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"He
(or she) who dies with the most toys wins." Didn't I
read that somewhere? Like on somebody's shirt? Or in somebody's
heart?
Just the
other day, out on Woodward Avenue (where it crosses Long Lake
... Square Lake ... one of those Lakes), a huge Rolls Royce
and a tiny MG pulled alongside each other at a light. Rolling
down their respective windows in order to converse, the MG
driver inquired of the Rolls Royce driver: "Do you have
a phone in that big car?" "Of course I do,"
replied Mr. Rolls. "Well, do you have a fax machine in
there, too?" asked Mr. MG. "Of course I do,"
replied Mr. Rolls. "Doesn't everybody?" "Well,
let me ask you one thing more," said Mr. MG. "Do
you have a double bed in the back?" And with that, the
crestfallen driver of the Rolls took off and drove to the
nearest conversion specialist, where he had a double bed installed
in the back of his car.
Two weeks
passed. Whereupon came the day when the Rolls Royce owner
spotted the little MG parked by the side of the road ... back
windows totally fogged ... side windows spewing steam. Mr.
Rolls Royce pulled onto the shoulder, parked his vehicle,
walked over to the little MG and banged on the driver-side
window until the owner rolled it down. "Do you know who
I am ... little man in little car?" he bellowed. "Yeah,
you're the guy with the big Rolls Royce." "Well,"
bragged Mr. Rolls, "I just wanted you to know that I
now have a double bed in my vehicle." Totally unimpressed
(and more than mildly irritated), Mr. MG replied: "And
you got me out of the shower to tell me that?"
There's
a certain pride, is there not, in having our cars equipped
rather than stripped. And there's a certain pride in having
our churches look the same. New stuff. Bright stuff. Right
stuff. That's not to be sneezed at. And we don't ... sneeze
at it here, that is. A well-equipped church outshines the
alternative by a mile. The world is full of day-late, dollar-short
churches. Which many of us know from first-hand experience.
In some cases, painful first-hand experience. We've been there.
We've done that. We feel for that. But we have no desire to
repeat that.
How do
I know that? I listen to you ... that's how I know that. I
listen to you talk about churches. I listen to you talk about
this church. I listen to you talk about our staff and our
programs. I listen to you talk about our missions and our
ministries. I listen to you talk about what we have and what
we do. And when I am not listening to you, I listen to the
Sunday morning liturgists and their oft-repeated instruction
to "read your Steeple Notes" ... after which they
never fail to add: "We've got a lot going on."
Which
can keep you as busy as you want to be ... but (hopefully)
not for busyness' sake. No, hopefully for betterment's sake
... .yours ... the church's ... the world's ... the Kingdom's.
Which is why, when we come to "Campaign Time," most
of the people who come out of the congregation to speak to
you take the same tact. Namely, "We've been blessed;
now we need to be responsible." After which they add:
"If we expect things to keep on going ... and keep on
growing ... there's an essential connection that links going
and growing with giving." It's a pretty standard speech.
Which most of you can write. And many of you have.
There
is, of course, a danger in that approach. It is a danger having
to do with people who don't readily avail themselves of all
our stuff ... who don't feel they need all our stuff ... and
may not necessarily want all our stuff. "Keep the church
going," they say. "Keep it open. Keep it warm. Keep
it in good repair. Keep it clean. Keep it minimally staffed.
Keep it on its historic and traditional course. Yes, by all
means, keep it up." But, for those people, "more"
is not necessarily better ... "deeper" is not necessarily
dearer ... and "further" is something they are willing
to cheer from a distance, but is not a path they desire to
follow or fund.
"I
don't want to die without my name on the membership roll of
some church." That's what she said to me, years ago,
as her reason for joining. Which I accepted then. And which
I would accept now. After all, nobody died and appointed me
to render divine judgment on human motivation. As Ken Greet
said last week: "Anyone can come." Which, as an
idea, wasn't original with Ken. If memory serves me correct,
he stole it from Jesus. But both of them are right. Anyone
can come.
So let's
assume that this sanctuary ... along with our membership role
... may be half-filled with folk who aren't using or enjoying
all the "extras." So why should they pay for all
the extras? Years ago, some two-bit, honky-tonk, dance hall
floozy crooned: "They're only puttin' in a nickel, but
they want a dollar song." But what if all they want ...
all they've got time for ... all they feel a need for ...
is a nickel song? Or a dime song? Why should they pay the
extra ninety cents? I mean, it's an honest question. And a
serious one.
