Sermon  for Friends Congregational Church

“Change: Expanding the Beloved Community”

Delivered by Reverend Dan De Leon

Sunday, February 3, 2008

Exodus 24:12-18; Matthew 17:1-9

A message today about the church and forgiveness.  But let’s remember, first, that today is Transfiguration Sunday.  The Transfiguration of Jesus is so essential to the Christian story that it can be found in all four of the Gospels: that mountaintop story of Jesus changing right before the disciples’ eyes, and in a dazzling flash informing their belief in him as the Messiah who would suffer, die, and rise again.

So, on this Transfiguration Sunday, I wonder why there aren’t more churches named after this important day in the Christian story.  We’ve heard of the Church of the Annunciation, the Church of the Nativity, the Church of the Nazarene, the Church of the Resurrection; but what about the Church of the Transfiguration?

There are Transfiguration churches out there, most of them Catholic or Episcopalian, but there really should be more if you think about it.  This isn’t an argument for us to change the name of our church to Transfiguration Church, United Church of Christ.  I believe our name is authentic enough as it is: We’re Friends Congregational Church, because we are brought together as strangers and changed, transformed, into friends by the same approach that Christ first befriended us.  (Hence the campfire-friendly ditty we sing when new members join our church, “No longer strangers, we’re sisters, brothers, friends.”)

But if you think about it, the Church of the Transfiguration is a powerful name for a church to share.  The Transfiguration is about a change so amazing that it alters one’s destiny.  In fact the original Greek wording from Matthew and Mark’s gospels suggests that Jesus underwent a metamorphosis.  Right before the disciples’ eyes Jesus changed from a radical teacher, preacher and master of a few devoted followers into King of kings, Lord of lords, Redeemer and Savior of all.

That’s some serious change.  And change is what people of faith are really seeking.  We all have different reasons for coming to church.  Some of us need a sense of purpose in our lives.  Some of us need guidance.  Some of us need a place to empty all of our fears.  Some of us need companionship.  Some of us need a family for our children and for ourselves that reaches beyond the warmth of our homes and into the unity of our faith journeys.  Some of us need forgiveness.  But regardless of what we need, we all have to change to get there.  If even a little bit, we all have to change.

I believe that if a church can’t offer this fundamental change that we are all seeking, then that church isn’t worth its salt.  But I also believe this: We are the church.  You and I, we are the church.  And if we are not willing to embrace change—not only that; if we are not willing to seek out change as church people, kingdom builders, laborers of Christ’s love, then the church that we compose isn’t fulfilling its mission of being a Transfiguration kind of place.  So, I believe that change starts with the individual.

We have a rule in my family—kind of a covenant—that we will not ever try to work out personal matters via email, especially things that are emotionally sensitive.  And we fail at that from time to time, but we try to learn from those mistakes and build constructive dialogue each time we stumble.

Emails just don’t leave room for change.  Something’s bothering you or hurting you or making you angry, so you sit down in front of your keyboard; quite a dangerous weapon: that keyboard.  And you type up all the things that have gotten under your skin, all the things that are heavy on your heart, all the little mosquitoes you want to swat in your head, and then, boom, you press send.

Suddenly it’s out there.  It’s not your problem anymore, it’s theirs.  Sure, you might get an apology in response or some explanation for the things that had been bothering you, but there’s not going to be any real change.  When we fire off hasty emails to the people we love and then discontinue any responses from our end, the chance for change goes no further.

What I’m saying is that if you can keep it within the confines of your own control, then it won’t produce much change.

That’s what the disciples wanted to do.  They go to the top of that mountain and they see Jesus transfigured right before their eyes, and in that moment he’s standing with Moses and Elijah, and the miracle is too amazing for them to let it go.

So, Peter says, “This is good.  Let’s just stay here.  Let’s build three shelters: one for Elijah, one for Moses, and one for you, Jesus, and we can stay up here in this once-in-a-lifetime splendor for as long as we want.”

And we have that same kind of gift in the church.  We just take it for granted: the Sacrament of Holy Communion.

Bob and Carl have been members of the same church for a few years now.  They’re in the same Sunday morning class that meets before church each week.  They know each other’s families at least by name.  They’ve sat in the same sanctuary week after week singing the same hymns with each other, hearing the same sermons and reading from the same Bible.  But they come to a disagreement one day.

Bob and Carl are deacons in a progressive Baptist church, and the time has come for decisions about money and moving forward to be made.  So, an important deacon meeting is called and the issue of the budget comes up.  Bob thinks that certain parts of the budget should be spent on certain things, and Carl disagrees, saying that those funds would be best spent elsewhere.  And both Bob and Carl make their opinions known in this meeting rather vocally.

Then the gloves come off.  Bob makes a passive aggressive comment about Carl’s position, and then Carl retorts with sarcasm that reaches Bob’s final nerve.  Suddenly, years of holding one another at arm’s length in the comfortable routine of their shared church life was coming to a boiling point, and it was not pretty.

