NRSGalatians 3
23Now before faith came, we were imprisoned and guarded under the law until faith would be revealed. 24Therefore the law was our disciplinarian until Christ came, so that we might be justified by faith. 25But now that faith has come, we are no longer subject to a disciplinarian,26for in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith.27As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. 28There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.29And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham's offspring, heirs according to the promise.
Grace to you and peace from God the Father and our Lord Jesus the Christ. Amen.
I believe that Jesus Christ is the first fruits of those who have died (1 Cor. 15:20), the firstborn of all creation (Col. 1:15), the first and the last, the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end (Rev. 22:13), that he might have first place in everything (Col. 1:15).
I believe that Jesus Christ, the faithful witness (Rev. 1:5), the Lion of Judah, the Root of David (Rev. 5:5), the bright morning star (Rev. 22:16), is the gate, the door, the portal (John 10:2) whereby humanity has access to the very heart of the Living God, who fashions all that is from nothing that ever was, who brings life from death, hope from despair, the possible from the impossible.
I believe that Jesus Christ did not count equality with God as something to be exploited, but humbled himself even to death on a cross, so that raised to the right hand of the Father, every knee might bow and every tongue confess that Jesus is Lord to the glory of the Father now and forever (Phil. 2: 2-11).
I believe that Jesus Christ is the New Creation in whom everything old passes away and everything becomes new (2 Cor. 5:17), new heavens, new earth, new man, new woman, new son, new daughter, a new beginning for all that was broken, corrupted, fractured and forlorn.
I believe that Jesus Christ is the cornerstone (Mark 12: 10) who, though rejected, has now been raised to become the foundation for a new humanity that no longer abides by death’s old rules, who no longer recognizes the devil’s old schemes, who will not accede to hell’s old dominion, rejecting the old labels of Jew and Greek, slave and free, male and female (Galatians 3:28).
I believe that by the power of the Holy Spirit Jesus Christ has raised up a new community to body forth this new creation, the very church of Christ, by whose love for one another (John 15: 12, 17) the world will know the love of God in a relationship that surpasses the intensity of even father to son, mother to daughter, parent to child.
I believe that at Pentecost the very Holy Spirit that proceeds from the Father and the Son unleashed Christ’s church to be God’s own sacrament of reconciliation, a temple of living stones in whom and through whom the Kingdom of God invades this valley of dry bones to breathe life into what was beyond resuscitation so that we might be the answer to Christ’s final, greatest, culminating prayer, that we may be one.
As God is my witness, I believe. As Christ is my savior, I believe. As the Holy Spirit is the breath of my lungs, the beat of my heart, the rhythm of my soul, I believe. My only question is: When does this show get on the road? When do we start living out what Christ has already named us to be? When do we, you and me, the Body of Christ, stop looking like the world that is perishing and start looking like what God has raised up imperishable in Jesus Christ?
This is my 35th year of ordained ministry. Not as long as some of my peers, but long enough that now and again a young man or young woman will approach me with the dream of ministry in his or her eyes. And they ask me: “Pastor, what am I letting myself in for? What’s the hardest part? What’s the deal breaker? Is it the struggle to have a Word of God for the people of God every Sunday, come rain or come shine? Is it the late night meetings, the early morning emergencies, or just the wear and tear of being on call 24/7/365? Is it the heartbreak of burying people you love, or having to love the people you’d like to bury? Or is it the fishbowl life of having you and your family’s every thought, word, and act put under the microscope for public comment by people who should know better than to throw stones in their own glassy houses?” And I say, “No, no, no, none of the above.” Five times Paul received forty lashes minus one. Three times he was beaten with rods. Three times he was shipwrecked, once adrift at sea for a day and a night. So I reason I can endure what passes for the rigors of ministry in this time and place. Yes, my heart gets broken on a fairly regular basis, and yes, my toes sometimes get stepped on to the point of making me want to howl, and yes, my ego takes a beating every time I open the Word of God, but what’s really agonizing, what’s really crushing is knowing what God has already named and claimed the church to be, and seeing what the church so often does in its day to day practice.
Nearly fifty years ago Dr. King declared, “It is appalling that the most segregated hour of Christian America is 11 o’clock on Sunday morning.” Nearly fifty years later, how much has changed? I’m sure the sly, old Prince of Darkness, Satan himself, loves taking credit for the way the church of Christ so typically conforms itself to the social, racial, economic, gender, and political divisions that our Lord suffered and died to erase, but then Satan didn’t have to work too hard to achieve that abomination. We’ve all pitched in to do our part. After all, it’s so much easier to draw the boundaries tight and keep the walls high. It’s so much more comfortable not to have to mix it up with people who don’t speak our language, or share our culture, or know our ways. It’s awkward, it’s scary, it’s unnerving to be thrown into waters over our head, where we’re not in control and we don’t know the song and we can’t catch the beat. When children are dying in schools and schools are dying for lack of support, it’s a whole lot more manageable to busy ourselves over the color of the new chancel carpet than to risk the respectability so near and dear to our hearts. When the powers that be speak to us so soothingly that everything’s good, everything’s fine, and everything will stay that way so long as you play nice and keep quiet, who wants to be the prophet? Who wants to say that the emperor has no clothes? Who wants to rock the boat, even though the boat is sinking, and the waves are crashing, and people are drowning right in front of our faces? No, that’s hard. No, that’s dangerous. No, let’s get back to fussing over the carpet and picking on the pastor. Let’s go along to get along. Let’s just blend in to the fabric of this torn and tattered world and feel good about ourselves as we brag over the size of our budgets, the square footage of our buildings, and the efficiency of our heating and cooling systems.
Remember the word of the Lord that Amos delivered to Israel’s comfortable set?
NRS 5-21
I hate, I despise your festivals,
and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.
22Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings,
I will not accept them;
and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals
I will not look upon.
23Take away from me the noise of your songs;
I will not listen to the melody of your harps.
24But let justice roll down like waters,
and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.
And yet, I believe. I can’t help myself. You’d think I’d know better, but still, I believe. I believe in Christ’s vision of a church that’s one, holy, catholic (with a small “c”), and apostolic. For all our foolishness, for all our wanton divisiveness, for all our petty squabbling, I believe in a church where there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave or free, male or female. I believe in a church where the power distinctions of this world are meaningless, where the politics of first and last, up and down, in and out are obliterated, where the voiceless find voice, the homeless find a homecoming, and the displaced, dishonored, and disrespected discover dignity. I believe in a church that prowls the highways and searches the hedgerows, that seeks the lost and welcomes the sinner, that puts the ring on the finger of the prodigal and prepares the fatted calf while pleading with the stubborn elder brother to join the party.
I know, I know, I know what people say. They say, “You’re a dreamer.” They say, “You’re deluded.” They say, “The church is passé. The church is out of touch. The church is so yesterday.” And I say, yes, I am a dreamer, and yes, I am quite possibly deluded, and yes, I know all too well the history of how the church has repeatedly succumbed to the siren songs of wealth and influence and worldly esteem. But I believe. I believe that however dark the age the light has never gone out. I believe that despite the depth of the apostasy a remnant has remained. I believe that the blood of the martyrs speaks louder than the murmurings of the cynics. I believe that the way trod by the saints, though watered with tears, is the journey of joy, the highway of hope, the path of the pure in heart whose destiny is realized in the beloved community of one Lord, one faith, one baptism.
In the Name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen
