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The Pope Came to TownMay 04, 2008 Ascension Sunday When Pope Benedict recently visited New York, I was part of the ecumenical congregation at St. Joseph’s Church on 87th Street between First and York; we had been invited to share in what was billed as a service of prayer. Like the other days of Benedict’s visit, east-side traffic was well-snarled on that Friday afternoon as a result heightened security. Invitees were given explicit directions on how to approach the church no later than two hours prior to the Pope’s arrival. The service began at six o’clock, we were to arrive no later than four, with a picture ID and no extraneous items made of metal or plastic. Observing the Pope’s arrival on 87th Street also required a ticket. Several hundred of those rare artifacts were carefully doled out among the deserving faithful, so by the time he finally arrived (five minutes early, I might add, in good German fashion) shouts of greetings from the welcoming throng were heard from inside the church. Prior to his arrival, the invited guests searched for friends among the diverse group, listened to several choirs, and heard a brief history of ecumenism from the Catholic perspective. The actual service was a bit of a letdown, lasting just a half hour; the Pope addressed us for something shy of ten minutes with words of generic greeting in the name of Jesus to those of us representing organizations the Roman church calls “ecclesial communities.” At the end he was introduced to a number of church representatives from a variety of denominations, including the New York bishop of the United Methodist Church. My initial impression was that Benedict had missed an opportunity to say a word of some significance, but then that was my perspective, not his. Evidently this was intended as a simple act of hospitality. For practicing Catholics it would be enough to be in the Pope’s proximity, and to see him would be a great blessing. As it was, he did attract a wondrous array of ecumenical Christians, which has been the lingering image of the event for me – the diverse Christians who gathered in the neighborhood sanctuary. Among these included prelates of a variety of Orthodox churches with their black robes, long beards and tall, pointed hats; as well as Baptists, Presbyterians, Episcopalians, Pentecostals, Methodists and every other imaginable sort – some I had never heard of before. I sat across from Pat Robertson, who sat next to a Patriarch of the Armenian Orthodox church. It was quite astonishing to see that full range in the same room, persons who ostensibly all claim the earliest creed, “Jesus is Lord” – that’s the event’s enduring agitating idea, that we were all varieties of Christians, from Pat Robertson’s fundamentalism to the Pope’s Roman Catholicism and everything in between. The only one missing was Jeremiah Wright. It was not lost to me that not so very long ago, that great variety would not have gathered in the same room, indeed, would not have been invited to do so. As it was, I left with the agitating mystery of how – to varying degrees – our opinions diverged about our professed faith and church order, while singing and praying together in the name of Jesus. It was both wonderful and disturbing at the same time. Of course, we don’t have to look beyond the borders of our own denomination to find astonishing diversity of Christian perspective. Friday night I returned from United Methodism’s Quadrennial Conference, the highest legislative body in our structure, comprised of delegates from around the world. The proceedings were simultaneously interpreted in many different languages to accommodate our linguistic variety. It was something of a Methodist version of a mini Christian United Nations. And our differences did not end with those cultural identifiers. A full range of religious perspective was also in evidence – seemingly nearly as much as represented in St. Joseph’s church a couple of Fridays ago. I marveled that we all found nurture within the same specifically named tradition. Much of the worship was potent and inspiring. I was moved by excellent preaching and spirit-filled singing – a Methodist hallmark. Over the course of our ten days we spontaneously raised $400,000 dollars from among the delegates for malaria-defying mosquito nets. We heard bracing words from Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, President of Liberia, the first democratically elected woman head-of-state on the African continent. She was a product of Methodist education and remains a committed church woman. But sometimes our disagreements were powerful and disruptive. At one point, I teared-up as legislation that I favored was rejected, so intensely did I believe in it. The proceedings were exhausting and demanding, made all the more so given the perceived stakes pertaining to elemental definitions about our spiritual identity – sometimes it seemed that to reject legislation was to reject one’s sacred identity. I hadn’t expected this personal response. I was surprised at my intense involvement. Of course, on the one hand it was only a church meeting, albeit, a really, really big one. On the other hand, we addressed some very important matters. Matters that sprang from deep spiritual understandings of how the world is organized and what God intends for it. We were reminded that it wasn’t so long ago the church tore itself apart over the issue of slavery, and the role of women in leadership, well, the status and role of women period, often relying on scripture for heinous actions and proscriptions. Recently researching the issue of forgiveness in South Africa springing from the actions of The Truth and Reconciliation Commission a decade ago, I was reminded that the principal white South African church twisted its theology to comport to the structures of apartheid. As reported by a member of the commission, “The Afrikaans Church actively participated in providing justification for killing ‘enemies of the state.’ Army chaplains drove the message home through their sermons preached to soldiers of the South African army, who were issued a special copy of the Bible for easy reference to the inspirational passages.” [1] The inscription in Afrikaans on the first page read: Message from the State President P. W. Botha The national church stood by silently with this horrendous tampering and misapplication and watched apartheid’s murderous plan unfold, a rather recent example of the dark side of church proceedings. I imagine when gathered in houses of worship they sang familiar hymns. Of course, the Afrikaans Church also cut itself off from all other Christian denominations around the world who had reached consensus in its condemnation of apartheid. Remaining in communion with the rest of the world church could very well have been it’s, as well as the nation’s, salvation, but Christian communion was less important than maintaining the power of privilege. Indeed, Christian communion requires a willingness to debate and hang-in with persons identified as sisters and brothers of a common Lord, despite profound differences of opinion. It’s especially on this point that I find our denominational and ecumenical gatherings so important. These keep us in conversation across diverse, deeply held opinions. They keep us talking to one another and singing together. They keep our faith honest and honed. I found the joyous singing in Ft. Worth inspiring and stirring and also troubling, as in, troubling of the spirit. But mostly, I found it hopeful. Why? Because God is larger than our opinions and because Jesus himself prays for us. That’s what we heard Javier read in our Gospel today. As John tells the story, just before Jesus is led to his death he offers a great prayer on behalf of his followers. The disciples seem to overhear Jesus’ intimate conversation with the One he refers to as his Father. “Father, the hour has come… I am asking on their behalf…All mine are yours and yours are mine, and I have been glorified in them. And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world…Holy Father, protect them in your name…so that they may be one as we are one.” 3 When many people first enter this church they often express confusion about its denomination. That’s because the design was selected to speak of a time when the church was one, predating even the split between the east and the west in the eleventh century. If you’ve ever picked up a copy of a brief summary of our history you read these words of the founding pastor, Ralph Sockman, who said, “In this day of interdenominationalism and church union, we desire to serve in no narrow denominational sense. The new church will be a place of worship for all people of all communions. Our congregation numbers many who are not members of the Methodist Church and my personal hope is to make the constituency steadily broader and more inclusive.” From the distance of over seventy-five years, that seems an enlightened perspective. In the intervening years I’m believing Jesus himself has prayed for the people who have gathered here, for protection, that we may be one even as he and his Father are one. In that spirit, let us pray together…. Previous sermon: On Love and Obedience • Next sermon: Spiritual Mosaics All past sermons |
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