A Sermon by Pastor Tom Lacey . . .
be all that you can be
Luke 4:21-30, Preached at Congregational
A teacher stood before a Sunday school class. “If I sold my house and my car, had a big garage sale, and gave all my money to the church, would that get me into heaven?" "NO!" the children all answered. "If I cleaned the church every day, mowed the yard, and kept everything neat and tidy, would that get me into heaven?" Once more they all answered, "NO!" "Well, then, if I was kind to animals and gave candy to all the children and loved my wife, would that get me into heaven?" Once more they all answered, "NO!" "Well," he continued, thinking they were a good bit more theologically sophisticated than he had given them credit for, "Then how can I get into heaven?" And that's when a five-year-old boy shouted out, "You gotta be dead!" Even so, there are still times when doing your best, being all you can be, matters, and matters a lot. Not that it's easy.
When Jesus showed up at synagogue that day, the people were
pleasant enough. They spoke well of him.
They were impressed with their hometown boy with the command of scripture
and air of authority. They liked this Rabbi-wanna-be. Then Jesus started to
shake their self-satisfied, complacent attitudes. They thought they had it made
because they were God’s chosen people. He preached a short sermon that showed
God was as concerned for foreigners as much as he was for
For Luke, the tension that erupts in the synagogue and will
erupt again and again elsewhere until Jesus is crucified is not between Jesus
and Judaism or between synagogue and church; it’s between Judaism and its own
scriptures. Luke is trying to make the point that
Too often people do that. We want to manage God to fit into our image, rather than us fitting God’s. Today’s Christians want to manage Jesus also. Liberal Christians are happy to see Jesus as just a fine teacher and moral example. Pious Christians manage Jesus as one who is concerned purely with spiritual need. Conservative Christians today see Jesus as one who provides them with material blessings. But Jesus will not be managed by our narrow horizons. It’s really not good enough to be only told what you want to hear. The church is here to challenge us to be better than we are. You fully know that someone will stand up in a pulpit or in a Sunday school class and speak on a theme which will ultimately lead to the conclusion, “We aren’t all we ought to be. God made us to be more than this, and we must commit ourselves to that higher goal.” Whatever the failings of the Church and Christians, we are willing to put ourselves in a setting where we will be challenged and corrected. Being inclusive of others is one of the perennial challenges that all individuals, groups, and societies face. It is a challenge the Church ought to continue to call us to.
John W. Gardner, founding chairman of Common Cause, tells of a cheerful old man who asked a question of just about every new acquaintance: “What have you done,” he would ask, “that you believe in and are proud of?” He never asked conventional questions like, “Whatta ya do for a living?” His question was apt to unsettle those whose self-esteem was based on their wealth, family name, or exalted job title. He was totally happy to hear one woman reply, “I’m doing a good job raising three children.” He was glad to hear a cabinetmaker say, “I believe in good workmanship and practice it.” That old man said, “I don’t really care how they answer. I just want to put the thought into their minds. They should live their lives in such a way that they can have a good answer– not a good one for me, but for themselves.” I would add that the good answer must also be made to God because the Lord expects us to be all that he made us to be.
The truth is we each have an inner core set of values, a personal code by which we try to guide our lives, make our choices, and which when obeyed tell us we're doing well, but when disobeyed prick our conscience, turn us against ourselves, and cause us to feel badly, our of tune, guilty. In our scripture Jesus gave us his personal, inner vision for his life, who he believed he was and what he was to do: "The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight to the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." That’s Jesus’ code. Accept your code. Live the vision. Embrace the Spirit. Let your values lead your steps. Choose humility over superiority, doing good over doing nothing, inclusion over rejection.
A man named Al Kasha told his friends he had to be alone in order to create. Truthfully, he had to be alone to survive. Crowds terrified him. In a restaurant or supermarket he’d start to hyperventilate, his heart would palpitate, and his hands would perspire. He’d always rush home. One morning when Al was at the lowest ebb of his life, he heard some TV preacher quote the verse, “Perfect love casts out all fear.” Those words struck deep. He listened intently as the minister talked about God’s kind of accepting love. Al wept. He felt God telling him, “I love you and you are my son.” Then, Al left his house to see his wife, then separated from him, and his daughter. “I got in the car,” he said, “and I did not have the shakes. I was not perspiring. God had healed me.” Al now travels the country telling people how to overcome phobias. Al is well on his way to being all he can be.
I believe our central core value, as a church, is inclusion. When we open our arms and hearts to others, we are being all we can be. What I mean by this is that we recognize that we don't all agree on everything and yet we are still together as the body of Christ, as this church, a worshiping and fellowshipping community, engaging in ministry in Christ's name. We differ went it comes to biblical perspectives and theological ones, and yet we still include one another as one church. We differ on matters beyond the religious. I know the political, social and economic views of many here, and you definitely don't agree; and yet you care for each other, recognizing the better and higher call when Christ commands us to care for his sheep, believing in unity amidst diversity for the good of the Church, and holding true to God's design for his people, for us. Ultimately, this is because deep down we believe that God doesn't separate us because we vote Democratic or Republican; so why should we not be together here and now. We believe God's kingdom will include those who believe the Bible is the inerrant word of God and those who believe the Bible imparts truth in different terms than this; so why should we not be together here and now. This, for me, is a church with Christ Jesus as its Lord. And it’s one I’m proud of pasturing.
The truth is that maybe at heart here we are willing to make a bet on God. Maybe because we can't know that God really won't throw out those who want health care with the public option, or vice versa, it has to be said that we are willing to risk a wager on God. The wager is this: What we create when we err on the side of inclusion brings us closer to God's view of things than what we would create by erring on the side of exclusion. We are betting on a loving God; we are wagering on a God who offers his favor beyond the borders of even our traditions and histories, certainly our prejudices and biases, and of course our fears and phobias. After all, if you and I can care for and love someone who isn't like ourselves, and who doesn't see the world as we see it, then certainly God can do the same, and much, much more. And so every Sunday when we gather, in effect we proclaim to each other and the world that we are staking all and wagering all on this God—and this is our good news to a world in need of it.
I am wondering how far this extends, or perhaps to whom we extend our wager. In the spirit of challenge, and perhaps correction, I wonder on whom we are willing to place our bets that God will also include, when others are wagering that God won't. I am wondering whether this really matters to us, to our personal and church code, our vision of inclusion, about whether we ought to figure out something for ourselves, for each other, for others. I wonder then if our welcoming and inclusive church shouldn't make clear that we are welcoming and inclusive of gay and lesbian people.
Now I know we already say, "We welcome everyone," and I know we believe that also. But here's the thing: Too many lesbian and gay people and their families live with the pain of having believed that "everyone" meant them, only to discover otherwise. Perhaps we need to find out if we really mean it, for ourselves, for each other, for others. After all, it is much better if no one has to guess about the "boundaries of inclusion" of our church. A clear welcome matters to lesbian and gay people who, seeking to share their faith and gifts with the church, often wonder if they will meet with silence or condemnation if they are "out" in church. This explicit welcome and inclusion would also matter to families that hide the fact that they have lesbian or gay children or other relatives. Fearing the indifference or rejection of their church, they are cut off from support and sharing which would enrich them and our congregation.
And so I wonder if inclusion, if being and doing our best, might mean something in this regard. I believe it might, for us, for each other, for others, and for God.
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