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Salt and LightOctober 21, 2007 Stephen Bauman's 20th Anniversary at Christ Church I have to confess that, when my colleagues suggested that I should be the preacher on the occasion of my 20th anniversary, I received the idea the way a man might receive the invitation to speak the eulogy at his own funeral. On the one hand, at least I’d have the opportunity for setting the glorious record straight. On the other hand, the chances were good those in attendance might think the man of the hour had overstayed his welcome. But now, standing here in this unusual moment, I’m glad for the opportunity…and I’m realizing that maybe my colleagues are wiser than I’ve given them credit for. Because, after all, unless I’m a narcissist of unparalleled extreme, the one subject I really can’t address overmuch today is Stephen Bauman. I suppose I can’t escape that altogether, but I’m given your undivided attention to tell you something simple and important that isn’t so much about me, but about all of us together. Something fundamental. Something that matters most of all. Something that has shaped our life together and calls us into the future. Every new member class over the years has heard me tell of a small epiphany that happened up here in my pew behind the pulpit one Sunday during my first year at Christ Church. I hope you’ll forgive my repeating it, but it’s an important marker for me personally and I rather like the idea of sharing it one more time, together with you. And I promise I won’t regale you with other wooly anecdotes. Saying the worship attendance was sparse twenty years ago would be a generous description. I arrived at a callow 34-years-of-age with a wonderful, adventurous spouse and two little children – as you’ve heard me say ad nauseam, literally the only children in the congregation at the time. Melissa, Luke and Stephanie were, for a few months at least, the entire Sunday Church School…you be sure to ask them about those fun days later. I had been here about six months when a friend of mine, an ordained minister, called to tell me he was coming to town on a given weekend. I suggested he might like to preach for me that Sunday. He agreed, and provided certain components for the service with the exception of a gospel lesson. I called him up leaving a message asking for an appropriate gospel text. In due time he responded and shortly thereafter the Sunday of his presentation came around. Now, like most of you at least some of the time, since I didn’t have the major responsibility in that service, I found myself drifting in and out of consciousness as the worship progressed. That is, until it came time for the gospel to be read. I was sitting back there in my own pew, minding my own business, thinking about, well, I don’t remember what I was thinking about; but suffice to say it wasn’t especially religious. The text concerned Jesus calling his first disciples. [1] In particular, Nathaniel approaches and Jesus says some revealing things about him. Nathaniel is impressed and Jesus says, “You think that’s something? You’ll see the heavens open and the angels going up and coming down on the Son of Man.” A grand mystical image, no doubt quite perplexing to Nathaniel. Well, as that was being read something happened to me that had never happened before, nor since, as an adult. I had the wind knocked out of me. Perhaps you remember a time when that happened to you, say as a child with a hard fall to the ground. I was staggered, gasping for breath; tears started to stream involuntarily down my face. I was completely stunned. And though I didn’t exactly hear a voice, I did receive this clear message: “Steve, you think you’ve seen a few things. Well let me tell you, you’re going to see things that will blow your mind!” Embarrassed, I ducked beneath the front of the pew to wipe my face and regain my composure, which I only “sort of” accomplished. I left the service shaken. Later, uncertain of whether to tell my friend about this or not, I finally found my voice. After a long while he simply replied, “Well Steve, you said you needed a gospel.” Now, I never did attach specific meanings to the event. That is, I never attached tangible notions of institutional success, for instance. On the other hand, I did realize in that moment that whatever was coming really mattered. You might say I got real sober about the stakes. A trap door opened on the floor of my soul that revealed a great depth that had been unknown to me until I had the wind knocked out of my lungs. That’s why I tell this experience to each new member class. I do it as a sort of warning, I suppose. I want everyone to know the level of spiritual engagement that might be coming down the pike by throwing in here. Or at least warn everyone about the crazy man they have as a minister. I want them to know that what’s being asked of them, though they might not recognize it at first, falls within the first order of importance. If it didn’t, they probably shouldn’t bother signing up. They’d be better off on Sunday mornings with their New York Times or a stroll in the park, and they most certainly should keep their money to themselves for their own amusement. Of course, over the years, those who’ve found a home here have put some language around these important matters. We found our mission in seeking to love God above