Thursday, June 25, 2015

Wheat & Tares Together

Toward the end of his career, my father began a sermon with this story about the church where his ministry began:

“The first church I served as pastor after seminary and ordination was in Quincy, Massachusetts. Soon after I arrived there one of the old-timers told me of an incident that occurred early in the history of the congregation when the local bartender applied for membership and the pastor proposed to take him in. This caused a furor among the ‘saints,’ and a heated debate ensued about the nature of the church: Was it a pure fellowship, or was there room for persons who were not altogether righteous? The pastor left no doubt about where he stood on the matter, for one Sunday when the people arrived for worship they found a freshly painted sign hanging over the front door that read in big bold letters: FOR SINNERS ONLY.”

My dad believed that rooting out supposed “rotten apples” to purify the church could compromise the very nature of the Body of Christ. He said, “We do not choose those with whom we are to fellowship in the church; they are given to us. Left to our own devices we would choose to fellowship with people who are pretty much like us, people with similar tastes, values, etc. But in the true church it is not our similarities that bind us together; it is Christ that binds us together. God populates the church with all sorts of diverse members who might not ordinarily choose each other’s company, but they are thrown together as a ‘holy experiment.’ The experiment is meant to prove that God’s love in us enables us to reach across all barriers and embrace each other in spite of our differences.

My father’s words bring to mind for me an issue that was not the particular subject of his sermon – namely, the ongoing debate over full inclusion of gay and lesbian Christians in the life and ministry of the United Methodist Church. What is to be done about the rift among Methodists on same sex marriage or the ordination of gay clergy? One side accuses the other of ignoring scripture; the other side lobs accusations of bigotry. Sometimes, it seems like the only thing both sides can agree on is their inability to continue living in fellowship with each other. As the controversy drags on, there are whispers of a coming church split. Could this be the demise of the great denomination that I call my spiritual home?

In Matthew 13, Jesus told a parable “about the wheat and the weeds, or as we used to say, about the wheat and the tares, growing together in the same field. … Tares were one of the curses against which the ancient Mid-eastern farmer had to labor. The tares were a weed called darnel. In their early stages the tares so closely resembled wheat that it was impossible to distinguish one from the other. By the time both had developed their seed heads they were distinguishable, but by that time the roots of the darnel and the wheat were so intertwined that you couldn’t pull out the weeds without uprooting your grain. Both had to be allowed to grow together until the harvest, and then the darnel was separated out as part of the winnowing process.

In the parable, the servants ask the master the same question many of us ask today as we look over the church at the trouble-makers, the dead wood, the free-loaders, the undesirables: ‘Master, do you want us to get rid of the weeds?’ And still the answer comes back: ‘No, let them grow together ‘til harvest time; then I will separate them.’ 

The parable teaches us not to be so quick with our judgments. The servants wanted to weed out the darnel quickly. If they had, they would have destroyed the wheat as well. Often the ‘cleansing’ itself causes more damage to the fabric of the fellowship than the dirt you are trying to get out. Many churches have been ruined by people who were ‘in the right’ rather than by those who were ‘wrong.’ 

The parable also teaches us that the only person with the ultimate right to judge is God himself. Now we all know that in order to live every day in this world, we have to make judgments about other people, about certain practices, whether they’re right or wrong. You can’t get away from making judgments. But what we must beware of is thinking that our judgments are final, that our judgments are ultimate, that our judgments are also God’s judgments. No! The Christian realizes that any judgments he or she must make are tentative, partial. We judge of necessity but always do so in fear and trembling knowing that a higher Judge stands over us.

Only God is qualified to make the final determination. How glad I am of that! What a burden that lifts from my shoulders! What new freedom I have because I know that God will judge and I don’t have to. ‘Man looks on the outward appearance, but God looks on the heart.’ Only God can see into that part of my fellow church members that one must be able to see before one can make a correct judgment. I can’t see past the externals, and so all I can do is patiently love and forgive and serve those who are given to me in the church, whatever their type, until that day when God gathers his children to himself.”

Could it be that the key to a truly United Methodist Church isn’t unanimity on issues of human sexuality but humility in our judgment of each other? “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” –John 13:35 (NRSV)

From: "Wheat and Weeds Together"
Preached at Paoli United Methodist Church

Wednesday, June 17, 2015

The God Of Our Fathers

With Father’s Day fast approaching, I reached into Bill’s Barrel and found a sermon from 1987 entitled “The God of Our Fathers.” In it, Dad had this to say:

“I’ve been a proud father lately. Last month I saw my oldest son graduate from college. This past week, my second son graduated from high school, and though there was no ceremony as such, my daughter is moving this year from elementary school to junior high. 

All of this convinces me that I am, without a doubt, getting older. When I think of getting older I ponder more deeply about the age-old question of how to pass on my faith to my children and all those who come after me. How is the Christian experience transferred from one generation to the next? How does the God of our fathers become the God of the fathers’ sons?

As I watched the high school graduates walk across the platform to receive their diplomas last week, some of them more than a foot taller than me, looking fit and very adult, I said to myself that these young men and women, though they are in adult bodies, still have many life lessons to learn before they are truly adult. The most important of these lessons comes from a person-to-person encounter with the same God their fathers and mothers met and walked with for generations before them.

When we meet Jacob in today’s lesson (Genesis 28:10-17), he is a young man on the run. Morally and spiritually, he is proving to be a boy in a man’s body. He has just deceived his father Isaac, stolen his brother Esau’s inheritance – all with the help of his doting mother Rebekah – and is fleeing for his life from his family home in Beer-sheba.

Many of us, of course, never take our immaturity and selfishness to the point that Jacob did, but he stands before us today as the epitome of a person who was certainly exposed to the faith of his parents, who grew up in a home where God’s name was honored, who had all the opportunities to embrace the God of his fathers, but whose self-centeredness and drive for worldly things and earthly pleasures blinded him and barred him from taking God seriously. Jacob was in the right family, but as yet he had not really met the Lord, the head of this family.

You don’t have to be young to be like Jacob in this respect. Some of us get busy doing our own thing in life, and we get pretty old without ever having dealt seriously with God. Many of us seem to think that if our mother or our father or our husband or our wife has a relationship with God, we’re somehow covered too. Not so! You might be able to put your car in your wife’s name, or your bank account in your wife’s name, but husbands, your religion can never be in your wife’s name. And the same goes for wives. One of the truest Christian clichés I know is the one that says, ‘God doesn’t have any grandchildren.’ Indeed, God only has children who have worked out their own relationship directly with him in fear and trembling.”

So, how did the God of my father become my God? I was raised in a pastor’s home, went to church every Sunday, and never rejected the family faith in some fit of teenage rebellion; yet, my father’s God didn’t truly and fully become mine until Dad passed away.

It was May of 1989. I was twenty-three. Dorry and I had been married and on our own for less than a year. My adult life was just beginning, and suddenly Dad was gone. His death hit me hard. How could a loving God do this to my father, to my family, to me? Why did this have to happen? Where was God in all of this? I was tossed about by crashing waves emotion -- feeling hurt, scared, angry, then adrift. 

In the midst of that roiling sea of grief, I somehow realized that I faced a choice: I could rage against God and ultimately dismiss Him as a waste of time, or I could cling to this God I couldn’t understand and bring Him my pain, my sorrow, my doubts. I made my choice and prayed that God would see me through the storm. In that prayer, Dad’s God truly became my own.

"The God Of Our Fathers"
Preached at Paoli United Methodist Church
June 21, 1987