The answer,
of course, has less to do with what any one individual may
need, but what the world may need. When I talk about the world,
I am talking about that larger unit of which we are a part,
and that larger unit to which Jesus came ... as in "for
God so loved the world." For the Church of Jesus Christ
is not only about people who consume something, but people
who produce something ... who generate something ... who offer
something ... and (yes) in the lingo of this year's campaign,
who stand for something.
Over the
years, I have repeatedly said that I do not want my life to
be without my church. But even if I did ... even should I
reach the point where I no longer care about my life ... I
wouldn't want my world to be without my church. For I believe
that my church has some things that work in a world that doesn't.
I believe that my church has some values that will endure
in a world that either never heard of them, or flagrantly
mocks them. And I believe that my church offers a road that
is going somewhere in a world where most people travel in
circles ... along with a leader, a map, and some of the better
traveling companions one is likely to encounter anywhere.
Maybe you don't need everything we offer. But somebody does.
And sooner or later, all of us have to live a little bit beyond
ourselves ... and beyond our time.
I have
discovered that once you start playing the back nine ... of
your career ... of your life ... whatever ... you begin to
think (a bit more than you used to) of how you want to finish.
And while I can't speak for you, I'd just as soon birdie 18.
But even more than that, I'd like to leave my mark on the
course. I am talking about generativity here ... stuff that
will go on beyond me ... stuff that will survive me ... stuff
that will outlive me. So far, I've got my name in a pair of
windows in one church, on a music room at a college, and on
a paving stone at Comerica Park (adjacent to the big tiger).
Which feels good. I'll admit it. But which is far from what
I'm talking about.
What I
am talking about is standing for things now that will make
a difference then ... and living for things here that will
make a difference there. And I don't even care where "then"
and "there" are. Such things I will leave to God.
I can't control everything. While I make every effort to cast
my bread upon the waters carefully, I know that, once cast,
my bread will take a path of its own. Although there have
been times, when I least expected it, that my bread came back
to me as cake.
Last Tuesday,
I was talking about this over lunch with Roger Wittrup. Which
led Roger to recall the campaign in the year of our 175th
anniversary ... the campaign we called "The Race That
Is Set Before Us." Roger remembered the Sunday afternoon
(in the middle of the campaign) when a couple hundred of us
gathered on the front lawn to have our picture taken by a
photographer who was standing on the roof. After which we
broke into smaller groups and walked all the way downtown
and back, pausing to read informational signs along the way
... signs that recalled snippets and slices of our history
... things that happened in some year (or on some corner)
of our illustrious past.
But Roger
remembered something about that walk that I had forgotten.
He remembered that each walker was encouraged to pin a name
from the past on his or her back ... in effect, walking the
church's history (in terms of names and places), while wearing
the church's history (in terms of people).
Roger
wrote a pair of names and pinned them to his parka. One of
Roger's names was the teacher who cured him, as a junior in
high school, of his fear of speaking in public. Roger's other
name was that of his dad, who once served in the ministry
of this church. Then last Sunday morning, Roger was sitting
in the pew ... east side ... about three-quarters of the way
back ... when he looked at Ken Greet in the pulpit (all 81
years of Ken Greet), and the first thing that came to him
was how much Ken reminded Roger of his father. But the second
thing that came to him was that Ken was wearing his father's
pulpit robe. Which was true. He was. That's because Ken didn't
bring one from Great Britain. And because Allen Wittrup's
robe ... nearly half a century later ... still hangs in my
closet.
I'll tell
you what fascinates me about Ken Greet. It's not just what
he says ... or how he looks. And it has nothing, whatsoever,
to do with what he wears. What fascinates me is how Ken cares
... by God ... for God ... the man's passionate about his
convictions. At age 81, no less ... when he needn't be ...
and many aren't. That's because the cause is clearly bigger
than the man ... leading Ken (as Paul once said to Timothy)
to "lay up a good foundation for the future."
Another
Brit ... Colin Morris ... writes:
In classical
theology, pride is called a man's besetting sin. With apologies
to scripture, I sometimes wonder if cruelty has not surpassed
it. But not far behind slinks the other sin, the sin of
triviality. Never in the history of the world has such a
wealth of technology and human ingenuity been dedicated
to such paltry, trivial purposes. A strong sense of responsibility
for the future has by-and-large given way to the vague hope
that things will hold together for our lifetime, and (hopefully)
for that of our children. After that, let the chips fall
where they may.
