The Inclusive Church

It was painful to watch the live stream on the internet Monday. I felt sick to my stomach as the 2019 General Conference of the United Methodist Church voted not only to continue policies banning same sex weddings and barring gay and lesbian clergy, but also to strengthen enforcement of those hurtful policies. I knew that my denomination was taking a step that would deeply wound so many people -- claiming all the while to be doing God's will and following God's word. 

The United Methodist Church's discriminatory policies had their start back in 1972, yet this week's vote of the General Conference still seemed like a jarring contrast to the welcoming nature of the local congregations in which I had been raised and had come to love Christ. This sent me diving into my father's sermons in search of some glimpse of the Methodist spirit I recalled from childhood. 

Around the same time that the UM Church first declared "the practice of homosexuality [to be] incompatible with Christian teaching," my father preached a sermon called "The Inclusive Church." It was aimed at issues of race rather than sexual orientation, but it spoke to me in light of the week's discouraging events in the United Methodist Church. Dad wrote:  

"This is how it is within the Church of Jesus Christ: All men and women, distinct and different as individuals, without sacrificing any of that identity, are bonded together into one body where differences are appreciated and accepted as enhancements, not threats, and where all are made to share and work and live together by the presence of the Holy Spirit within and between them.

As we look at our diverse brothers and sisters in Christ, we must ask why are we together? Why are we concerned about making the church inclusive? It's not so that a minority can be given more worth and be brought up to some supposedly higher level of the majority. Nor is it for the majority to prove how open-minded and good they are. It is because we all have one Father who made each of us inherently worthwhile, so that in his sight no person is more or less important than another. And Jesus Christ came into the world to bring his salvation to all people. If we all share the same forgiving Father, why can't we all live in the same house as one family?

At the heart of the tough decision Paul and others made to include Gentiles in the early church's mission was the new commandment Jesus gave his disciples on the night of his betrayal: 'Love one another; even as I have loved you.' So long as it was possible to interpret that commandment in terms of their own small Jewish circle, the difficulties the disciples had with it were minimal. But once the 'one another' began to be enlarged to include all kinds of people, including many kinds the disciples had been brought up to avoid, there were some real decisions to be made.

How far did Jesus intend to go with his 'one another'? Thinking through his whole mission and message, the disciples could come to only one conclusion. No limits could be set. Love for one another had to include Greek and barbarian, male and female, slave and free, Roman and African, as well as their own kind. 

After all, to his command to 'love one another,' Jesus had added a pretty strong qualifier: 'even as I have loved you.' The disciples knew only too well what that meant, for the love of Jesus never had been selective, never had been dependent on the qualities of the one to be loved - after all, Jesus had loved even them! And they also knew how he had loved them to the end, stopping at nothing, not even his cross. How could they take the love of someone like that and claim that it was meant for only this group or only for that class? How can we? God help us!"  

There, at the end of that type-written line on the manuscript, Dad had added two hand-written words of hope to end his sermon: "God will!"

"The Inclusive Church"
Scripture: John 13:31-35
Preached at Grace United Methodist Church
Millersville, Pennsylvania

Doctors, Nurses and Jesus

I've had to search for a new doctor and dentist after moving last year. I found a great doctor. At my first office visit, she asked me about the stresses in my life. As I told her everything going on with me, she frowned, grabbed a prescription pad, scribbled something on it, tore off the page, and handed it to me. Her prescription for me was four simple words: "Take care of you!" I've put that prescription where I can see it every morning as I start my day.

In his sermon "God in Person," my dad shared some stories about beloved health care professionals he remembered from his childhood:

"As far back as I can remember as a child, Dr. Anna Klemmer was our family doctor. She became a doctor long before it was common for a woman to do so. She was a warm, vivacious, self-assured, genuine type of person. I can remember my mother talking about Dr. Klemmer and saying, 'I don't know how much she knows about medicine, but I always feel better just talking to her.' And she was absolutely right about that. Just being in this woman's presence was strangely reassuring. Having grown up and moved away from home, I lost contact with Dr. Klemmer for many years. But our paths crossed again. I found her, a few months before her death, living in a nursing home where I happened to be visiting another patient. In her time of need, I tried in my own small way to be the person for her that she had been for so many others.

Each of us could talk about someone who was there for us in a time of need. Another one I remember was Bertha. Bertha was the large, kind-faced, grandmotherly woman in a white dress and white shoes who served as Dr. Nightingale's nurse. Dr. Nightingale was our elderly dentist as I was growing up. He was a very nice man but a practitioner of exceedingly primitive dentistry. These were the days of the old, slow-speed drills, and Dr. Nightingale only used Novocaine for pulling teeth, not filling them! Bertha was his substitute for Novocaine, and not a bad one at that. Her main job was to stand beside you and hold your hand and emit all the motherly forms of comfort while Dr. Nightingale ground away at your teeth. It really seemed as though she were feeling it with you. Somehow I remember Bertha more vividly than the pain. 

I relate these childhood memories to make this point: It is the mysterious companionship of another - the focused attention of a person who is totally there for you for as long as necessary - that often provides the bridge that we need over our troubled waters. The crisis times in our lives are made significantly easier to bear if there is someone there to share them with us. The difference between someone who can cope with the stresses of life and someone who cannot often is the presence or absence of another concerned person.

The good news for us all is that the Eternal God has taken on our humanity in Jesus Christ to become that concerned person. The Eternal God has come into our world as our brother, our friend, that person we all need and crave. Jesus is a man and God all rolled up in one person. When we know him as a man, we experience a sharing of mutual woes and burdens. When we know him as God, we know that this sharing will not run hot and cold, but will be constant and forever. It's because he is both man and God that Jesus is our Savior. He came specifically to minister to us in our pain and poverty and illness and confusion and aloneness.

The Christian faith's unique message to us in our brokenness is the Incarnation - God becoming flesh in the Son. The other great religions of the world are founded upon a system, or a philosophy, or a certain code of ethics. Not so with Christianity. Our faith is founded on a person, Jesus Christ; and therein lies its power and immense practicality in helping us overcome our problems and cope with life's burdens. Though all others may fail us, we always have Him. He is there for us in times of trial and rejoicing. Crying with us. Laughing with us. He is always there. He is always enough."

From "God in Person"
Scripture: Isaiah 9:2-7
Preached at Calvary U.M. Church
Easton, Pennsylvania
Sunday, December 25, 1983