Matthew 20.20-27 21 September 2008
“NOT OUR CADILLAC”
My opening story is the theological equivalent of the Roy Orbison song, “Pretty Woman.” The splendid preacher Will Willimon tells of a man on a city sidewalk who spied the advance of an attractive woman. She was sauntering toward him. Nervously, the guy wracked his brain for ways to make an impression, to get her attention. Finally, it occurred to him. Sitting there curbside was a gleaming new Cadillac. Now within her sight, he reached in his pocket, pulled out a handful of coins and began feeding the parking meter as though the luxury vehicle were his.
He was sure his ploy had worked as she approached. For she made eye contact. She was smiling at him! Flushed, and reveling in his own cleverness, she then stopped in front of him, said thank you, got into that Cadillac, and drove away.
We may pretend it is ours, Willimon concludes, but the church is not our Cadillac.
The church is the living and loving sacrificial body of Christ in the world. It is not our possession. It was here before we got here. It will be here once we are gone. The church is the gift of God. And we are but temporary stewards of this holy gift.
No matter how much time we have given, support we have offered, sacrifice we have made—the church is not our Cadillac. That is because whatever we give for the cause of Christ, we can never outgive Jesus, though there is joy in trying.
I preach this sermon because in her farewell sermon Kathy reminded us of a hallmark of a healthy church. She charged us to bring our deepest yearnings to the familiar tables of church governance. If we see a needed course correction, she instructed, trust in the wisdom of how we organize ourselves and speak there openly. But she cautioned against becoming a two-level church that makes nice at official tables but tells another story in the parking lots and grocery stores.
I preach this sermon because today I wish to propose a second hallmark of a healthy church. The healthy way to relate to Dennis Union Church is as a gift of God, of which we are temporary stewards, rather than some kind of club over which we feel we’ve been appointed president. No, the church is not our Cadillac.
I preach this message today because confusion has reigned about this matter since, well, since before the church ever came into being; since the day Jesus’ followers dreamed they might form a transcendent fellowship called the church.
If you don’t believe me, just ask James and John, the sons of Zebedee. Or ask their mother who kneeled before Jesus one day to ask a favor. “What is it you want?” Jesus asked her. Of course, remember that he was addressing a Jewish mother here. And by this time James’ and John’s mother realized that her sons were not going to become neurologists or concert violinists or nuclear physicists. Maybe she was worried James and John were not in a track to make the mark in the world she thought befitting of sons as absolutely brilliant as her two boys.
”What do I want?” she echoed Jesus. “I want you to make James and John both vice-presidents of the God-movement such that they’ll both have corner offices as they enter into the Almighty’s giant high-rise in the sky. That’s what I want.”
From the flow of Matthew, you can sense that Jesus paused before responding, “You don’t know what you are talking about; you don’t know what you’re asking.” Then he pointed out what I said a moment ago, that where God’s purposes are involved in saving this lost earth, no one would make a bigger sacrifice than he. He reminded her that the whole conversation was misplaced and inappropriate.
We fall prey to the same temptation as the Zebedee brothers and their mother. Maybe in our work lives we missed out and never made the splash we thought we would back as dreamy 20 year olds. Maybe we are exasperated with family and how things turned out there, and turned to the church—the family of God—as the place to make amends and really assume ownership. And frankly, what is more wide open than a church with a Congregational way like ours? If we are like the Zebedee brothers and their mother, frustrated with how things are elsewhere, it can be tempting to become too possessive and to want to seize control here.
Control? What an alien concept as the church discerns and finds its direction! The moment we feel it is our place to exercise control to put things right is pre-cisely the moment we’ve elbowed out the Holy Spirit from having sway over us. “Do not quench the Holy Spirit,” said Paul the Apostle. Do not attempt to control. The moment we feel it is our place to exercise control to keep things our way is the moment the church ends up doing a Spanish Inquisition or
It’s funny, all of this reminds me of another song, driving to
Although we clergy might preach against this we can be worse than anyone else. We gather at conferences and say, “Hello, Allan, how is your church doing?” Yes, “your church” is only shorthand for the-church-you-are-serving-right-now. Still, we too easily come to think of the church as ours. We have background studying church history across the centuries. We studied Hebrew and Greek and can read the Bible in its original languages. We are “on duty” for the church 24/7 and we don’t rotate off after 3 years to do something else. We live it and breath it.
