Sermon for Friends Congregational Church
Delivered by Reverend Dan De Leon
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Jeremiah 23:23-29; Isaiah 58:9b-12: Matthew 5:14-16
In the story of Creation, God says, “I’ll make me a world.” And by the fourth day, God has made light and called it good. Today we are also reminded that Jesus, the Son of this Creator God, calls us children of the light. To you and me, Jesus proclaims, “You are the light of the world.” Well, as we say in pastoral circles, “That’ll preach.” You are the light of the world; that’s a strong message. I could preach on that message from Jesus every Sunday if I tried. “What does ‘you are the light of the world’ mean for our church this week?” You could even name a church after that message: Light of the World United Church of Christ.
That would be a bold name to claim, though, for any church. The Church is the Body of Christ, but the Church has been tempted over the years to shroud itself in unchecked doctrines, creeds, and loud pontification that serve only to reaffirm the status quo of our present human condition and our present culture. The Body of Christ, the Church, shrouded in such a dogmatic quagmire, is like the body of Lazarus, wrapped in burial linens and laid to rest in a dark cave. This might seem like an extreme image, but the Church is in this situation all over our country where messages of exclusion and of individual priorities darken our vision. The only difference is that our burial linens have been replaced with stained glass windows (or, in our case, big windows!).
It was a Sunday morning in Austin, about 6 years ago, a few minutes after 11, and the church service had just begun. I had my robe and stole on, Bible in hand, and I was rushing to the front of the church when a woman stopped me. She said, “Dan, could you go talk to my daughter? I just can’t get her to come to the service and I’ve tried everything in the book.” I said, “Sure, I’ll do whatever I can. Where is she?” The mom said, “She’s outside.”
The sun was shining so brightly that I could barely see April sitting on the ground, up against a wall, hunched over, plucking up blades of grass…and crying. In these few precious minutes I forgot all about the worship service and sat down next to April. And I tried to talk to her, but I really had no idea what to say. So, I tried to get her to talk to me. “What’s wrong? What’s bothering you? What can I do?” But all of my questions were meant with sniffles, and the occasional “it’s not a big deal,” or, “you wouldn’t understand.”
So, finally I went out on a limb and said, “I’m out here because I care about you, and I want you to come with me into the sanctuary. Let’s get out of this blazing sun and cool off in the church. How’s that sound?” And then she finally let it out. She said, “There’s not a place for me in there. I say ‘you wouldn’t understand’ because you wouldn’t understand. The kids in the youth group are all different from me, and this church doesn’t speak to me. Please, just leave me alone.”
I honored her request. I stood up and took in the sad coincidence of the moment. April was leaning up against the outside wall of the sanctuary with stained glass just over her head and the muffled sounds of a pipe organ playing through this barrier. The sun kept shining brightly, but not bright enough for the Body of Christ, singing loud and proud in the cool sanctuary, to see the light of April’s life dwindling down to a dull gleam just a few yards away.
Were the people gathered to worship that morning malicious? No. Were they pompous in some way, so rude as to exclude people from the service of worship? No. At least that wasn’t their intention. But even the best of intentions don’t speak to April. Good intentions don’t bring light out of the darkness. But when we revisit our intentions on a consistent basis, weeding out the good intentions from the bad, the light from the darkness, and then put those intentions into action, then those intentions speak to the Aprils in our world, in our country and in our community. This is what we mean in the United Church of Christ and here at Friends Congregational Church, College Station, when we boast that God is still speaking.
Now, friends, I love it when Jesus speaks to me. I enjoy my relationship with Christ. There are countless old hymn devoted to this one-on-one relationship we have with Jesus. You know that hymn, “In the Garden”? Great hymn: “And he walks with me and he talks with me and he tells me I am his own, and the joy we share as we tarried there none other has ever known.” My Jesus. Good stuff.
There’s an appropriate time for that in each of our lives every day. But, sisters and brothers, don’t be tempted into that way of thinking when you read today’s Gospel lesson. You can open your Bible to Matthew 5:14 and think that Jesus is speaking to you when he says, “You are the light of the world.” And that’s true. You can hear those words and me emboldened and empowered to show the world a thing or two. By all means, let your light shine! But understand, also, that Jesus is not speaking to you alone.