The meeting ends with a tabled motion, and Carl and Bob head home in a huff, cringing at the very thought of one another.  And as they sit in their homes that night, staring at the wall, finally calming down from a disgruntled deacon meeting, Bob and Carl wonder in silence, “How did it ever come to this in our church?”

The next Sunday arrives and the two men reluctantly go to church.  It’s Communion Sunday, and the trays of tiny cups, each filled with a squirt of grape juice, are stacked and covered with the lid that a golden cross for a handle on the top.  The bread is covered by hand towels and resting on separate plates at the altar.  The meal is prepared.

And they go through the motions of worship.  Bob and Carl sing the hymns.  They hear the pastor give a sermon about Jesus or something like that.  And then it’s time for communion to be served.  As fate would have it, Bob and Carl are the two deacons whose turn it is to serve communion that morning.

So, they uncover the loaves of bread and walk down the sanctuary aisle, passing the plates, retrieving them and passing them again.  They uncover the trays of grape juice shots and wander mechanically down the aisles again until everyone is served.

And from the altar they look out into the congregation to see if everyone has been served.  Yep.  Everyone’s taken care of, except for two: Bob and Carl have not been served.  And it’s customary for the last two at the altar to serve each other.

Upon realizing this, Bob and Carl are frustrated to be in this corner.  Their embarrassed that they have to do this, especially now, and their wishing they had a way to put this moment on hold, just like that tabled vote from last week’s deacon meeting.  But then they serve each other and something happens:

“Carl, this is the body and blood of Christ, broken and shed for you.”

“Bob, this is the bread of Jesus and the cup of the new covenant, both given freely for you.”

These men, in all of their frustration, embarrassment and anger have to serve one another.  And when they receive the body and blood Christ, something changes.  Bob and Carl had been attending church together for years, but they had only just now experienced the transformative love of Christ together, and they would never be the same.  No motion was ever tabled in the life of the church because of their differences, even though they continued to differ on just about everything.  And thanks be to God.

We have the gift of change right here in this very room, but we often don’t realize it because we are so comfortable with it.  It might become routine for us.

There were 170 people in this room on Thursday night.  United Campus Ministry brought a movie in here to share with the community.  It was a documentary called For the Bible Tells Me So that’s being shown wherever it will be received all over our country to raise awareness and dialogue about homosexuality and the church, and how the church has failed over the years to lift up, stand for and love their gay sisters and brothers in Christ unconditionally, as God loves each and every one of us.

Five different families agree to appear in this documentary, and in each of these families is a rich story of faith.  All of these Christian homes pride themselves on their church foundations.  And in each of these Christian homes, a child eventually comes out to their parents to say that he or she is gay.

In all but one of the scenarios the outcome is constructive and hopeful.  The film offers research, statistics, scholarship, and human experiences.  And in this room that night, we may not have been in worship, but you could feel a shared human experience in the air.  And in that experience, there was, if even a little bit, change: changes of mind, changes of heart, changes of perspective that might lead to changes of future human experiences.  And thanks be to God.

Now, for some of the people in this room Thursday night, I knew that it was a leap of faith for them.  It took some courage on their part to drive to our parking lot, walk into our doors and sit in this sanctuary for two hours.  But they did it, and I know the power of change was in this very room.

Now, think of the story of Carl and Bob and how they came to know forgiveness, mercy and grace through the gift of change; and think of the movie-screening experience Thursday night.  Now remember the story of Moses on Mount Sinai.  Moses goes up to the top of Mount Sinai to receive God’s instructions to the Israelites, and after he’s up on that mountaintop for seven days, the glory of God covers the mountain in a cloud.

But from where the Israelites stood at the bottom of the mountain, it looked like the mountaintop was being consumed by fire.  It looked dangerous up there.

When we go to church every week, some of the people who witness our faith lives might perceive it as risky or difficult, hard to understand.  Thursday night, 170 people walked into our doors to be a part of an experience that would raise awareness and dialogue about how the church and our culture advocate meaningless hatred, abuse and violence against gay and lesbian people.  If all of the onlookers in this community knew what we were experiencing together in this very room, from out there it might have looked to them like fire was consuming the building.  It might have looked dangerous in here.

Thank God the church can be a place of transfiguration, but let us never respond like Peter did on that mountaintop with Jesus.  Let’s not try to keep a good thing locked up on this mountaintop.

In this place we receive the gift of God’s love so that we can share it, and in sharing that love outside these church walls, others will come to realize that you don’t have to walk through fire to reach the amazing, transformative heights of forgiveness, mercy and grace.  And thanks be to God.

And out there we may do things or say things flippantly, never once thinking about how the other person might take our blithe actions or how the other person might receive our shortsighted email or how the other person might perceive our indifferent reception of their plight.  And then we gather at this table of communion—this table of transfiguration—and we hear the invitation of Christ, “Truly, I tell you, when you did these things to the least of these, you did it to me,” and suddenly we are changed.  And thanks be to God.

I believe that change starts with the individual, but, sisters and brothers, change cannot continue without community.  So, what are we doing to expand this beloved community?  Amen.