Let me give a personal example. I remember as I candidated here I heard about your moments of reflection and response following the sermon. “I’ve never heard of such a thing before,” was my first response. “I shouldn’t have to subject myself to that,” I thought. “I will to need to straighten these people out on this odd ritual.” Doubtfully, I gave it a whirl. I discovered that even when people were disagree-ing with me—gently and respectfully—the overriding message was that the word of God was getting heard and the people of God were engaging it. The point of preaching is just that, to engage people in the word, not to enforce uniformity.
When we treat the church not as something we understand better than anyone else, not as something that belongs to our tribe, but as Christ’s holy body to which we belong, then things start to happen. Faith rises up to transform where fear darkened our brow and paralyzed our efforts. We are more open to change. We are more open to other ideas from beyond our local church as well as people from beyond our membership. Lo and behold, we see the church begin to grow.
Of course, it’s not only the clergy who fall prey to what we will call “the Zebedee temptation”. Leaders from the church’s different groupings do it in different ways. I have seen this up close and personal across the five churches that I’ve served. Music leaders will say, “Hey, we offer the most beautiful and lofty form of praise, why did they gloss right over us?” Sunday School leaders will say, “We hold the future of the church in our hands with the precious children we instruct, why weren’t we seated on that vital planning group?” Trustees or financial leaders will say, “We sign the checks around here, we should always be consulted and have the final word.”
What does the humility of not holding on too tightly, but belonging in a personal, passionate way look like? Hear this story. During the summer of 1778, a British battleship dropped anchor in the
With the consent of his fellow citizens, Rotch formed a one-man welcoming committee. He greeted Sir Conway-Etherege, the British battleship commander, at the pier. He invited Conway-Etherege home to dinner in his home. After a pleasant meal, the British commander decided to get on with his business. "Quite candidly, we're here to plunder," the commander told Rotch. "As you can see, your little hamlet is completely at our mercy. Now, where shall we start?"
"I don't know of a better place than here at my house," said Rotch. "I'm better able to bear the loss than anyone else. We have some silver plate, some good, serviceable blankets, and food supplies in the cellar." Conway-Etherege was puzzled at his reply. He had never come across this response before! "Tell me," the commander responded, "are there any more men like you on
"Oh, yes, many better men," said Rotch. "Well, I want to meet them," Conway-Etherege answered. So Rotch took him around to meet a shopkeeper who had given 400 barrels of flour to the poor the winter before, and another one who had given away blankets and shoes. "Would you like to meet more of our people?" asked Rotch. "Oh, no," replied Conway-Etherege. "I can hardly believe there are three such men as you in the world. A whole street of them would be too much."
Conway-Etherege returned to his ship.
Your promises, O God, compel us to hope; your commands, O Lord, make new demands upon us. You call us to put ourselves aside so you can reign below. And though we are slow to hear, through the words and deeds of Jesus and Paul we get the idea: it is not all about us, who we are, and what we have done. Rather, it is all about you, creator and redeemer, savior of a lost, confused world.
We are too much like James and John, wanting to put our agendas first and rule in splendor rather than hear your word in its season, take it to heart, and find our contentment in service. In all that you command, all that your promise, all that you deliver to us, O God, we notice your self-giving at the center of your activity. We wish we could say the same about our words and deeds, but it is hardly true.
You give us worlds of beauty and abundance, blessed and fruitful in this glorious time of year. You give us sustenance for every day, so that we are not smitten by the sun by day nor the moon by night. You give us--in the center of all of your giving—your only well-beloved Son. Amid our taking and spiritual posturing, re-mind us of your humility in all you promise, all your command, and all you deliver.
We pray for places like
