Discipleship costs... but resurrection follows....
We Are Adult Friends Of Jesus Christ
by Bishop Paul V. Marshall
[This is an edited version of the sermon Bishop Paul preached (Feb.6,
1999) at the Celebration of New Ministry of Trinity Church, Bethlehem,
with their new rector, Father Nick Knisely. --Bill]
(John 15:8-20)
My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and
become my disciples... I do not call you servants any longer, because
the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have
called you friends... You did not choose me but I chose you...
If the world hates you, - be aware that it hated me before it hated
you... If they persecuted me, they will persecute you...
We gather in our churches -- around our altars -- as Jesus' friends,
not passive or dependent servants, but as people who know what God
is up to in our lives and in the world, as friends who are already
with the program, following Jesus in a world that needs our ministry;
in doing so, we know we are going to find more and more joy. We understand
that our friend and savior followed a road that cost his life. We
recognize that discipleship costs, but that resurrection follows.
A rector comes to serve, to serve with brothers and sisters whose
primary identity is that they are adult friends of Jesus. A rector
is not in place to keep us happy or to spin a web of dependent or
co-dependent relationships, but to keep us focused on, nourished
by, and growing into friendship with Jesus Christ.
We recognize, however, that there are times
when what we really want from a priest is quite a bit less than
that. In the wonderful play and movie Harvey, a character wishes
for one thing, to be alone with a beautiful woman for a few weeks,
and all she is expected to do is hold his hand and say, "there,
there."
All of us come to church, to marriage, to friendships, with some
leftover infantile desires or emotional patterns; so, we sometimes
look for emotional marshmallows instead of spiritual protein. We
can be seductive, manipulative, or threatening around those desires
or patterns to get them met, and we can be sulky, hostile, or punitive
when they aren't met. And in church we do it all in the name of religion.
Jesus offers in the gospels what to modern ears sounds like a curious
insensitivity training. When the disciples are squabbling about who
will be greatest, he doesn't get them in touch with a single thing
- instead he says, ok, you have all that drive to be the greatest,
so go for it: dare to lead and challenge the whole world ...but do
it by being its servant. And they did.
When they wanted to settle for religiosity instead of discipleship
and build those booths on the mountain where Jesus was transfigured,
Jesus wouldn't let them turn his ministry into an inspiring, comforting,
and awe-inspiring theme-park. He led them down the mountain to Jerusalem,
to grisly death and gloriously empty tomb, of which they were to
be witnesses. And they were.
He also lays out that unsettling challenge that we think of ourselves
not as dependents but as his friends, partners in his mission, sharing
not a fear of flying, but sharing joy in knowing God and giving our
selves as Christ did. His recipe for life is true. We all know that
when we're really down in the dumps, visiting a nursing home, or
helping in the soup kitchen has its own power to bring joy in serving
others as an amazing experience of grace.
As friends of Jesus, we ask our leaders to keep us fixed on that
relationship, to nurture it, to help us seek direction in the scriptures.
That is heavy duty pastoring among adult friends.
The time we spend in church, the time our priests spend at the altar
and in the pulpit, that time is both the most and least important
thing they and we do in the week.
Church is the least important thing we do because the core of our
response to the unsearchable riches of God is the constant giving
of our selves in genuine love and the use of the gifts we have for
the sake of others. This worship in the world has an interesting
order of service: Never flag in zeal, be aglow with the Spirit, serve
the Lord, rejoice in your hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant
in prayer, contribute to the needs of the saints, practice hospitality.
(Romans 12:11-13)
The whole earth is our altar, and should be
taken care of as fastidiously as we care for altars in church.
How we live at home and abroad is our worship, our response to
God. It matters what happens in Swaziland, it matters what happens
in Allentown, Harlem, and Belfast. How we deal with the people
and their needs there is how St. Paul says we "worship" -
tell the worth - of God. How we learn to rejoice in life, to be good
lovers, good friends, good parents, productive citizens, all of that
is our sanctified response to the creator and redeemer.
But that is also why what goes on at our insubstantial church altars
made of wood and stone is vitally important, why our priests' stewardship
of the mysteries matters so much. Their service at the altar cannot
be offhand, but must be strong, loving ... and wise.
The discipline and gift that keeps priesthood a joy is to meet on
Sunday those Christians who have in their own way battled through
the week, face them with bread and wine, and say, The gifts of God
for the people of God. The Eucharist is where our self-giving and
Christ's great act of sacrifice meet.
The priest has the duty to lead us into the presence of the transcendent
God, where in praise and song, in music and movement, in sermon and
story, we rejoice to know that all this in not about ourselves or
our good intentions, not merely some aesthetically enhanced social
work, but about living in relationship with the eternal God who is
as mysterious as quantum foam and as ordinary as the act of dressing
a child's scraped knee. Awe, majesty, incarnation, servanthood are
aspects of one tremendous mystery. Our priests are called to our
parishes to help us keep the pieces together, because one without
the other will leave us only half-formed, half-alive, and rather
boring.
May they, indeed, stand with us at both altars,
feed and challenge us for the sake of Christ and for a share in
his joy.
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