Consider the context of this message. Jesus is preaching on a mountaintop to anyone who will listen, “You are the light of the world!” And he goes on to say that you don’t hide a light under a bushel basket, but you put it on a lamp stand so that it shines for everyone in the house! Well, consider this possibility today, sisters and brothers: The Church has not become a light that dwindles in the darkness under a bushel basket, the Church has become the bushel basket. And if the Church has the power to snuff out a light or to place it on a lamp stand so that everyone can see it, and so that this light provides light for everyone in the house, are we exercising that power wisely?
I experienced a great deal in June at General Synod in Hartford, and I came to understand much more about he identity and spirit of the United Church of Christ. But nothing spoke to me more than the speak outs. In the afternoons, thousands of us gathered in the Civic Center to carry out the business of the UCC: discussing and voting on resolutions, hearing reports from the national office, our conferences, etc. But there were times in the business meetings carved out specifically for anyone and everyone to have a voice. At two different times during a business meeting, five microphones were placed on the floor of the Civic Center for people to use to speak out. They were given a minute and a half to share anything they wanted to.
And people from UCC congregations all over our country took full advantage of the speak outs. In their 1.5 minutes in front of thousands of people, individuals seized the opportunity to share news from their churches, to speak about important issues in their community, to remind us of all sorts of matters that need our attention in church circles, and to even give shout outs to their friends that they hadn’t seen in years.
I witnessed all of this from an arena seat and I thought, “This is the Church removing the bushel basket from the children of the light. This is the United Church of Christ, forcing the hand of the world to remove the shroud of darkness from the light of the world. This is the Church hoisting that light onto a lamp stand for all to see and for all to be illumined by. This is the Body of Christ holding itself accountable to the fact that we can’t rely on our individual perspectives to see all of the areas that need our attention in this broken world. This is the UCC putting the words of Pastor John Robinson into practice from 1620, when he declared to Mayflower voyagers, “God has yet more light and truth to break forth out of His holy word.”
In the speak outs, I heard a college student address the United Church of Christ and say that higher education is a luxurious opportunity for the wealthy, and a nearly unreachable opportunity for the poor. His simple words got us thinking: Can the church be involved in a solution to this problem?
I heard a woman speak about her travels in Iran, about how the people she had begun rich friendships with were humble, peaceful, generous and kind people who had no desire for war. She urged us to consider how the UCC might play a part in keeping our country out of mounting violence in the Middle East.
And I heard a teenage boy, who had come from some other state to attend Synod with his youth group, approach the microphone and say, “I appreciate that we consider ourselves to be good stewards of God’s creation and that we embrace the notion of being a green church, but there are thousands of people attending this convention drinking thousands of bottles of water and worshipping God from the guidance of thousands of worship bulletins, and I have yet to see one receptacle for recycling this stuff.”
I witnessed these and so many more speak outs on the floor of Synod that were challenging, moving, humorous, and eye-opening, but perhaps the most inspiring testimony I heard was from a man with disabilities who addressed our crowd of thousands from his wheelchair. This man’s head was tilted to one side, his arms were pressed up against his chest, as if his physical disability were his own shackle. And his speaking ability was limited, as well, but he moved to a microphone and began to speak. Usually, when someone reached a minute and fifteen seconds, a timer appeared on the big screen for everyone to see as a warning that “you’ve got fifteen seconds left.” No such warning appeared on the screen when this man reached 1 minute and fifteen seconds. I could only understand bits and pieces of what he was saying, but I did understand that he was affirming the welcome of the UCC, and that he was thankful for having a church home not only at his local congregation, but also at General Synod. But what I also heard in his slurred words was the very clear proclamation, “I am the light of the world. I am the light of the world. I am the light of the world.”
And through the light of this man’s life, intermingled in his words, I could hear the words from the prophet Jeremiah when God says, “Is not my word like fire,” declares the Lord, “and like a hammer that breaks a rock in pieces?”
Sisters and brothers, let your hearts catch fire. Let the bushel basket be broken in pieces. And may we be a Body of Christ that lets our light shine, so that others might do the same. That Church might speak to April.