 |
||||||||
| ||||||||
 |
||||||||
|
|
|
|
|
|||
 |
|||
Joining the Ranks of the Cross-BearersJune 22, 2008 Sixth Sunday after Pentecost Sometimes during the week, I will sit out where you are in the quiet of the sanctuary to pray and meditate. From time to time, I make note of the people coming and going, those who step into this space for respite from whatever else might be going on in their lives. Over the years I’ve noticed how repeaters, generally at the same time of day, move through a personalized spiritual discipline that might involve lighting a candle and kneeling at the rail, or reading from scripture, or just sitting quietly for five or ten minutes. There are, of course, churches in Manhattan that attract the attention of amateur architectural tourists, people who wander into a space to check it out the way they might check out the national pavilions at Epcot in Disney World. We attract our share of these walking tourists. But if you were to pay attention on any given day, you would soon realize that the large majority of the foot traffic here is not about visiting a museum or stumbling into a surprising space by curious passers by. Instead, you’ll become aware of how this space serves as a spiritual sanctuary, how the portal which opens from the sidewalk serves as a kind of invitation to step from one frame of reference into another. Sitting quietly, observing the activity and allowing yourself to settle into its ambience, you sense how this interior seems to speak of ancient things, or at least, very much older, and very much bigger than what’s found in the hurly-burly of everyday life in the big city – the managing of careers and relationships and children and money and every sort of problem. People come in, do their spiritual thing, and go out. Sometimes, if I’m alert as I observe, I will offer a prayer for the person who lights a candle or sits in the dark space behind a pillar. This massive structure built of stone and brick and decorated with ancient-seeming iconography gives comfort for many, evoking a profound sense of order, that underneath the uncertainty of life, just maybe, all’s well with the world after all. “Let not your heart be troubled”, it says above my head, inscribed within stone. And over there, “Wait on the Lord. Be of good courage,” also written in stone. So wandering in, pilgrims can find solace, and maybe even a re-ordering of their priorities for the day based on something more substantial than the sale at Bloomingdales, the gyrating market, or the price of gas. This is one of the ministries we provide for the city – the sheer, massive physical presence of our homestead. Of course, given the look and feel of the place, this seems a rather passive, conservative ministry. In other words, it conserves an ancient tradition spanning millennia, referencing a primordial order, and offers it to a post-modern city of astonishing diversity, energy and complexity that’s flush with an overly exuberant sense of its own self-importance. I very much value this service we provide to so many. With the look and feel of “a long time ago in a land far, far away,” our homestead’s subversive message has a counter-intuitive impact on today’s culture. It’s easy to overlook this when we think and reflect about all the ways we could serve our neighbors. I tell you, it’s no small matter that we offer them the hospitality of our home that has a story to tell that’s very much larger than words we might use. It just might put the ground beneath our neighbor’s feet and inflate their lungs with life-renewing spirit-breath. But there’s a twist to this conserving, conservative, ministry. Our namesake, the one imbued within the golden field up there, ostensibly the one in charge-of-all-things, the source of our stability and our hope, the one who scriptures proclaim was present at the beginning – the very word, breath and action of God – was in fact a great rebel, a rabble-rouser, a traitor, an enemy of both government and religion, an agitator, a criminal who was summarily executed at an opportune moment. As Matthew tells the tale, after gathering friends together and teaching them in the ways of the most ancient wisdom of all, Jesus said these disturbing words: “Do not think I that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother…Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” With talk like that its no wonder the local authorities found him offensive. But that’s the one we have up there permanently frozen in our mosaics – supposedly the great stabilizer, the ground of hope, the one who can provide the deepest comfort, both the source and goal of life itself. Yet as reported by Matthew, Jesus says he is a sword who will set family members against themselves as he calls all comers to take up a cross in following the way he maps out. Come again? Didn’t we always believe that he was supposed to be the gluing agent for families? Didn’t we see a bumper sticker somewhere that said a family that prays together stays together? Isn’t that part of the conserving purpose he plays looming over us from his throne within his golden kingdom? Heading up the rules committee of the temporal powers-that-be? Making sure everyone stays within the currently prescribed bounds and plays nicely with one another? Of course, the sword-talk is not all that Jesus says today. A more complete summary of the entire passage we heard Javier read might go something like this: “When I send you out into the world, you should expect the same kind of treatment people give to me, but don’t be afraid because God is always with you. If you follow me, and teach my ways, you can expect conflict…sometimes raw, life-threatening conflict. Yet, with me you will have life that death-dealing powers can not touch.” Evidently there is a life that is larger than what most people know. And Jesus would have his followers teach that larger life, just like he did. Then again, they should do this with their eyes fully open. He pulls no punches on the matter. Follow my path, he tells them, and you will find that people often prefer their small-bore lives to what he offers them. And make no mistake, mess with the way people have made themselves secure in the world, and you may very well find yourselves on the receiving end of the darkest side of human nature. As if to put five exclamation points on the matter, Jesus will demonstrate the irrefutable truth of this when forced to walk his own cross up Calvary’s hill. We’ve seen this same pattern re-enacted time and time and time again throughout history. Humanity’s path through the thickets of ignorance, fear, arrogance and the corruptions of power is littered by martyrs many times over. There is a sense that the loving martyr honored by this very building has become The Proto-Type – capital “P”, capital “T” – and in an important way announces that this cross-bearing path is the most authentic way of life in the world. Yet for that he lovingly asserts that we should not be afraid – thus the words inscribed in stone above my head. Interesting, isn’t it? Paradoxical and challenging that this massive building evoking ancient, stabilizing truth should have been erected in the name of the most famous criminal the world has ever known, whose very criminality has become enshrined as “The Way to Life, even Life Eternal.” We have an incredible mystery on our hands here, don’t we? Daunting, compelling, profound, inspiring….. It’s no wonder that people should hang out in his presence, listening for his wisdom, finding their small-bore lives turned topsy-turvy when captured by his large-bore life. Stands to reason that those who throw in with him will, from time to time, make waves in their families and in the world. How could it be otherwise? The famous prayer on the cover of our bulletin was written by such a wave-maker in the 13th century. St. Francis of Assisi defied the aggression of his wealthy father by renouncing his birthright in order to serve the poor. This action founded a movement that quickly gained momentum within a church and culture that had lost focus on the life-giving way of the cross in the world. Honoring our namesake means joining his on-going reformation. That’s how it is that we’ve banded together here, a bit like storm-tossed seafarers groping, flailing for a bit of land only to discover a hodge-podge of other survivors, and not survivors only, but shockingly, sisters and brothers bound together by allegiance to the same name-above-all-names, Jesus Christ. And so it is that some others have found their way here to today to join the ranks of the cross-bearers.... Previous sermon: VISION 2020 - Worship • Next sermon: Risking the Unthinkable All past sermons |
| ||
|
|