all things and our neighbors as ourselves. Simple, isn’t it? So simple it might slip by unnoticed but for our relentless attachment to its purposes. I have been amazed how charismatic this simple mission is. I suppose I shouldn’t be amazed, given that it lies at the very heart of the gospel. But then, as you well know, so many lesser things can masquerade as “the most important things”. Struggling against the entropy of our lesser selves, we’re trying to live this love authentically. Not perfectly, mind you. But intentionally, with eyes and ears open. Love is the heart of our program. That might sound banal in the extreme. The old cliché, “love makes the world go round,” has it right for sure. Sounds hackneyed, even though we know the truth of it. And I’ve experienced this family learning how to live into this love. I’ve witnessed lives changing. I’ve seen it. I have seen startling change. I was reading through an anthology of writings and speeches of Martin Luther King, Jr. this week, and was struck again by how central Jesus’ robust love was to King’s moral framework of non-violence and justice. He referenced this love repeatedly. It was the core of his faith and action. In an article entitled, “An Experiment in Love,” he wrote: “[Agape] love, [the love Jesus espoused] is not a weak, passive love. It is love in action. Agape is love seeking to preserve and create community. It is insistence on community even when one seeks to break it. Agape is a willingness to go to any length to restore community. It doesn’t stop at the first mile, but it goes the second mile to restore community. It is a willingness to forgive, not seven times, but seventy times seven to restore community. The cross is the eternal expression of the length to which God will go in order to restore broken community. The resurrection is a symbol of God’s triumph over all the forces that seek to block community. The Holy Spirit is the continuing-community-creating reality that moves through history. He who works against community is working against the whole of creation.” [2] That’s what Martin King said. And I agree with him. I think that’s as clear and cogent a description of our work of love as I’ve read. Friends, as wonderful as these twenty years have been at Christ Church, considering the great distance we traveled together – the stalwart faithfulness by the small band that held this congregation through difficult days; the energy and competencies of so many new members and friends; the gift of so many children; the glory of inspiring music and the splendor of our sparkling geode of a sanctuary; the deep friendships forged, troubles overcome, marriages, births and baptisms; so many spiritual breakthroughs and the claiming of faith by so many persons from so many lands, races and ethnicities; the emergent spirit of generosity and the growing awareness of how money intersects with love of God and neighbor – for all of these and so many other wonderful gifts we’ve been given to share, there is now set before us a holy calling. This is the simple thing I wanted to share with you today. It’s obvious, I suppose. It rang like a clarion when I re-read the gospel lesson. After all of the blessed’s in what we call the Beatitudes, Jesus says this to his followers: “You are the salt of the earth; you are the light of the world.” You’ll note he did not say, you ought to be salt and light, or, you should try to be salt and light, or, one day you might be… No, you are already blessed, and you already are salt and light. “A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others.” [3] That’s what Jesus said. Here’s what I think. I think we’ve been really, really blessed. My life and heart overflow with gratitude. Sometime during most every day I take notice of the gratitude that wells up through that trap door that opened up in the floor of my soul. Some of that gratitude is inspired by your faithfulness – to me, to my family, to God, and to the life and work we share. Together we’ve committed ourselves to this holy cause and we’ve grown up in the process, both you and me. You may not have thought of it like this, but from where I stand I see things you probably cannot. Things that if they haven’t quite blown my mind, have nevertheless been awesome to behold. We have been blessed. And we are salt and light. And now our light needs to shine. Can you think of any more important calling than seeking to preserve and create the beloved community for ourselves, our families, our city and world? To insist on community even when one seeks to break it? To love so that we might go to any length to restore community? To go the second mile? To forgive, not seven times, but seventy times seven times to restore community? Can we see how the cross is the eternal expression of the length to which God will go in order to restore broken community? And claim the resurrection as God’s triumph over all the forces that seek to block community? We are blessed and we are salt and light. This predicts the life and work that lie ahead for us. These are things that matter most of all. I think you can see that now. This requires the very, very best of what we have. Friends, it is time for our light to shine. ______________________ Previous sermon: Three Witnesses, pt. 2 • Next sermon: The Good Fight All past sermons |
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