A couple
of weeks ago, Kris and I went to see a movie that is making
no small splash at the box office. And, judging from what
I hear from my colleagues, it has begun to permeate the pulpits
as well. It's called Pay It Forward. And it's a feel-good
movie, even though it's also a multiple Kleenex movie. When
I had Janet search the web for reviews, I discovered that
a few critics called it "emotionally manipulative."
But the acting is too good ... too honest ... too real ...
for such a cynical appraisal.
The movie
is set in Las Vegas ... where people go in hopes of payoffs.
The phrase, "My cup runneth over," takes on a whole
new meaning when you are standing in front of a slot machine.
The film stars a seventh grade teacher ... who has been burned
by life and, as it turns out, by his daddy. It also stars
a seventh grade student ... .who gets sucked into believing
that things don't have to be the way they always were, if
people would begin to do something different from what they've
always done. And the third star is the seventh-grade student's
mother ... who loves her kid a whole lot, except for those
times when she loves the bottled version of distilled potato
juice a little bit more.
The plot
structure is simple. First day of class, the teacher gives
an assignment: "Think of an idea that will change the
world and put it into action." Whereupon this seventh
grade kid of the vodka-swilling mom decides he will help three
other people in significant and sacrificial ways. And when
they say, "Gee kid, that's really nice, how can we pay
you back?", he will tell them to "pay it forward"
... by helping three other people in significant and sacrificial
ways. Sort of a chain letter of kindnesses rendered. And if
this sounds schlocky ... which some have suggested ... you
might want to check your hearing. Because it's not the idea
that's screwed up, so much as something in your head.
Or you
might want to turn to John 21. I'm talking about the end of
John's gospel. Where it's all over now. Birth, life, death,
resurrection ... all over for Jesus now. Nothing left but
breakfast. Just Jesus and Peter (fishcakes sizzling on an
open fire). Three times Jesus says: "Peter, do you love
me?" Which, given Peter's previous threefold denial,
explains the math. In response to Jesus' question, Peter answers:
"I love you, Lord ... yes I do ... `deed I do ... you
know I do." And right then and there, Peter would have
done anything for Jesus to prove it. Except Jesus didn't want
or need anything done for him. "Feed my sheep,"
he said. Which, when I take the wax out of my ears, sounds
(for all the world) like "pay it forward."
Will it
change the world? I think so. Can I prove it? Not really.
In the short run, it may not change the world. But this much
I do know. It'll change you.
I could
talk for hours about that. In fact, I have. But boiled down,
it all comes back to my astonishing discovery that the open-handed
people and the happy-hearted people tend to be one-and-the-same
people ... those being the people who have graduated with
a major in Gospel Economics and a minor in Gospel Health (or
is it vice versa?).
And that's
all I intend to say about money this year. It's on your hearts
now. Which I hope will burden you just a bit this next week.
But I will leave you with this.
The other
day I happened upon a group of city employees. Six of them
... shovels in hand ... were digging holes in the ground.
Round holes. Deep holes. Perfect holes. These six were followed
by six more ... three hundred yards behind them ... filling
the holes in. None of which made sense. So I said to one of
the fellows: "What are you guys doing?" To which
the answer came: "We're planting trees." So I said:
"Then how come I don't see any?" To which he said:
"That's because the guys with the trees have the day
off."
My friends,
every last one of you has a tree. And come next Sunday, you
also have an appointment with destiny.
*
* * * *
Note:
This sermon was delivered during week three of First Church's
annual stewardship campaign, entitled "Take a Stand."
The following Sunday, November 12, was Ingathering Sunday
and the anticipation of returned pledges sufficient to underwrite
an Operating Budget in excess of $2 million.
Ken Greet
is a retired British Methodist preacher whose career-completing
assignment was as Secretary of British Methodism (something
akin to the CEO of the entire denomination). Roger Wittrup
is an ordained United Methodist preacher working full time
as a clinical psychologist and who occasionally serves as
a Sunday morning liturgist in the sanctuary. Allen Wittrup
was Roger's father and served on the clergy staff of First
Church from 1955-1960.
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