesus stands.
The church
is not a social club.
The church
is not an ethnic or cultural heritage society.
The church
is not Sunday morning entertainment.
The church
is not the auxiliary wing of any political party.
The church
of Jesus Christ is the gift he gave the disciples, the home he built for us, so
we could in confidence continue his work after his crucifixion, after his resurrection,
and after his ascension into heaven.
This means that
making peace,
Fighting injustice,
Feeding the hungry,
Liberating the
oppressed,
Healing the sick,
Welcoming children,
Tearing down
walls,
And silencing
racists, extremists, and tyrants,
Is not a side
hobby for the church.
It is foundational.
This is who we
are.
This is where we stand, because this is
where Jesus stands.
Dear sisters
and brothers in Christ: The pews you are sitting in today are in a 1990’s
renovation of an 1890’s chapel, which was built from the ruins of a 12th
century monastery, which was itself built upon the outer wall of Jerusalem from
the time of Jesus. That’s quite a heritage! This is something to be proud of. This
is part of who we are.
But the real
foundation of this church, and of this community, is who we say Jesus is—and
how that confession shapes what we do.
We must be
clear about this, because there is so much work to do in the world.
There is so
much evil to contend with.
There are so
many things to distract us.
There are so
many voices to oppose us.
But when the
church stands where Jesus stands, we have been promised that the gates of Hades
will not prevail against us.
Though Nazis
may march and racists may tweet, the gates of Hades will not prevail.
Though
political leaders from Kenya to Venezuela to the USA fill their pockets rather
than children’s bellies, the gates of Hades will not prevail.
Though
extremists multiply and terrorists horrify, the gates of Hades will not
prevail.
Though walls
stand tall, and settlements grow, and the international attention span withers
and shrinks, the gates of Hades will not prevail.
So let the powers
and principalities of the world be on notice:
Tomorrow, these
pews will be empty—because this church will be in the world, standing firm for life,
and love, and justice, on the solid rock of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
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